The Wet Empire's walls loomed ahead like swollen labia carved from stone, glistening under moonlight with streams of milk running down their sides. Towers dripped endlessly, fountains spraying white instead of water, and the gates themselves were carved into the shape of a gaping cunt.
It had always been obscene. A land of worshippers who believed wetness was holiness, milk was purity, and seed was sacred water. But even in their depravity, they had resisted Father's march. Until now.
Kaito stood at the front of the corrupted army, the horned broodmother at his side, her tits still spraying, her belly glowing with his brood. Behind them, the endless moaning swarm dragged themselves across the earth, swollen wombs slapping, legs trembling, milk spraying across the battlefield.
The Wet Empire's defenders lined the walls—women clad in translucent veils soaked with pussy juices, men half-naked, their cocks hardened by the chants of the priestesses above. They called down:
