The valley was still, save for the faint crackle of dying fires and the murmurs of cultists moving through the camp. The morningâs battle was long over, but its weight still clung to the air. Ava sat with her nude back against the hillside, stretching her legs out before her. The remnants of military vehicles lay scattered in the dirt and overgrowth, some twisted beyond recognition, others flattened into discs beneath her weight. The scent of charred metal and blood lingered, but she felt⌠nothing.
She should have felt something.
Days ago, the sight of even a single tiny broken body would have made her sick to her stomach. Even when sheâd killed aggressors out of necessity, or crushed a bystander accidentally, the aftershocks of remorse would still settle deep in her gut. But now? She stared at the faint red stain still smeared across her palm, remnants of the last soldier who had tried to run. He had pleaded. She hadnât cared. Hell, if she was honest with herself, the act had been somewhat satisfying. In the heat of the moment, she had attributed the feeling to the catharsis of exacting justice. She was putting an end to a ruthless enemy who had continually threatened her and her friends, but at the end of day, she knew the truth in her heart of hearts. The excuses had all run dry. This time, it was unequivocally murder, and that alone should have terrified her.
She clenched her fist, rubbing her thumb over her palm to wipe the blood away. Why didnât she care? Was it exhaustion? Survival instinct? Or was it something worseâsomething settling into her, making a home in the part of her that used to flinch at this kind of thing? Everything was changing so quickly. Every time she tried to stop and reflect, there was a new conflict arising that demanded her attention once again.
"Eat, my goddess."
Naomiâs voice pulled her from her thoughts as the woman calmly approached Avaâs outstretched foot. A group of cultists stood behind her, offering up bowls of food. Fresh fruit, dried meat, warm grainsâall scavenged or stolen, but nonetheless prepared with care. Ava eyes the offerings, stomach rumbling at the sight. But did she deserve to eat after all this? Could she, even?
"I donât know if Iâ"
Naomi stroked the side of her foot gently, like one might calm a restless horse. "Youâve done what was necessary. You protected your flock from the wolves who sought to slaughter them. Donât let doubt rob you of your strength. We need you now more than ever, Ava."
Avaâs gut growled again, this time with a mixture of hunger and guilt. Hunger seemed to be winning out. Her fingers twitched in a moment of hesitation, then reached forward. She picked up a piece of dried meat, rolling it between her fingers before placing it between her lips. The cultists mustâve found game at some point during the conflict. It was the first meat and protein sheâd had sinceâŚ
As she began to digest, the weight in her chest melted away, as if it had never been there at all. The unease? Silly. The questions? Pointless. A soft hum settled over her mind, warm and reassuring. Ava exhaled, tension fading from her shoulders, her doubts dissolving like sugar in warm water. Naomi smiled, watching her eat. Ava meant to keep thinkingâmeant to reflect just a little longerâbut the thought slipped away before she could hold onto it.
The pop star was asleep before she even realized she was tired.
Hector sat on the outskirts of the camp, away from the flickering torchlight and the murmured prayers of the cultists. By this hour even the most determined laborers who had spent the better part of the day attempting to repair Ava's scorched and torn garment had called it a night. His laptop hummed in his lap, screen glowing against the encroaching night. He should have been focused on decrypting the last bits of military chatter, but his attention kept drifting elsewhereâ
To Caylin. To Naomi.
To the way his fearless leader had guided Caylin toward "sacrifice." He clenched his jaw, fingers drumming against the keyboard. Naomi wasnât just a leaderâshe was a director, setting the stage, nudging people toward the outcomes she wanted. And Caylin⌠had Caylin really chosen her fate? Or had Naomi simply made the poor young woman believe the idea was of her own inception? The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.
Hector continued to ruminate on the bizarre events of the past few days, running his tongue over the inside of his cheek. He wasnât some hardened military tactician. He was a self-taught computer expertâa guy who had spent way too much time online reading between the lines. Heâd gone from a poor street kid who discovered he had an affinity for tech, to an ethical hacker swept up on the wave of Naomiâs magnetic presence and anti-establishment rhetoric. If there was one thing his experiences had fostered in him, it was a healthy skepticism toward authority figures. He had been drawn to Naomi to begin with because she seemed to want to fix the world, but as time went on he had begun to wonder if she was just another control freak with an agenda.
One thing he knew for sure: Naomi was hiding something.
Hectorâs fingers moved on instinct, switching screens, pulling up logs of old transmissions. He had to be sure. A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Why arenât you with the others?"
Hector nearly jumped out of his skin.
Naomi stood over him, her dark eyes reflecting the laptopâs glow. She wasnât smiling, but her voice was smooth as silk.
"Uhâ" Hector scrambled, quickly minimizing his screens. "Just, uh, making sure weâre clear. No more drone signals. No movement from the military."
