The night swallowed the world around her, ink-black and endless; the stars smeared like distant smudges on glass. Ava moved through the darkness, her strides devouring miles with a constant rhythm, each footfall a quiet, rolling tremor through the earth. The mountain air was crisp and thin, carrying the lingering scent of distant pines and upturned soil, but she barely noticed. The giant woman had fifty miles to cross, but she didn’t rush. She would use the time to think.
The voice still echoed in her head, replaying like a needle stuck on the same warped groove of a record: "Ava, honey. You up? It’s been a long time."
He had spoken her name with that same casual arrogance, that same casual confidence, as if the years between them had meant nothing. As if he still had some claim over her. Men like him never changed. They saw power as a commodity— something to be shaped, owned, and sold to the highest bidder. By that metric, she had been one of his best products. A vehicle for his own success. And now, even after everything, he still believed she needed him. The sheer audacity of it only fed the flames flaring within her.
Ava exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing the rage to stay buried—at least for now. Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides, aching for something to break, something to crush beneath her heel.
Not yet. She had to savor this. He had no idea what he was walking into.
The ground softened beneath her bare feet, cool soil pressing into her skin as she crossed a quiet stretch of forest. The trees barely reached her knees, their canopies swaying gently from the wind of her movements. Normally, she might have found some small comfort in this—the quiet, the solitude—but tonight, it only amplified the thoughts in her head.
She had spent so much time resisting, trying to hold on to something human inside herself—but why? If men like him still believed they could control her, what was she even clinging to? She recalled a warning Naomi had given her around the time they first met.
“They only want you when they can control you– but you belong to no man.”
But was she really free? As long as men like him still thought they could pull her strings, she might as well have been right back in their grip. Her steps quickened, her breath coming in slow, measured pulls.
Ava crested a ridge, and the landscape opened before her. She knew this place.
At first, the town was just another scattering of empty buildings beneath her. But as she descended, the details sharpened—the neon glow of a gas station sign flickering weakly in the distance, the narrow streets lined with abandoned cars, the skeletal remains of a billboard half-toppled over a vacant parking lot. She stopped in her tracks. This was the town, the one she had visited days ago, when all of this was still new.
The giant pop star had walked these very streets, stepping carefully around buildings, trying so hard not to scare the people below. She had spoken softly, crouched low, made herself seem as small as she possibly could, despite the fact that she loomed over them like a living mountain. She had saved someone here—stepped between a man and the woman he had been menacing. She had imagined herself then as a protector, a force of good. She had been so naive. The town was totally abandoned. Ava could literally retrace her steps from her last visit, the massive footprints and sunken asphalt trenches yawning up at her with a morbid posterity.
The main road lay in ruin—abandoned cars slumped on flattened tires, windshields fogged with dust. Dark storefronts gaped open, their shelves stripped bare. A child’s bicycle lay on its side near the curb, rust creeping up the chain. No lights, no voices. No sign of life at all, but plenty of signs of her enormity left behind.
They had run.
Not just the abuser. Not just the woman she had tried to save. All of them.
Ava crouched, her massive hands pressing into the pavement as she peered down the empty street. This was what her kindness had earned. Had she really been such a fool as to think she’d given them justice? No matter what she did, no matter how carefully she moved, no matter how much she wanted to be something better, they would always fear her. Always run. Always watch timidly from the shadows, bracing for the moment she lost control.
Her nails dug into the fractured asphalt, splintering it into tiny rubble beneath her fingertips. She should have known. She should have expected this. It was absurd to think her size could be wielded for good, and even if it could, would people ever really see it that way? Ava didn’t know what she wanted more—to scream or to tear this place apart until nothing remained.
Her eyes flicked toward the gas station, its sign still flickering weakly in the dark. Something moved in the darkness. Ava’s head snapped toward it. Not a person, in fact. Something smaller. The faint hum of machinery buzzed in the distance, cutting through the stillness of the night like a whisper: it was another drone. Of course. Ava sighed, the sound of her voice feeling out of place amid the desperate silence of the ghost town that stretched before her. She turned her head slowly, scanning the dark sky. A pinpoint of movement hovered above the rooftops, a faint red light blinking from its underside.
