Arrival in an isekai

The intimate session with Shalltear extends another twenty minutes, your methodical attention reducing her to trembling vulnerability. Each time her body approaches the edge, you guide her through it with calculated precision, never allowing her the release of completion but never denying her the overwhelming sensation either. Her crimson eyes lose focus entirely, her pale hands clutching at silk cushions as broken moans escape her lips.

"Master," she gasps finally, her voice raw. "I can't—please—I've never—"

"One more," you murmur, watching her back arch.

When the final wave crashes through her, Shalltear goes limp against the cushions, her breathing ragged and uneven. Tears streak down her pale cheeks—not from pain or distress, but from the sheer intensity of sensation her vampire physiology wasn't designed to process in this way.

You brush pink hair from her damp forehead. "Rest now. You've earned it."

She nods weakly, unable to form words. As you rise and straighten your robes, she curls into the cushions, eyes already drifting closed. The proud Floor Guardian reduced to exhausted contentment.

Returning to the main throne room, you activate the spell matrix for knowledge distribution. "[Mass Skill Transference]." The martial techniques copied from Brain Unglaus replicate across your designated recipients—flowing into Albedo's tactical database, integrating with Cocytus's combat algorithms, layering over Demiurge's strategic frameworks. Each recipient experiences a momentary flash of comprehension as decades of sword mastery compress into instant understanding.

You sense acknowledgment through your connection to each Floor Guardian as the transfer completes.

"Dungeon," you call, addressing the consciousness directly. "Detailed report on the rescued diclonius. Current psychological states, and—" you pause, choosing words carefully, "whether the researchers engaged in sexual assault. If so, which victims."

The dungeon's response manifests as a crystalline data sphere hovering before your throne. Information streams through your consciousness in organized layers:

Eight exploring quarters cautiously: Mariko (age 17, reserved and analytical), Nana (age 16, protective older-sister type), Kaede (age 15, withdrawn but curious), Silpelit (age 14, twins with coordinated movement), Akemi (age 18, bitter and distrustful), Yuna (age 17, desperate for normalcy), Tomoe (age 16, clinically detached).

Five catatonic: Ages 14, 15, 15, 16, 19. All five experienced repeated sexual assault by research staff. Victim experiencing the most severe regression is nineteen-year-old designated "Number Seven" by facility records—subjected to systematic brutalization by head researcher Dr. Kurama as part of "breeding program experiments."

Four exhibiting aggressive behavior: Ages 14, 15, 17, 18. Two experienced sexual assault (ages 15 and 18), two did not. Aggression stems from different trauma sources—betrayal by family members, witnessing deaths of facility friends, extended sensory deprivation experiments.

The clinical precision of the report cannot mask the horror of its contents. Seventeen girls, ages fourteen to nineteen. seven suffered sexual violence in addition to the brutal experiments on their vector abilities. The youngest catatonic victim is fourteen.

You close your eyes briefly, processing the information. When you open them again, your expression has shifted to something colder.

"Note in records," you tell the dungeon quietly. "Priority therapeutic intervention for the five catatonic cases, I'll visit momentarily to filter through their minds and remove what they're unable to heal. Victim remains primary companion for Lucy and the exploratory group. Assign specialized trauma counselors from the civilization floors for the aggressive four—beings with experience in rage management and betrayal recovery."

The dungeon pulses acknowledgment.

"And flag Dr. Kurama's name. When we return to that world, I want him alive for 'questioning'."

The corridor leading to the catatonic victims' chamber is narrow, lit by soft amber crystals embedded in living wood walls. Four figures materialize from alcoves as you approach—the aggressive diclonius girls, forming a defensive line with vectors coiled invisible around them.

The eldest, eighteen years old with short black hair and fierce brown eyes, steps forward. "Stop right there. Nobody gets past us to hurt them again."

