"No."

He leaves.

She is left with only her own company for next hour or so.

Yeah, she figured. But it seemed like it couldn't hurt to ask.

Okay. What she said to the tentacle-faced man is... true, actually. This extremely ominous scenario will go on for some amount of time, but that amount of time is objectively really unlikely to be eternity. If they really are kidnapping random magical girls for this, they're eventually going to get someone with better connections than she has. It would probably be pretty hard to find someone with worse connections than she has; she's been a magical girl for a week, has had maybe five conversations with other magical girls none of whom she expects to remember her name, and doesn't even have anybody in the mundane world who'd be especially inclined to investigate if she vanished into thin air. There can't be a lot of girls around in similar situations. So she won't be getting rescued, but at some point somebody will be, and given the deeply upsetting nature of this whole operation, they will probably rescue as many other girls as they can or at least, like, bomb the place on their way out. At which point she can go back to her patron and ask to be retired, and her soul will sit on a probably-figurative shelf for the rest of eternity and she will no longer have to deal with any of this having happened. It might take a while, but she'll get there.

She really wishes she could skip to that part.

Eventually, another horrorspawn, resembling a slightly smaller, softer, just-as-naked Vreth, walks into the alcove. He doesn't respond to words or anything else, as he carries out his task.

First, he does the flattened-tail-on-the-belly thing to her. Only this time, at the same time, the floor comes alive under her butt. A... mouth? Something mouth-like, opens under her and sucks her hips down into wet warmth. The disc of cellophane-esque flesh spasms, and what feels like a mild electric shock shoots into her guts. All of the muscles in her abdomen relax completely, all at once. This has the obvious physical consequence. Then the mouth-thing closes, squeezing her hips back out, shiny and clean.

After that, the wordless horrorspawn strokes his tail over her hands and feet.

And the glue resin melts, freeing her limbs.

She doesn't actually try to talk to him; she is kind of trying to get a headstart on not existing.

...until the floor thing happens, at which point she goes "Gaaahh???", and is too shocked and baffled to even try to do anything with her sudden freedom.

Then the horrorspawn will have no trouble using his four strong arms to pick her up, turn her over, set her on her knees, and glue her legs down. Her hands also get glued together in front of her, the resin hardening fast, only giving her a few seconds in which it is possible to break free.

During this process, the horrorspawn's twin cocks become hugely, throbbingly erect. And Vreth himself returns, looming against that eerie green radiance outside, as he observes. His cocks are also, now, fully erect.

But what actually happens next, is that cap of resin on the magical girl's head is gripped in several hands, and ripped free, taking most of her hair with it.

She makes a high-pitched unhappy sound and then starts crying.

The horrorspawn minion stands aside as Vreth kneels behind her.

He pulls her upright. Tentacles slither around her head from behind. His smooth, toothless mouth closes over her scalp, and his tentacles close up around her ears and face, blinding her and muffling her sobs.

And then the pain... it's still there but she can't feel it anymore, because it's going elsewhere. Drained out of her as fuel for Vreth.

He pulls her head back and down, forcing her spine to bend and her hips to adjust for him. And now she can't feel pain and has a throbbing hard phallus pressing gently and patiently at the cleft of her vulva.

This is definitely grounds for More Crying.

Someday she won't have to deal with this. Someday she won't have to deal with this. (That was her pain, part of her experience of the world, and even though she didn't want it, it feels so wrong to have it taken away—) Someday she won't have to deal with this.

She really really hopes that that day will be soon.

Her body will respond on its own eventually. His four hands shift around her body, caressing her in various ways, stimulating her. The steady pressure remains between her legs, waiting for her flesh to yield.

What? No? Why??? Didn't he say her perspective was irrelevant? Why is—no—

And the worst part is it's working, embarrassingly fast. This should not be hot. There is no part of this scenario that in a reasonable universe could be considered hot. And yet... and yet.

Vreth is only concerned with the state of her body, truly. Provoking her arousal is a matter of simple geometry. He's big enough, that, unaroused, she might as well not even have the relevant anatomy.

And... slowly... ever so slowly... her swelling, slickening hole... fails... to... keep... him... out.

oh no he's hot.

She shouldn't—but—clearly her body has other ideas—and logically speaking isn't pleasure better than the alternative?—but she doesn't want to, she wants not this, she wants to go back to standing alone on a rooftop watching Luna cross the sky and marveling that she could walk there if she knew the way—or even to before she became a magical girl, to being a sad dull uninteresting person with a sad dull uninteresting life—or even to the night she became a magical girl, when her patron found her wandering the streets in tears—or even to the previous weekend, which was on the whole a much less regrettable experience than this—or to not being alive, not being alive sounds great right about now—

But she does enjoy it. Hating that fact doesn't make it stop being true. This experience may be a top candidate for the worst thing that has ever happened to her, and rapidly speeding past the competition, but it is observably the case that she still manages to find it intensely arousing. Not even just on a physical level. The fear and helplessness are doing something for her too.