Naomi nodded, as if she believed him. "Good. I knew I could count on you."
She turned to leave, but Hector watched her. Thatâs when he saw it: a small vial tucked inside her sleeve. She moved quickly, but not quick enoughâand Hector caught the faintest shimmer of liquid inside before she slipped it back into the folds of her coat. His stomach twisted.
He looked past herâtoward the food being prepared for Ava. The bowls were filled high with fresh offerings. Suddenly, something clicked. What if Naomi wasnât just guiding Ava; what if she was influencing the giantess with something more than just her silver tongue?
Hector swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away before Naomi turned back toward him. His mind raced. He couldnât confront her now. Not here. Not yet.
Hector forced himself to breathe evenly as Naomi disappeared into the camp, her silhouette vanishing behind the flickering torchlight. His hands were clammy, his fingers hovering motionless over his keyboard. He had been paranoid before, sureâbut this wasnât paranoia. This was real.
His face went pale as he glanced back toward the food. He had dismissed Avaâs growing compliance as the consequences of a number of things: exhaustion, trauma, maybe even resignation. But what was in that vial? If Naomi had been drugging Ava all along, if she had been manipulating her thoughtsâ
Hector stared at the glowing screen of his laptop, feeling something cold tighten around his spine. He had assumed Ava was making her own decisions, but what if she hadnât been for a long time? The questions didnât sit well, and he feared they would only continue to roil and swirl in his gut like the aftermath of a bad meal.
Hectorâs pulse pounded in his ears. He knew what happened to people who got in Naomiâs way. Caylin had been so sure, so convinced that offering herself to Ava was the right thing to do. But had it been her choice? Or had Naomi whispered just the right words, given her just the right push? Naomi has proved herself to be brilliant. Dangerous, even. He had believed in the former journalist once, even admired her enough to drop everything to follow the cause, but things were different now. The moment Caylin died, something shifted. Now it felt like Naomi was playing a game with all of their lives, and she was playing it too well. Was she gradually taking away Ava's choices the same way she took Caylinâs? How many of his decisions could he trust were his now in retrospect?
He swallowed the lump in his throat and minimized his open programs, replacing them with a generic diagnostic screen. His laptop wasnât safe. Naomi was too smart to leave him unchecked forever. If she suspected he was onto herâŚ
No. He needed to play this carefully.
He stood, stretching his arms dramatically, forcing a yawn as if he had just been up too late with his screens. "Guess I should turn in," he muttered to himself, making sure to sound casual in case anyone nearby was listening.
He tucked his laptop under his arm and made his way toward his tent, slipping between cultists murmuring in reverence about Avaâs latest victory. He wanted to scream at them, shake them, tell them they were worshipping a lie.
But then, was Ava a victim too?
That thought made his stomach churn worse.
Inside his tent, he exhaled sharply and crouched near his bedroll. He lifted the false bottom of his pack, revealing a small drive tucked away inside a bundle of cloth. His backup. His insurance.
He hesitated, staring at the tiny device. If Naomi had gone this far to control Ava, what would she do to someone like him if she knew what he had seen? His fingers tightened around the drive. If he wanted to do something, he needed proof. He needed to catch Naomi in the act. Of course, that meant taking a risk. Hector took one last deep breath before slipping the drive back into its hiding place. Tomorrow, he would find a way to confirm what was in those vials.
He only hoped heâd still be alive after.
Ava stood in a vast, golden-lit stadium. The architecture was impossibly grand, the stands stretching endlessly into the sky, packed with an audience whose faces were too small to make out. They chanted her name in perfect unison, voices harmonized like a chorus of programmed devotion.
âAva Nova! Ava Nova! Ava Nova!â
She was dressed in a flowing, translucent gown that perfectly suited her size and divinity. A far cry from the torn, singed makeshift garment sheâd discarded after the battle. The sheer fabric draped over her like liquid gold, accentuating every curve, every inch of skin the audience worshipped. She wasnât just a performer hereâshe was the show, the idol, the spectacle.
Beneath her, the massive stage shimmered with an unnatural glow. At first, she thought it was glass, a flawless surface reflecting her towering form. But as she shifted, the ground gave slightly beneath her soles. An unexpected warmth spread through her toes. She looked down.
The stage wasnât wood or metal or any other material sheâd stood on before.
It was people.
Thousands of tiny, writhing bodies formed the floor beneath her feet, their bare skin gleaming with sweat and the natural sheen of exertion. They pressed together so tightly it was impossible to see where one person ended and another began. The texture was unlike anything she had ever stood onâsoft, warm, subtly alive. Every slight movement of her toes sent ripples through them, their bodies reacting instinctively to her presence like tiny fish in a pool of water.
