MISSION 2: Scripted in the Depths

The floodlights of Stage Zero faded into a nauseating crimson haze as the tentacles tightened around the four members of aespa’s SYNK team. Karina’s purple Venom suit was already a glistening ruin — the mesh window over her breasts fully transparent and stretched taut, silver armor plates cracked and dented, the crotch seam riding painfully high from the earlier struggle. She hung suspended beside her members, arms pinned behind her back by living shadow bindings that pulsed with inversion energy.

“Transport protocol initiated,” the Producer announced, voice echoing like a director calling the next take. “The Director wants the main cast in Studio Omega for the real rehearsal. Lights, camera… and action.”

Thick, fleshy tendrils coiled around their waists and thighs, lifting the girls effortlessly. Ningning thrashed once, her torn orange-gold skirt fluttering uselessly, mesh legs exposed and slick. “Let go— you fucking monsters—!” she snarled, but a fresh needle-tipped tentacle pierced the seam of her SYNK-04 Crimson Phantom suit at the inner thigh and injected a hot rush of aphrodisiac. Her eyes widened, a choked gasp escaping: “Ah—!!” The glossy black latex immediately began to warm and loosen, the material softening as demonic energy flooded her nodes.

Giselle’s imperial-purple Shadow Weaver suit fared no better. The triangular breast cut-out had been yanked wider; one full breast now spilled free, nipple hardened and flushed under the crimson lights. “You think this will break us?” she hissed through gritted teeth, dual katanas long since lost. Another tentacle slid beneath the torn latex and squeezed her exposed breast, forcing a sharp, involuntary moan: “Nngh— bastards…!”

Winter’s cat ears twitched violently, the golden bell ringing nonstop as tentacles wrapped her mesh-covered thighs and spread them. The red mesh over her chest was already damp and semi-transparent, her small but perky breasts clearly outlined. “No… not like this— ahhn—!” The bell’s vibration traveled straight into the Frostbite suit’s nodes, making her hips jerk once against her will.

Karina fought hardest, purple suit creaking as she summoned one final phantom clone. It flickered and dissolved instantly, sending a brutal feedback spike through her real body. “Hold on— we’re still Taimanin—!” she roared, voice raw. But the tentacles were already dragging them downward through a newly opened portal in the stage floor — a swirling vortex of shadow and neon that smelled of stage smoke, expensive perfume, and raw demonic lust.

They emerged in Studio Omega — a separate, far deeper demon domain hidden beneath Seoul’s forgotten subway layers. This was no mere warehouse. It was a fully realized corruption chamber designed like a luxury underground broadcast studio: black velvet curtains, multiple floating holographic cameras, a central circular “performance platform” ringed by restraint rigs disguised as modern dance poles, and walls lined with screens showing looping aespa concert footage now heavily edited with demonic overlays. The air was thick, humid, and sweet with aphrodisiac mist.

The tentacles deposited the four girls onto the central platform, binding their wrists and ankles to glowing rune-etched rings that rose from the floor. The Producer stepped through the portal behind them, flanked by a dozen specialized “Stagehands” — slender incubi and succubi in sleek manager uniforms, their eyes glowing with hunger.

“Welcome to the real set,” the Producer purred, circling them slowly. “The Eternal Encore needs test footage. And you four are the perfect opening act. Suits compromised… let’s see how the SYNK tech handles full inversion.”

He snapped his fingers.

The demonic energy in the room surged. The suits’ built-in nodes — designed for emergency focus — were hacked instantly by the inversion ritual. Micro-vibrators and sensitivity amplifiers came online at maximum, flooding every erogenous zone with forced heat.

Karina gasped sharply as the mesh window over her breasts began to vibrate in slow, rhythmic pulses. “Ah—! What the— fuck—!” The transparent purple material clung wetly to her hardened nipples, every breath making them rub against the fabric. A thick tentacle rose from the floor, tipped with a slick, ridged head, and pressed firmly against the crotch seam of her suit. It didn’t penetrate yet — it simply rubbed, slow and deliberate, spreading demonic lubricant that soaked through the latex and made her clit throb violently. Her hips bucked once involuntarily. “Nngh… get… off— me—!”

