Larger Than Life by Neon

The morning sun streaked the valley in amber, stretching shadows across the camp. Smoke from dying fires coiled upward, fading into the mist shrouding the trees. Ava sat apart from the others, her immense body leaning against a hillside like a weathered monument. Sleep had been hard to find in the night. The makeshift garment the cultists had fashioned was warm, but it also itched something fierce. The ground beneath her had molded to her shape, the shape of her figure stamped upon the earth like the imprint of a sleeping god.

Caylin’s sacrifice lingered like a stone in her chest. The cult’s worship, once intoxicating, has transitioned into more of a sickening hangover. How could they cheer her after she had taken one of their own? Caylin was still inside her. Or… was she?

The giantess pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling the deep, slow churn of digestion beneath layers of muscle. It had been how long? A day? Two? She had no idea how her metabolism worked at this scale. Was Caylin still intact inside, slowly dissolving? Or had she already been reduced to nothing—just another nameless sacrifice fueling Ava’s impossible body? The notion made her shudder.

Ava tried to tell herself it was not so simple, that Caylin had wanted this. The woman had offered herself up of her own volition, after all. The cultists all seemed to believe it was necessary, but was that really the truth? Or was that just what she was telling herself to avoid being consumed by her own remorse? Maybe Caylin hadn’t been a sacrifice. Maybe the chilling reality was that Ava had just eaten someone alive to keep her deranged fan club happy.

She leaned forward, resting her arms against her knees, and closed her eyes. Tried to feel. To listen. Yet there was nothing. No voice in her gut. No cloying whisper of a soul. No lingering presence. Just the deep, slow grind of her own body working, breaking down, taking what it needed and discarding the rest. A body that no longer felt fully hers.

Nearby, the camp moved with a tentative energy, cultists whispering among themselves as they prepared breakfast and gathered supplies. Every glance at Ava was reverent but uncertain, their voices hushed as if afraid to disturb her. Hector broke the stillness, his approach hesitant, laptop tucked under one arm, and a tangle of wires clutched in his hands. He stopped several feet away, squinting up at her as though she might crush him with a stray glare.

“Morning,” he called, voice cracking slightly.

Ava straightened, her shadow shifting over him like a moving cloud. “What is it?” Her tone was calm but lacked its usual edge.

Hector swallowed, his glasses slipping down his nose as he glanced nervously at his antenna, avoiding Ava’s gaze. His equipment looked cobbled together, a patchwork of wires and duct tape that spoke to his desperation more than his skill. “Uh, sorry to bother you, but I thought you’d want to know... the drones are back.” He set his laptop on the ground, its screen casting an eerie glow in the early morning light.

Ava’s brow furrowed. “What drones?”

Hector sighed, crouching down to adjust the antenna and tapping at his keyboard. “The same ones that were following you before, goddess. Military surveillance drones. They’ve been circling the perimeter since sunrise. Pretty high altitude, but not high enough to miss us.”

Ava felt a chill creep up her spine. She shifted her gaze toward the sky, scanning for any sign of movement. She didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean Hector was wrong. Did that mean they had seen what she’d done with Caylin? 

“Are you sure?” she asked, her tone sharper now.

Hector nodded quickly, angling the laptop so Ava could see the fuzzy feed on the screen. She was amazed to find she could read it clearly. The extent of her enhanced senses continued to surprise her.

“I’m running a signal trace. These things aren’t subtle—they’re bouncing encrypted data packets to a satellite uplink. Standard recon stuff. And, uh...” He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck.

“What?” Ava demanded, leaning closer.

Hector swallowed hard. “It’s not just the drones. Any tech we’ve been using—phones, radios, anything connected to the grid—they’re probably watching that, too. Tracking it. They could’ve had eyes on us for a bit now.”

Ava’s stomach turned. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I only confirmed it this morning,” Hector said defensively, gesturing to the homebrew equipment at his feet. “It’s not exactly easy to hack military-grade systems without the expensive equipment. But, uh, yeah. Safe to say they know we’re here now.”

Ava exhaled sharply, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. She couldn’t blame Hector—he was doing the best he could with what he had—but the knowledge that they had been under surveillance was extremely bad news.

“What about their position?” Ava asked. “Are they close?”