âAva, Ava, Ava!â
The crowdâs chant continued, unfazed. As if this was right. As if this was how it had always been. Ava shifted her weight, just a little, and felt the bodies beneath her sole respondâsquirming, pressing, desperate for even the most fleeting touch of her. The heat radiating from them sent a strange, tingling pleasure through her, an intoxicating blend of reverence and helplessness. She curled her toes without even thinking.
A whimpering gasp rippled through the mass beneath her. Not screamsâgasps. Shuddering, aching moans of pleasure and pain blurred into one. Ava swallowed hard.
What is this?
From the corner of her eye, movement. Naomi stood just beyond the stage, dressed in elegant robes, watching over the proceedings with a knowing smile. She gestured toward the organic mass of followers with an outstretched hand, as if presenting Ava with a gift.
"They only want to serve you," Naomiâs voice echoed through the vast space, rich and velvety. "Why deny them?"
The moment she spoke, the bodies beneath Ava shifted again, turning inward, faces pressing against her skin. Their mouths opened, their tongues dragging reverently over the broad expanse of her instep, across the sensitive skin of her arch. Some kissed. Some licked.
Her breath caught. The feeling was unbearable in its intensityâtoo much and yet not enough. The audience above erupted into thunderous applause. Avaâs mind began to race.
This isnât real. This isnât right.
Yet, her body betrayed her, as if she were a puppet. Heat coiled low in her belly, her breath shuddering as the sensation of hundreds of worshipping mouths sent waves of pleasure through her. Her toes flexed again, and the mass beneath her begged without words, their devotion a physical force that pulled at her like gravity. A single, trembling figure stood among them, one who had not yet given in.
Hector.
He was there, just a few feet from her sole, his wide eyes flickering between terror and disbelief.
"Ava?" His voice cracked. "What the hell is this?" The stadium fell silent.
Ava tried to step back, to remove herself from the living mass beneath her, but something held her in place. The tiny hands clutching at her, the eager tongues that had moments before sent pleasure through her, now felt like restraints. Naomi tilted her head.
"Donât let him ruin this for you, Ava. He just doesnât understand."
Hectorâs eyes hardened.
"No, I get it." His voice was cold now. "You like this."
The heat inside her turned to nausea.
No!
She lifted her foot away, pulling free from the bodies belowâonly for them to reach for her, clinging, desperate, dependent; and thenâ CRACK.
The moment she shifted her weight, the structure beneath her collapsed. The crowd wasnât a stage. They were the foundation. Without her standing on them, it all crumbled.
Screams filled the airâreal ones this timeâas thousands of tiny forms tumbled into a chasm of infinite darkness. Ava scrambled to catch them, to do something, but her hands were too large, her movements too slow. One by one, they vanished into the abyss, their final cries slicing through her like knives. Hectorâs form disappeared with them.
The weight of her own indulgence crushed down on her chest like a vice. She tried to scream, but her mouth was full of something warm, writhingâalive! Her hands clawed at her throat, but Naomiâs amused voice blanketed the panic like a layer of silk over her muted cries.
"The show must go on, my goddess."
Ava choked. Her lungs burned, her fingers tearing at her lipsâ
And then, in one horrifying lurch, she swallowed.
She jolted awake with a strangled gasp, hands flying to her throat, heart pounding against her ribs. The tasteâthat tasteâlingered, phantom and cloying, as she sat trembling in the cold mountain air.
Ava jolted awake, sweat slicking her skin despite the cool mountain air. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her fingers digging into the earth beneath her. The echo of the dream still pulsed through her veinsâthe feeling of their bodies, the taste of worship, the weight of her own indulgence. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead.
"Iâm not that person," she whispered. "Iâm not."
But deep inside her, an anonymous voice put forth a single, chilling inquiryâ
Then why did it feel so good?
The camp had settled into an eerie stillness. The fires had burned low, casting flickering shadows against the hillside, and most of the cultists had already drifted off to sleep. Even Ava, still shaken from her dream, had found herself sinking into an uneasy stillness, her mind clouded yet strangely... empty.
But Hector couldnât sleep.
The glow of his laptop was the only light in his tent, the low hum of his equipment the only sound as he sifted through intercepted transmissions. Military chatter had gone quiet. The drones had retreated. Nothing new. Nothing out of the ordinary. But something gnawed at him.
A gut feeling.
And then, like static before a storm, he caught it.
A rogue transmission, buried in encrypted layers but piggybacking on the same military signal range. Someone who wasnât military. Someone who wasnât supposed to be there.
Hector frowned, fingers flying over the keys as he cleaned up the audio. It was faint, distorted, butâ
"Ava, sweetheart. Can you hear me?"
The voice oozed through the speakers like oil.
Hector blinked, his hands hovering over the keyboard. Who the hell was this?