Beside her, Ningning’s SYNK-04 Crimson Phantom suit was already halfway destroyed. The remaining orange-gold skirt was ripped away completely, leaving her in only the glossy black latex and shredded mesh. Two tentacles coiled around her thighs, spreading her legs wide. One slid beneath the torn crotch seam and pushed inside her pussy in a single, smooth thrust — thick, ridged, and pulsing with heat. “Aaaahhn—!!” Ningning’s head snapped back, dark hair whipping. The katana-wielding seductress’s voice cracked into a high, desperate moan as the tentacle began to piston slowly, stretching her inner walls. “No— no— it’s too big— ah— ah— fuck—!” Her hips jerked against the rhythm despite herself, the suit’s nodes amplifying every inch of intrusion until her eyes started to glaze.

Giselle’s imperial-purple suit fared even worse. The breast cut-out was torn fully open now; two tentacles latched onto her exposed breasts, suckers pulsing as they squeezed and tugged her nipples. A third, thicker one forced its way between her legs, ripping the crotch seam wider and slamming into her ass in one brutal stroke. “F-fuck— you—!” she snarled, but the words dissolved into a broken, throaty moan: “Haaah—! Nngh— too deep—!” Her long red hair stuck to her sweat-slicked face as the tentacles alternated thrusts, one in her pussy, one in her ass, the glossy purple latex stretching obscenely around the intrusions. The shadow-weaver’s usual cool composure shattered as her body betrayed her, hips rolling to meet the demonic rhythm.

Winter was the most visually wrecked. Her cat ears were gripped like handles by two shadow entities while the golden bell vibrated nonstop. The red mesh chest of her Frostbite suit was shredded open, exposing her perky breasts completely. Tentacles wrapped her mesh thighs, spreading her wide on the platform. One thick appendage pushed into her pussy, another into her ass, while a third smaller one wrapped her clit and pulsed with suction. “Ah—! Ahhn—!! No— I can’t— it’s vibrating— inside— meee—!!” Winter’s soft voice turned into high-pitched, whimpering cries, the bell ringing wildly with every thrust. Tears of forced pleasure slipped down her cheeks as her petite body shook, the sheer mesh on her legs now torn to ribbons and soaked.

The Producer watched with professional detachment, holographic cameras orbiting the platform and capturing every angle, every moan, every involuntary twitch of latex-covered flesh.

“Excellent,” he murmured. “The inversion is beginning. Their Taima Particles are already spiking from the pleasure. Fans will eat this up when we leak the teaser.”

Karina fought through the haze. The tentacle at her crotch was rubbing faster now, the aphrodisiac making her pussy ache and drip. Her purple suit was drenched, silver armor fogged with condensation. “You… won’t… win—!” she growled, voice hoarse. But her body arched as the tentacle finally pushed inside her — thick, ridged, stretching her to the limit. “Aaaah—!!” The moan tore from her throat unbidden, raw and desperate. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, refusing to give them more sound, but her hips still rolled once, twice, the suit’s nodes forcing her closer to the edge.

The corruption deepened for long, agonizing minutes. The tentacles fucked them in perfect synchronization — a demonic choreography designed to break idols on camera. Ningning’s katana spirit was the first to crack; she came hard around the tentacle in her pussy, a broken sob escaping as her eyes rolled back: “Cumming— I’m cumming— nooo—!!” Giselle followed, dual penetrations forcing a guttural moan from her: “Haaah— fuck— I’m— breaking—!” Winter’s entire body seized, the bell ringing like a frantic alarm as she squirted messily down her mesh thighs, whimpering incoherently.

Karina held on longest, purple suit now a second skin of sweat, ichor, and her own juices. The tentacle inside her pounded relentlessly, the mesh window vibrating against her breasts until her nipples felt like they were on fire. Her mind screamed resistance even as her body betrayed her with another rolling orgasm that made her vision white out.

But Karina was the leader for a reason.

