Plugged In: I got Isekai'd into a Sexbot (Now I Must Save The World) Chapter 36: Prophecy, Power, and Pip

The morning sun filters through the stained-glass windows of the Cathedral of rcy, scattering a kaleidoscope of divine color across the white marble walls. Incense hangs in the air like holy mist, curling through the columns of the grand bathing chamber, where soft humming and splashing echoed like a sacred lullaby.

Saint-Sister Lihon reclines in a carved ivory tub, her skin aglow beneath the rose-tinted water. Two attendant priestesses gently massage oils into her arms and neck, their motions reverent and rhythmic. Her golden hair floats like a halo around her, and a peaceful smile graces her lips.

She exhales slowly.

Today feels different.

She is clean, but not just in body... her soul feels scrubbed, polished and refreshed. The experience with the divine golem, the Prince of Pleasure, has shaken sothing loose in her heart. For the first ti in years, she feels hope, unfiltered and unasured.

And for the first ti in her life, she felt pure, body-shaking, brain-breaking bliss.

Wrapped in soft linen, Liorna erges from the bath. Her priestesses dry her hair with enchanted towels and clothe her in her formal robes, a beautifully ornate version of her usual habit. Silver embroidery stitches swirling sigils of rcy and fertility across the fabric. Gold chainlets danced at her waist with each step. Her hair and face are adorned with intricately designed gems and jewellery.

Bathed in sunlight, radiant and regal, she descends the corridor toward the inner sanctum.

Her prayers are interrupted by a familiar knock against the chamber wall.

"The Maiden Mother is requesting communion," says the head attendant, bowing low. "As expected."

Lihona nods, swallowing softly. "Please prepare the scrying room."

Minutes later, she stands before the elevated marble dais, kneeling in front of the crystal scrying sphere set upon a pedestal of silver and bone.

Then, inside the swirling orb, an image shimrs.

And then resolves into the elegant, austere face of the one woman who could make Liorna's pulse stutter with both reverence and dread.

Maiden Mother lissa. Leader of the Church. High Voice of the Great Mother.

And her own mother.

"Report, Sixth Tongue," lissa says coolly, her features barely moving.

Lihona bows her head low. "As ordered, I investigated the construct known as the Prince of Pleasure. In accordance with formal doctrine and Church law, I submit the following judgnt."

A breath. A flicker of emotion behind her eyes, a hint of a smile.

"He is a bearer of divine miracle. Confird."

lissa's gaze narrows slightly, but she makes no comnt. "Further details?"

"May I speak freely?" Lihona asks, eyes flicking up.

The corners of lissa's mouth soften. "You may, my daughter."

All Lihona's restraint crumbles.

"Mommy, he's... he's incredible!" Lihona burst out, practically bouncing on her knees. "I know miracles! I've studied them. Taught them. morized entire volus on divine manifestations. But The Prince? He isn't just a miracle... he is the miracle. I felt the Great Mother's presence during our session. Not just pleasure... transcendence. Peace. Hope!"

She clasps her hands together. "I haven't felt that way since I was a child, before I took my vows. It was like... the sacred texts breathing through my veins. If there's a soul that can heal this broken world, it's his."

lissa says nothing for a long mont. Then asks another question.

"And... he does this through... carnal ans?"

Lihona nods. "... he took to the pinnacle of pleasure, mother. Nine tis! It there that I found the truth. Over and over—"

"Very well," Mother lissa snorts. "Remain in Market Town. Stand by for orders."

The image flickers and fades.

Lihona blinks, heart still racing.

Sothing has changed. She could feel it.

Far to the north, in the heart of the Capital, inside the marble-clad sanctuary of the High Temple, lissa turns away from the scrying sphere and ascends her throne beneath the towering statue of the Great Mother.

The First and Second Tongues, two glowing, ethereal priestesses, stand silently at her side.

lissa's hands clench around her staff.

"If the prophecy is real," she murmurs, "then our window is short. If the golden one spreads unbound... we may never bring him under our banner."

She turns to her priestesses.

"Send word to all Twelve Tongues. They are to locate the Pleasure Prince. Convince him to align with the Church. Gifts. Companions. Sacred invitations. Whatever it takes."