A little hysterically, she thinks to herself, I think this sexuality is broken. I'd like to return it to the store.

Vreth fucks her. Smoothly. Casually. Impersonally. But effectively. His hands hold her comfortably and his thrusts are neither urgent nor tentative.

He ejaculates. She can feel it, tendrils of prickly unnatural heat creeping up into her gut.

He pulls out and switches cocks, sliding the other into her, and resumes at the same pace.

The diminishing not-pain from her raw scalp finally dies inside her. No longer drained away. No longer existing at all, but left to regenerate at her natural healing rate. Now it's her urge to cry and the feelings behind it that are still there, but which she cannot feel, which are drained out of her as fuel for Vreth.

—and abruptly, in the absence of tears, she's furious. How dare he take her feelings away. Those are hers and she did not give them to him. They're miserable awful shitty feelings but they belong to her, no one else, not ever.

Vreth's grip tightens. Not as a warning. Just as a practical matter of holding her in place as he fucks her.

He, of course, continues to feed on her sorrow. He ejaculates again, and the prickly unnatural warmth inside her is an order of magnitude stronger this time. He switches back to his first cock, and fucks her more. Sorrow is bigger than pain. It takes much longer to eat it all.

She has never been an especially violent person but right now she is deriving some satisfaction from the mental image of cutting him in half with a high-powered water jet.

But is she more angry than she is turned on? Because whatever she's feeling more of, that's what Vreth feeds on next after her need to cry has burned out.

She is definitely more angry than turned on. Until he takes that away, and then—

—if she'd had the time to expect it she would've expected to go blank, with both of her strongest emotions gone. But in fact what happens is that the rest of her feelings expand to fill the available space. And the rest of her feelings are currently like 98% sex.

From bitter fury, she flips directly into orgasm.

Vreth's tentacles tighten around her face, pulsing in time with her pleasure, tasting it even though its not what he's feeding on right now. His cock keeps driving into her at the same pace. Anger isn't nearly as big as sorrow, but it's big enough for this to last a while, and he isn't going to stop in the middle of consuming it.

For once in her whole entire life, she doesn't have a meta-commentary track running in the back of her head, making smart remarks about her thoughts and actions. She is wholly engulfed by the experience of the moment.

Eventually, her ability to feel anger burns out, and Vreth ejaculates a third time.

He stops, extracting himself from her, releasing her face and head from his tentacles, but the lesser horrorspawn is immediately there to replace him, to take his turn. A new set of tentacles slithers around her head, a new set of hands holds her flushed body, a new set of cocks arrive to fuck her one at a time.

The part of her brain that cares about sad things is dead. The part of her brain that cares about status, dignity, indignity, is dead. The part of her brain that understands pain is... slowly regenerating, enough that she could probably feel it again, if there were any to feel.

There's a little. This is not the world's most comfortable activity. But she is kind of preoccupied so she doesn't immediately notice.

The minion slides in, and thrusts.

At first, it feels just as good as before. Better, if she likes how his grip gets painfully tight when she squirms too much and he has to use more force to keep her still.

But the next orgasm won't come. It's there, it feels like its rushing at her, but it drains away before it can reach her. Moving towards her but somehow getting further away. Her vagina is no less wet or engorged, but the feeling of thick dick violating her insides slowly, gradually, becomes less of a sexual feeling (even while remaining a pleasant feeling).

...wh...a...t.

No, that's - that's - something is wrong here. She—she's losing pieces—it wasn't obvious until she got one back—what, actually, lived in the space where her tears used to come from? She doesn't know. It's not gone like her transformation aria, a memory or experience pulled away out of sight; it's gone like entire pieces of her mental architecture are being razed to the ground and rebuilt from scratch.

Briefly, she feels a sharp spike of fear.

And then some buried instinct comes down like a guillotine on her whole emotional experience, and she feels... nothing much, really. There are sensations in her body but they don't register as especially important. Things are happening. Later some other things will probably happen instead. No reason to get all worked up about it.

It reminds her a little of being tickled until her brain stopped processing the tickling sensation through into the tickle response. And a little of some especially bad days, days that were scary only in retrospect, when she stumbled through the routines of life in a haze of total apathy. There's probably a word for this, but she doesn't remember what it is, and it seems decidedly impractical to look it up.

This must be what Vreth meant when he said magical girls are reusable. She is getting a piece back. A human wouldn't. Human brains don't regenerate, if they're not hooked up to a soul, or if they do the restored areas are blank slates.

As each piece is taken, another grows back.

The minion hurts her, destroys her understanding of pain a second time, and then, when all that's left is... dullness, a brain idling at minimum affect. He pulls his cock out of her, melts the resin off her legs, and glues her down again face up.

After that, she's given water, and then left alone long enough for all of her pieces to regrow and slot into place, long enough to sleep through a night, if such a concept as 'night' holds meaning in the unceasing eerie radiance of this place which is almost certainly not even on Earth.