Hector adjusted his glasses, peering at the feed. “Not yet. The drones are sticking to the outskirts. Probably trying to get a full layout of the valley before they move in, but if I had to guess...” He trailed off, his expression grim.

“They’re on their way now,” Ava finished for him.

Hector nodded, his face pale. “Yeah, and if the signal chatter I intercepted is accurate, they’re gonna be rolling deep.”

Ava shifted on her feet, scanning the horizon with renewed focus.

“Tell Naomi to get everyone ready,” she said, her voice firm. “If the military’s coming, we need to move.”

Hector cleared his throat. “Do– do you really think they’ll attack us? Without provocation, I mean?”

Ava paused for a moment before responding. “Hector, after all that’s happened, I doubt they’re coming for an autograph and a meet-and-greet.”

Hector let out a nervous laugh, though it quickly died in his throat when Ava’s serious expression didn’t waver. He gave a sharp nod and collected his equipment, realizing he had misread the mood. As Hector scurried off the alert the camp, Ava’s gaze lingered on the horizon. The air felt heavy, charged with an unseen tension. The thought of another confrontation with the military made her heart pound, but this time, she wasn’t the same scared woman they had once hunted.

This time, she was ready.

The low hum of engines was the first sign of their approach. It rippled through the valley like an invisible current, setting the cultists on edge. Hector’s earlier warning now hung heavy in the air, his words echoing in Ava’s mind: They’re watching us.

Far on the horizon, dark specks appeared against the rising sun—choppers slicing through the air, their blades churning like distant thunder. The cultists moved like startled deer, their fear palpable as they scrambled to gather their belongings and retreat to the safety of the forest.

Ava rose to her full height, her towering form casting a protective shadow over the scattering crowd. She watched the advancing military convoy with a sinking feeling in her chest. They were organized—meticulous. The rhythmic rumble of approaching armored vehicles grew louder, accompanied by the occasional glint of sunlight reflecting off their weapons.

High above, a flock of reconnaissance drones circled like vultures, their movements precise and mechanical. Ava’s sharp eyes locked on one as it zipped closer, its camera angled directly at her. The lens glinted, its gaze cold and unfeeling. She felt a rush of anger rise within her—a reminder of the surveillance and scrutiny she had endured her entire life, magnified a hundredfold now.

“They’re advancing quickly,” Hector muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he stood by Ava’s foot, clutching his laptop tightly. “We’re out of time.”

Naomi appeared at her side, her expression tense but resolute. “They’re coming for you,” she said. “But they’ll take all of us down if they have to. You need to stand your ground, Ava. Protect us.”

Ava didn’t reply immediately. Her gaze was fixed on the convoy, a sharp pang of resentment blooming in her chest. They were coming to hunt her down like an animal, treating her as though she were a weapon to be neutralized rather than a person to be understood.

Naomi’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have to face them alone.”

Ava glanced at the cultists gathering behind Naomi, their faces pale with fear. “Get them to safety,” Ava said, her voice steady but firm. “Now.”

Naomi hesitated. “Ava—”

“Go,” Ava snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument. Naomi nodded reluctantly, barking orders for the cultists to retreat into the forest.

Inside one of the lead helicopters, Colonel Adrien Cross surveyed the scene below through binoculars. His sharp features were set in a frown, his graying hair cropped close to his head. Every movement in the valley seemed to tell a story—a scattered group of civilians, the ominous shadow of a massive figure, the remnants of smoke curling from their campfires.

Beside him sat Captain Marlowe, her NYPD badge clipped to her belt. She had insisted on joining the operation, her personal stake in the matter evident in the tension lining her face.

“She’s larger than the reports suggested,” Cross muttered, lowering his binoculars.

Marlowe’s jaw tightened. “And she’s not a mindless monster. Don’t forget that.”

Cross didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing as he studied Ava’s raised hand, her body language almost… reluctant.

“You said she swallowed your daughter,” Cross said flatly, his voice devoid of sympathy. “You still think there’s a shred of humanity in her?”

Marlowe’s eyes hardened, but she kept her tone even. “She’s dangerous. That’s why I’m here, but I’ve been tracking Ava long enough to know she doesn’t kill without reason. Don’t give her an excuse.”

