Etna's Totally-Not-Voluntary Diary part 2 (Expansion TF)

Entry Eighteen – “Splitting the Party, Dood.”

This morning, Etna got “Strategic.”

That’s always a dangerous word when she says it. She stood up, well, rose, since it took her three wobbly tries to get upright with that glorious wrecking-ball body of hers, and declared we needed a plan.

So she split us into two groups:

-Recon Squad: Figure out where the hell we are, whether we can get back home, and if the desert surrounding us leads to anything other than death and sunburn.

-Mystery Shack Investigators: Try to break into the creepy hut that probably holds a trap, a demon, or a very specific kind of puzzle dungeon.

Guess which group I got assigned to?

Yup. Recon squad. The "walk into the endless green wasteland and pray we don’t get picked off by Felyns" squad. At least I’ve got most of the other prinnies with me. Misery loves company, dood.

Meanwhile, Etna and Flonne went into the hut together, because obviously they get the cool mission. Flonne literally said, and I quote: "Wandering through featureless sand sounds kinda boring, teehee~" 

And just twirled after Etna like a curvy duckling following her spiky demon mom.

Love that for us.
Anyway, I’m documenting rocks now. Maybe I’ll name one after Laharl and scream at it. For morale.

Entry Nineteen – “Boob Magic and Witch Deals, Dood.”

So Etna and Flonne are back.

And… hoo boy.

They didn’t look different at first. Not exactly. But there was a glow about them. A shimmer in the air. Etna’s smirk was dialed up to “definitely dangerous,” and Flonne was practically floating (not flying, just emotionally). The kind of vibe where you know something terrible or sexy (or both) is about to happen.

I tried to get answers, but all I got were smirks. Eventually Flonne, bless her too-honest heart, spilled the basics:

There was a witch inside the hut.
The witch.
The one who cursed Pan Cake in the first place.

Apparently, she helped them. Something about "turning the curse inside out" and "making the Netherworld eat itself." Etna wasn’t super clear on the details. Flonne explained it the best she could… which uhm… leaves a lot to be desired.

But I think I understood the gist of it.

Basically they now have an aura that, if they work together, they are able to turn anyone nearby into a busty babe.

Etna mainly affects women, making them curvier in both bust and butt. And dumber and clumsier too if I gathered it correctly.

Flonne mainly affects men, turning them into women within minutes. The burliest man will be a delicate maiden if exposed to her for too long.

And you can guess why they work well together, don’tcha?

Naturally, this doesn’t work on prinnies. (Why would it? I’ve already got enough baggage. I definitely don't want massive boobs for myself… Copium.)

Well… that is at least the theory.

We haven’t actually seen it in action yet, because we’re prinnies and therefore we make poor test subjects for magical boobification. But lucky us, while we were out scouting the desert wasteland, we found a small outpost not too far from our camp. Some old supply station. Population: Unknown. Probably still loyal to Pan Cake.

Yeah, now guess how bright Etna’s eyes lit up when she heard that. Naturally she was instantly dead set on “testing” her new abilities. Flonne, of course, is “just tagging along to help.” (And absolutely glowing with halo-energy mischief.)

And me?

I’ve got a bad feeling, dood. A bad feeling in my stuffing.

But duty calls, and so does Etna’s scary smile.

Let’s see how many bras survive tomorrow.

Entry Twenty – “Wobble Toward War, Dood.”

Today, we approached the outpost.

Calling it a "fortress" might be generous. It’s more like a big concrete pancake with walls and one tower. Still, it’s manned, and from the looks of the flag, they’re loyal to Pan Cake. Great.

Etna and Flonne are leading the charge.

I use the word "leading" loosely, because they are both still just as busty, wobbly, and clumsy as ever. I’m serious, dood. Etna tripped on a flat rock and Flonne tried to help her up and they both fell down again. I don’t know how they’re supposed to start a battle when they can’t even handle basic terrain.