Watching. They were always watching. Her fists tightened at her sides, breath coming in slow, deliberate pulls. It didn’t matter who was behind the camera—military, media, or some perverted freaks. The expectation was always the same. They wanted to see the monster. This ghost town was just another stage. Well, she would give them a show, alright.
Ava took a step forward. The drone adjusted, shifting slightly in the air, maintaining its distance but keeping its focus locked on her. She reached down, plucking up the base of a telephone pole as if it were a carrot growing out of the ground. With an almost effortless tug, the pole tore free from the ground, snapped power lines hanging off it like roots. The drone hovered, unmoving, as if calling her bluff.
Without much thought, she angrily tossed it. The telephone pole sailed through the air like a javelin, whistling as it missed its intended target, pivoting lengthwise as it slammed through a storefront below the drone. The face of the building erupted in a spray of shattered glass and crumbling brick. The drone dipped sharply, adjusting its altitude. Ava snarled.
She reached for something else—a car this time, its roof caving beneath her fingers as she inadvertently crumpled it from the indelicate snatching. The car alarm stuttered to life for a brief moment before she launched it skyward. The drone banked to the side, narrowly avoiding the impact by what looked like inches. As she watched its nimble maneuvers, cool and casual in contrast to her sloppy rage, something inside her snapped. She wasn’t a caged animal– some primitive beast to be studied or used for amusement. It was time she started acting like it.
Ava lunged forward, this time finding a truck in her grip, her gargantuan body becoming a blur of motion as she flung it with deadly precision. The drone tried to pivot again, but it was no use. The truck collided mid-air, obliterating the flying object. Sparks showered in every direction, and what was left of the drone spiraled downward in a hail of metal fragments, slamming into the pavement with a hollow, mechanical screech. A grimace crept onto her lips. It was a start.
Silence followed. She stood there, shoulders heaving, staring down at the wreckage. They would send more. They always sent more. She turned away from the ruined street, stepping over the crumpled drone as she walked. The town was dead, and there was nothing left for her here. Her anger hadn’t burned out. Not yet. She still had someone left to punish. The wreckage of the drone still smoldered behind her, but Ava didn’t look back. She moved through the night, her anger not yet spent, her mind fixed on the road ahead.
The land stretched wide and barren now, the remains of the town shrinking in the distance. With each step, the giantess closed the distance, the miles slipping beneath her like mere inches. She had never felt more powerful, more untethered from the human constraints that had once defined her. She wasn’t creeping through backstage entrances anymore, afraid of who might see her and snap a photo. She wasn’t shrinking into her seat during a meeting while others discussed what she would do next as if she wasn’t even present.
She was coming for him.
Far ahead, perched on a lonely stretch of land, the radio station stood against the horizon. A squat, blocky structure surrounded by rusting fences and skeletal radio towers that clawed at the sky. A single road led up to it, winding through the empty countryside like a forgotten vein. Ava slowed down, keeping her focus sharp like the point of an arrow. The building was dark. No lights. No movement. But she knew he was inside. The building looked just like it had on Hector’s laptop in the satellite view. In an area this remote, it hadn’t been hard to find.
She stepped off the road, lowering herself beside a copse of trees at the base of a hill. It felt ridiculous to hide—there was no concealing something her size even in the dark—but instincts from another life kicked in. She wanted to observe first. To give him a moment to realize the error of his judgment in reaching out to her after all he’d done. To let him feel small for once, just as she had for years under his thumb.
Inside the station, the well-dressed man sat hunched at the desk, illuminated only by the pale glow of a computer screen. The static from the radio hissed and popped with intermittent military chatter, filling the room with its restless noise. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling through his nose as he forced himself to relax. This was just another deal. Another negotiation. That was what he was good at—controlling the conversation, steering the narrative.
He had built stars from nothing before. Repackaged them, rebranded them, polished them until they gleamed. Ava had been no different. She had needed guidance, needed someone to show her how the game was played. And now, after all this time, she had come crawling back.
