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[Southern Hoshido woods, 3 days later]
Trees crack behind from Saizo’s release of bombs behind him, felling two more of his pursuers to the harsh trap-laden forest floor before. He continues his long strides from tree branch to tree branch. Digging into his cloak, he seizes a dagger with a scroll rolled around the hilt and throws it forward twenty yards. As his momentum carries him forward, he coils and bends his muscular hips deep, using the next branch to spring himself forward. His pursuers redouble their efforts, noting him attempting to shake him. He rolls in the air forward to cut some forward forces to not quite shake them but needing to time his landing with enough time to escape his own trap.
“Didn’t think I’d be playing myself as bait already. Guess five years was too wishful,” The cynical ninja leader thought to himself, planting his foot on the branch, landing an inch away from the burning scroll knife. With the tension of the branch down, and the other assassins in sight, Saizo launches himself forth as the last threads of the scroll burn up, launching the tree in fire, engulfing those Saizo left behind has he springs himself into the brush. Turning, he notes the thicket is clearing, too far spread out for treetop jumping at this point. He slowly climbs down, descending to the forest floor below as the anguish of brittle burnt rivals fall to the forest floor with him. Looking around, he notes a stillness in the forest. No rustling can be heard by his keen ears, just the presence of an uneasy, quite landscape. Plenty of brush allows him to find cover as he recoups from the chase, to become still as a pond and allow the ripples of raindrops to pass by, to not reverberate within himself. Slowly he clams his breathing, barely noting compression movement of breathing as he lies in the grass and mud of a shark hedge of foliage to cover him.
The forest noises ruffles with an unfamiliar presence within an hour of hiding, but as quickly as it came, vanished into the distant white noise of distance. Soon after, the wild forest noises of brids, animals, and wind return, serene in its neutrality of life taken. This indifference always helped Saizo calm, to note what he does will pass, like all living things, in time.
Another hour and, verifying with a careful scan of his surroundings, sits up, and pulls a small tome from his cloak,
“Flowers, Herbs, and Plants of Hoshido, Volume VII, by Mozu; a Hoshidan Apothocary”
“I knew she would pull through. Strange, but reliable,” Saizo notes to himself as he peruses the book, looking for familiar plants along the route he took that may line up with this volume’s chapters of magical reagents in the Hoshido woodlands. A job is a job, even if its picking flowers. Of course, the recent attack would make the reason why requesting Saizo himself to investigate turned out to be more than sentimental reasoning.
“Polygonum… Cuspigata? Custidatum is one thing, you find that everywhere, but this… This is a rare one, only found deep in forests, supposedly where a phoenix has died and laid its ashes. But she said some could be found here. This Rainbow weed better be worth it.”
Looking around, Saizo tries to follow the guide; ‘on a cool spring day, look for pockets of humidity in the forests. This can distinguish the heat the plant likes to radiate. It is sensitive, so traveling deep into the forests will be where they lie.’ He follows the altındağ escort ebb and flow of land, noting trails of less poignant roots of trees that would suck the nutrients out of the area. Hours pass with only himself to keep company, he finally notes a change in temperature. Beads of sweat start to roll down his mask-covered head and lips at the humidity begins to roll in. Finally, Saizo notes strange formations of fungi around a fallen tree near a still pond buzzing with flies; white heads with purple spots in a perfect oval around fallen tree. Kicking the trunk away, disturbing the still pond and sending a fly a buzzing, he notes the short, sharp silver and white plants he has been looking for.
