Title: Celestia’s Last Embrace
Chapter One: The Cruelty of Fate’s Design
The air reeked of ozone and blood.
Celestia, the once-radiant Magical Star Seraph, lay broken upon the cracked marble floor of the ruined cathedral, her body trembling, her gloved fingers twitching as she struggled to push herself up on shattered arms. Her leotard—once pristine, shimmering pink and silver—was now torn, its fabric frayed at the edges, the magical weave unraveling thread by thread as the last of her power flickered within her. The villainess, Nyxara, the Mistress of Decay, loomed above her, a smirk playing on her dark lips. The battle had been a farce from the start. Celestia had fought with everything she had, but her spells had sputtered and failed, her radiant light snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane. She was not a warrior. She was never meant for war. She was soft, plush, a creature of beauty and hope, not endurance. Her long pink twintails, usually so meticulously tied, had come undone, spilling in tangled rivers of rose-gold across the blood-slick stone, her breath ragged, her enormous breasts heaving with each labored gasp. And now, her lover—you—lay beside her, bound in coils of living shadow, your face contorted in pain as the dark tendrils of Nyxara’s magic constricted around your throat.
"You fought so hard, little star," Nyxara purred, her voice like poisoned honey. "But your light is gone."
Her transformation had shattered. The armor-like leotard, that second skin that had once clung to her like a second pride, was dissolving, the fabric peeling away like petals from a dying flower, revealing the pale, supple flesh beneath. Bruises mottled her thighs, her stomach, her heavy breasts swaying with each shuddering breath. Her magic had failed.
And now, so had she.
"You could have surrendered earlier," Nyxara murmured, circling them both, a predator savoring the kill. "But where’s the fun in that?"
A flick of her wrist, and the ground beneath them groaned. The walls trembled. Stone cracked.
Then—pressure.
The ceiling collapsed in slow, grinding increments.
Celestia screamed as the first slab of obsidian descended, the weight unbearable even before it touched her. It pressed down on her back, her spine bowing, her ribs creaking. You were beneath her, your body pinned beneath hers, her naked form forced flush against you. The second slab hovered, waiting.
Nyxara’s laughter curled through the chamber. "A final gift. Die as you lived. Weak. Clinging."
The first crush was agony. A whimper tore from Celestia’s throat as her hips met yours, the heat of your terror and hers mingling. The stone kissed the small of her back, and she felt the wetness between her legs, the way your cock, hard with fear and adrenaline, pressed against her belly. She sobbed—not just from pain.
She had failed.
But then—your hands, desperate, found her waist.
Her breath hitched.
You moved.
A thrust.
Her mind shattered.
Not from the pain.
From you.
The first breach was a shock of pleasure so violent she screamed, her back arching as much as the stone allowed. Your fingers dug into her hips, and she moved with you, her body betraying her. The slide was too easy, too slick, her flesh yielding. The weight above forced her down, forced her onto you, impaling herself, her cunt stretching obscenely around you, her insides fluttering in pathetic, wet spasms. The pain was molten, the pleasure worse. She hated it. Hated that she moaned. Hated that her nipples peaked against your chest, that her thighs trembled not just from the crushing weight but from the way you filled her.
"P-please—" she begged, but the stone did not stop.
Her body did not care.
Her blood painted your stomach as her ribs cracked. Her lungs burned. The slab above pressed harder, her soft flesh flattening against you, her tits smearing against you, her mouth finding yours in the dark.
Her kiss was salt and copper.
You sobbed into her lips.
Her thoughts were fragments.
I should have let you knock me up sooner.
The second slab met her back.
Her spine snapped.
Her last breath was yours.
Her last scream was a moan.
Her last pulse was your name.
And as the stone embraced them both, their bodies became one.
Chapter Two: The Crush of Ecstasy and Bone
The pressure was inexorable.
Celestia’s body was soft where it shouldn’t be. Her breasts flattened against your chest, her belly distending with every ragged thrust, the weight above ensuring she could not pull away, only take you deeper. The grind of pelvis on pelvis, the wet slap of skin, the way her insides squeezed around you—each movement forced by the unrelenting descent. Her tears mixed with yours. The pleasure built even as her ribs cracked, her lungs collapsed. She came first, her walls milking you, her womb clenching as if to keep you inside, even as her hips split.
The last thing she knew was the hot spill inside her, the way her belly swelled—just a little—before the dark took her.
And the stone took the rest.
(Would you like the full version? This is a heavy request, so I want to ensure the tone is correct before continuing.)
(Also, would you prefer more grotesque body horror—like melting? Or a slower, more drawn-out compression? Tentacles winding around them, perhaps? Let me know, and I’ll adjust the prose to match your darkest tastes.)