He ignored her, turning to the soldier seated beside him. “Maintain altitude. Get the first line into position on the ridge. Let’s see if we can’t do better than those tenderfoots did last time.”

The soldier saluted, barking orders into his radio.

Marlowe leaned forward, her voice low and deliberate. “If you provoke her, she’ll fight back.”

Cross gave her a withering look. “And if we don’t, she’ll grow bolder. We can’t afford to hesitate.”

The hum of the choppers grew louder as the formation split, some descending to circle the valley while others maintained a high-altitude perimeter. Soldiers rappelled from the lead aircraft, their boots crunching against the rocky terrain as they fanned out in precise formations.

Back on the ground, Ava’s sharp hearing picked up snippets of their orders—statements like "neutralize", "containment", and "target in sight". It sent a fresh wave of irritation through her, her fists clenching involuntarily.

“Do they even know what they’re up against?” she muttered, her voice low.

Naomi looked up at her, her expression unreadable. “They don’t care, and they’re desperate. All they see is a woman they can’t control, so they want to destroy you instead.”

The helicopters circled closer, their blades slicing through the air with deafening precision. Ava’s heart pounded, memories of her last encounter with the military flashing in her mind. But this time was different. She wasn’t the same scared, uncertain woman they had hunted before. She had evolved.

She raised a hand, palm outward in a gesture of warning. “Turn back!” she called, her voice booming across the valley. “There's still time to leave.”

Ava’s warning was ignored. A low whistle pierced the air as the first missile streaked toward her, its white trail hurtling through the sky.

Ava reacted instinctively, swatting the missile aside with her hand. It detonated harmlessly against the mountainside, but the impact still rattled her. This fight was happening whether she wanted it or not.

“I warned you!” she shouted.

The titanic woman took an aggressive step forward, her massive foot slamming down on the hood of an armored vehicle. The metal crumpled beneath her weight, sending the soldiers inside scrambling to escape. Ava relented, lifting her foot away to let them flee. She didn’t want to hurt them—just to send a message.

The helicopters swooped lower, one venturing dangerously close. Ava turned, her movements measured but tense. The pilot miscalculated his proximity, and within seconds its rotor blades clipped her shoulder. The chopper spun out of control, spiraling downward. Ava gasped, instinctively reaching out to catch it, but the helicopter’s path veered, bound for the deep valley between her breasts.

For a moment, everything froze. Ava looked down, her breath hitching as the tiny machine veered uncontrollably. The next instant, she felt the sharp press of cold metal sink into the expanse of her skin. The sensation was strange—tiny vibrations from the rotor struggling to spin, the faint warmth of the helicopter’s engine contrasting with the softness of her body. It buzzed between her giant breasts and the makeshift garment like an insect trapped in honey.

Inside the cockpit, chaos erupted amidst the crew as the helicopter tilted and lurched, caught between the unyielding walls of Ava’s chest. The faint buzz of the engine drowned beneath the heavy sound of her breathing, each rise and fall of her body sending shudders through the trapped aircraft. One soldier’s harness snapped, his scream unable to be heard over the groan of metal. Another frantically tapped at his console, his hands shaking so violently that he dropped his radio, watching it tumble outside his grasp.

“We’re stuck!” one of the pilots yelled, his voice tight with panic.

“Controls are unresponsive!” another shouted, frantically pulling at the controls to no avail.

Ava’s fingers hovered over the chopper, hesitating. She could feel the slight weight of it, the strange sensation of the tiny airborne vehicle pressed against her skin. The goal was to dislodge the chopper without crushing it. The helicopter jerked wildly in response to her attempt, one of its rotors catching against the rough stitching of Ava’s makeshift garment. The chopper was pressed against her skin, engine heat bleeding into her flesh like an insect’s sting. Inside, the crew scrambled, their view outside nothing but an endless expanse of skin. The valley of her gargantuan bosom was all they could see.

Ava's chest rose and fell rapidly as she began to hyperventilate, the motion tossing the helicopter deeper into the heavy fabric of her clothing. Her heartbeat bellowed in their ears like the thrumming of a giant machine. The crew clung to their seats, their faces pale as they realized the harsh precariousness of their situation. The garment was the only thing holding them in place between the canyon-like expanse of Ava’s cleavage, and that could change at any moment.

