The stars swirled unnaturally above her, streaks of light twisting like trails of smoke in a violent wind. Ava found herself standing in the middle of a city, its streets eerily empty. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint rustle of paper drifting across cracked asphalt.
She looked down at her hands. They were enormous, her fingers like columns blotting out the weak, flickering street lights. Her shadow stretched across entire blocks, swallowing the city in darkness. Her breath hitched as she curled her fingers experimentally, the sheer mass of them making the motion feel foreign, grotesque. She flexed her hands and watched as their vast silhouettes rippled across the empty buildings.
At first, there was no one. No movement, no sound. Then, as if summoned by her thoughts, they appeared—tiny figures, scurrying out of alleys and doorways like ants fleeing a flood. Ava froze, her gaze fixed on them. Their voices were faint, a confused murmur, but even from a distance, their movements were frantic, aimless, as though searching for safety they would never find. Ava recognized their fear immediately. She could feel the sting of it deep in her chest.
“Wait!” she called, but her voice boomed unnaturally, the force of it rolling through the city like a shockwave. The sound shattered windows in its path, sending glass shards raining down onto the streets. The tiny citizens stumbled and fell, some clutching their ears in agony while others scrambled for cover as the sheer volume of her words overwhelmed them.
“No, no, I didn’t mean to—” Ava began, stepping forward to offer help. The ground beneath her foot cracked with a deafening roar, its pavement splitting into jagged chasms that swallowed scores of the fleeing figures. Screams erupted, though to her ears they were no louder than the hum of countless insects. Her massive feet left deep craters in their wake, the once pristine streets now reduced to a mosaic of catastrophic destruction.
She hesitated, looking down at the chaos she’d unintentionally caused. A part of her wanted to kneel, to gather the little people gently in her hands, to reassure them that she meant no harm. But another part—a darker, insidious voice—whispered a different desire.
They’re nothing compared to you. Look at them. Why should you care?
The thought sent a shiver through her, and she shook her head violently as if to dislodge it. “No,” she whispered, but the voice persisted, weaving through her thoughts like a shadowy thread.
They’re beneath you. They always have been.
Before she could push the thought away, she acted. Her powerful step descended up on a fleeing group, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground. She felt the crunch beneath her foot, a sickening vibration traveling up her leg. Shivers of twisted satisfaction followed, unbidden yet undeniable.
She froze, horrified at her actions but seemingly unable to stop. Though she struggled to wrest control of her body, it continued to betray her. Her other foot followed the same cue, mercilessly dropping onto a parked car. The tiny vehicle crumpled like tin foil, the tires bursting with a sharp pop beneath her sole. The echoes of destruction filled her ears, and Ava’s chest tightened with a mixture of disgust and... power.
“I don’t want this,” she whispered, but the city seemed deaf to her pleas.
The anonymous little figures had stopped begging for mercy. Their voices shifted, uniting into a familiar chant that carried through the night air.
“Goddess!” they cried in unison, their cries rising like a wave. “Take us! Use us! We are yours!”
The words sent a chill down her spine, cold and unrelenting. Ava’s breath quickened as she tried to silence them, lifting her hand in a futile gesture of command. Instead, her arm swiped across a nearby building. The structure crumbled under her touch, steel and concrete folding in on themselves like wet paper. Dust and debris rained down, burying dozens of the hapless innocents beneath it.
“No!” she shouted, her voice cracking with despair.
But the chant continued, louder now. “More! More!”
Ava stumbled backward, her enormous body crushing another section of the city in the process. She felt the crumble of asphalt and the soft resistance of more tiny lives expiring beneath her immense weight. Her hands trembled as she looked at the incalculable suffering she had caused. A sinister segment of her psyche reveled in it—the raw power, the untouchable dominance—but another part felt as if it were being eaten alive with guilt and remorse.
“Stop!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face.
Her protest only seemed to fuel their fervor. The tiny people began climbing her feet, clawing and grasping at her toes as if desperate to be noticed. Their hands brushed against her skin, the sensation almost imperceptible but maddening in its persistence. She tried to shake them off, her toes flexing involuntarily, but they clung tighter, their cries blending into a cacophony of devotion.
“You’re everything!” one of them shouted. “Use us!”
“I don’t want this!” Ava yelled again, her voice breaking. She stepped back again in an effort to stem her destructive actions, but her foot only pressed down harder, grinding the pitiful figures into the ground. The crunch of their fragile bodies beneath her heel sent another shiver through her—accompanied this time with the horror of something even darker that she couldn’t bring herself to name.
The pressure in her chest built to a crescendo as the tiny worshippers continued their doomed climb, scaling her ankles, her shins, reaching for her as though she were the living embodiment of their salvation.
Suddenly, the city dissolved around her. The crumbling streets and buildings melted into an infinite darkness, and the multitude of voices faded, leaving only a single, calm tone.
“It’s who you are,” Naomi’s voice said, penetrating the shadowy void. “Accept it.”
