Lyne’s eyes widened. The swords-woman has an enco
Author:unloginuser Time:2025/03/31 Read: 6406Lyne’s eyes widened. The swords-woman has an encounter with a demonic priestess and Lyne attempted to defend herself, but the priestess quickly disarmed her before…..kissing her. When Lyne broke from the kiss, she saw that her legs and the priestess’s legs have fused together, conjoining them by the waist in a Y-shape. When demanding an answer, the priestess responded that the two are soul-mates before attempting to kiss Lyne again, but the swords-woman attempt to break away from the fusion.
Lyne, a swords-woman whose battle cry was usually a hearty roar, found herself speechless. Her usually steely gaze was replaced by wide, bewildered eyes. Before her stood Lilith, a demonic priestess whose crimson robes were almost as shocking as her… methods.
Lyne had charged, a blur of steel and fury, intending to cleave the priestess in two. It hadn’t gone as planned. Lilith, with a flick of her wrist and a giggle that sent shivers down Lyne’s spine (not the good kind), disarmed her with the speed of a striking cobra. Before Lyne could even register the loss of her beloved broadsword, Lilith was upon her, her lips pressing against Lyne’s with a surprising softness… that quickly turned alarming.
The kiss itself was… intense. Lyne had faced down dragons, trolls, and tax collectors – but nothing prepared her for this. As the kiss broke, a horrifying and hilarious sight greeted her. From the waist down, she and Lilith were fused. Their legs, once separate limbs belonging to two very different warriors, were now a bizarre, flesh-colored Y-shape, permanently connected.
Lyne stared at their shared, now-vast, lower body. She blinked. She pinched herself. She poked Lilith’s leg with her finger (the experience was… oddly fleshy). Nope. Not a dream.
“What in the seven hells…?” she stammered, her voice a strangled squeak.
Lilith, meanwhile, was beaming, a wicked glint in her eye. “My dear Lyne,” she purred, “it seems we are… soulmates.”
Lyne’s jaw dropped. “Soulmates? We’re fused at the hips! This isn’t some romantic fairytale, this is a… a biological nightmare!”
Lilith, unfazed, attempted another kiss. Lyne, however, had had enough. With a grunt, she pushed herself backward, a manoeuvre that proved remarkably difficult given their shared lower half. They resembled a particularly ungainly centaur.
“Get off!” Lyne yelled, struggling to maintain her balance as they wobbled like a drunken marionette. “This is not how I envisioned my happily ever after! I don’t even like your robes!”
Their attempts to separate were like watching two particularly stubborn toddlers trying to untangle themselves from a shared blanket. They spun, they toppled, they landed in a heap of crimson robes and frustrated grunts. Every movement involved a symphony of squelching and protesting flesh.
“Perhaps,” Lilith gasped, between gasps for air and shrieks of laughter, “we should… re-evaluate our commitment to separation?”
Lyne glared. “There is nothing to re-evaluate! I demand a separation ritual, an undoing spell, anything! I refuse to spend my days as a bipedal… uh… hybrid!”
Their attempts to navigate everyday life became a comedy of errors. Sitting was a shared experience, walking required impressive coordination (and a whole lot of cursing), and trying on pants was an exercise in absolute frustration. They became a local legend – the fused fighters – often seen struggling to fit through doorways or causing utter chaos in the town marketplace.
The only upside? They made a surprisingly good tag-team in tavern brawls. Their combined reach and unexpected agility gave them an unbeatable advantage. Lyne, however, still harbored a deep-seated resentment for the day she learned that true love could mean sharing a pair of trousers.