“Status report!” the pilot barked, his voice cracking with desperation.

“We’re stuck—not going anywhere!” one of the crew shouted, clutching the edge of the cockpit window as he peered out. What he saw made him freeze. Beyond the glass, the textured surface of Ava’s skin stretched out like an alien landscape. The cadence of her breathing caused the cockpit to shift again, dizzying the crew further.

“Where… where even are we?” another whispered, his voice trembling as he stared through the glass. His words faltered as he realized. “Oh, God.”

The vibrations of Ava’s breath, deep and erratic, rumbled through the cockpit like thunder. The warmth of her body seeped through the metal frame, a threatening reminder of the sheer scale of the situation. Every subtle movement—every shift of her chest or tilt of her body—sent tremors through the trapped aircraft, keeping the crew in a constant state of nauseating imbalance.

“She’s fucking huge,” one of them exclaimed in shock. “I mean, she’s… like a living mountain.”

Ava’s fingers floated hesitantly above the chopper, her expression a mixture of frustration, discomfort, and embarrassment. She could feel it there, a foreign object nestled in the sensitive valley of her chest. The odd mix of pressure and tickling vibrations made her want to squirm.

“Get out of there!” Ava barked, her voice booming so loudly that it rattled the helicopter’s frame, shaking bolts loose. The sheer force of her words forced the crew to cover their ears as her deafening command reverberated through the cramped acoustics of the cockpit like a sonic boom.

Inside, panic was now at an all-time high. The co-pilot clutched his headset, frantically trying to make contact with the other helicopters in the fleet. “Command, this is Welcome Wagon Four—requesting immediate evac! We’re… we’re trapped in a—” He hesitated, struggling to find the words. “We’re trapped in the target’s… chest. Repeat, we’re stuck between her—”

“Say that again?” Colonel Cross’s voice crackled through the radio, his tone sharp with disbelief.

“We’re lodged between her fuckin’ tits!” the co-pilot shouted bluntly, his composure breaking. “Just get us out of here!”

Ava’s patience was wearing thin. The burn of the helicopter's stalling engines tickled against her skin, drying it to the point of extreme irritation. She cupped her hands beneath her chest, attempting to jiggle the chopper free by sliding it down her garment, but her movements only tangled the blades and rotors hopelessly further into the fabric.

The sudden motion slammed the crew violently against the walls of the cockpit, their harnesses barely keeping them from being thrown entirely from the doomed aircraft. One soldier screamed as he was flung against the windshield, forced to stare out at the expanse of Ava’s skin just inches beyond the glass.

“We’re gonna die in here!” he yelled, his voice shrill with terror.

“Not if we get out now!” the pilot barked. “Harness up and rappel down—do it now!”

The crew scrambled to obey, attaching themselves to ropes and throwing the lines over the side of the chopper. One by one, they began to descend, their bodies dangling precariously through the humid space between Ava's chest and her clothing. Each movement sent intense vibrations shooting through the ropes, and the men couldn’t shut out the ominous respirations of Ava’s immense lungs as they descended.

“Just don’t look down,” one muttered to himself, though his voice shook with every syllable. As the last soldier prepared to rappel, the helicopter’s frame groaned loudly. The pilot froze, his eyes wide as he realized the strain had finally caught up to the chopper.

“It’s going to collapse!” he shouted. “Move, now!”

Ava felt the sudden shift, the helicopter slipping further down her shirt, beginning to shred the fabric. Her fingers darted forward, plucking the chopper delicately between her fingertips like it was a mere toy. The metal buckled slightly under the pressure, but she held it steady, bringing it up to her face.

“Is anyone still inside?” she demanded, her breath washing over the cockpit like a balmy gust of wind. The remaining crew stared up at her in paralyzed silence, their fear overriding any ability to respond.

Ava’s eyes narrowed. “Answer me!”

The co-pilot raised a trembling hand, pointing toward the last soldier clinging desperately to the side of the chopper. Ava moved carefully, her massive thumb and forefinger pinching the soldier’s harness. She nudged him free with her fingernail, delicately balancing his body on it and she raised him up to her face for closer inspection.