Of course she had.
The flickering screen in front of him displayed old footage—interviews, performances, moments from a career long buried. He had combed through them before sending the transmission, selecting just the right clips to remind her of what she had been, of what she could be again. Ava might be bigger, but her actions since Madison Square had all told the tale of that same timid, malleable girl he’d molded into a premium product years ago.
The desk chair let out a slow creak as he leaned back, exhaling through his nose. He had done what he needed to do. The signal had gone through. Now it was only a matter of waiting. Ava would come. Of course she would. She had always been predictable. Even back when she was a teenager, with all her attitude and ambition, she had still fallen in line when it mattered. The industry had been too big, too ruthless for her to navigate on her own, and he had been the one to guide her through it. She owed him for that. A smirk tugged at his lips as he reached for his glass of bourbon.
Then the walls shuddered.
A faint vibration. Barely noticeable. The man frowned, lowering the glass. For a long moment, there was nothing. Just the static-filled hum of the radio equipment, the dull flicker of the screen, the distant rustling of wind against the old station walls. Then it came again. Stronger this time. A low, rhythmic tremor. His expression of smug reminiscence had faded.
The glass in his hand trembled. Not much, just a whisper of movement, the ice cubes inside clinking together as if disturbed by an unseen force. Another tremor. Closer. The breath caught in his throat. This was more than just the sting of the alcohol. The man downed the rest of the drink, suddenly alert. He straightened in his chair, ears straining, his skin prickling with something unfamiliar—something he hadn’t felt in years: unease.
The next impact came heavier.
Something outside groaned—an old wooden sign, jolted from its hanging place, swinging violently against the wall. The equipment on the desk rattled. A loose pen rolled off the edge.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
The weight of each step pulsed through the floorboards, growing steadier, heavier. Ethan felt himself begin to sweat. That wasn’t thunder. That wasn’t the wind. It was her.
Ava Nova, his pride and joy.
The air inside the station felt thin, like the pressure was shifting, like the whole world outside was contracting inward toward the massive force approaching. She wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t storming in, wasn’t charging like some mindless beast. No, she was walking. Taking her time. Drawing it out. The wariness in his chest grew as he realized the gravity of the situation.
He pushed himself up from his chair, moving toward the boarded-up window, fingers twitching as he reached for the edge of the plywood. He pried it back just enough to peer through the crack— She was close now.
Even in the darkness, she was unmistakable—her massive form illuminated in streaks of pale moonlight, her long strides swiftly closing the distance between them. She looked different from the last time he had seen her. Not just bigger– darker. Her silhouette was no longer that of a woman trying to navigate the space between human and monster. She had made her decision.
The footsteps didn’t stop.
The well-dressed man took a step back from the window, pulse hammering. The last time they had spoken, he had been in control. Gently reeling her in from a distance like an expert fisherman. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe. She wasn’t going to hurt him. Not really. Not when she heard what he had to say. He licked his lips, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt, forcing his nerves back into something resembling composure. Ava had always been emotional. He could use that. He had done it before. He just had to remind her who she was– who she had been.
The footsteps were nearly at the door now. The walls shuddered again. The man squared his shoulders, adjusting the watch on his wrist. He could do this. He was still the best agent in Manhattan, and this girl used to eat out of the palm of his hand. This was just another meeting. Another deal to close, like so many more before under his belt.
The building shuddered.
She still needs me. She just doesn’t know it yet.
The man straightened his sleeves, smoothing down the front of his shirt. The doorframe trembled. Dust drifted from the ceiling. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, then stepped forward, careful and deliberate. The charm had to come first. That was always the way.
He pulled the door open, and what he saw nearly floored him.
He had prepared himself for this—or at least, he thought he had. He had seen the footage. He knew what had happened to her, had watched the same clips over and over, studying every inch of her newfound immensity, preparing for how to handle it. Still, knowing something and looking up at it like the Statue of Liberty were two entirely different things.
She was colossal.