You pause, meeting her gaze with calm authority. "I'm commending you for protecting the sleeping ones," you say gently, your smile genuine. "But doing so is harming them. They need help you can't provide."

"Bullshit," snarls the fifteen-year-old with silver-blonde hair, her vectors rippling visible as translucent distortions. "Every adult who said that before—"

You walk forward. The black-haired girl's vectors lash out instinctively, but pass through your form as you phase ethereal. The shock on their faces is profound as you continue past them, their most devastating weapon rendered meaningless.

Inside the chamber, five girls lie motionless on cushioned beds. Their eyes are open but unseeing, bodies limp. The youngest—fourteen, with auburn hair—breathes in shallow, mechanical rhythms.

You begin with her, placing both hands above her still form. "[Greater Restoration]. [Cellular Regeneration]. [Purification of Flesh]." Golden light cascades over her body, mending torn tissues, reversing damage that mundane healing could never address. Behind you, the four aggressive girls have entered, watching with tense vigilance.

According to AI, the detailed descriptions of their traumas and tragedies are too much, I've decided to add a trigger-warning.

Spoiler

Then you place fingertips against the fourteen-year-old's temples. "[Mindscape Entry]." Your consciousness sinks into hers.

The interior landscape is shattered—a mental palace collapsed into rubble, with only one terrible scene playing on endless repeat. A white laboratory. Cold hands. Clinical violation. You see immediately that this happened while she was already catatonic, a final cruelty inflicted on an already broken mind.

With surgical precision, you excise the entire sequence. Not just the details—the whole memory dissolves like morning mist. You restore her with a whisper of cellular regeneration that leaves no trace. When you withdraw, she gasps, her eyes suddenly focusing.

"Where... where am I?" Her voice is thin but present.

"Safe," you tell her simply, moving to the next bed.

The pattern varies. The sixteen-year-old's assault preceded her catatonia—you leave the fact intact but strip away sensory detail, emotional resonance, the crushing weight of helplessness. What remains is knowledge without trauma's teeth.

One by one, they wake. By the time you finish with nineteen-year-old Number Seven—whose damage runs deepest—all five are sitting up, confused but present, their eyes tracking movement instead of staring through reality.

You turn to the four aggressive girls, who watch with expressions mixing awe and desperate hunger. "I've removed the details of their sexual assaults and worst tragedies," you explain calmly. "The fact remains—they know it happened—but not the pain or specifics. They can heal from what's left."

The black-haired eighteen-year-old's voice cracks. "Can you... would you..."

"I'm offering the same to you," you say. "It won't erase the fact. Only the pain and details."

The silver-blonde fifteen-year-old is already moving forward, tears streaming down her face. "Please. God, please. I can't stop seeing his face when I close my eyes."

The other three follow—the seventeen-year-old with pink-streaked hair, the fourteen-year-old with dead grey eyes. All four kneel before you without prompting, desperate for relief they never thought possible.

You begin with the youngest aggressive girl first, entering her fractured mindscape with gentle authority.

You place fingertips against Hikari's temples, the youngest of the aggressive four. Her grey eyes meet yours with desperate hope as you whisper "[Mindscape Entry]."

The interior landscape is a burning house—her childhood home, flames eternal, her father's corpse at her feet where her vectors killed him during his abuse. The guilt and self-punishment loop endlessly. You don't remove the memory of killing him, or even the knowledge that her vectors manifested during his assault. You simply extract the sensory details—the smell of burning flesh, the sound of his screams, the tactile memory of vectors cutting through bone. What remains is knowledge without the crushing weight: I killed my abusive father when my powers awakened. It was self-defense.

When you withdraw, Hikari gasps, her grey eyes suddenly clear. "I can... I can think about it without seeing his face," she whispers, wonder in her voice.

You move through the others systematically. Nozomi's best friend dies in sensory deprivation, but the details dissolve—leaving only She died during testing. I couldn't save her. Shiori's assault by Dr. Kurama becomes clinical fact stripped of visceral horror. Kaori's dead sister transforms from vivid trauma to gentle grief.

