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Author's Chapter Notes:

Body exploration, vore, and the return of a familiar face this chapter. Fun times.

Part 3

 

Dindrane walked briskly down the misty, winding path, with the tiny Leaguers perched upon her shoulders. Issun-boshi was still clinging to the pendant hanging from her neck. The necklace bounced lightly against her chest with each step and the samurai tried his best not to look down.

 

“So, these challenges,” Tom began, “how will we know when it is time to face them?”

 

“Trust me, you’ll know,” the young woman said mysteriously.

 

“And you say we must face them alone?” added the little knight. “How will that work if we’re traveling together like this?”

 

“The Wasteland will choose you,” was all that Dindrane would say.

 

“Out of curiosity,” said Thumbling, “how many people, er, overcome these challenges of yours? Just, you know, on average?” The girl remained silent, concentrating on the uneven terrain of the road ahead.

 

The mist began to thicken, closing in around them until visibility had entirely vanished. Soon, the homunculi could not see each other or even their young guide. A sudden wind chilled them to the bone and whistled through their ears. After a moment, the mist started to abate and Dindrane emerged into a relatively normal clearing.

 

“I felt the land calling,” she muttered. “I think it’s time. Is everyone accounted for?”

 

The group looked about and saw that each of the girl’s shoulders was still occupied. They glanced down to check on Issun but saw no sign of him. Dindrane lifted the pendant and searched for the tiny samurai. She scanned the road below them, felt about her clothing, and even checked the bottoms of her shoes, just in case. Issun-boshi had vanished.

 

“Your wee friend must be next,” the Grail-Maiden informed them. “May God be with him.”

 

* * * *

 

            When the mist cleared, Issun-boshi found himself deep in the Wasteland’s dead forest. Gnarled, black tree trunks loomed over him on all sides, like the towers of a forbidding stronghold. His companions were nowhere to be seen. Though at first, he thought himself alone, he soon felt the vibrations of approaching footfalls.

 

            A tall, slender woman with midnight-black hair emerged from between the trees. She wore a long, elegant gown that was as dark as her tresses and a thin golden circlet on her forehead. Issun leaned back to try and make out the distant features of her face high above him. When the woman looked down, his blood nearly froze. The face gazing down at him like a scornful goddess on high was that of Morgan le Fay.

 

            “Well, well,” she chuckled. “if it isn’t the League’s tiny Easterling. I’ve been looking for you, you know. How fortuitous that the Wasteland brings us together. But then, this place always did have a mind of its own.”

 

            “Queen Morgan,” Issun called up to her. It took all his strength not to tremble. He remembered all too well the mission that had nearly gotten him digested by this monstrous giantess. “Why should you be looking for me? I am but a humble homunculus, surely low on your list of enemies.”

 

            “You defied me, Issun-boshi,” she said icily. “Escaped from the depths of my belly and denied me a well-earned snack. I have come to balance the scales.”

 

            Issun drew his miniature katana and took a battle-ready stance. “You will find that consuming me will not be as easy as it was the first time we met.”

 

            Morgan gave a haughty laugh. “Going to stab me with that stick-pin, are you? As amusing as it would be to duel with an inch-tall adversary, I’ve actually thought of a much sweeter revenge.”

 

            The sorceress snapped her fingers and suddenly, a limp form was dragged into the clearing by an unseen force. A woman was slumped awkwardly like a marionette, dangling telekinetically in mid-air through the power of Morgan’s magic. Her dark hair, almond eyes, and purple kimono were instantly recognized by the little samurai.

 

            “Haru!”

 

            “Yes, your darling wife,” Morgan said, cupping Haru’s chin in her hand and lifting her face. The Eastern princess stared at her captor through heavy-lidded eyes. Bruises were visible on Haru’s face and she seemed only half-conscious.

 

            “What have you done to her?!” demanded Issun.

 

            “Not half of what I will do,” Morgan promised him.

 

            “I swear by all the gods, Morgan, if you harm her—”

 

            “Issun?” Haru whispered when she heard his tiny, squeaky voice. “Where are you? What’s going on?”

 

            “Good, I want her lucid for this,” said Morgan. “Since you escaped me, Issun, I thought perhaps the princess here could take your place.”

 

            Issun was puzzled but filled with a terrible dread. “What do you—?”

 

            Morgan raised her hands before her and began to recite an alien incantation mingling Latin and Old Brythonic. She stepped backward, leaving Haru alone and rubbing the grogginess from her eyes. As light flew from the sorceress’s fingertips, the battered princess was surrounded by a strange aura. Moments later, she began to shrink.