But they’re determined. Etna’s got that scary grin, the one that usually means something is about to explode or grow uncontrollably. Flonne’s humming a happy tune and her halo keeps pulsing like a disco light. Neither of those things inspire confidence.

As we got close, a few guards from the outpost came out to greet… or maybe challenge… us. Spears in hand, confident strut, very professional-like.

I have no idea how this is going to go.

All I know is that I’m hiding behind a rock, notebook in flipper, and praying this ends with fewer explosions than usual.

Wish me luck, dood.

Entry Twenty-One – “The Bounciest Blitz, Dood.”

Okay. So.

The good news: It works. Oh, dood, it really works.

Those outpost scouts that came out? All three of them walked in as tough, disciplined soldiers. Within minutes of standing near Etna and Flonne, they started wobbling, blinking, and looking real confused. Then came the giggles. Then came the curves.

I watched (with scientific detachment, of course) as their chests swelled, hips expanded, and armor started creaking like it was made of tinfoil. By the time they turned around to run back for help, they were full-on bouncy, blushing babes in stretched-out uniforms.

Etna didn’t even lift her spear. Flonne just smiled and waved. That was the whole battle.

Boom. Victory.

But here’s the weird part. Etna and Flonne didn’t celebrate at first. They just stood there. Staring at the transformed guards with this weird, zoned-out look. Only like a few seconds later, did they start to celebrate their victory.

I don’t know what it was exactly, but something was… off. Flonne’s ears twitched. Etna’s tail flicked (I swear it's getting longer). I thought I saw a shimmer pass across their skin, like something shifting underneath.

Nothing too dramatic. Not yet. But I felt it. Something changed again. And I’m not sure they even noticed.

Anyway, bad news: The rest of the outpost is now fully aware of us. The warning horn blew, the gates shut, and I saw some guy with a war banner screaming something like “prepare the mages!”

So this is it. Full-on battle incoming.

I’m gonna try and not explode, dood. But no promises.

Entry Twenty-Two – “The Aura War, Dood.”

Today was less of a fight and more of a magical wardrobe malfunction apocalypse.

The moment Etna and Flonne approached the outpost’s front gates, all hell broke loose. Archers fired, mages cast spells, one guy even tried to charge with a halberd twice his size. But none of it mattered. Every time someone got close to them—poof—they joined the Bounce Brigade.

I watched from the sidelines (behind a very sturdy barrel, dood), and it was like witnessing an incredibly inappropriate parade. Male guards transformed into dazed, busty women mid-strike. Female defenders swelled out of their armor, tripping over their own enhanced curves before even drawing weapons. The whole place was reduced to booby slapstick in under ten minutes.

But here's the kicker: Etna and Flonne are changing too.

Etna’s tail, which was already starting to act weird, has now gotten thicc. Like, balance-a-drink-on-it thicc. It’s long, heavy, and definitely lizardy now. Also, I swear there’s a second pair of boob-bulges forming beneath her original ones. And her legs? Starting to look less "succubus demon" and more "prehistoric swamp lizard."

As for Flonne?

Her wings are bigger. A lot bigger. And there are more of them now. An extra set sprouting from her back, feathered and glowing. Oh, and her wings have eyes now. Actual blinking eyes, dood. And about her weird ears, they've stretched long and thin, and they look like wings too. It’s like she’s slowly becoming some kind of creepy floating choir of softness and feathers.

Meanwhile, I'm sitting here writing notes and trying not to look directly at anything because I’m way out of my depth.

Etna thinks there’s a commander hiding somewhere in the outpost, and she’s laser-focused on finding him. Personally, I hope he just surrenders before Etna’s tail decides it’s hungry or something.

Entry Twenty-Three – “Boss Down, Boobs Up, Dood.”

Okay, mission complete. If your definition of success is “turned an entire military garrison into a fashion disaster.”