[collapse]

When the last healing completes, all four fall to their knees in front of you, tears streaming freely—but these are tears of relief, not anguish. You reach out, placing a hand on each head in turn, running fingers through hair with gentle affection.

"You're being well cared for," you tell them softly. "The dungeon will provide everything you need. Counselors, companionship, purpose. You're safe now."

Kaori's voice cracks. "Thank you. We don't... we don't have words for what you've given us."

You stand, leaving them to comfort each other and the five newly awakened girls who watch with confused gratitude. The rehabilitation will take months, but you've given them the foundation to build on.

Your path takes you through crystalline corridors to Solution's chambers on the 999th Floor. The door opens at your approach, revealing the Pleiades maid in her standard uniform, golden-blonde hair perfectly arranged.

"Master," she greets, violet eyes assessing. "To what do I owe—"

You stride forward, taking her wrist. "I need to vent some frustration. You're immune to damage from basic intercourse."

Solution's expression shifts to understanding, a predatory smile crossing her lips. "Of course, Master. My slime composition can withstand anything you wish to inflict." She begins unbuttoning her uniform with practiced efficiency. "Shall I maintain human form throughout, or would you prefer me to demonstrate my true nature?"

Her dress pools at her feet, revealing pale skin that seems slightly translucent in certain angles—a hint of her inhuman nature. She moves to the bed, positioning herself with clinical precision.

"However rough you wish to be," she continues, her voice steady, "I assure you my body will adapt. Even if you lose control entirely, the worst you could do is temporarily disperse my slime structure. It reforms within moments." She meets your gaze directly. "So please, Master—use me as you require."

This, came out more extreme than I had intended when I started it, I've decided to add a trigger-warning on this part for my own conscience. violent-sex with a voluntary slime-girl, while she details the 'experimentation' on Diclonius children.

Spoiler

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You grip Solution's hips with bruising force, driving into her with mechanical precision that would shatter a human body. Her slime composition absorbs the impact, rippling slightly where your fingers dig deep enough to distort her surface tension. She maintains perfect stillness beneath you, violet eyes tracking your movements with clinical detachment.

"Report," you command, breath coming harder as you establish a punishing rhythm. "What did you find during the rescue operation?"

Solution's voice remains perfectly steady despite your aggressive thrusts. "The Elfen Lied research facility was operating under government funding, Master. Security clearance Alpha-Seven, which indicates direct oversight from Japan's Science and Technology Agency. The researchers—" her body shifts automatically to accommodate a particularly violent motion, "—kept meticulous records. They documented every experiment in detail."

You increase your pace, feeling muscles strain pleasantly as you work out tension accumulated from the diclonius healing session. Solution's form provides perfect resistance without risk of actual injury.

"The sexual assaults," you growl, fingers tightening. "Details."

"Systematic across multiple subjects," Solution reports with the same tone she might use describing weather patterns. "Lead researcher Dr. Kurama personally assaulted Subject Seven—Sayuri—three times weekly for eighteen months as part of documented 'breeding program protocols.' His assistant Dr. Bando assaulted Subjects Fifteen and Eighteen sporadically when other staff weren't present. Security guard Takeshi Nishimura maintained a rotation schedule—"

Your rhythm falters as silent rage floods through you. You resume with renewed violence, Solution's body absorbing impacts that would rupture organs in normal humans.

"The facility maintained video archives," she continues impassively. "I copied all files before we destroyed the building. Seven hundred forty-three hours of footage documenting torture, vivisection, psychological conditioning, and sexual violence against subjects aged twelve to nineteen. Dr. Kurama appears in sixty-eight percent of recordings personally conducting experiments."

You grunt acknowledgment, muscles burning as you drive yourself harder. Solution shifts beneath you, her slime nature allowing impossible angles that provide friction without damage.