Even crouched down, her sheer size was overwhelming, a force that seemed to stretch beyond the boundaries of reality itself. Her legs folded beneath her, bare feet pressing into the soft earth, arms resting on the ground like she was settling in to watch him. To observe.
He forced the tension out of his shoulders, but didn’t let himself step back. He had to keep maintaining an air of control; to own the moment. So he smiled. The very same cocksure smile that had diffused scandals and saved careers others thought shot to sunshine. That had turned ruined artists into grateful, desperate creatures who owed him their lives.
"Ava, sweetheart," he said smoothly, like he was greeting an old friend. "Goddamn, aren’t you a sight for these sore eyes?"
The words barely left his lips before she answered.
"Ethan."
She said it flatly. No inflection. No warmth. Just the impression of a coffin lid slamming shut.
Ethan barely had time to blink before the silence thickened around them, pressing down like a vice. For the first time in years, he wasn’t sure what move to make, so he defaulted to the only strategy he had ever needed—he kept talking.
"You look good," he said, chuckling just enough to feign ease. "I’d almost forgotten how good you looked in your birthday suit. Hell, you look even better this way. Always knew you’d go big, but this? This is something else."
Ava didn’t react. No wry smile. No shift in posture.
Just watching him.
The weight of her stare was suffocating. He felt like a bug under a microscope, a specimen being considered. Ethan exhaled, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"Come on, don’t just stand there glaring at me. Let’s talk. I meant what I said in the transmission—I want to help you, sweetheart. You and I built something incredible once. We can do it again."
Ava leaned in slightly, and his stomach clenched.
The pressure in the air changed. He could feel her breath, a slow, steady pull of wind sweeping over him as she inhaled. Then, finally—finally—she spoke.
"Close the door, Ethan.”
The words were low. Measured. A command, not a request. Ava tilted her head down until her gaze was perfectly trained to the man, as if staring straight through him. "You’re not leaving."
The moment stretched, thick with something Ethan didn’t want to name. He knew how to handle high-pressure conversations. Knew how to smooth things over, to say just the right thing to keep the balance in his favor. But this? This wasn’t some actress throwing a tantrum over a bad contract. This wasn’t some singer furious over a leaked scandal. This wasn’t some strung-out starlet he could manipulate with praise, with money, with the promise of something bigger. This was Ava Nova, the monster from the news, and she hadn’t come here to bargain.
Ethan licked his lips and cleared his throat. He had to pivot. Fast.
So he stepped back into the radio station, keeping the door open just enough to gesture her inside, like he was the one setting the terms.
"Alright, alright," he said, voice smooth, collected. "We’ll talk. Just like old times."
Ava didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just smiled.
Not her smile. Not a mark’s smile. No, this was the kind of grin he’d seen plenty of times in his time. He’d rubbed elbows with all sorts of prickly devils: stock sharks, mobsters, politicians, you name it. But he’d never seen the hallmark of a predator on this little fawn. Well, not so little anymore, was she?
She’s bluffing. She still needs me. She has to.
And for the first time, Ethan felt something settle in his chest that had never been there before.
Dread.
Ethan stood there, a forced smile pulling at his lips as he tried to regain control of the situation. He had been through this before, countless times—the dance, the play, the manipulation. He knew the moves, knew how to win the game. Ava had always been a pawn in his hands, a naive girl he had molded into a star. And now, she was a monster, yes—but monsters could be tamed, couldn’t they?
He started with the words that had worked so many times before.
"Ava, sweetheart, everyone’s talking about you," he said smoothly, as if nothing had changed. "Look at you. Goddamn, you’re enormous! You’re like a feminist’s wet dream." He let the smirk slide onto his face, taking a step forward, his hands raised in an open gesture. "I mean it, really. You’re everything I promised you’d be, and more.”
More silence. What the fuck was going on in that overgrown brain of hers?
“There’s no need to destroy everything we built. We can still make this work! You know I can help you. I always did. All you have to do is let me in again. I know exactly what you need. I’m still your agent, after all. You still remember the good times, right, Ava?"
Ava didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. She just stood there, watching him with those unreadable eyes. The tension thickened around them, like the air before a storm.