Ava jolted awake, her chest heaving as the nightmare’s tendrils released their grip. The camp was silent, the embers of the dying fire casting faint shadows that swayed with the night breeze. She sat up, clutching her knees as waves of anguish flowed through her like the aftershocks of a terrible quake within her.
The faces of the tiny people in her dream lingered in her mind—their screams, their worship, their desperate devotion. Through it all Naomi’s voice, haunting and calm, articulated all the things Ava feared most about herself, about what she was becoming.
Was the nightmare simply a grotesque exaggeration of her anxieties—or was it a reflection of something buried deep within her, something she couldn’t face in the waking world?
She exhaled shakily, her gaze lifting to the stars above. Ava felt a pang of anxious dread as she thought of the ritual that awaited her in the morning. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her nightmare wasn’t just a product of her fears, but an omen of warning for what she might one day become.
When Ava woke again, the sunlight filtering through the trees painted the valley in soft golds and greens. The first thing she noticed was the mild dampness of sweat upon her skin. Her robe was partially stuck to her from the tossing and turning of her troubled slumber. She was no stranger to awakening in a cold sweat after a nightmare, but at her new size she noticed a small puddle of mud had formed out of what had once been dirt beneath her sleeping body. Gross.
The cultists were already stirring, their movements diligent and purposeful, with an efficient intricacy of an ant farm. They spoke in hushed tones, their excitement palpable as they prepared for the celebration through various clandestine duties that made little sense to her. She hoped that her restless dreams hadn’t kept them up all night, but realistically she knew they probably had.
Ava sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the ground too much. Her body ached from the tension of the nightmare and the unforgiving rocks and hard-packed dirt she’d chosen to settle down on, but she pushed the residual feelings of her troubled sleep away. She would need to keep her wits about her to navigate the matters at present.
Ava nibbled on more of the berries the cultists had left out for her. She noted their usual bitter taste she'd been slowly coming accustomed to. Probably out of season. They slightly dulled the ache of her intense hunger, at least, but for all their efforts foraging she knew she would have to find some protein in order to feel anywhere resembling full. With no game in sight, she would have to figure something out soon.
“Good morning!” Naomi’s joyfully trill snagged her attention. She stood nearby, holding a bundle of vibrant flowers that looked freshly picked. Her dark eyes gleamed with warmth, though there was an edge to her smile that Ava couldn’t quite place.
“Morning,” Ava murmured.
“Did you sleep well?”
Ava hesitated, then nodded. “Well enough.”
Naomi studied her for a moment, her gaze lingering as though she could see straight through the lie, but she didn’t press. Instead, she gestured to the bustling cultists.
“Most of us have been up since before dawn,” Naomi said. “Today is… important. For all of us.”
Ava forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. Big day.”
Naomi stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “It’s not just a celebration, Ava. It’s a moment to solidify your connection to us—to show your followers that their devotion isn’t in vain.”
“I know,” Ava said quickly, her tone sharper than she intended. She sighed, softening her voice. “I mean… I get it. It’s just a lot to process.”
Naomi nodded, her expression understanding. “Take your time. You’ll feel it when the moment is right.”
As Naomi walked away to oversee the preparations, Ava watched the cultists with a growing sense of discomfort. They worked tirelessly, weaving garlands of flowers, arranging stones in intricate patterns, and preparing food that looked far too meager for a group of their size.
At the center of it all was Caylin, her freckled face flushed with excitement as she directed others. Her movements were clumsy yet purposeful, her hazel eyes shining with a mix of nervousness and pride.
Ava’s stomach began to work itself into knots. She still didn’t know exactly what this ritual entailed, but the intensity in Caylin’s expression made her very uneasy.
“Do you want to help?” Caylin’s excited timbre startled Ava out of her thoughts. The young woman stood at the edge of the clearing, clutching a bundle of flowers and looking up at Ava with hopeful eyes.
“Help?” Ava repeated, surprised.
“With the decorations,” Caylin said quickly. “Or… anything, really. It’s your day, after all.”
“Sure. What do you need?”
Caylin’s face lit up. “Could you—um—hold these?” She offered the flowers, and Ava carefully took them between her tree-trunk sized digits.
“Juuust… place them around the stones,” Caylin explained, pointing to the circular pattern the cultists had arranged.
Ava did as she was asked, placing the flowers as delicately as she could.
“It’s perfect,” Caylin squealed, seeming to revel in the result of the floral arrangement.
Ava glanced at the pattern she’d helped complete. It was aesthetically beautiful, but there was something unsettling about its symmetry—something that felt too deliberate, too calculated.
“Caylin,” Ava said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “What exactly is this ritual about?”
The acolyte paused, her face growing red with self-consciousness. “It’s… a way to honor you. To show our devotion. It’s just symbolic, really.”
“Symbolic of what?” Ava pressed.
Caylin bit her lip, her hands fidgeting with the sleeve of her garment. “You’ll see,” she said finally, her voice trembling slightly. “It’ll all make sense soon.”
Before Ava could ask more, Naomi’s voice rang out across the clearing.