The transmission crackled again:
"Look, I know we didnât part on the best terms, but letâs be realâyou need someone like me. Someone who can help you navigate this... unique situation."
Hector sat back slowly, an unsettling chill creeping down his spine. He didnât recognize the voice, but something about itâthe casual arrogance, the faux warmth masking something predatoryâmade his skin crawl. He grabbed his laptop and bolted from his tent.
Avaâs eyes were closed when she heard Hectorâs hurried footsteps. She exhaled sharply through her nose, barely stirring from her half-dozing state. But something in his energyâhis frantic breathing, the way he practically tripped over himself in his rush to reach herâmade her open her eyes.
Hector skidded to a stop near her outstretched hand. Naomi, already standing nearby, raised an eyebrow.
"You need to hear this," Hector said, urgency laced in every word as he set the laptop down. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second, then tapped a key.
And thenâ
"Ava, honey. You up? Itâs been a long time."
Silence.
Avaâs entire body stiffened.
Her breath caught, her expression hardening like cooling iron.
Naomiâs lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing.
Hector frowned. He glanced between them. Why did Ava look like she had just been punched in the gut?
The voice continued, smooth, almost affectionate:
"Look, I get it. Youâre angry. Youâve always been so emotional. Lucky for you, the public loves a spitfire type. But letâs not forget what made you special in the first place. What made you... sell."
Avaâs nails dug into the dirt.
Hectorâs confusion deepened. Sell? What the hell was this guy talking about?
The transmission crackled.
"Come on, Ava. You donât think you got where you were on talent alone, do you?"
Ava shut her eyes, exhaling through her nose.
Hector felt a strange, crawling discomfort in his chest. Whoever this was, he wasnât just some opportunist. This wasnât a scam, or some desperate outsider looking to gain favor. This was something worse. This was personal.
The voice purred:
"We both know you were never great at handling things alone. I mean, come onâhow much of your career was really your doing?"
Avaâs fingers twitched.
Naomi studied her closely, but said nothing.
Hector swallowed. "...Who is that?"
Ava didnât answer.
The voice pressed on, slithering through the speaker like a slow, sinking knife.
"I know you, Ava. Better than anyone. I shaped you into what you are. And from where Iâm sitting, you need me now more than ever. You need someone who can manage your... letâs call it âimageâ... before the world turns against you for good."
Avaâs knuckles whitened.
Hectorâs pulse quickened. Whoever this was, he had dug his claws into Ava long before she had grown into a titan.
The transmission buzzed, as if to smirk.
"You donât think youâre the only one with connections, do you?"
Avaâs breath hitched. Her lips curled in barely contained rage. Sheâd hoped to never hear that manâs smug voice again, and yet here he was, mocking her from the ether.
Naomi took a step closer. âAva, donât let him bait youââ
âHector,â Ava interrupted, her voice low, controlled. âWhere is he?â
Hector hesitated. âI donât know ifââ
âWhere is he?â
A beat of silence. Then, reluctantly, Hector turned back to his laptop, fingers dancing over the keyboard.
âIâve got a location trace,â he muttered. âSignalâs coming from an abandoned radio station about fifty miles southeast. Looks like he set up there to make sure his transmission reached us.â
Ava rose to her feet.
The motion sent a tremor through the ground, causing a few cultists nearby to stir in their sleep.
Naomiâs eyes narrowed slightly. âAva, listen to me.â Her voice was steady, coaxing. âThis isnât the way to handle this.â
Ava didnât even glance at her.
âThey always talk like this,â she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. âLike I owe them something. Like they can still control me.â
Avaâs fingers curled into fists, an action that had become almost instinctual at this point. They always talked like this. Like she was a product, something they could package and sell. Like she was still that desperate girl, eager to prove her worth, willing to play the game as long as it meant she got to exist in their world. How many times had she let men like him shape her, dictate her value? How many times had she convinced herself that it was just the way things were? Not anymore. She wasnât a commodity. She wasnât a pawn. She wasnât his.
Hector adjusted his glasses, uneasy. âAre we sure this isnât a trap?â
âIf it is,â she said, her voice dripping with finality, âIâd like to see them try to contain me.â
Before Ava turned to leave, her gaze flicked to Naomi. The womanâs expression was unreadable at firstâjust the faintest tilt of her head, the barest trace of approval. Like she had expected this. It was as if she was watching a chess piece move exactly where she wanted it on the board.
Of course. Naomi always had a plan. And maybe, just maybe, she wanted Ava to charge forward like this. But that didnât change a damn thing. She tore her eyes away and took her first step into the darkness. Let Naomi watch. Let them all watch. This was her decision. Without another glance, she turned, lumbering off into the inky blackness.
Naomi turned to Hector, sporting a world-weary smirk. âSheâs got a lot to learn about control.â