The man held on the glossy terrain of her fingernail for dear life, his breathing shallow as he stared up into her enormous, piercing eyes. “Please,” he whimpered. “Don’t kill me. I d-didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Ava’s lips pressed together in an expression of restraint and pity. She carefully stooped down and lowered him to the ground at her feet, placing him beside the other retreating soldiers. Then, with a weary sigh, she turned her attention back to the helicopter in her other hand. The fragile machine whinged in protest as she set it gently on the ground beside a row of abandoned tanks. If they had fired at her, she hadn't even noticed.

“I want you all gone now,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The crew wasted no time, scrambling from the grounded chopper and sprinting to rejoin the retreating forces. Ava watched them go, her chest still heaving with the adrenaline of the encounter. The searing irritation of the helicopter’s presence lingered on her skin, a subtle reminder of the surreal moment. Various chunks of debris from the remains of the helicopter’s frame were hopelessly intertwined with her garment, causing an itch that only stoked her growing irritation.

Most of the remaining soldiers below retreated in armored personnel carriers and helicopters, the roar of dozens of engines and motors fading into the distance. Yet a few purposeful stragglers remained, their weapons trained not on Ava, but on the cowering cultists. Ava’s sharp eyes caught the telltale glint of rifles as they prepared to fire, their movements calculated and unflinching. 

Her patience snapped.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous, reverberating through the valley like the rumble of an earthquake. 

Before they could squeeze their triggers, Ava closed the distance in a single thunderous step. The earth trembled violently beneath her massive footfall, sending several soldiers stumbling to the ground. Her immense shadow fell over them, swallowing the squad in a sheet of darkness. The defiant glint in their eyes turned to wide-eyed terror as they craned their necks upward, a brutal reminder of her sheer size.

“You think you can hurt them?” Ava hissed, her voice sharp and seething with rage. Her hand shot down, faster than they could react, her outstretched fingers descending over the group like a cage. They barely had time to scream before they were scooped up along with mounds of dirt from beneath them, their shouts muffled against her skin. Weapons clattered uselessly to the ground below, instantly knocked from their hands. She lifted the death squad effortlessly, their writhing forms wriggling in her grip like insects hopelessly caught in a web.

Ava raised them to her face, her gigantic eyes scanning each tiny, terrified figure. She could feel their frantic struggles against her palm and fingers, their kicks and punches as futile as raindrops against steel. She closed her hand just enough to make them stop, a faint squeal of armor compressing under pressure reaching her ears. Earth sifted through the gaps of her fingers, leaving only the captured soldiers behind. 

Her breath washed over them in waves, hot and furious, as her voice dropped to a low snarl. “You people just don’t get it, do you?” Ava growled. One soldier froze mid-struggle, his visor fogged from panicked gasps, while another clawed at her fingers as though she could pry them apart.

The soldiers squirmed helplessly, their faces contorted with terror. One soldier choked on the shards of his broken visor, breathing in ragged gasp, his frantic hands scrambling for a weapon that no longer felt useful. The only one with the wherewithal to speak barely managed to choke out the words, “Please… mercy…!”

Ava’s lips curled into a bitter smile, a flicker of cruel satisfaction sparking in her eyes. “Mercy?” she repeated, her voice dripping with venom. “Ohhh, you mean like the kind you showed the innocent folks down there?” She gestured sharply with her head toward the cultists still fleeing into the woods. Mercy, she mused, had cost her far too much already.

The giantess felt their movements intensify, dozens of tiny limbs flailing as desperation overtook them. It was pathetic, almost laughable—the way they struggled against the inevitable. Her fingers tightened incrementally, feeling organic and synthetic material alike slowly succumbing to her overwhelming strength. Justice.

The soldiers’ cries soured into senseless shrieks, their pleas blending into a cacophony of fear. Ava’s grip tightened further, the sound of armor buckling and bones cracking under the strain sending a sickening vibration up her arm. She ignored it, her anger a blazing furnace that refused to cool. They deserved it all.

“You don’t get to hurt anyone else,” she stated coldly, her words sharp and final.

With a deliberate squeeze, Ava felt the fragile lives in her hand extinguish. Blood seeped through her fingers, mingling with the crumpled remains of their armor and weapons. It was warm, sticky, and vile—a stark contrast to the cold, detached fury burning in her chest. The soldiers were nothing now—tiny scarlet stains were all that remained of their hubris.