"Take off your clothes, Ethan," Ava said suddenly, her voice low and cold.
Ethan froze. His laugh died in his throat. Surely, she was just playing. She had to be. He chuckled nervously, trying to brush it off.
"Ava, you’re joking, right? Come on, we’re past all of this." He scanned her, desperate for any sign of softness, of humanity. At her scale, it was hard to tell, but it wasn’t looking good.
"Take them off," she repeated, her voice now edged with something darker. "Or I will."
His heart skipped a beat as he finally comprehended how serious she was. Slowly, reluctantly, he began to strip. His designer suit slipped off his shoulders, his undershirt next, followed by his tie. He moved in slow motion, his fingers trembling as he removed his cufflinks and even his watch. Ava watched him the whole time, her gaze sharp, cruel. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. When he was down to his boxers, he tried to meet her eyes, as if somehow the final act of humiliation would stop. He was wrong.
Ava stepped forward, and her foot—a towering, lethal thing—came down in front of him. His heart thudded in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening!
"That’s not enough," she said, her voice quiet but carrying a weight he couldn’t escape. "You think you deserve dignity after all you’ve done? Strip. All of it. No more bullshit"
With shaking hands, Ethan undid his final piece of clothing. As it dropped to the ground, he looked up, unable to read her face from his angle. His mouth went dry. This wasn’t the same woman he had known. Not the girl he could control, not the star he had built. The woman before him was an immovable force, cold as the night air around his naked body.
"Now crawl to me," she said.
The words hit him like a slap. He opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.
Each movement, each scrape of his bare skin against the rough earth, was a reminder of how far he had fallen. Ava didn’t speak as he neared her. She didn’t need to. Her presence was enough to shatter whatever shred of dignity he had left.
When he finally reached her, trembling with humiliation, Ava didn’t kneel down to meet him. No. She simply raised one bare foot, positioning her big toe above his head.
"You know what? Kiss my toes, Ethan."
He recoiled at the command, his pride flashing in his eyes for just a moment. But Ava's face, unyielding and cold, made it clear there was no choice. He fell to his knees and pressed his lips to her big toe. The moment his lips made contact, he gagged, a quiet, involuntary noise that only deepened his shame. There was something so cosmically wrong with this. Anger flared within him, but he knew better than to do anything but comply. There was still a chance to get out of this, albeit with a bruised ego. He just had to play the game.
Ava smirked, shifting her foot just slightly, forcing more of her toe into his mouth.
"That’s right," she murmured. "You always had a way with words. Now stop yapping and use that tongue for something useful for once."
Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to obey. The scent of her skin filled his nose—clean, smelling faintly of dirt, but unbearably oppressive at this size. He dragged his lips over the smooth surface, pressing weak, trembling kisses along the curve of her toe. His hands shook at his sides, clenching and unclenching as if grasping for something to hold onto, some way to escape the humiliation burning through him. Was she getting off on this?
"I said use your tongue," she ordered, tilting her head. "Actually please a woman for a change."
His body rebelled at the thought, yet he obeyed. Slowly, shamefully, he let his tongue flick against her skin, tracing a line over her toe in a weak attempt to please her. He expected her to pull away, to let this be enough, but instead, she laughed—a rich, amused sound that made his entire body seize up with dread.
"Pathetic," she whispered, flexing her toe against his face, smearing the moisture of his own desperation against his cheek. "I’ve had better from men who actually wanted it. And you? The man who once held my fate in his hands? Look at you now. On your knees, licking the dirt off my feet like a fucking worm."
Ethan whimpered, his breath shaky, his body trembling with fear. "Please, Ava," he choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, no more."
Ava stepped back, giving him a moment to breathe before she twisted the knife.
"Oh, so now you want to ask nicely?" she inquired, tilting her head. “I don’t remember you being such a gentleman when you put your hands on me when I was teenager, Ethan. A fucking child! And all the times after, when I was older, I don’t remember you asking permission at all!”
