Pop sensation Ava Nova was already on track to becoming the world's biggest star, but no one could have imagined just how big.

Chapter 1: The Anthill

Word Count: 2429

Added: 03/20/2025

Updated: 04/05/2025

Third-Person Age 25-34 Age 35-54 F/fm Sci-Fi Rampage Deific Growth Feet Destruction Instant Size Change Accidental Crush Gore Violent Fatal

Chapter Notes:

(Ava Nova blows the roof off her high-profile gig at Madison Square Garden)

The roar of the crowd was deafening—a tidal wave of sound that reverberated through Ava Nova’s body. Madison Square Garden was packed to capacity, every elated face glowing in the light of their phones as they screamed her name. Ava stood at the center of it all, radiant in a sequined jumpsuit that glittered like starlight. Booking an event like this was the culmination of her life’s work. Blood, sweat, and more than a few tears had brought her here, and the feeling was indescribable. As Ava strutted across the stage, a strange tingle traced her spine—fleeting but insistent. She shook it off with practiced ease, her smile never faltering. She was a professional, after all.

Ava’s heart raced as she delivered the final chorus of her breakout hit, “Larger Than Life.” Her commanding presence held the crowd spellbound; in that moment, she felt less like a performer and more like a force of nature. This was it—the moment she had dreamed of for years. All those miserable formative years acting on tacky children’s sitcoms and suffering through the exploitative pageantry of dance recitals had finally paid off. This level of success was something others spent their entire lives chasing to no avail. Yet here she stood: an indisputable star at just twenty-five. As the song reached its final notes, she prepared to step offstage and bask in the calm of her green room.

That was when the heat came on.

It started as a faint warmth in her chest, spreading outward in waves. At first, she dismissed it as post-performance adrenaline. But as the searing sensation intensified, it became impossible to ignore. Something was wrong. Her body began trembling, wracked with spasms as her hands grew slick with sweat, making it impossible to hold the mic stand.

Her knees buckled.

The mic slipped from her hand, clattering to the stage. The crowd’s cheers faltered, replaced by murmurs of confusion. Ava doubled over, clutching her stomach as a strange, crackling energy traveled through her limbs, as though her body had become a furnace of tiny coals radiating heat. Panic attack? She hadn’t had one in years. Besides, this felt… different.

“Is she okay? What’s happening?” someone shouted, their voice laden with fear.

Ava convulsed. The sequins on her shimmering jumpsuit split apart and fell to the ground as her arms and legs stretched like taffy, her torso expanding in proportion. The stage groaned beneath her growing mass, its supports creaking ominously under the strain.

“Get outta here!” a stagehand yelled, waving at the crew as he fled.

Ava’s boots burst violently as her feet swelled, her toes pressing against the stage’s edges. The first crack echoed through the arena as the supports gave way, the sharp tang of burnt wiring filling her nose as sparks leapt from severed cables. Beneath her palms, the concrete crumbled like wet sand under her weight.

Seconds later, a loud tear signaled the demise of her jumpsuit, its remnants lying in a heap. Now naked, Ava reflexively cupped her hands over herself in a futile attempt to salvage some modesty. Her body stretched beyond reason, her joints groaning in rebellion. Panic gripped her, distant and muffled, like a scream swallowed by static. Vulnerability overwhelmed her, far surpassing anything performance anxiety could conjure.

“Stop filming and help me move her!” a man yelled, dragging a stunned woman away from the debris while another bystander aimed their phone at the unfolding chaos.

Ava surged upward, her head crashing into the ceiling with a deafening boom. Glass and steel rained onto her hair and the crowd below as the roof collapsed, exposing her to the night sky—and the city beyond.

“N-no,” Ava stammered, her trembling voice barely audible despite her size. Her enormous, exposed body quaked. “This can’t be happening to me.”

Her gargantuan hands clawed at the ground, trying to steady herself, but every frantic movement only caused more destruction. Her fingers crushed rows of seats like brittle twigs. One foot slipped into the audience, flattening dozens beneath her bare sole. The crunch was so sickeningly loud that it made Ava wince.

A security guard sprinted toward the stage but froze as Ava’s colossal hand swept nearby, obliterating a row of chairs. Nearby, a middle-aged woman shielded an injured elderly man, dragging him toward the nearest exit as camera flashes continued to flicker, documenting the carnage through dispassionate lenses.