Blade and axe clash in the sizable tent as two plump women swing at each other with voracious force. The white-haired women strikes an upward horizontal cut to deflect an overhead cut of an axe wielded by the towering purple-haired opposition, allowing her to roll out of the way with the grace of fairies. Flecks of sweat pour down and sparkle in the air from the movement as the axe is knocked off kilter and landing into the hard ground. Still with grace and poise, Corrin stands in a side profile, ready to counter what Camilla has to throw at her. But just as she stands in position from the roll, Camilla cleaved through the ground like a hot knife through butter, using the momentum to carry her forward, roll, and strike again with another vertical axe cut. Twister her wrist, Corrin deflects the blow, needing to push the blade with her armband of her free hand to stop the powerful blow. Even without magic, Camilla is a frightfully powerful juggernaut of an opponent before the curse. Now? Even Elise’s retainer Effie, one of the strongest women both sides of the continent, would have been taken aback and knocked on her butt by Camilla’s raw strength.
Nearby, Nyx watches and nods, seeing the great strength of the huge women, like bombs exploding as they make contact. The assumption to use their regalia weapons proved sound, as the use of training weapons would do nothing to contain the kinetic forces presented before her.
“As long as neither use their magic,” Nyx contemplates to herself, “this should work out some of this built up… Energy,” she begrudgingly labels their state of curses. She grabs part of the right side of the spare wheel that is her stomach, now starting to sag from the pull of gravity due to its size, now hanging past a third of her thighs even when standing. “I need this to work, who knows how much bigger I can be and still function.” Going up another fifty pounds from Sophie and Nyx’s bread craven a few days ago was an utter disaster and forced the plus sizes witch to think of other ideas. After the binge and guilt and arguing from newfound intensity of emotions from all the females in the isolation tent, Nyx remembered and was able to write up a sealing scroll on each of them. Watching the Basara of Hoshido gave her the idea that the forces of someone can be sealed, but usually only lasting until the battle would conclude. Not quite magic, but far from mundane, Nyx poured over the tomes Oboro delivered to her and, with her help, was able to devise a way to stitch a scroll onto someone’s clothing and attempt to seal some of the intensifying magic building up. But the parameters of this are still unknown, that they themselves are the ankara anal yapan escort test subjects to see how the scrolls would work. Hoping to attain some of their original form was fantastical thinking on Nyx part, but at least they can now eat and not gain another 6th of their mass on their bodies.
Nyx notes she is still gripping her stomach. Noting this, and Sophies glance, she stops. But how can she stop herself? Afterall, her curse was supposed to keep her the same shape and age for the rest of her life. Yet, look at her now; what was almost an even five feet in height at 154cm, now is another fourth a foot taller, standing at 160cm. Her chest grew slightly from a 44C to a 48D, her hips grew another five inches, upper arms almost as wide as her hips with them starting to sag over the elbow. She has more than doubled her weight at this point, nearing triple what her prior curse status body weighed. Thought not in areas that Nyx would first pick, being able to change at all, instead of the doll-esc measurements she has had for decades, has been at least a change of pace… Even if she wished the pacing were faster than before.
The clash of steel brings Nyx’s attention away from her existential contemplations back into the physical world. The stalwart sisters continue to bring blubber-backed blows upon one another. A horizontal slash of the great axe singes air as Corrin backflips, her form quaking as she lands away from the edge of the axe’s striking range.
Its awe inspiring how they can still move at such fast speeds with all the extra padding that would slow any normal person down. But Camilla and Corrin are anything but normal. One had to slay their own sisters just to stand out in the cacophony of concubines that swarmed the late king Garon, scaring her and leaving her yearning for fraternal connection with any sibling left, raising Corrin as her own child. The parentification has made Camilla a force no mortal dare oppose, especially if anything were to befall poor Corrin. But imagining that is far from mortal grasp, as she alone was able to turn the tides of war and establish peace beyond Hoshido and Norh. If Camilla is the cradling shield whose love will protect Corrin, then Corrin is the armed forces of the entire continent. Not just an over-the-top hyperbole of a being able to tap into her draconic lineage and force the land itself to her whim, but a caring, optimism that penetrates the laws or expected, grounded reality, able to see hope when no one else is able to.
