Chirp Chirp Chirp ~♫
"Mm."
My eyes flutter open to the sound of clear birdsong. Lately, I've noticed it feels like passing out has become my daily routine.
I remember shoving it into Woman No. 4's arrogant ass, but that's where my memory cuts off. Still, it's no wonder I collapsed midway. Taking on more than twenty women solo? It's a miracle my body held up at all.
"But where the hell am I now?"
The bed's plush and soft, warm sunlight streams through the window onto fancy furniture. Doesn't look like a heretic lair. Or maybe Woman No. 4, smitten with my dick, moved me somewhere nicer.
Gurgle.
"Damn bird, growling like that without a clue."
But I'll give it a pass this time. No idea how many days I've been out, but since getting kidnapped that evening, I haven't eaten a single meal. Of course my stomach's screaming.
"Wherever this is, hope they feed me something soon."
And it'd be great if they told me where "here" is too. Checking the God Company info screen, Siron's score hasn't budged, so no need to panic yet.
I lie there blankly on the fluffy bed, staring up at the pristine white ceiling, when the door opposite the bed opens silently.
A woman in a pure white robe enters, hood up. How do I know she's a woman? Those massive tits that make me want to bury my face in them right away.
Anyway, she glances at me—propped up just enough to peek—closes the door, and approaches.
"How's your condition?"
"Uh... aside from starving, I feel okay."
Her voice is clearer than any woman's I've heard, leaving me frozen for a few seconds.
"Well, you've been out for three days. No wonder you're hungry. Wait a moment."
She leaves the room. When she returns, she's carrying a steaming plate of meat stew.
"Even if you're hungry, stick to this for now. Gorging suddenly isn't good for you."
"Ah, yep. Thank you."
Whoever she is, bringing me food like this—she can't be all bad. I snatch the plate and shovel it down with the spoon.
"You eat heartily."
"S-sorry. Just so damn hungry."
"No need. It's far better than picking at it. Here, give me that."
She takes the empty plate and sets it on a nearby table.
"I'll ask a few questions now. Answer casually—no need to stress. These are just procedural."
I nod.
"Name and age?"
"Smith. Twenty-six."
"Occupation and status?"
"Uh... was a receptionist at the Adventurer's Guild, but lately switched jobs. Status is slave."
"Good. When the heretics kidnapped you, did they do anything? Try injecting strange ideas or such?"
"Hm..."
From the flow of talk, she doesn't seem like a heretic. Her robe's white—the opposite of theirs. But no need to mention...
I didn't get brainwashed, but going nuts pounding pussy on that weird altar? Better keep quiet.
"Luckily, nothing like that."
"I see. Understood."
That's it. Just routine stuff, like she said.
"I'll bring meals at mealtime. Anything else you need?"
"Mm... doesn't seem like it."
"Very well. Rest until dinner."
"Um..."
I call out as she heads out with the empty bowl.
"What? Thought of something?"
"Not that... just some questions. Mind if I ask?"
"Should be fine."
She sets the plate down and turns to me.
"I'll answer what I can."
"Thanks. So... where am I?"
"Hm? You don't recognize the symbol of the goddess of abundance?"
She points to faint six pairs of wings on the ceiling. Guess that's Rapitera's mark. First I've noticed.
"This is the temple of Rapitera, goddess of abundance."
"...In Molingta?"
"Yes."
Whatever happened, looks like I got rescued safely.
"The adventurers with me...?"
"All safe. But unlike you, they need stricter verification, so you can't meet yet."
"Got it."
Petmira. The cult worshiping dicks as holy relics, obsessed with girl-on-girl love. Her words make me nod instinctively.
Anyway, Siron and the others are safe too—feels better than before.
"That's all?"
"Ah, when can I go outside?"
"Not sure."
"...Some issue?"
"Don't ask further on that."
"Ah, yep. Could you tell the guild I'm okay?"
"Already done. Don't worry."
"Aha. Thanks."
"Now truly done?"
She half-turns to grab the bowl.
"Not a question, but... what should I call you?"
"Hm... just call me Neme."
"Got it, Lady Neme."
"See you at dinner."
Neme leaves quietly with the bowl. Alone again, I rub my somewhat satisfied belly and flop onto the plush bed.
"So, did they catch all those bitches?"
With my stomach full, Woman No. 4 pops into mind. Mocking me, saying she climaxed between my proud member... then squirting pussy juice the second I shoved into her ass.
Compared to Kernax, who still struggles with a finger, she must use her backdoor often. Otherwise, she'd have screamed in pain and passed out.
"Heretics get executed, huh?"
Surprisingly, since coming to this world, I haven't seen anyone die. Plenty of beast and monster corpses, sure. Guild always left IDing dead adventurers to the women receptionists—makes sense.
"Execution..."
They're vicious kidnappers and brainwashers, no doubt. But killing them? Feels a bit off.
That's easy for me to say, unscathed. If that happened on Earth, I'd be kidnapped by psycho gay cultists, ass reamed in ultimate male humiliation, suffering forever.
"Ugh... just thinking makes my asshole clench."
Someone said judge crimes from the victim's view—spot on. If they did that to Siron, I'd kill them myself.
Gurgle rumble.
"Oh shit..."
With hunger gone and tension eased, my guts are kicking in.
Gurgle RUMBLE!!
"B-bathroom...!!"
No time for idle worries. Mess up, and it's social execution.
**
"How is he?"
"No issues. Hungry right away upon waking—physically and mentally, no major concerns."
"As expected. He's no ordinary man."
"Indeed."
Neme nods, recalling Smith standing alone on Petmira's underground altar.
Unlike typical men who collapse after one go, this Smith sent over twenty women packing and stood firm.
"Never thought I'd see a Petmira apostle screaming in ecstasy under a man before I die."
"Heh, you'll see it often now."
Agatha sips from her teacup.
"Ha... still pisses me off. I held back craving him, barely tasting lately... and those rat-like bitches in the dank underground..."
The teacup crumbles in her hand like rotten leaves.
"But it opened new possibilities."
"Ha~ true. The man in Rapitera's oracle must be him. Conquering even those venomous ones."
For Agatha and Neme, capturing Petmira apostles alive was ideal. To heretics, apostles are puppets—blessings shift to new followers upon death.
Priests could get vicious, maiming captured apostles to prevent suicide. But they withered like dead trees in days. Experiments revealed they need periodic returns to base for some power to sustain life.
Thus, killing on sight became standard for unyielding, unrecruitable apostles.
Yet Neme saw a Petmira apostle—the toughest—writhing in pleasure under a man, hinting at uprooting the cult. They captured all four alive.
"Shall we go?"
"Handling it yourself?"
"Yes. Rare chance that beast agreed—better before those wretches wither. And personally ensures no nonsense to him."
"I get you're angry, but don't kill them."
Agatha just smiles, shakes off the teacup shards, and quietly leaves.