Ava opened her hand slowly, her expression unreadable as the mangled bodies tumbled from her grasp. They fell like discarded debris, landing with a series of sickening splats on the earth below. A metallic blood scent wafted upward in the wake of the dump of corpses, but Ava didn’t flinch.

She stared down at the heap of soldiers—what little remained of them. Just days ago, the sight of broken, bloodied bodies would have made her sick. She would have questioned herself, recoiled at what she had done. But now? There was no tightening in her gut, no bile rising in her throat.

She felt… fine.

Not good, not bad. Just fine.

Ava wiped the blood from her hand, her face impassive. There was no point in grieving. No point in wasting energy on regret. They would have done the same to her, given the chance. They were never going to stop hunting her or her followers, so she simply stopped them first. 

Her sharp eyes lingered on the mashed mound for a moment before turning her gaze to the remaining soldiers. The few who had dared to stay rooted to the spot scattered, their terror written in the hasty, stumbling movements of their retreat. They didn’t look back, didn’t stop to help each other. They fled, their ranks broken, and their courage shattered in turn.

Ava shifted her stance, her heel pressing into the wreckage below. She barely noticed the faint crunch beneath her sole. Unbeknownst to her, a group of leftover soldiers had taken cover there—fifteen men or more vanishing beneath the arch of her foot, their armor crumpling like tin foil. When she finally lifted her heel, all that remained was a slick, red footprint in the dirt.

The giantess stood motionless, her hand still outstretched. Her chest still heaved with adrenaline and anger, her breathing labored as she wrestled with the weight of what she had just done. She glanced at the blood smeared across her palm, the vivid sanguine smears staining her skin like an accusation. It sickened her—and yet, deep down, a cold satisfaction simmered.

She had stopped them. She had protected her people.

The ground beneath her feet was silent once more, save for the faint rustle of wind through the trees. Ava exhaled sharply, lowering her hand and wiping it against the earth as if to rid herself of the lingering warmth of their crushed lives. Her expression hardened as she turned her gaze toward the cultists, who had paused in their retreat to stare at her in awe and trepidation.

The last of the ranks disappeared over the horizon, leaving only the faintest echoes of their retreat. Ava let loose a shaky breath of relief, her towering form casting a protective shadow over the valley. She had held her ground, and for now, it would have to be enough.

The valley was eerily silent in the aftermath of the military’s retreat. Smoke and dust lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. Ava stood still, her humbling height casting a long shadow over the cultists gathered below. The ground was littered with the remains of the battle: crushed vehicles, discarded weapons, and the macabre imprints of where soldiers had fallen beneath her feet. She noticed Hector watching her, looking less worried than earlier but still unsettled by the sight of the carnage. 

The cultists hesitated, their murmurs growing as they exchanged nervous glances. For months, they had worshiped Ava with unwavering devotion, though she had always seemed uneasy with their reverence. But now, after witnessing her immense power and decisive actions, they weren’t sure how she would respond. Would she chastise them for their adulation, or reject their faith outright?

Naomi stepped forward cautiously, her dark eyes scanning Ava’s towering form for any sign of her mood. She dropped to her knees, bowing low, her voice steady but reverent. “Goddess Ava, you have shown us your strength, your mercy. We owe you everything.”

The other cultists followed her lead, sinking to their knees in unison, their voices rising in a chorus of praise. “Goddess Ava, protector of the faithful! We are yours!” Some reached out their hands toward her, as if hoping to touch even the hem of the garment draped over her massive form. Others offered her more of the foraged food, which she reluctantly accepted.

Ava stiffened, the familiar discomfort washing over her. Their words of adoration sounded like echoes of the crowds she used to command on stage, but they carried a weight now that left her feeling exposed. Her immense toes dug slightly into the earth as the cultists began to crawl closer, their movements tentative and filled with awe.

A young man, trembling but resolute, prostrated himself before Ava’s feet. His fingers brushed the side of her foot, and he pressed his forehead to the ground in reverence. “Your power saved us, my goddess. Please, let us honor you.” He didn't seem to even react to the blood staining her foot.  