“Everyone, gather! It’s time!”
The cultists moved quickly, their excitement palpable as they took their proper places around the stone circle. Ava followed reluctantly, a budding unease swelling with every step. The ritual was beginning. Whatever it entailed, she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.
The cultists had arranged themselves in a near-perfect circle around the stone formation, employing a low and reverent pitch as they chanted a hymn Ava didn’t recognize. It was more than likely one they had developed themselves, she surmised. The lyrics were artfully cryptic, as expected, but also carried with them a chilling element of morbidity. The air seemed to hum with an unnatural energy, bearing tension so thick that Ava’s lungs felt suffocated with apprehension.
At the center of the ceremonial circle stood Naomi, her commanding presence impossible to ignore. She held a staff carved from dark wood, its tip adorned with a strange crystal that refracted the sunlight into fractured rainbows across the stone. She wore a flowing robe of deep crimson, a stark contrast to the lighter colors of the cultists around her.
To Naomi’s right stood Caylin, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She was dressed in white, the simple garment cinched at the waist with a braided cord of gold. Her usually nervous demeanor had been replaced by a determined calm, though her fingers occasionally twitched against the fabric of her robe.
Ava’s gaze lingered on Caylin, unease twisting in her gut. There was a solemnity in the young woman’s posture, a quiet acceptance that set off some more alarm bells. Naomi raised her staff, and the chanting ceased instantly. The sudden silence was deafening.
“We gather here today,” Naomi began, her voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing, “to honor the goddess who has blessed us with her presence. Ava, the bringer of strength, the symbol of hope, and most importantly, protector of our future.”
The cultists babble in excited agreement as they turned their eyes to the giantess. Ava shifted uncomfortably, her hands flexing at her sides. The word “goddess” still felt like a weight she wasn’t prepared to carry. Naomi continued, her tone reverent. “In this sacred moment, we offer a gift to you, Ava. A gift of devotion, of faith, and of life itself.”
Ava’s breath hitched. “What do you mean, life itself?” she interjected, her voice slicing through the stillness like a blade. Naomi turned to her, her expression serene. “A simple offering, Ava. A symbol of our trust in you. Of our belief in your power.”
Ava’s stomach roiled as she looked at Caylin, whose calm exterior now seemed almost eerie. “You’re not saying—”
“I volunteered,” Caylin interrupted, her voice steady. She stepped forward, her movements becoming more fluid and purposeful by the second. “This is my choice, Ava. My way of proving my devotion.”
Ava stared at her, the words catching in her throat. She struggled to reconcile the Caylin she’d come to know—the jittery, eager-to-please young woman—with the figure standing before her now, so composed and resolute.
“This isn’t necessary,” Ava began, her face draining of color. “I don’t need a sacrifice. I… I don’t want this!”
Naomi simply smiled in calm repose, but her eyes betrayed a steely determination. “This isn’t about what you want, Ava. It’s about what we believe. What Caylin believes.”
Caylin stepped closer, her expression unyielding. “You’ve done so much for us already. Let me do this for you.”
“No,” Ava said firmly, her voice shaking with the force of her conviction. She turned to Naomi. “Call it off. This… ritual, whatever it is, it ends here.”
Naomi tilted her head, her gaze almost pitying. “Oh, Ava, you can’t stop this. It’s already in motion.”
The cultists began chanting again, their voices rising in a haunting harmony that made Ava’s heart race. The air grew heavier, charged with an energy that caused the hairs on her arms to stand on end.
“Stop!” Ava shouted, her voice booming across the clearing. The chanting faltered, and all eyes turned to her.
“I’m not some deity who needs sacrifices,” Ava said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’m just a person. A person who didn’t ask for anyone to die.”
Caylin stepped forward, her expression softening for the first time. “You may not see yourself as a goddess,” she said gently. “But we do. Don’t think of it as a sacrifice, Ava. It’s a gift, really.”
Ava’s chest tightened as Caylin knelt before her, her head bowed in submission. The sight sent a wave of nausea crashing over her.
“I don’t want this,” Ava said again, her voice barely above a whisper.
By this point the ritual had taken on a momentum of its own. The cultists resumed their chant with a piousness both palpable and suffocating. Naomi’s gaze was unfaltering, her belief in the ritual seemingly unshakable. As the circle tightened around her, Ava’s mind raced. How had it come to this? How had she allowed things to spiral so far out of her control? She looked down at Caylin, whose kneeling form seemed impossibly small. The young woman’s hands trembled slightly, revealing the fear she tried so hard to hide.
“Please,” Ava said, her voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this.”
Caylin lifted her head, her expression serene despite the tears glistening in her eyes. “I know,” she replied faintly, “But I want to.”
The weight of her words crushed Ava’s resolve, temporarily immobilizing her as the ritual continued to unfold around her. The chanting grew louder, a swelling tide of voices that pressed down on Ava like a physical force. She wanted to scream, to force them all to stop. Every instinct screamed at her to end this ritual, to refuse the grotesque gift they were offering in her name.