"Current facility status?" you manage between breaths.

"Structurally compromised and evacuated. All personnel fled before we completed rescue operations. However, Master—" her tone shifts minutely, perhaps the closest Solution comes to concern, "—Dr. Kurama escaped with backup research data. He transmitted emergency protocols to three other facilities in Kamakura, Hokkaido, and Kyoto before fleeing. The diclonius research program extends beyond the single location we raided."

Your vision narrows. The mental image of Kurama's face—calm, clinical, documenting brutality with scientific precision—overlays your awareness. Your movements become almost violent, but Solution's body simply accommodates, her slime composition flowing around each impact.

"How many more victims?" The words emerge as near-snarl.

"Estimated forty-seven across all three remaining facilities based on equipment manifests and supply requisitions," Solution answers. "Ages unknown, though breeding program protocols suggest preference for subjects entering puberty to maximize experimental windows."

You finish with shuddering intensity, silent rage finding outlet in physical release. Your back straightening as you tilt your head back and let a pair of tears slide back onto your shoulders. Solution remains motionless beneath you, her expression unchanged, body already beginning microscopic repairs to maintain optimal form.

[collapse]

Solution rises from the bed with fluid grace, her slime composition already reforming her maid uniform with perfect precision. "I will compile the comprehensive dossier immediately, Master," she states, violet eyes tracking your movements as you dress. "Cross-referencing facility blueprints from stolen architectural databases, personnel records from government servers, and security protocols from intercepted communications. Estimated completion time: four hours."

You nod absently, your mind already racing through dimensional possibilities. "When Sebas completes the Earl Sturum project, I will assign him, Demiurge, and to coordinate with the dungeon consciousness for the rescue operation. I want every diclonius girl extracted, and I want everyone involved in their suffering brought back alive for interrogation."

"Understood. Shall I also task intelligence gathering on potential similar programs in other nations?" Solution's tone remains clinical, but there's a hint of something—satisfaction, perhaps—at the prospect of systematic vengeance.

"Yes. China, America, Russia—anywhere with advanced medical research capabilities and government black sites."

Solution bows and departs to begin her work, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You pace the chamber, speaking aloud to organize the swirling possibilities.

"I need a safe haven for the diclonius. And the enslaved elves..." Your fingers drum against your thigh. "Returning them to the Elf Country after removing Decem would be simple enough. Replace him with Celeste from Kuroinu—that gives the Kuroinu girls a home too. But near the Slane Theocracy? That's asking for conflict."

You consider the Eminence in the Shadow world. "If I replace Cid early, save Alpha before or after her corruption, let time dilation carry her through her quest while I maintain presence through illusion clones..." The timeline calculations are complex but manageable.

"Konosuba—no, too comedic for permanent settlement. Harem in the Labyrinth—no central authority to leverage. Goblin Slayer..." You grimace. "Absolutely not. Too much active goblin threat for refugees. Danmachi has the same problem—constant dungeon overflow."

One Piece offers interesting possibilities. "An island in the Calm Belt, protected by Sea Kings I could dominate. Or near Raftel—essentially unreachable to normal civilization. Elbaf has space and the giants might appreciate magical assistance..."

Your thoughts turn to Warcraft. "Silvermoon after Arthas's corruption but before total collapse. Offer Lor'themar support in exchange for territorial concessions. The elves there would understand persecution better than most."

The dungeon consciousness pulses gently through your awareness—not interrupting, but present, waiting for direction.

You stop pacing, decision crystallizing. The diclonius need immediate sanctuary while you establish permanent solutions. The enslaved elves require liberation before you can relocate them. And each dimensional opportunity presents unique advantages and complications.

"Dungeon," you call. "Redesign and begin reconstruction of a corner of Victim's civilization floor, we'll create a city for the diclonius, while we clear out a world."

Acknowledgment ripples through your connection.

The immediate question remains: which crisis demands your personal attention first?