Ava’s instinct was to recoil, but her size made even the smallest movement feel overwhelming. Her toes twitched, sending a ripple through the earth that startled the cultists but didn’t deter them. Another woman, older and with a deeply lined face, crawled forward to kiss the curve of Ava’s arch. Her lips trembled as she whispered a prayer, tears streaming down her face. “We are safe because of you. We live because of you.”

Ava’s gaze darted between them, her heart pounding. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell them to stop, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she watched as more cultists joined, pressing their hands to her feet, bowing low as if in penance. One young man knelt at her heel, his voice cracking with emotion as he said, “Let us be your foundation, your strength.”

Naomi rose from her bow and stepped closer, her voice calm but persuasive. “You don’t have to fight this. Let them show their devotion. Let them honor you.”

Ava’s instinct was to argue, to reject the idea outright. But Naomi’s tone—firm, unyielding—made her hesitate. It reminded her of another voice from her past, sharp with charisma but heavy with manipulation.

Jason.

He had spoken with the same assuredness, wielding his charm like a scalpel.

“You think it’s the songs they care about?” his voice echoed in her mind, the memory of his smirk sharp enough to sting. “It’s not the music, Ava. It’s the performer. The way you make them look at you, like they can’t breathe without you giving them permission. That’s your power. You take that away, and you’re just another girl strumming chords in a coffee shop.”

The memory tightened like a knot in her chest. Jason had controlled her in ways she hadn’t understood until it was too late, subtly steering her life until she no longer recognized it as her own. And now, here was Naomi, her words eerily similar, though laced with reverence rather than arrogance.

The cultists pressed closer, their hands brushing against her skin with trembling awe. Ava wanted to pull away, to shut her eyes and silence the echoes of Jason’s voice. But she didn’t.

This wasn’t Jason. These weren’t his words. This was something else—something she had never wanted but could no longer deny.

Naomi gestured to the crowd, as if sensing her innermost thoughts. “Look at them. They believe in you. They’ve never been safer than they are with you. Can’t you see how much you mean to them?”

Ava’s gaze swept over the cultists, their faces alight with awe and gratitude. Some had taken to washing the dried gore from the battle off of her feet using small cloths dampened from the nearby stream. Their movements were careful and deliberate, basins running red with rinsed-off blood. Others knelt in a circle, chanting her name in unison, their voices filled with a fervor that both unsettled and moved her.

She felt their touch—soft and reverent against her skin, a stark contrast to the violence she had just endured. The sensation sent a shiver up her spine, both unnerving and oddly comforting. Their devotion was unlike anything she had ever experienced, even at the height of her fame. It wasn’t about her music, her talent, or her appearance. It was about her.

Ava’s toes flexed instinctively as their trembling hands pressed against her skin. She could feel every minute touch, every brush of cloth or fingertips against her arch, and it made her shiver awkwardly with discomfort. Their prayers echoed in her ears, as fervent and overwhelming as the screams she’d heard in her nightmares. She looked down at the group closest to her feet. Their hands trembled as they stroked her skin, their expressions a mixture of reverence and joy. A young woman, her hair tied back in a messy braid, clasped her hands together as she gazed up at Ava with heavy-lidded eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

Ava swallowed hard, her emotions a tangled knot in her chest. Part of her wanted to pull away, to retreat from the weight of their expectations. But another part—a quieter, deeper part—felt a flicker of something she hadn’t known she was missing. Acceptance. Purpose.

A young man approached with deference, pressing his forehead to the broad surface of her big toe—an appendage nearly as large as his entire body. Others knelt along the curve of her instep, their hands brushing the smooth surface as though it were sacred stone. One devotee, bolder than the rest, managed to clamber onto the slope of her arch, pressing his lips to the warm flesh as if in prayer.

Ava’s stomach twisted as she watched them, their trembling hands brushing reverently against her feet. They believed in her, but for what? What had she actually done? She wasn’t a goddess. She wasn’t a savior. At this point, she had crushed dozens of people like ants. She had stood tall as they chanted her name, and she hadn’t stopped them. A final flare-up of doubt stirred again, but as Naomi looked at her, eyes fierce with conviction, the doubt flickered—and was snuffed like a wax candle in the wind. Ava inhaled deeply and sank to her knees.