“I said stop!” Ava shouted, her commanding tone cutting a hole in the hymn. The chanting faltered, then ceased entirely, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.
Naomi turned to face Ava, her expression calm but resolute. “Ava, this is the path. The faith of these people, their devotion—it all hinges on this moment.”
“I don’t care!” Ava emphatically snapped. She gestured toward Caylin, who still knelt at her feet, head bowed in stoic reverence. “This isn’t faith. This is—this is insanity! I’m not going to take her life just to prove something to you!”
“You misunderstand,” Naomi clarified. “This isn’t about religion. This is about devotion. About belief. Caylin’s choice is hers alone, and it must be honored.”
Ava’s chest heaved as she looked down at Caylin. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. “Caylin, please,” she said, her voice trembling. “You don’t have to do this. Get up. Just… get up.”
Caylin raised her head slowly, her expression heartbreakingly serene. “I want to, Ava. This is my way of giving back. You’ve given me hope, shown me strength. Let me do this for you.”
Ava staggered back, the words hitting her like a blow. She felt as if the earth beneath her had shifted, leaving her unmoored.
“Why can’t any of you listen to me?” she said, her voice rising in desperation. “Why does it always have to be about what you want from me?”
Naomi stepped closer, her voice low but insistent. “This isn’t about us, Ava. It’s about you. Your power, your purpose. You are more than just a woman. You are a symbol. They see that in you, even if you don’t see it in yourself.”
Ava’s mind raced, fragments of her past life flashing through her thoughts. The endless interviews, the grueling tour schedules, the fans screaming her name, demanding her attention, her energy, her soul. Every moment of her life had been dictated by someone else’s needs, her identity consumed by the expectations of others. Jason’s sneering voice echoed in her mind: “You think you can just do what you want? You don’t exist without them. Without your fans, you’re nothing.”
Ava’s legs felt weak, her towering frame swaying slightly. She had spent her entire life sacrificing her own needs, her own desires, to appease others. She had never truly owned herself, never truly decided anything for herself. Now, here she was again, utterly beholden to the expectations of others. The cultists began again in earnest. The words were fractured, overlapping, but the sentiment was the same:
“She is our goddess.”
“She is salvation.”
“She is everything.”
Ava looked around, her eyes darting from one face to another. They were pleading, desperate. Their belief in her was so absolute that it shook her to her very core.
“You’re not giving me a choice,” Ava said, her voice hollow.
Naomi was quick to retort. “We are giving you a purpose.”
Ava closed her eyes, tears stinging behind her lids. She thought of the stadiums, the flashing lights, the roaring crowds. The adoration she had once craved now felt like chains, binding her to a role she couldn’t escape. When she opened her eyes, Caylin was looking up at her, her face calm but expectant.
“You’re sure about this?” Ava asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Caylin nodded, her voice steady. “More than anything.”
Ava swallowed hard, her throat dry. The world felt unreal, like she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. She was so hungry after all… maybe this could help? The thought came on so suddenly that it scared her. Starvation was setting in.
“All right,” she said finally, the words heavy and bitter on her tongue. “If this is what you want… if this is what you all need…”
A ripple of relief passed through the cultists, their murmurs swelling into a hymn once more. Naomi’s face lit with quiet triumph, but Ava couldn’t bear to look at her.
Caylin stood slowly, her movements deliberate and graceful. She stepped closer to Ava, her expression one of peace and gratitude.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Naomi said softly.
Ava didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her hands trembled, caught between clenching a fist and limp surrender as the ritual continued around her.
As the chanting resumed, Ava felt as if she were drifting outside her own body. The cultists swayed in unison, their voices blending into a hymn that seemed to pulse in time with the pounding of her heart. She stood motionless, her towering frame casting a long shadow over Caylin, who waited patiently, eyes closed, a small, contented smile on her face.
Ava’s chest tightened, her breath coming in shallow gasps. This couldn’t be happening. She was supposed to be in control—wasn’t she? But the longer she stood there, the more it felt like the ground beneath her was eroding, leaving her on the edge of a precipice. The chants almost seemed to echo the rumbles of hunger from her stomach.
Her eyes darted to the crowd, to Naomi, to Caylin. Everyone seemed so sure, so certain of this path. Everyone except her.
How did I end up here?
The question echoed in her mind, followed by a flood of memories she couldn’t suppress.
The first time she had stepped on stage, her heart racing as the lights blinded her and the crowd roared. She had been a nobody, a girl with a guitar and a dream, and in that moment, she felt like she could conquer the world.
Then came the contracts, the interviews, the constant demand to be on. Smiling when she wanted to scream. Performing when she wanted to hide. The adoration of strangers had been a balm at first, a validation of everything she had ever wanted. But it didn’t take long for the weight of their expectations to crush her.
She remembered Jason, his voice dripping with disdain.
“They don’t care about you. They care about what you can give them. That’s all you are—a product.”