In the haze of forced pleasure, she reached deep — deeper than the demons expected. A final, desperate surge of SYNK Phantom energy flared through her ruined suit. Three illusory Karinas materialized around the platform, drawing every tentacle and camera for a split second. In that heartbeat of distraction, the real Karina summoned every last particle of Taima she had left. The shadow bindings around her wrists shattered with a crack of violet light.

She dropped to the floor in a crouch, purple suit torn and glistening, legs shaking from the aftershocks. “Team— I’m getting us out—!” she rashed, voice raw. But the others were still bound, lost in the throes of corruption, unable to break free yet.

Karina didn’t wait. She grabbed a discarded stage light pole as an improvised weapon and smashed the nearest holographic camera. Sparks flew. Alarms wailed. The Producer’s smile faltered for the first time.

“Extraction protocol— now!” Karina snarled into her suit’s emergency comm line, the signal finally piercing the demonic interference. “This is SYNK-01! Stage Omega compromised! We need immediate support — full extraction team! The Eternal Encore preview is live — repeat, the preview is live!”

She turned back to her captured members, purple suit hanging in tatters, body still trembling from the forced orgasms, but eyes burning with unyielding fury.

“Hold on,” she whispered to them, voice cracking but fierce. “SM is coming. We are not their content. Not yet.”

The portal back to the surface flickered open just long enough for her to drag Ningning’s limp form toward it before fresh tentacles surged forward. Karina stood her ground, katana-less but unbreakable, buying precious seconds as the call for support echoed through the Taimanin network.

Winter’s world had narrowed to the cold bite of rune-etched restraints and the wet, rhythmic schlick-schlick-schlick of tentacles claiming her body in Studio Omega.

She hung suspended in the center of the circular performance platform, wrists locked high above her head by glowing shadow chains, ankles spread wide by the same demonic rigging that had once looked like modern dance poles. The rest of aespa was somewhere behind her — distant cries and the clang of Karina’s desperate breakout attempt echoing faintly through the velvet curtains — but Winter could barely register them. Her cat ears, still glowing faintly red, were gripped like fleshy handles by two thick shadow tendrils. Every time she tried to twist away, the grip tightened, forcing her head back and exposing the slender column of her throat where the golden bell dangled.

Jingle… jingle… jingle…

The bell never stopped. The Producer had hacked its frequency the moment they arrived in Studio Omega. Now it vibrated in perfect sync with the demonic energy pulsing through her SYNK-03 Frostbite suit, turning the innocent accessory into the cruelest conductor of her torment.

“Ah—! Haaah—!!” Winter’s soft voice cracked into another high-pitched whimper as the thick tentacle buried deep in her pussy thrust upward again, ridged surface dragging against her inner walls with obscene wetness. The red mesh chest piece of her suit had been completely shredded open; her perky breasts bounced freely with every impact, nipples stiff and flushed dark from the constant suction of smaller tendrils latched onto them. The glossy black armored sections on her hips had cracked open like broken shells, leaving only the sheer black mesh stockings on her thighs — now torn in long vertical strips that fluttered uselessly with every brutal thrust.

The tentacle in her ass was just as merciless, stretching her alongside its twin in a relentless double penetration that made her petite body arch like a bow. A third, thinner appendage wrapped her swollen clit and pulsed with rhythmic suction, milking her without mercy. Every nerve ending in the Frostbite suit had been overwritten by the inversion ritual. The built-in cryo nodes — meant to sharpen her ice arts — now burned white-hot, amplifying every sensation until pleasure and pain blurred into one endless, screaming haze.

“P-please… turn it off— the bell— ahhn—!!” Winter begged, voice trembling. Tears slipped down her flushed cheeks, mixing with the sweat that plastered her dark hair to her forehead. The cat ears twitched violently in the shadow tendrils’ grip, the red inner lights flickering erratically. “I’m… I’m still Winter… I’m aespa— not… not this—!”