The words hung in the air like an unwanted hand on her skin—one she could finally slap away. Confronting him by saying it aloud after all this time unearthed a dozen more painful memories, but she had spent enough time suppressing them all these years in tortured silence. She had to let herself feel that pain again, and Ethan had to finally answer for it. Before, he likely never would have faced any real consequences. He’d have hidden behind a wall of corporate lawyers and dragged it out in court for years; but now? No one was in any position to tell her she couldn’t carve out her own justice. The tables had turned, and now he was the small one without anyone to save him.
Ava cleared her throat.
“This should be good for a laugh: give me one good reason why you, Ethan, deserve to live."
He choked on his words, trying to formulate something convincing.
“I… I didn’t know you didn’t want it…”
Not his best work. When the words came out, they sounded empty. Hollow. Even to his own ears. Ava only rolled her eyes and shook her head as she stared down at him.
“Pathetic,” she repeated, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is pointless. You’re just an actor, a liar. I can’t believe that even now you can’t admit what you did. That’s it, you had your chance, but we’re past talking it out."
Before he could retort, she spoke over him. "Dance for me."
Ethan froze. His eyes darted from her towering form to the ground. "I—I don’t—"
Ava’s voice turned dangerously soft. "You’ll do it. Now."
He stumbled to his feet, his legs barely holding him as he started to move awkwardly, his body unwilling to obey his commands. He gyrated, his movements stiff and desperate as he tried to recall the old routines he once made her do. The result was a stilted mess.
"Keep dancing, Ethan," she demanded. "Why don’t you sing for me too, while you’re at it? We’ve all seen how well you can act. You still know all your lines. Let’s make you a triple threat today."
Ethan hesitated, his lips parting with no sound coming out. The silence between them stretched, Ava's expectant gaze freezing him in place. Then, with a shuddering breath, he obeyed.
He sang.
His voice was thin, shaking, the notes wobbling with fear. It was one of her old songs, one he had forced her to sing over and over again when she was younger, called “Strings Attached” The irony wasn’t lost on her. Ava watched, arms folded, as he struggled through the melody, his breath catching as he tried to push through his terror. She was clearly revelling in it.
"Louder," she commanded, smirking down at him. "Once more, with feeling."
Ethan raised his voice, the sound cracking with desperation. He danced along to it, his body jerking awkwardly, pathetic in its attempts to follow the rhythm. Tears gathered in his eyes, but Ava only smiled.
"That’s it," she cooed mockingly. "You always told me the audience loves passion. So give me passion, Ethan. Sell yourself."
He sobbed as he twirled, his dignity in tatters. This wasn’t a performance. It was his eulogy.
Ethan whimpered, his breath shaky, his body trembling with fear. "Please, Ava," he choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, no more. I’m sorry, okay? What do you want me to say?"
Ava sighed, as if bored. She put her hands on her hips, looking down at him, then exhaled as if disappointed. "I think I’ve seen enough.”
“You’re not gonna let me go, are you?” the man squeaked.
“Oh, that depends. Have enough energy left to run?"
Ethan blinked in confusion. Was she actually giving him a chance?
"Go on," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Run. Get as far as you can. Maybe you’ll make it."
His body jolted into motion before his mind fully caught up. He bolted, feet pounding against the dirt, lungs burning as he scrambled down the slope toward flat ground and the trees below. His arms pumped furiously at his sides, his breaths coming in ragged, wheezing gasps. He could feel the cold night air against his skin, the sweat slick on his back. Each step felt like an eternity.
For a moment—just a moment—hope flared inside him.
Then the earth quaked.
A wave of darkness loomed overhead between Ethan and the moonlight, massive and inevitable. The wind rushed past him as something enormous moved, and in the span of a heartbeat, an earth-shaking boom shattered the silence. The ground in front of him split apart, dust and debris flying into the air. He barely had time to register what had happened before his body lurched backward in terror.
Ava’s foot had slammed into the earth just ahead of him, her sole pressing into the dirt like an immovable wall. Ethan skidded to a halt, his knees giving out beneath him. His breath came in frantic, uneven gasps. He craned his neck upward, eyes wide with horror, to see her smirking down at him.