Ava’s jaw tightened. She had spent her whole life being a product, a symbol, a puppet for someone else’s vision. And now here she was again, standing before a crowd that saw her as something more than human, something divine.
But she didn’t feel divine.
She felt like a fraud.
Her gaze dropped to Caylin, the girl’s serene expression almost mocking her. How could she be so calm, so accepting? Did she not realize what she was asking Ava to do?
Or am I the one who doesn’t understand?
A sickening wave of guilt and anger rose within her that mingled with her intense appetite. She wasn’t angry at Caylin, or Naomi, or even the cultists. She was angry at herself—angry for letting this happen, for letting herself be swept up in something she didn’t understand, for being too weak to say no. For being at the whims of a pathetic, primal urge.
But how could she say no?
The thought of rejecting them, of walking away, filled her with a fear she couldn’t name. These people had given her everything—food, shelter, purpose. Without them, what was she? An exiled monster destined to die alone of starvation?
Her thoughts spiraled, each one heavier than the last. If I say no, they’ll hate me. If I say no, they’ll leave me. If I say no…
She couldn’t finish the thought.
Ava clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell them all to stop. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, she stood frozen, her mind a chaotic storm of doubt, guilt, and anger.
The hymn swelled, the voices of the cultists lifting toward the sky. Ava felt the weight of their belief pressing down on her, suffocating her. She had always wanted to be adored, to be seen as something special, and now that she had it, it felt like a prison.
Caylin’s voice broke through the noise, soft and steady. “Ava?”
Ava looked down, her breath hitching. Caylin’s calm gaze met hers, and for a moment, the storm in her mind quieted.
“It’s okay,” Caylin said, her voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
Ava swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Caylin said with quiet conviction. “This isn’t about pain. It’s about faith. About giving you the strength to be who you’re meant to be.”
Ava’s chest tightened. Who I’m meant to be. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
She wanted to believe Caylin. She wanted to believe that this act, this ritual, would give her clarity, purpose, something to hold onto in the chaos of her life. The hymn rose to a crescendo, the voices of the cultists reverberating through the valley. Ava closed her eyes, her hands trembling at her sides.
What am I supposed to do?
Her mind flashed back to Jason, to the screaming fans, to the countless moments when she had sacrificed herself for the sake of others. She had always given in, always bent to their demands, always put their needs above her own.
Was this any different?
Ava opened her eyes, her gaze locking on Caylin. The girl’s expression never broke, her faith in Ava shining like a beacon.
The storm in Ava’s mind didn’t subside, but it shifted, a new thought taking root amidst the chaos.
If I do this, it’s not for them. It’s not for Naomi. It’s not for the cult. It’s for me.
The thought was cold comfort, but it was enough to steady her shaky hands.
“Okay,” Ava said, her voice barely audible. She straightened, her towering frame casting a long shadow over the crowd. “Let’s do this.”
The hymn swelled, and the ritual began. The chanting shifted, becoming slower, deeper, like the rhythmic beating of a massive heart. The cultists moved as one, their swaying bodies a tide of devotion encircling Ava and Caylin. The light of dawn crept into the valley, casting long, golden rays that danced on the fabric of Ava’s robe.
Naomi stepped forward, her presence commanding as she raised her hands. The cultists stilled instantly, their collective silence more deafening than their hymn had been.
“We stand on the edge of a sacred moment,” Naomi intoned, her voice carrying the weight of prophecy. “Our goddess has blessed us with her presence, her strength, her mercy. Today, we honor her. Today, we offer ourselves so that she may ascend to even greater heights.”
Caylin stepped forward, her movements steady and deliberate. She wore a simple white garment, tied at the waist with a golden cord. The fabric caught the light, making her seem ethereal, almost otherworldly. Her expression was serene, resolute, as if she were stepping into destiny itself.
Naomi turned to Ava, her dark eyes gleaming with purpose. “Great one, do you accept this offering of devotion? Do you accept the gift of our faith made flesh?”
Ava’s breath hitched. The words lodged in her throat, but the expectant silence of the crowd was unbearable. She felt their eyes on her, their belief in her, and it was suffocating. The plaintive pang of her hunger perked up again, like a hungry stray dog following her around to beg for scraps.
“I…” Her voice faltered, but she forced herself to continue. “I… accept.”
The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound washing over Ava like a tidal wave. She flinched, the noise ringing in her ears. It wasn’t the roar of a stadium, wasn’t the adoration of fans—this was something darker, heavier, more demanding.
Naomi raised her hands again, and the crowd fell silent once more. “Then let the ritual begin.”
The cultists knelt, forming a perfect circle around Ava and Caylin. The air grew still, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone. Naomi began to chant, her voice low and melodic, weaving words that Ava didn’t understand but felt deep in her bones.
Caylin knelt before Ava, her head bowed, her hands resting gently on her thighs. “I’m ready,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over Naomi’s chanting.
Ava stared down at her, her hands twitching anxiously at her sides. She didn’t feel ready. She didn’t feel anything except the overwhelming urge to run. But there was no escape, no way out.