The Producer circled her slowly, holographic cameras orbiting like vultures. He tilted his head, smiling the way a director smiles at a particularly promising take. “Beautiful, Min-jeong. Look at the camera — yes, that exact expression. The fans will call it ‘Winter’s First Encore.’ The bell is perfect, isn’t it? Every jingle is another spike in Taima inversion. Keep moaning for the mics, sweetheart. The Eternal Encore needs this raw emotion.”

A fresh wave of aphrodisiac-laced fluid pumped directly into her womb from the tentacle in her pussy. Winter’s entire body seized. Her back arched so sharply the chains creaked, breasts thrusting forward as the suction on her nipples intensified.

“Cumming—! I’m cumming again— nooo—!!” The words tore out of her in a broken sob. Her pussy clenched hard around the invading tentacle, walls fluttering as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. Clear fluid squirted messily down her mesh-covered thighs, soaking the ruined black latex and dripping onto the platform below with wet pat-pat-pat sounds. The golden bell rang wildly in time with every spasm, the vibration traveling straight to her clit and forcing the climax even higher until her vision whited out.

She hung there, gasping, body twitching in the aftershocks. The tentacles didn’t stop. They slowed to a lazy, grinding rhythm, keeping her right on the edge while the cameras zoomed in on her tear-streaked face, her heaving breasts, the obscene stretch of her holes around demonic flesh.

“Such a good girl,” the Producer cooed, stepping closer. He reached out and flicked the golden bell with one claw. Jingle-jingle-jingle. The vibration slammed into her overstimulated nerves like lightning. Winter’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, chasing the sensation despite herself. “See? Your body already knows the choreography. The fans will love how your little bell rings when you cum. It’s going to be the sound of the entire season.”

Winter’s mind screamed resistance. She was Kim Min-jeong — the quiet, sharp-eyed member of aespa. The one who practiced until her feet bled, who smiled softly for the cameras, who froze demons with a single glance and a burst of frost. But the suit… the bell… the tentacles… they were rewriting her.

Another thick tentacle rose from the floor, this one tipped with a bulbous, flared head. It pressed against her lips, smearing demonic precum across her soft mouth. “Open,” the Producer commanded gently, as if giving stage direction. “The Eternal Encore needs a close-up of your pretty throat.”

Winter tried to turn her head, but the shadow tendrils holding her cat ears forced her face forward. “N-no— mmmph—!” The tentacle pushed past her lips, sliding over her tongue and stretching her jaw. She gagged once, tears spilling faster, but the aphrodisiac on its surface made her tongue tingle and her throat relax against her will. The tentacle began to fuck her mouth in slow, deep strokes, matching the rhythm of the ones in her pussy and ass.

Jingle… jingle… jingle…

Every thrust made the bell ring. Every ring made the nodes in her suit fire. Every fire made her body betray her with another rolling wave of pleasure.

Winter’s thoughts fractured. Flashes of concert stages, screaming fans, the safe glow of SM practice rooms — all of it blurred under the wet sounds of her own body being used. Her muffled moans vibrated around the tentacle in her throat: “Mmmph—! Hnnngh—! Ah— ah— ahhn—!!”

The Producer clapped once, delighted. “Perfect sync. The inversion is spiking beautifully. At this rate, your Taima Particles will open a gate right here on the platform. Keep going, Winter. Show the world how a Taimanin idol breaks for her audience.”

She came again — harder this time. The triple penetration, the bell, the cameras, the humiliation of being reduced to this — it all crashed over her at once. Her pussy and ass clenched rhythmically, squirting in messy arcs that splashed across the platform. Her throat tightened around the tentacle, swallowing convulsively as the one in her mouth pulsed and flooded her with hot demonic fluid. She choked, coughed, and still her hips rolled desperately, chasing more.

The cat ears on her headpiece drooped, red lights dimming. The golden bell kept ringing, softer now, like a lullaby for the broken.

In the distance, Karina’s voice echoed faintly — a roar of defiance, the crack of shattering chains, the emergency comm call for SM support cutting through the demonic static. But Winter couldn’t answer. She could only moan, body trembling in the restraints, suit in tatters, mind teetering on the razor edge of full corruption.