One more unlucky squadron tried to stop Etna and Flonne. They are now, predictably, part of the giggle battalion. The outpost is toast, dood. Literal bouncing ruins.

The commander did eventually appear. Big guy, fancy armor, two flaming swords. Didn’t last five seconds. Just enough time to scream “What sorcery is thi—” before Flonne smiled and he puffed into a big-eyed, soft-voiced maiden with shoulder-length pink curls and a confused squeal.

Etna didn’t even blink. She just pointed at a passing carriage, which “volunteered” to take us the rest of the way toward Pan Cake’s hotel. Turns out people are very cooperative when you're melting their sense of self just by standing nearby.

But while we were loading up, I finally got a proper look at them:

Etna now has two fully developed pairs of boobs. Yes, four total, dood. Also, she has four arms to match. Her tail has grown so long and thick it’s clearly become her main support. She leans on it like a fleshy chair now. It's serpentine and very animated. Her legs are barely used anymore, and she doesn’t seem to care.

Oh and Flonne? Her head has detached. Yep. It’s now floating above her body, with a new halo spinning around it like it’s on a trophy stand. Her body still moves, and her wings flutter like normal, but her head just hovers, smiling sweetly like this is fine. Oh, and her legs are now just… mist? Glowing fog? I don’t know. Her feet might not even exist anymore.

They’re both much taller now too. Like, they needed to duck before when they wanted to enter the carriage, but now… they can't even fit in. They were basically required to sit in the addon wagon together.

They clearly know they don’t look normal anymore, but neither of them is talking about it. Etna made one comment—“Price of power I guess. Won’t last long.”—and Flonne giggled and twirled through a wall.

That’s not normal, dood.

But whatever. I’m just the scribe. I'm gonna keep writing and keep my beak shut. One wrong look and I might end up with eyeliner and G-cups. I heard that it shouldn't affect prinnies, but with how efficient they were moving along, nothing would surprise me anymore.

Next stop: Pan Cake’s hotel.

Hope she’s ready… because I don’t think we are.

Entry Twenty-Four – “Attack of the Bounce Ninjas, Dood.”

So we were minding our own business, riding in the carriage toward Pan Cake’s castle, when bam! Ambush.

I think it was supposed to be an assassination squad, dood. You know, black-cloaked, silent, fast. Probably trained in some elite squishy shadowschool. But the second they got within thirty feet of Etna and Flonne they became a Bouncefest 3000.

The assassins didn’t even get a chance to throw a knife. They just started blushing, swaying, and then poof, they were giggling, curvy ninja girls in crop tops that didn’t exist two seconds earlier. One of them started dancing. Another sat down and admired her new chest like it was a birthday present. I think one’s still trying to figure out her high heels.

It was, in short, a complete aura wipeout.

But now we know something critical: Pan Cake’s about to launch a full-on attack on Laharl’s Netherworld. So now the race is on.

We’re close, dood. Real close. But there’s a problem. Well, two problems.

Etna and Flonne have changed again.

Etna’s snake tail is now five times the length of her legs, easily. She coils around herself like she forgot how chairs work, and her twin pigtails… They’ve kinda fused together into long, writhing serpents. Like, actual snake hair. I swear one of them hissed at me when I stared too long.

Meanwhile, Flonne’s sprouted another pair of wings. That’s six now. All massive. All covered in blinking eyes. Her ear-wings have locked in place over her face permanently, but I guess it’s fine because the eyes on them are wide open and probably seeing everything. Honestly, she looks like a celestial jellyfish ghost pope now.

Also… yeah, they both grew again. Like, visibly. Boobs bigger. Hips broader. Bodies taller.

The wagon gave up. It just snapped a wheel and groaned in defeat. Now Etna’s slithering forward and Flonne’s floating like a spooky parade float.

Almost there. Almost. Just gotta keep moving and try not to get hypnotized by the sheer bounce radius.

Entry Twenty-Five – “Final Door, Final Boobs, Dood.”