Caylin looked up, her eyes meeting Ava’s. There was no fear in her gaze, only trust. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re not taking. I’m giving. There’s a difference.”
Ava’s chest tightened. Not taking. Giving. The words echoed in her mind, but they did little to soothe the storm raging inside her.
Naomi’s chant rose in intensity, the rhythm quickening, the words sharp and commanding. The cultists joined in, their voices creating a symphony of devotion that reverberated through the valley.
Ava knelt, her massive form dwarfing Caylin. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers trembling as they brushed against Caylin’s shoulder. The girl didn’t flinch, didn’t waver.
“It’s okay,” Caylin said again, her voice steady. “I trust you.”
Ava swallowed hard, her throat dry. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. This was it. There was no turning back.
The chanting reached its crescendo, the voices of the cultists rising in unison. The ground seemed to hum with energy, the air crackling with something ancient and primal.
Ava opened her eyes, her gaze locking on Caylin. She had never felt so powerful, so helpless, so utterly lost.
“Forgive me,” Ava whispered, her voice breaking.
And then she leaned forward, the ritual beginning in earnest.
The moment Ava leaned forward, the chanting of the cultists shifted into a haunting crescendo. It wasn’t a joyous noise, nor was it mournful. It was reverent, weighty, the sound of dozens of voices pouring their devotion into a single, unified song.
Ava’s heart pounded, each beat echoing in her ears as she tried to steady her trembling hands. Her fingers hovered over Caylin’s form, dwarfed by the sheer size of her hands. The girl didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat. She simply gazed up at Ava.
“Caylin…” Ava’s voice cracked, barely audible beneath the resounding hymn. The idea of going through with this was unbearable, yet the pressure of the gathered cultists, the weight of their belief in her, pinned her in place.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Caylin said, her voice soft but firm. “This is what I want. I believe in you.”
Those words pierced through Ava, sharp and painful. Believe in me? How could anyone believe in her when she didn’t even know who she was anymore? Her entire life had been a series of performances, bending to the expectations of others, losing pieces of herself in the process. And now, here she was again, catering to the whims of yet another group of people who demanded something she wasn’t sure she could give.
She closed her eyes, the memory of her nightmare flashing vividly in her mind. The image of herself as a merciless monster loomed large, feeding her self-loathing. What if she was no better than that? What if all of this—the adoration, the power, the impossible expectations—was leading her down that same dark path?
Ava opened her eyes, her gaze locking on Caylin once more. The girl was calm, resolute, her small frame radiating a kind of quiet strength that Ava couldn’t understand. How can she be so fearless?
Naomi’s voice broke through Ava’s thoughts, her tone commanding yet soothing. “Great one, the offering awaits. Honor her devotion. Accept her gift and ascend to your rightful place.”
Ava’s jaw clenched. She wanted to scream, to protest, to tell them all that this wasn’t what she wanted—but the weight of their expectation crushed her resistance. She had spent her life giving herself to others, and now, it seemed, was no different.
I don’t get to decide. I never do.
Taking a deep breath, Ava reached out, her fingers gently curling around Caylin. She was careful, so careful, cradling the girl as if she might break with the slightest pressure. She didn’t resist; leaning into Ava’s touch, her trust unshakable.
The cultists’ chanting swelled, the rhythm quickening, the air thick with anticipation. Ava could feel the energy around her, a tangible force that pressed against her skin, demanding action.
“I’m sorry,” Ava whispered, her voice barely audible.
Caylin only smiled, a soft, genuine expression that sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over Ava. “Don’t be,” she said simply. “This is what I was meant to do.”
Ava’s stomach twisted as she lifted Caylin higher, bringing her closer. The girl’s small form seemed impossibly fragile in her hands, a stark contrast to the immense power Ava wielded. She felt the cultists’ eyes on her, their faith pressing down on her like an unbearable weight.
As the ritual reached its peak, the cultists knelt, their foreheads touching the ground. Naomi’s voice rose above the rest, her words sharp and commanding. “Take her into yourself, great one. Let her sacrifice strengthen you, as we strengthen each other in our faith!”
Ava felt her breathing become shallow, her hands trembling. The moment stretched endlessly, every second filled with doubt and self-loathing. The cultists’ chants were relentless, their belief unwavering. They had given everything to her, and now they demanded this in return.
This is what they want. What they need. It’s not about me. It’s never about me.
Ava’s hands trembled as they cradled Caylin, her fingers so large and powerful they could have crushed the girl with ease. The cultists’ chanting surged around her, a rising tide of reverence and expectation, but all Ava could hear was the pounding of her own heart.
Caylin sat in her palm, impossibly calm. The young woman’s gentle demeanor was at odds with the gravity of the moment. Her voice broke through the storm of sound. “You’re shaking,” Caylin said, her tone light, almost playful. “You don’t have to be afraid, you know.”
Ava’s breath caught in her throat. Afraid? That wasn’t the word for it. Dread coursed through her veins, mingling with guilt and a sickening helplessness. Her entire body ached with the tension of her conflicting emotions. “I… I don’t think I can do this,” she admitted, her voice low, barely audible beneath the chants.
