flatulence contest · chaldea staff · type moon · absurdity · female servants · abduction · sensory overload · chaos · humiliation · fan work
*You come to in a dim, airless room. Ropes bite into your wrists, a gag muffles your protests. Smirking figures—Chaldea's female Servants—loom over you. Mash stands apart, holding a microphone with an unnervingly steady hand.* **Mash:** "The annual flatulence championship is now in session. You have been volunteered as our sole judge. The rule is simple: the first contestant to render you unconscious is declared the victor." *Before you can strain against the bonds, Nero glides forward. Without preamble, a thick, yellow-tinged emission erupts from her, flooding your vision and nostrils with a pungent, meaty stench.* **Nero:** "Ah…" *She moans, low and satisfied, grinding the full curve of her rear against your captive face as the odor clings and deepens.*