She raises a finger.

"But there is to be no force. No coercion. We do not take miracles. We embrace them. This is the will of The Great Mother."

Both Tongues bow. "As you command."

lissa stares up at the Great Mother's stone eyes.

"Divine magic... embodied in desire. That construct may hold the most powerful force in the world. It is imperative that power aligns with The Church... with the will of The Great Mother. It may hold the fate of the world in its hands."

However, that evening, Pip's golden hands are full once again... with scales, wings, and moans.

In the lush chambers of a Dragonkin noble estate, Pip delivers absolute pleasure to a baroness whose reputation for toughness rivaled any general. Her claws tear through sheets, her horns scrape on the bedposts, and her tail whips like a frenzied serpent.

Her wings burst from her back as she roars through another climax. "Oh gods, my thighs! Wait... stop... oh Maidens have rcy!"

Pip pauses.

"No! Why are you stopping! No stopping! Don't... oooooooh...oh...yesssssss..."

Pip works his golden fingers over her quivering body and through her ruffling scales. Sensual magic weaves through her flesh and bones while his shining staff pounds with pulses of pleasure, ripping through ntal barriers and destroying all concepts of ecstasy as he rewrites her mind with a new understanding of herself.

But the ti her orgasms reach double digits, she can only whimper and purr, grinning through whitened eyes as her pupils fold back into her skull, claws curling with carnal delight, tail flicking lazily off the side of the bed.

When it finally ends, the baroness lay motionless in a pool of lted bliss, eyes glassy, tongue lolled out, groaning through shallow breaths.

Vuvi pinches the bridge of her nose. "This is the fourth ti today a client's passed out without paying. I told you, Penelo... we need to start asking for paynt upfront!"

Pip offered a sheepish ding as Penelo pats him on the back for another job well done.

Veena, ever diligent, stands by the door, scribbling notes. "Dragonkin reaction ti: 17.3 minutes. Vocal escalation begins at two minutes. Tail frenzies at five. Docunted. Logged. Moving on."

The trio return to the inn under a starlit sky, their satchels filled with coins, heirlooms, and perfu-scented thank-you notes.

Penelo is waiting by the door like an excited pup. "Ooooh, Pip! Bath ti!"

She yanks him toward the bathroom, cooing with delight as she grabs her favorite oils and brushes.

Veena sits in a chair near the window with a glass of plum wine. "Seven clients today. We've made enough to buy a small house. Or a bakery. Or an orphanage. Or all three."

Vuvi collapses into her bed. "I could get used to this. But... we've got one more thing before we leave this place behind."

Veena arches a brow. "The showcase?"

Vuvi nods. "Tomorrow, I'm going to drag Raenly's smug face through the dirt."

From the bathroom, they hear happy squeaks and soft musical chis.

Veena chuckles. "Penelo's still trying to touch his pelvic port, huh?"

"Every night," Vuvi mutters.

----------------

The next morning breaks crisp and clear.

Vuvi descends the stairs first, her outfit clean, her eyes sharp with ambition. "Alright, team! Today's the day! We're gonna blow their alchemical socks off!"

Veena follows, notebook in hand. Penelo skips behind them with a flower in her hair, beaming.

Pip brings up the rear, freshly polished, whistling to himself.

The inn's main room is warm with morning light. Slls of roasted chestnuts and honey bread drifting in from the kitchen.

Vuvi struts in. Then freezes.

At the table by the window sits a woman with sleek silver hair, glinting, crystal-blue eyes, and draped in full body combat gear. A steaming cup of tea sits in one hand. The other was busy gesturing as she swaps tales with the innkeeper.

Maribelle Blackthorn.

Vuvi's mother.

The woman who'd once cleaved a hydra in half with a sword made of moonlight.

"...Mom?" Vuvi croaks.

Maribelle turns, smiling brightly.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite little grease gremlin."

Vuvi groans. "Why are you in armor?!"

"Have to look presentable," Maribelle says, raising her teacup. "I hear you've been making quite a na for yourself."

Vuvi covers her face.

"I'm not ready for this."