We made it. Somehow, against all odds and with a suspicious amount of jiggling, we made it.

We're standing in the final hallway before Pan Cake's throne room. And let me tell you, dood, it's not just the enemies that look different now.

Etna and Flonne… They don’t look like Etna and Flonne anymore. Not really. They’ve gone so far off the deep end of magical girl that I think they looped back around and broke the deep end. So I feel like making sure we all are on the same page about how they look right now.

Etna’s hair… Remember those sharp little twin pigtails she used to rock? Cute, punky, dangerous? Yeah, those are gone. Replaced by two long, writhing snakes. I mean that literally. I watched one snap at a butterfly. No doubt alive, dood.

And her arms dood… Not two. Not even three. Four. All with fully functional hands at the ends of them and now, get this, there are eyes on the backs of her hands. Blinking. She’s like Flonne in that way, but yeah, I’ll get to her later, don't you worry. 

For now that’s not even the worst part. You remember when somewhere along the way, she sprouted a second pair of boobs. Yeah. They got even bigger. Just... stacked. Her bra must be forged from pure Netherworld adamantium, dood, because anything else would've exploded by now.

As well as her legs are… Well, they're not really "legs" anymore. They're long, scaled, and end in claws. She doesn’t walk anymore. She slithers. Her tail’s gotten so big she coils it beneath her like a throne, dragging it behind her like she’s some giant, scaly demon goddess. She’s moving like she owns the ground now, dood. Like walking is for peasants.

And then there's Flonne.

She used to float around like a sparkly airhead. Now she’s like an angelic horror painting you’d find behind a sealed church door.

She has six wings now. All of them huge, all of them covered in blinking eyes. Not painted on, like actual, moving eyes. Watching everything. I think they winked at me. I’m not okay.

Her face? Gone. Well, not gone, just… covered. Her ear wings have unfolded and now permanently veil her eyes. But don’t worry, dood… there are eyes on the wings, too. Like, she sees. Probably too much. Her whole body hums with weird, divine static. She’s either going to save the world or soft-purge it with cleavage.

Oh, and… deep breath… her head still floats. Detached. Just hovering above her body, slowly rotating with her halo like some kind of creepy celestial drone. Her body still moves beneath it, graceful and eerie. 

And her legs are gone, completely gone. Or maybe not. Honestly, I have no clue what’s under that thick, glowing mist swirling around her lower half. It’s like her whole bottom half just… became air. I don’t even hear footsteps. She’s just there, floating.

They’re both taller now. Almost too tall for the halls of the hotel. Their presence alone is enough to make the walls sweat.

They haven’t said a word about any of this. Not one. No "whoops, I’m part snake now," no "Hey, I can’t blink without wing-eyes doing it for me." They’re just focused. Etna’s snarling. Flonne’s glowing like an eldritch nightlight. And I? I’m sitting behind a planter, trying not to hyperventilate.

Pan Cake's just beyond this door.

And dood? I don’t think she’s ready.

Entry Twenty-Six – “The Battle of the Bouncy, Dood.”

Okay.

Okay.

So.

We made it into Pan Cake’s throne room. I was expecting a dramatic speech, maybe some fireballs, maybe Flonne tripping on her own boobs again.

What I didn’t expect was the most chaotic spectacle of soft warfare ever witnessed in the Netherworld.

The moment Etna and Flonne stepped into the room, it began. Pan Cake was already waiting—fully powered up, stacked, smug, and mad as hell. And for a minute, she held her own.

She actually fought back.

And not just with magic or fists, but with curves.

Pan Cake has this horrifying ability to redirect her own growth. She went from massively busty to perfectly flat in the blink of an eye, transferring all that size to her minions. It was insane. One second she had the chest of a goddess, the next she looked like a preteen with attitude while a random maid exploded out of her uniform with a scream and two double-Ds.

