The air in Room 4-B had become a thick, shimmering soup of divine pheromones and golden light. Astraea lay at the center of the pile, her limbs entwined with her seven, but her mind was stalking the medical ward. She felt the Priestesses’ shock—that delicious, brittle moment where their lifelong indoctrination met the reality of her Heat.
"The 'pure' ones are trembling," Astraea whispered, her voice causing her girls to shiver in delight. "Let's see if their Sun-God left anything worth saving."
In the Medical Ward, the six Priestesses suddenly felt the world tilt. The sounds of the snoring doctors and the clinking of medical tools faded into a dull, gray hum. They were pulled into the Astral Plain—a shimmering, amber-tinted reflection of the ward where the laws of the Academy didn't apply.
Astraea didn't appear as a student. She manifested as a towering, radiant hunter, her footsteps echoing like thunder in their souls. She prowled around the circle of Priestesses, her golden eyes burning through their white linen habits as if they were made of glass.
"So," Astraea’s voice boomed, dripping with a maternal, predatory sweetness. "The 'Solar Brides' have come to tidy up my garden. Tell me, Sisters... when was the last time your cold, distant God actually touched you?"
Sister Elenna fell to her knees first. In this realm, the "Heat" was a physical weight. She felt the invisible presence of Astraea’s authority pressing against her, a phantom hand tracing the line of her jaw.
"He... He speaks through the scriptures," Elenna stammered, her astral form flickering.
"Scriptures?" Astraea laughed, a dark, rhythmic sound that sent ripples through the amber air. "Paper and ink. I am blood and fire. You spend your lives guarding your 'purity' for a man on a throne who doesn't even know the color of your eyes. You are starving, and you’ve been told that hunger is a virtue."
She stepped into Elenna’s space, her golden aura overlapping with the Priestess’s pale white light.
"You saw my daughters in the cots. You felt the weight in their bellies. You felt them bulging with a power that actually loves them. Don't lie to me, Elenna. You didn't feel 'corruption.' You felt envy."
The other five Priestesses dissolved one after another, their astral forms sagging. The "fever" was already sparking in their cores, triggered by the proximity to the Sovereign’s unfiltered essence.
"Please," another Priestess sobbed, her hands clawing at the amber floor. "It’s so cold in the Cathedral. We’ve been so cold for so long. Give us the fever. Let us burn like the others."
Astraea stopped her prowling. She stood in the center of the weeping women, her hands resting on her hips.
"If I give you this, there is no going back to your 'Holy' Father," she warned, her voice turning into a sharp, diamond-edged command. "You will return to that ward, and when the High Priest calls for his 'Cleansing,' you will look him in the eye and know he is a charlatan. You will be my spies in the temple. You will be my mirrors in the dark. Can your Sun-God offer you a single moment of the ecstasy I give my lowest follower?"
"No," they whispered in a ragged, synchronized chorus.
"Then receive your first lesson."
Astraea didn't wait for a formal prayer. She reached out through the Astral Link, and in the physical world, the Priestesses’ bodies in the Medical Ward simultaneously stiffened.
The "Isolde Special" manifested within them—the dual-pronged, rhythmic visitation. Because they were Priestesses, Astraea made it heavier.
Back in the Astral Plain, Astraea watched with a cruel, loving smile as their spirits arched and buckled. "Beg for it," she commanded. "Let the High Priest hear what a True Goddess sounds like when she claims her own."
The amber void shattered.
The Priestesses gasped as they slammed back into their physical bodies in the ward. They were no longer standing. They were slumped against the cots, their white habits already beginning to stain at the thighs, their tummies starting to ripple and bulge with the same divine weight they had just been marveling at.
The "Mana-Fever" hadn't just infected the students; it had successfully breached the Church. Astraea leaned back in 4-B, her fingers curling in the hair of her followers.
"Six Priestesses," she purred. "And the night is still young."
---
The Holy Priest Pompus was leaning back in an ornate chair in the Faculty Lounge, swilling a glass of aged nectar. "I suppose I should check on them," he remarked with a smug, self-important chuckle. "It’s been several hours now. My sisters are quite efficient; they must’ve made significant progress in purging this... 'Sovereign' nonsense."
Thorne and the other instructors stood, trailing behind Pompus as he marched toward the Medical Ward with the air of a conqueror.
The doors swung open, and the men were met with a scene of apparent exhaustion. The six Priestesses were standing, though their posture was uncharacteristically slumped. Sister Elenna’s habit was wrinkled, her face flushed a deep, feverish red, and her eyes were darting toward the floor.
"Well?" Pompus boomed, his golden staff clacking on the stone. "Has the Sun-God’s light scorched away the impurity?"
Elenna stepped forward, her voice trembling—not with fear, but with the effort of holding back a moan that was clawing at her throat. "It is... strongly entrenched, Your Eminence. Far deeper than we anticipated. The 'Sovereign' influence has woven itself into their very mana-cores."
She exchanged a quick, furtive glance with the other sisters. They all bore the same look: the glassy eyes and the subtle, rhythmic trembling of their hands.
"We must stay on the grounds," another Priestess added quickly, her breath hitching. "And we require reinforcements. More sisters must be summoned from the Cathedral to maintain the... the containment. If we leave now, the fever will consume the entire Academy."
Pompus huffed, stroking his beard. "Entrenched, you say? Very well. If the rot is that deep, we shall establish a permanent sanctum here until the Cleansing is absolute. Men, we back away—give them the space to continue the vigil."
Astraea, lounging in the silk-draped shadows of 4-B, felt every word through the Sovereign Tether. She let out a dark, melodic laugh that made her inner circle shiver.
"Oh, Elenna," Astraea purred, her golden eyes flashing with a wicked intensity. "I do love a good liar. Such a delicious performance deserves a... special commendation."
As the men began to turn toward the exit, Astraea reached out through the link and went rough.
She didn't just pulse the Invisible Phalluses; she accelerated the rhythm into a violent, unrelenting cadence of divine authority. Within Sister Elenna, the dual-pronged weight suddenly slammed upward with the force of a battering ram.
Elenna’s knees nearly buckled. Her tummy didn't just ripple; it heaved forward against the heavy linen of her habit, a visible, hard bulge that made her gasp aloud.
"Is something wrong, Sister?" Thorne asked, stopping in his tracks.
"N-nothing!" Elenna choked out, her hands flying to her stomach to try and mask the rhythmic distension. Her face was now a violent shade of crimson, and sweat was pouring down her neck. "The... the mana-pressure in the room! It’s spiking! You must leave... immediately!"
The other Priestesses were also beginning to falter, their bodies stiffening as Astraea shared the "reward" among them. One Sister had to bite her lip so hard she drew blood to keep from screaming as she felt herself being "stretched" by the Sovereign’s long-distance claim.
"Yes! Out!" Elenna urged, her voice breaking into a half-moan that she disguised as a cough. "The contamination is... it’s reaching a peak! Go! For your own safety!"
Pompus, sensing the "instability," didn't need to be told twice. "Indeed! The air is foul with it. Sisters, keep the wards tight! We shall send for reinforcements at once!"
The men scurried out, the heavy doors thudding shut behind them.
The moment the latches clicked, the mask of decorum shattered. All six Priestesses collapsed against the cots and the walls, their bodies arching in synchronized, high-velocity rapture.
"Oh... Goddess..." Elenna sobbed, her hands clawing at her habit as she felt Astraea’s "rough" love tearing through her last remaining defenses. "Thank you..."
In 4-B, Astraea leaned back, a triumphant smirk on her face. "The Cathedral is sending me more Sisters," she whispered to the ceiling. "And I haven't even finished with the first batch yet."
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