"Going somewhere?" she purred from on high.
The naked man sank to his knees, hands clasped together. "Please, Ava! I-I can change! I swear! I was wrong! I was blind! You were always meant for more! I can help you—I'll do anything, just please, let me live!"
Ava cocked her head, seeming to consider his words. Her expression softened, just a fraction. "Anything?"
"Yes! Yes, anything!" He nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face. "You want me to disappear? I will! You want me to dedicate myself to making it up to you? You got it! I was a fool—I see that now! Just give me another chance, Ava! I can help you!"
For a long moment, she watched him, tapping one finger against her chin as though contemplating his pathetic display. Then, finally, she exhaled.
"Hmmm... nah. Oh, and one more thing, Ethan… you’re fired."
Ava’s foot loomed above him, her toes curling slightly. He couldn’t believe features so petite could become so intimidating at this size. The ridges of her toe print were visible now even in the darkness– intricate patterns of whorls and creases, mesmerizing in their enormity. His breath transitioned in short, frantic gasps, each one shallower than the last as sheer terror robbed him of air. He was well and truly fucked.
Her colossal foot descended in one slow, deliberate motion. Ethan howled, hands raised in a useless attempt to stop the inevitable. The man’s scream tore through the night, raw and ragged, a desperate, primal plea for mercy. His hands, shaking and weak, shot up in a final, useless attempt to push back the massive toes descending upon him. His fingers pressed against the smooth, warm skin, but it was like trying to hold back a falling slab of stone.
“No, no, please! Ava! Don’t do this! I can change! I’ll—!”
His words choked off as the pressure began.
Her toe met his outstretched hands first, nimbly pressing them down into his own chest. The strength behind it was overwhelming– suffocating, unyielding. His bones groaned in protest as his arms bent at unnatural angles, his shoulders collapsing inward under the impossible weight. His fingers clawed at her skin, his nails scraping uselessly against the massive, warm expanse of flesh, leaving behind faint, imperceptible streaks of sweat and dirt. His body was pinned, flattened against the dirt, his spine arching involuntarily as his ribs began to compress.
Ava’s smirk never wavered. If anything, it grew.
“Ethan,” she mused, her voice like a velvet noose tightening around him. “You always did talk such a big game. Whatever happened to all that confidence?”
A sickening crunch echoed through the still night as one of his ribs snapped. An animalistic cry wrenched from his throat as his legs kicked wildly, heels digging into the ground in a feeble attempt to push himself backward. His hips twisted, his spine contorting in a desperate, instinctual need to escape the crushing weight bearing down upon him. Her gigantic digit pressed lower, the point of her toenail now hovering just above his throat like a poised guillotine ready to drop at a moment’s notice.
“You always thought you were God’s gift to humanity. Well, look at you! I might as well be God to you now, and frankly, I’m not impressed with what I see.”
Ethan gurgled, his mouth opening wide in a silent, strangled scream as more ribs caved in. His chest, once broad and muscular, now looked sunken. Misshapen. Blood rushed to his face, his eyes bulging as his lungs struggled to expand, the pressure turning every breath into a shallow, wheezing rasp. His arms flailed at his sides, fingers twitching, spasming uselessly as nerve endings fired in panic. Ava let out a soft hum, as if considering something.
Then, for the briefest of moments, doubt flickered in her eyes. Her former agent was utterly pathetic now, pleading and gasping. All of his smug arrogance driven from his broken body. Did this truly make her feel free? Did this make her more than what he had tried to turn her into?
The old Ava might have hesitated. Might have backed down. Might have let him slither away with another empty promise, but she wasn’t that girl anymore. She had burned her old self down to the bone, and this was what remained. She swallowed.
With a resolve that came easier than it should have, she continued. Her foot locked in place for a beat as the world seemed to hold still. After a few seconds of silence, Ethan whimpered– a choked, wet string of filthy epithets spilling from his lips. With that, the doubt vanished as quickly as it had come. He didn’t deserve her mercy. He’d never extended her the courtesy.