 

            Haru seemed to fold in on herself like a collapsing house of cards. Down, down she sank at an astonishing speed. She dwindled until at last she was the same height as Issun. The samurai ran to his beloved and held her in his arms, helping her to steady herself.

 

            “Issun,” she said happily. “You’re my size again. Has the spell on you worn off?”

 

            Before he could answer her, their inch-high figures were eclipsed by Morgan’s gargantuan shadow. The immense enchantress peered down at them with wicked glee, towering, to their eyes, two hundred feet or more in the air. Stooping slightly, she extended a titanic hand towards them, fingers spread to grasp them in a crushing grip. Issun held aloft his sword and stood defensively in front of his wife. Morgan drew her hand away and simply laughed, bending her head forward. Pursing her lips, she blew upon them, causing the tiny couple to be thrown backward with the force of a tornado.

 

            Issun and Haru were separated by this blast of air, tumbling backward in an awkward barrel roll. As he was blown back, Issun dropped his sword, his only defense, and desperately scrambled to retrieve it. Enjoying her game, Morgan kicked off her sandals and padded towards Haru in her bare feet. The mossy ground of the forest rumbled and quivered with each step. She spread her toes and deftly grabbed the shrunken princess between them. The tiny noblewoman shrieked when she realized these small digits were now bigger than her entire body.

 

            Issun ran to assist his wife but the sorceress had already lifted her away. Morgan tilted her foot at an angle and plucked Haru from her toes as one would remove a splinter. She held her aloft before her huge, red lips which spread into a smile more than twice the length of Haru’s height. Haru shivered as the tip of a massive tongue slid across those lips.

 

            “Now, then,” Morgan announced. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m a sporting woman. If Issun can climb up to his beautiful bride in, say, two minutes…then I won’t swallow her alive. If he can’t…” Morgan tilted her head and dangled Haru over her cavernous mouth. The tiny woman began to scream insensibly.

 

“…then down she goes,” Morgan finished. “Tick-tock, samurai. The clock begins now.”

 

In blind terror, Issun darted to Morgan’s foot, preparing to ascend up the mountainous woman’s body. She was clearly not going to make this easy for him though. As he clambered up her toes, she wiggled them wildly, tossing him up and down like a man riding a maddened horse. She tried to grab him between her toes as she had Haru, but he was already scurrying up the slope of her instep.

 

Issun leaped up past her ankle and grabbed the hem of the sorceress’ gown. From here, the climb was a bit simpler, as the fabric of the garment provided ready handholds for him to cling to. In short order, he had worked his way up past her towering legs. As he climbed up the gigantic curve of her hip, the lady began to shimmy from side to side. She wiggled and swiveled her hips like a belly dancer, attempting to shake him loose, but Issun held fast.

 

“A good clip so far, my wee mountaineer,” she called down to him. “A little over a minute to go.”

 

Passing her waist, he continued his journey up the vast, flat plane of her stomach. Through the dark fabric of the dress, he could hear her innards rumbling with hunger. The thought of Haru trapped within that belly caused Issun to quicken his pace. Morgan continued her strange, exotic dance, rippling the muscles of her abdomen up and down. Issun lost his grip with a cry and fell a short distance. He caught hold of the dress again and kept on climbing.

 

His relatively quick pace was now slowed by an impassable obstacle. The promontory of Morgan’s bosom loomed above him. The sorceress-queen had always been well-endowed in this region to the delight of her lovers. But to Issun, it was a source of dread and uncertainty. Could he climb over those colossal hills? To his perspective, they extended out for several feet and curved upward at a perilous angle. Would she merely shake her chest to dislodge him, or flick him into the deadly canyon between to be squashed or smothered?

 

Changing tactics, he inched his way to the side below these imposing orbs. Issun carefully crawled under Morgan’s arm, which was still lifted high to dangle Haru. As he climbed through her armpit, his movements tickled her and the enchantress laughed despite herself. She quickly lowered her arm, hoping to trap the samurai below it, but Issun had emerged on the back of her shoulder blade. This he scaled with all speed, fighting his way through a silken curtain of jet-black hair. At last, the tiny warrior pulled himself up onto Morgan’s shoulder. She gave a violent shrug, hoping to launch him into the air, but Issun was already running down her arm.

 

Wasting not a moment, he hurried across the length of her arm as gracefully as a circus acrobat. Before him, Haru was clutched tight between the pads of two bulky fingers. With all his strength, he tried to pry the fingers apart as Haru looked on in panic.

 

“Sorry, little ones,” Morgan said. “Time’s up.”