Yet now, both are bloated beyond recollection of their past selves, fatten to forms that barely resemble their prior frames of infamy. Camilla stands a heavy hundred pounds over her prior form, with long winter shirts serving as a bra for how enormous her chest has engorged to, inflating from an already painful 32H to a whopping 68JJ, from melons to prize winning fruits farmers would brag for years about. This increase in just the torso alone will have no hold from her metal attire, no longer able to fit the voluminous vixen of such a fluffy femme fatale even without the intumescent stomach, distended in sheer mass that hits like iron yet soft like silk, an almost nonutopian fluid acting form her cushioning provides. Enlarged hips and thighs more akin to Oni or Faceless than human, strength hidden in soft, exposed flesh as the plate armor made for the like of Benji barely contort to her form, still exposing puffs and exposed pieces ankara escort of fat. Her bum even putting Nyx’s to shame, an astonishing sixty-six inches of blubbery buns, putting the already notable stomach in its place with her exaggerated hour-shape figure.
Meanwhile, Corrin contrasts with an even growth all around, none overlapping in priority over another, while growing the slowest amongst them all. Perhaps a natural resistance to it from her draconic bloodline Nyx speculates but affected none-the-less. The modest hourglass to slide into larger proportions, expanding to encompass being given sand of an hour rather than fifteen minutes her prior cursed body contained. Her chest and hips, once a nearly similar low thirty inches, has grown over ten inches, near the fifty-inch mark for both, though the hips closer to that benchmark than her chest. Her supple top of torso spills back and side flabs of adipose greatly, helping balance the newly grown 45DDD from the paltry 33C from too much back strain. Her stomach formed by two pleasant folds, the top encroaching on hiding a deep belly button. It lays to almost cover an expanding fupa, though lost in the thick thighs, wider than half of a queen-sized bed, fitting for royalty like Corrin. Her hair now rests on the bubbling shelf she has grown from her derriere which sits tall atop the powerful thighs and thicker calves that hide the muscle still formed in her being, the coating of lard not taping down to her ankles, instead hangs a good inch past the backs of them.
Despite these new proportions, Nyx think, no, she knows they will overcome these circumstances and find a way to dispel the curse that has befallen them. The rush of an axe spin kicking up a cloud of dirt begets the cacophony of coughing from the onlookers. After a few more metallic clangs, the dirt finally settles, with both blade and axe stopped just mere centimeters away from each of their enveloped necks, Corrin kneeling from a forward roll with her blade two-handed pointing at Camilla, her opponent’s axe just to the right of Corrin as she stopped a heavy upper-right vertical blow. A draw. Sweat pouring down the faces and bodies of both girls, staining the stitched together cotton blouses and skirts found around the camp from generous donations of soldier’s personal collections as they look into each other’s eyes in a deep nonverbal communication that only two warriors on the battlefield could have.
“Oooooh~ Corrin, you are fighting soooo well lately, I can *hardly* hold back,”
“Camilla, how am I supposed to get better with you always holding back,”
“Oh, hush now, I don’t want to hear any more of that from you,” The tall warrior royal rests the axe on her soft shoulders, the flesh giving and partially wrapping around the beard of the axe, due to the softness of flesh that now adorns her entire body. She reaches out a hand to help Corrin up, ill disturbed from the sword still at her neck. Corrin sighs and complies, sliding Yato back into its sheath. She reaches up, allowing Camilla to heave her heavy form up not in necessity, but to allow Camilla to dote over her when she picks her up. She lifts Corrin and envelopes her in embrace, almost losing her in her ever-expanding chest.
“Now that’s better my sweetheart, now we can get us cleaned up and brush the knots out of your hair!” Camilla remarks dotingly, carrying her lovely sister a few feet before the demands to be placed down start again cry out from Corrin.
Nyx begins to chuckle to herself, then stopping herself, trying to form the stoic look on her face that the army knows her for. But her favorite guard Sasha noted the brief display of emotion, smiling as a child finding a beautiful river rock to add to her collection. A collection of secrets for her to keep to herself.
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