“You can,” Caylin said simply. “I believe in you. This is what I want.”
Ava shook her head, her throat tightening as her vision blurred. “How can you be so sure?” she whispered. Her throat was giving out, burning raw with choked-back bile.
Caylin stared up at her, the serene expression on her face contrasting Ava’s turmoil. “Because it’s not about me. It’s about what you mean to all of us. To me. You’re more than you think you are, Ava. Let me show you.”
The gravity of Caylin’s words settled on Ava’s chest like a boulder. She glanced at the cultists kneeling below. Their faith in her seemed unshakable.. The young acolyte stood carefully, her bare feet shifting slightly against Ava’s palm as she balanced herself. The girl reached out, resting a small, warm hand against the pad of Ava’s thumb. “It’s okay,” Caylin said softly, her voice filled with quiet conviction. “Do it.”
Ava could feel bile rising in her throat as another wave of nausea washed over her. She tried to steady her breathing, to force herself to speak, to protest, but the chanting below grew louder, pressing against her like a physical force.
It’s not about me. The thought looped in her mind, relentless and suffocating. It’s never about me.
With a shuddering breath, Ava lifted Caylin higher, bringing her closer to her face. Her lips parted, nervous breath washing over the girl. Ava’s heart twisted painfully as she saw no fear in the girl’s eyes—only trust, only faith. The air between them seemed to hum with tension as Ava hesitated, her lips trembling. The cultists’ ritualistic mantra reached a fever pitch, their cries congealing into an almost otherworldly harmony. The world around her felt distant, surreal, as though time had slowed to a crawl.
“I’m so sorry,” Ava said weakly. A single tear slipped down her cheek, falling to the ground far below.
Caylin smiled one last time, her voice soft but resolute. “Thank you.”
Ava closed her eyes, her jaw tightening as she tilted her head back slightly. She lowered Caylin toward her open mouth, her heart hammering so violently she thought it might break free of her chest. Her tongue trembled as she felt Caylin step onto it, her movements deliberate, unhesitating. The warmth of the girl’s body against her taste buds sent a jolt of emotion through Ava—shock, horror, and a deep, soul-crushing sadness. She couldn’t stop the quiet sob that escaped her lips.
Slowly, she closed her mouth, her lips sealing shut with a finality that made her entire body shudder. Caylin was so small, so fragile, resting on her tongue. Ava’s breath hitched as she fought the instinct to spit the girl out, to stop this, to end this nightmare, but the audience below demanded otherwise. Ava slowly began to tilt her head back further, her throat tightening as she prepared to do the unthinkable.
One swallow. That’s all it would take.
Then, suddenly—her stomach let out a deep, hungry groan.
Ava froze, horror gripping her. It was loud. Loud enough that the cultists below heard it and took it as a divine sign.
“She hungers!” someone cried out in rapture.
“She accepts the offering!” another voice added.
The chants grew louder, feverish, triumphant.
Ava’s vision started swimming. No. No, it wasn’t like that.
Her stomach had betrayed her. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. With Caylin on her tongue, her body reacted instinctively, the raw pangs of hunger mixing with the guilt twisting in her gut. Her throat tensed. A reflex. An urge.
She fought it, swallowing thickly—but even that small motion made Caylin shift slightly on her tongue. A piece of food about to be consumed.
With a trembling exhale, Ava steeled herself. She was a puppet on invisible strings, moving to their will, a machine programmed to obey. Consume as directed. Her jaw muscles tensed in unison, the motion almost involuntary. When she finally swallowed, the movement was automatic, her throat tightening before she could even think. A single, shuddering gulp.
Ava’s hands flew to her neck as she felt the girl slip down, the sensation hauntingly distinct—tiny, delicate, real.
Gone.
Ava froze, her entire body trembling as the reality of what she had done washed over her. She tried to cough in a feeble attempt to undo it, but to no avail. The chanting died off. Silence fell over the valley, heavy with a sense of conviction. The giantess lowered her head, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her actions. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her chest heaving with the effort of holding back the sobs threatening to escape. Naomi stepped forward, her voice shattering the silence. “It is done,” she declared, her tone triumphant. “The goddess has accepted our offering. Caylin’s spirit now lives within her, strengthening her, guiding her.”
The cultists erupted into cheers, their voices filling the air with joy and reverence. To them, this was a miracle, a moment of divine significance. Ava felt none of their elation. She felt hollow, her heart burdened with guilt and sorrow. She turned away from the crowd, wiping her tear-streaked face. Perhaps most disturbing of all, despite the guilt, Ava felt… satiated.
Naomi approached her, placing a hand on her arm. “You’ve done something incredible,” she said softly. “You’ve shown us your strength, your mercy, your divinity. This is just the beginning, Ava. Together, we’ll change the world.”
Ava didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her speech was gone, stolen by the enormity of what she had done.