 

The woman leaned back, opened her mouth wide, and spread her fingers, releasing Haru into the open air. With one arm, Issun held fast to Morgan’s thumb while reaching down for his wife with the other. He caught her hand and held on tight. Tears were streaming down the lady’s face. Against her will, she glanced below her at the huge, open maw ready to devour them both. Morgan’s tongue lolled about in anticipation, her teeth and spittle gleaming in the dim forest light. Further down, Haru saw only utter darkness. A burst of hot breath wafted upward from the abyss to scald the tiny people’s skin.

 

“I have you, Haru!” Issun cried. “Don’t let go!”

 

“So typical of Arthur’s champions,” Morgan said, her booming voice deafening at this proximity. “Never surrender, even with the jaws of defeat gaping below. Let us finish this. I’m ever so hungry.”

 

Morgan opened her lips wider and shook her fingers vigorously. As they were thrown back and forth like tiny rag dolls, Haru could feel her grip on Issun’s hand beginning to slip. She looked up at his determined face, tears flooding her vision.

 

“I love you, Issun-boshi,” she said. Her grip failed and the princess plunged into the giant woman’s mouth. Haru hurtled past the huge tongue and disappeared into the darkened gullet below. Morgan’s lips slammed shut as she swallowed. With a loud gulp, Haru was gone.

 

“Noooooooo!!!” Issun shut his eyes to the horrible sight and buried his face against an enormous knuckle. The sorceress tilted her head back down and lowered her hand to the level of her eyes.

 

“Ah,” she sighed. “She went down so smoothly. I hardly felt her at all.” She opened wide to show Issun her empty mouth, the huge tongue flicking about mockingly in the shadows.

 

“Now, samurai, you have a choice,” Morgan informed him. “We could consider the scales balanced, with your wife taking your rightful place inside me. But I doubt you will be satisfied with that option. You could, of course, join her in the dungeon below.” Morgan massaged her belly and flashed Issun a cruel grin. “Plenty of room in there for another guest. Or…we could come to an arrangement.”

 

The inch-tall warrior could barely croak out his response. “What…arrangement?”

 

“Bring me the Grail and I will expel your beloved from my guts, alive and intact.”

 

“What?”

 

“The Grail is an object of great mystical power,” Morgan said. “It could be a mighty weapon in my battle with Arthur. Bring it to me. Don’t worry. I know a charm to keep your lady alive until you return.”

 

“You…you cannot wield such a power,” Issun stammered.

 

Morgan laughed. “Why? Because it’s a Christian relic and I am a child of the Old Gods? Must your mind be as small as your tiny, little head? You think the Grail is the cup of Christ. It is and it isn’t. The Grail is far more than just that. It’s the sacred ritual bowl of the gods. It’s the Dagda’s Cauldron of Rebirth. It’s the Divine made manifest in this world. The one who can command it would be mightier than any priestess or wizard who ever lived!”

 

“No,” Issun said. “I cannot allow this. The Grail will not be yours!”

 

“Pity,” Morgan told him. “I suppose that means your charming wife must die.” She gave a small, feminine burp and covered her lips with one hand. “Pardon me.”

 

Without warning, Issun flung himself from Morgan’s thumb and onto her shoulder. Drawing his katana, he launched at her neck and sliced the weapon through her jugular vein.

 

            Morgan gave a guttural, liquid gasp as blood began gushing from her neck. She dropped to her knees then sank onto the forest floor. As she fell, Issun leaped from her shoulder and rolled to safety, barely avoiding being crushed by her collapsing form.

 

            “You little fool!” Morgan hissed, pressing a hand impotently against the blood flow. “You’ll never…save her now! I would have freed her!”

 

            “There is no promise you could make that I would trust, Morgan,” Issun stated simply. “Once the Grail was yours, we would be expendable. I must pray that my sword is strong enough to pierce your flesh.” He strode to the high wall of Morgan’s abdomen. Even lying on her side, her body loomed over him like the battlements of a fortress. Issun lifted his katana and used it to cut through the fabric of the lady’s dress. He grasped an edge and peeled the cloth away, exposing the soft skin of her belly. Once again, he hoisted the katana and took aim.

 

            “Sir Issun…don’t do this,” she whispered, barely able to speak as the blood continued to gush. “Goddess, no, not like this…”

 

            “I am sorry,” Issun said before the blade struck. With a swift motion, he sliced her open like a surgeon. Morgan screamed horribly and her body suddenly seemed to burst like a bubble, exploding into a cloud of mist. A strong wind swept into the clearing and dissipated the mist, spreading it to the four corners of the Wasteland. Issun cried out in surprise, seeing no sign of the sorceress or of his wife. A deep fog descended on the woods and enveloped him.

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