Every time Etna or Flonne tried to get close, they tripped. Or got tangled in their own limbs. Or accidentally boob-bumped each other into walls. The Netherworld’s curse was in full force: The bustier you are, the clumsier you become.

Etna tried to throw a punch once, missed, spun like a top, and knocked over an entire side of the throne room with her tail. Flonne fired a light beam that bounced off her own wing and hit a chandelier.

Meanwhile, Pan Cake was zipping around, shedding her curves and tossing them onto guards, maids, statues,  everyone. Her entire army became a wobbly, useless mess of curvy moaning chaos.

But the thing is… she was running out of people.

One by one, her staff got “boobified” into total ineffectiveness. Guards dropped weapons they could no longer lift. Maids tried to run but couldn’t see past their chests. The hall became a sea of jiggles and confusion. And slowly, Pan Cake started running out of places to redirect her curse.

Her smugness started to crack.

Etna and Flonne may have been unable to fight well, but they kept coming. Slithering. Floating. Writhing. Glowing. They were a force of inevitable, top-heavy judgment.

And me?

I’m hiding behind a pillar, trying not to scream every time a gust of hair or a stray wing knocks over another statue. Dood, if I live through this, I am taking a VERY long nap.

Entry Twenty-Seven – “Busted, Broken, Beautifully Beat, Dood.”

It’s over.

It’s finally over.

Etna and Flonne got her.

Pan Cake made a last stand, backed into her own fountain, boobs half gone, trying to redirect the last of her curse onto a poor ceiling beam. But Etna slithered in low, Flonne hovered from above, and then, bam!

They tackled her.

With their boobs.

It wasn’t a spell. It wasn’t a special move. They just straight-up squished her between their massive, cosmic, eldritch busts until she screamed, sparkled, and… poof.

Pan Cake was back to ultra busty again. Even more than before. A comically massive, barely-contained, squeaky-voiced parody of her former self. Her crown fell off. Her dress exploded into frilly scraps. She is now, officially, our very busty prisoner.

There’s no one left in the hotel who can fight.

Honestly? I don’t think there’s anyone left who can fit into a standard-sized bra.

It’s quiet now. Weirdly quiet. There’s a faint squishing sound whenever someone shifts too fast, and you can still hear distant moaning from the guards stuck in their own cleavage, but otherwise?

We won.

Etna’s throne is made of her own tail. Flonne is hovering near the chandelier like a glowing, winged jellyfish pope. Pan Cake is sobbing into her corset in the corner.

All hail Eldritch Demon Etna and Eldritch Angel Flonne, rulers of bounce and justice.

...Please don’t kill me for writing this diary now, dood.

Entry Twenty-Eight – “The Maid Makeover, Dood.”

So, uh… turns out Etna’s version of justice is deeply personal and fashion-forward.

This morning she spent an embarrassingly long time (and I mean, hours, dood) stuffing Pan Cake into a custom-made Prinny-themed maid outfit. Yes, that Pan Cake. Former overlord. Now officially a jiggling servant in frilly black and blue.

Where’d the outfit come from? Well, apparently Etna commissioned it overnight from Pan Cake’s own maids, who, despite being top-heavy disasters, have somehow retained their supernatural knack for designing clothes for bodies that defy all known geometry. One of them even asked if Etna wanted a copy of the dress for herself too. And just to reiterate, dood, she is now an eldritch demon.

In any case, Pan Cake now has a Prinny Maid dress, and oh dood, it fits.

Pan Cake came out of the dressing room bouncing. Her new apron is way too short, her neckline is somehow negative height, and her twin buns now barely fit into the ridiculous Prinny-shaped hat perched on her head. It is both tragic and beautiful.

Then Etna made her stand in front of everyone. The staff, the transformed guards, the squad of deeply traumatized prinnies… simply everyone and then proudly declared:

“I am Prinny Maid Pan Cake, Lady Etna’s personal attendant, dood!”

She dood’d. She actually dood’d, dood!

I may never emotionally recover from this.