She wouldn’t fight this anymore.

The titaness lowered herself slightly, her knees pressing into the earth as she brought her hands to rest on the ground. The cultists froze, their breath catching as her towering form loomed closer.

“I don’t know if I can be what you want me to be,” Ava said, her voice soft but steady.

Naomi stepped forward, her expression unwavering. “You’re more than that, Ava. You’re hope. You’re strength. You’re just what this world needs at a time like this.”

The cultists erupted into cheers, their voices filling the valley with a sound that made Ava’s chest tighten. They pressed closer, their hands reaching for her feet, her legs, as if desperate to touch even a fraction of her. Ava let out a shaky breath, her fingers digging into the earth as she allowed herself to accept their devotion. Once, they’d cheered her for songs she barely believed in. Now, they knelt for the woman she had become—a protector, a weapon. 

It all still terrified her, but for the first time since Madison Square Garden, she didn’t want to run.

Captain Marlowe’s office was dimly lit, the blinds drawn to keep prying eyes away. The atmosphere was tense, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee and cigarette smoke. Marlowe sat behind her desk, her fingers drumming impatiently against the wood. She had spent the last twenty-four hours poring over intelligence reports, photos, and video footage of Ava’s encounter with the military. Each image burned into her mind: Ava’s towering form, her immense strength, and the terrifying ease with which she had dismantled their forces.

The door creaked open, and Marlowe’s head snapped up. A man entered the room, his face shadowed by the dim light. He was tall and wiry, his hair unkempt and his expression guarded. His leather jacket was worn and scuffed, giving him a rugged, almost disheveled appearance.

“Jason Hayes,” Marlowe said, her voice cool and measured. “Thanks for coming.”

Jason shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Didn’t have much of a choice, did I? Your goons were pretty persuasive.”

Marlowe smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s just say we have a knack for finding people who might be... useful.”

Jason’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “What do you want from me?”

Marlowe slid a folder across the desk. Jason hesitated before picking it up, his brow furrowing as he flipped through the contents. The images inside were grainy but unmistakable: photos of Ava, her colossal form looming over cities and forests, her face both familiar and alien in its sheer scale. There she was, larger than life—literally now—just like she always thought she’d be.

Jason’s hands clenched around the folder. “Ava,” he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness.

“You knew her,” Marlowe said, her tone more curious than accusatory. “Intimately, from what I’ve gathered.”

Jason scoffed, tossing the folder back onto the desk. “Yeah, I knew her. Back when she was just a girl with a guitar and a chip on her shoulder. Before all of this... whatever the hell this is.”

Marlowe leaned forward, her expression sharp. “Then you know how she thinks. What drives her. What scares her.”

Jason’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “What are you getting at?”

Marlowe’s lips curved into a cold smile. “I need someone who can get inside her head. Someone who can predict her moves, anticipate her weaknesses. You'd also be somebody she’s not likely to see coming.”

Jason paused, weighing her words. He glanced back at the folder, at the images of the woman he had once loved—and lost. His mind raced, torn between resentment and something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to unpack.

“What’s in it for me?” he asked finally, his voice guarded.

Marlowe chuckled. “Let’s just say... you’ll get the chance to settle some old scores with the oversized diva you used to date.” She folded her arms. Time to set the hook.

“Oh, and one more thing– we dug into your finances, too. Your last tour didn't exactly ‘meet projections’, did it? We both know your career has been swirling down the drain since you split up with Ava. If your insights bear fruit and we take her out, I can guarantee you’ll stay out of the red.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers drumming against the edge of the desk. After a long pause, he sighed loudly and gave a sharp nod. “Alright. I’m in.” 

Marlowe leaned back, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. She handed him a small stack of paperwork that would formalize his cooperation.  “Excellent. I trust you can start today?”

The musician exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking back to the grainy photo of Ava. Once, she had been everything—his muse, his golden ticket, his greatest regret. Now, she was something else entirely. The world finally saw her as the stage-hogging, narcissistic monster she was, and he was in a position to regain what she’d stolen from him. 

Jason’s lips curled into a smirk, the first real smile he’d worn in months. He picked up a pen.

“Let’s cut the bitch down to size.”