Ava leaned in slightly, savoring the sensation once more. The raw power thrummed through her as she continued to push down gradually. She wanted him to feel every bit of it. To know, with absolute certainty, that he was dying beneath her, that his body was nothing more than a fragile, pitiful thing to be snuffed out at her whim. He deserved to feel how she felt for years: at another’s mercy.
The man struggled in the dirt beneath her, hands scrabbling against the dirt in what she could only assume was some desperate attempt to get free. Ethan wheezed out a sound—something phlegmy, rattling. For a second, Ava thought it was another sob, but the way he shook—shoulders trembling, lips curling—it wasn’t fear. It was recognition.
And then he laughed.
Not much. Just a broken, breathless chuckle, like he’d figured out the punchline of a joke right before the reaper came to collect.
Ava’s brow furrowed. “What the fuck is so funny?”
Ethan coughed, blood splattering over his own chest. His lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. “You think you’re free?” he rasped, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.
A flicker of something uncomfortable ran down Ava’s spine. He was just stalling. Just talking shit to get in her head and find an angle to escape. She pushed down slightly harder with her toe; the weight of the moment pressing against her as heavily as she pressed against him. There was something deep within her—something old, bitter, a phantom of who she used to be. Once, she would have cared. Once, she would have let him crawl away and convince her he mattered. She swallowed. With a resolve that came easier than it should have, she pushed down.
"You think this was your idea?" Ethan gurgled, his ribs folding in with a sickening crunch. He gasped in agony, spitting out a tooth. "You're still just a goddamn product! Still their—”
Enough words.
His stomach caved next, the internal organs compressing like overripe fruit beneath her touch. A wet squelch accompanied another strangled scream, his voice now hoarse, barely more than a rattling breath. His legs spasmed, his feet kicking at nothing. The veins in his neck bulged, his face turning a deep shade of red, then purple. Blood trickled from his throat as he gasped, his body fighting against inevitability. Her nail had finally sliced through him, decapitating the man in one cruel stroke. The guillotine had fallen. His mouth hung open, but no more words came.
The laughter was gone.
Ava lifted her foot slowly, surveying the remains that still clung to her sole. There wasn’t much left that resembled the man who had once thought himself her master. Just a mess of shattered bone, crushed muscle, and a smear of red staining the earth. She wiggled her toes indulgently, feeling the remnants of his existence beneath her, the final proof that he had been nothing.
She should have felt triumphant. Liberated. But all she felt was a hollow silence settling into her bones. The night was still, save for the faint whisper of the wind. Ava exhaled, rolling her shoulders, trying to shake the tension of something she couldn't quite name. Ethan was gone. It was done. But the doubt still lingered, clinging to the edges of her mind like a stubborn shadow.
Suddenly, Ava heard the familiar sound of a mechanical hum. A flicker of movement in the sky in her peripheral vision. It was a red light, blinking like a heartbeat, hovering just beyond the treeline. Another drone. They had seen everything, just like always.
Ava chewed at her lip. Of course they were watching. They were always watching. Naomi had assured her that hurting, or even killing, her enemies was sometimes necessary. She had thought this was about reclaiming her power, but was it really hers at all? Or was she still just dancing to someone else’s tune, just like she had every time before?
Ava took one last look at the stain where Ethan had once been, then turned away, stepping into the darkness once more. Her gaze lingered on the macabre scene, mulling over its implications. As she turned to leave, something caught her eye. Even her enhanced vision hadn't picked it up before, the heat of the moment clouding her attention to detail. She squinted, leaning closer. At first, it was just another smear of blood in the dirt. But then she saw it—words, hastily scratched into the ground by a dying hand. Almost erased:
"She played us."
A new font of rage bubbled inside her, dark and insistent. Naomi had some explaining to do. Too many missing pieces. Too many things that no longer added up. This time, there would be no spin, no carefully crafted narrative wrapped in easy words. No empty reassurances from the cunning ex-journalist. Ava wouldn’t be brushed aside. She wouldn’t be handled. She’d get the whole truth—no matter what it took. Just like Ethan, Naomi wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of this one.