Entry Twenty-Nine – “One Last Soak, Dood~”

So, surprise twist.

Turns out today’s not the grand departure.

Etna and Flonne both decided, completely unbothered by the wreckage and their cursed mega-bodies, that they deserved one last day of pampering. Something about “a victory soak.”...Who would I be to argue that?

Never mind that the entire staff is now so busty they can barely hold a loofah. The girls didn’t care. They just waved everyone off, floated (and slithered) toward the baths, and kicked off one final day of relaxation.

Even more surprising?

They invited us prinnies to join.

I won’t lie, dood. I was suspicious. Very suspicious. But Etna smiled, and I figured getting tossed into the jacuzzi was better than being turned into an armpit warmer.

So yeah, this entry’s short. Not much to report, except:

The water’s warm, the bubbles are strong, and Pan Cake keeps tripping over her maid heels while trying to serve melon smoothies. Etna’s tail is looped around her own hot tub like a slide, and Flonne is currently floating upside down in midair, singing a spa song through a mouthful of steam.

Peaceful. Weirdly peaceful.

So if you don’t mind, I’m going to close this diary for the day.

The sauna is calling~

Dood~

Entry Thirty – “The End(?) of the Netherworld, Dood.”

Well.

We made it back.

After all the bouncing, moaning, jiggling, slithering, floating, and one cursed maid makeover… we finally returned to our Netherworld.

And within ten minutes (just ten!) it all went straight to hell. Not normal hell, mind you. Sexy hell.

Why? Oh, just a little thing called:
Etna and Flonne have absolutely zero control over their auras.

That’s right, dood. The second they stepped off the teleporter pad, every demon in the immediate vicinity started puffing up. Curvier, bustier, softer and clumsier. By the time we made it through the first gate, the streets were already packed with wobbling demonesses in ripped uniforms and confused high heels.

Half an hour later? The entire Netherworld was boobs. That’s it, just boobs.

Even every single demon that identified as an incubus was now bubbling with blushes and bigger curves than those who were originally succubi, dood. And thats not even mentioning what happened to the succubi.

And Laharl?

Oh, Laharl held out the longest. Truly gave it his all. Stood at the castle gates, cape flapping, shouting “I will not fall to boobification!” for a solid five minutes.

But the aura always wins.

Now she’s Laharl-chan, and holy sardines, dood… she is stunning. Like, model-on-a-destruction-magazine stunning. Easily the bustiest and tallest of all the regular-sized demonesses. Her voice is so soft and commanding and her walk is like the definition of “Hip sway like she owns the moon”. If you ignore what she’s yelling and just focus on how she moves, you’d swear she was a full-blown Nether Idol.

Oh, she definitely is.

I might’ve clapped. Once. Quietly.

Anyway, yeah… chaos.

Etna finally realized the truth. The spell the witch gave her? The one that was supposed to reverse her own transformation? Didn’t work. Never worked. It was a trap.

The witch tricked her. Just like she tricked Pan Cake.

And Pan Cake, our ridiculously top-heavy, now permanently Prinny-themed maid, had the audacity to laugh.

That… was a mistake.

Etna “punished” her right then and there. I won’t get into specifics, dood. I’ll just say there was lap-sitting. And jello noises. And eye contact. So much uncomfortable, respectfully disrespectful eye contact.

In any case, the situation now looks as follows:

Etna is an eldritch snake-demon with more boobs and arms than any other demon around. Flonne is a floating, eye-winged seraph who doesn’t even have legs anymore. Laharl is a booby idol who keeps trying to punch people and accidentally jiggling herself into submission. Pan Cake is a bouncing, apron-wearing cautionary tale.
And me?

I’m closing this journal.

With my mission complete, my dignity mostly intact, and my trauma permanently engraved into my stuffing, I declare this diary done.

Prinny #8347 out, dood.

—

Time to strike back! May the power of demons, angels and… uhm… eldrich horrors be with us… dood.