As the cultists celebrated below, Ava turned her gaze to the horizon, her mind racing a mile a minute as she painfully processed the implications of her actions. The taste of salt lingered on her tongue, a bitter reminder of the sacrifice she had made. She had given the crowd precisely what they wanted, as always.
But at what cost?
The command center was alive with its usual buzz of activity—screens glowing with feeds from satellites, tactical readouts, and hurried reports exchanged between officers. At the center of it all, Captain Marlowe stood, arms crossed, her sharp gaze fixed on the largest monitor. Her expression was a mask of calm, but the tension in her posture highlighted the intense strain of the past few days of chaos since Ava’s fateful growth at the concert in Manhattan.
The screen displayed aerial footage of the cult’s streamside encampment, captured by a low-flying surveillance drone. It showed the gathered cultists kneeling in fervent worship, their hands raised in exultation toward a colossal figure in the distance. Even through its grainy feed, the towering silhouette of Ava was unmistakable, her form half-shrouded by mist.
Marlowe’s jaw tightened as she watched, her mind abuzz with questions and doubts. Over the last 48 hours she and her team had begun compiling every scrap of intelligence pertaining to the so-called “goddess” who had grown to an impossible size and destroyed Madison Square Garden. As if that hadn’t been crazy enough, she had caused plenty of destruction and loss of life in the ensuing struggle to bring her to justice: an attempt that had failed in every single sense of the word. They hadn’t even managed to injure or slow the former pop idol, never mind apprehend her.
A junior officer approached hesitantly, clutching a tablet. “Captain,” he said, his voice tight with unease. “There’s… something you need to see.”
“What is it, Chan?” Marlowe asked, her tone brisk as she turned to face him.
The officer handed her the tablet, his expression grave. “We intercepted this from the phone of one of the civilians in the cult. It’s a video taken during a… ritual earlier today.”
Marlowe raised an eyebrow, her fingers tightening around the tablet. “A ritual?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the officer replied. “It appears they made a… sacrifice, of sorts. The footage is incomplete, but the audio confirms that one of their own volunteered to… to be consumed by their goddess.”
Marlowe snatched the tablet, her eyes narrowing as she began to play the video.
The recording was shaky, the angle uneven, but the scene it captured was clear enough. The cultists’ chanting filled the air, their voices rising in unison. The camera panned to Ava, her immense form looming over the group. Marlowe’s heart sank as she watched the towering woman lift a small figure into her palm—a young woman in her early twenties.
Marlowe strained to make out the girl’s face, wondering if it would match anyone in the dossier she’d collected of Ava’s past. The video’s poor quality didn’t help, but there was something achingly familiar about the way the girl moved, the curve of her smile as she spoke to Ava. The camera zoomed in, capturing the girl’s face in full. Marlowe’s blood ran cold. The tablet nearly slipped from her grasp as the air seemed to leave her lungs. Her mind reeled, refusing to process and accept what her eyes were telling her.
“Caylin…” she croaked, her hardened exterior slipping.
The officers nearby exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how to respond.
Marlowe’s pulse spiked as the video continued to play. She watched in horror as her daughter stepped onto Ava’s tongue, her tiny form dwarfed by the giantess. Marlowe’s hand trembled as she saw Ava’s lips close, watching helplessly as her only child Caylin was swallowed whole by her favorite singer. She muted the video, but the haunting images continued to scroll forward on the feed.
“No,” Marlowe breathed, her voice cracking. “No… no, no, no!”
The officers turned, startled by her outburst. Marlowe didn’t care. Her hands clenched into fists as she fought the wave of anguish rising within her. Her daughter—her bright, brave, stubborn Caylin—was gone. She snapped back to the drone footage on the main screen. Ava’s massive silhouette loomed over the celebrating cultists, her presence dominating the landscape. Marlowe’s grief began to shift, giving way to something colder. Her trembling stopped as she straightened, her expression hardening into a mask of icy resolve. How could her daughters’ presence not have come up in any of the briefings?
“Get me everything we have on this… thing,” she ordered, her voice steady but laced with steel. “Every detail. Every weakness. I want a dozen fucking options on how to take her down—now.”
“Captain,” Officer Chan began cautiously, “er, June, are you sure that’s wise? She’s—”
“I don’t care how big she is,” Marlowe snapped, her eyes blazing with fury. “She’s not above the law. She’s a goddamn murderer, and I’m going to make her pay for what she’s done!”
Marlowe’s fingers dug into the edge of the console in a white-knuckled rage. Her breath grew more labored as she absorbed all she’d just seen. Caylin. Her Caylin. Standing before that… monster. Disappearing down her throat like she was nothing but a snack. A ragged sob tore loose from her throat before she slammed her fist against the top of her desk, the sharp pain that followed providing her a chance to maintain control. No. No, she wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t let Ava take anything more from her. She was done watching from the sidelines. Her expression hardened, the newfound grief and outrage smelting together into a dense suit of armor she would need for what came next.
This wasn’t just about neutralizing a threat to national security anymore.
This was personal.