The pop star froze, her stomach twisting as her gaze fell on the wreckage at her feet. Mangled bodies lay scattered among the debris, twisted beams and shattered glass piled around them like burial mounds. The moans of the injured and dying rose to her ears, forcing her to confront the scale of her unintentional destruction.

“No… no, no, no,” Ava murmured, her wide eyes brimming with tears as she struggled to comprehend the devastation. “What have I done?” Her voice cracked as she instinctively pulled her bloodied foot back, inspecting it with desperate hope. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked. But the truth was worse: fragments of bodies clung to her wrinkled sole, smeared and broken like insects crushed beneath a careless step.

She shuddered. There was no denying it. People were dying—because of her.

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—” Her words crumbled into incoherent stammers.

The crowd’s screams intensified, drowning out her attempts to speak.

“She’s going to kill us all!” a man bellowed, his voice cracking with panic.

“There’s a way out through the garage!” a woman shouted, waving toward a crumbling exit corridor. “Move, now!”

Ava’s chest tightened as the cacophony of terror and rage grew. The accusatory glares of fleeing survivors pierced through the haze of her transformation, each glance cutting her like glass. She stared at her hands, dirty and dusted with shards of metal and glass, tinged red with blood.

“This can’t be real,” she murmured, almost dissociative.

And then, amidst the chaos, a single voice rang out—calm, reverent, and somehow louder than the rest.

“She’s more than human… she’s divine,” a man whispered, his words trembling with awe.

Ava blinked, momentarily stunned. She turned her head toward the source of the voice, her shadow sweeping across the stage like a storm cloud. The faint arcs of electricity and sparks from the ruined stage lighting barely illuminated the scene, but it was enough. A small group of fans had dropped to their knees, their faces painted with wonder.

“Goddess!” one of them shouted, raising their arms as though in worship.

“For Christ’s sake, get out of here!” another voice barked, dragging one of the kneeling fans by the arm. “You’re gonna get killed!”

“No,” the man insisted, his voice trembling but resolute. “Look at her! She’s… she’s a goddess!”

Ava’s lips parted, but no words came. Her gaze darted between the destruction around her—the flattened rows of seats, the lifeless bodies, the crumbling remains of the stage—and the small group kneeling in awe. The way they looked at her, as if she were the center of the universe… wasn’t that what she had always craved?

“Stop it. I’m not a goddess!” she snapped, her voice cracking with equal parts frustration and desperation. But even as the words left her lips, they felt hollow. She didn’t believe them herself.

The remaining crowd continued to flee, trampling over fallen chairs and one another in their rush to escape. Some paused just long enough to gape at her impossible scale, their faces frozen in a mix of horror and disbelief. Others simply stared, too stunned to move. But the small group of worshippers near the stage remained, their devotion unwavering.

“Bless us, goddess!” one of them cried, tears streaming down his face.

Ava’s stomach twisted. “I’m not…” Her voice faltered as she tried to mount a response, finding herself speechless before an audience for the first time in years. The sheer gravity of her situation silenced her, leaving her to wrestle with a confusing mix of guilt, horror, and something else she couldn’t yet name.

Instinctively, she reached out, her huge hand brushing aside the wreckage of the stage. Her fingers moved with the precision of a performer, the slightest twitch causing wood and steel to crumble like sand. The worshippers erupted into cheers, their faces glowing with joy at what they saw as a display of her divine might.

“You’re all insane!” a fleeing fan shouted, their voice nearly drowned out by the growing swell of activity.

Ava’s gaze lingered on the worshippers, their devotion an unsettling balm against the chaos she had caused. It was absurd—ridiculous, even—but the way they looked at her, like she was their savior, infected her mind with unsettling feelings.

Her mind was reeling at a thousand miles per hour. She surveilled the demolished arena around her, the mangled bodies, the ruined stage—and then back to the kneeling fans. This was too much. She needed to get away.

Rubbing her temple, Ava stepped carefully over the wreckage that had been Madison Square Garden. Everything felt different. The night air was sharper, the sounds of the city more pronounced. Her body—once the finely tuned instrument of years of dance rehearsals and performances—felt alien. She glanced down at her hands, filthy and impossibly large, now the size of telephone poles. Slowly, she flexed her fingers.

“This is insane,” she murmured, the words tinged with wonder and dread.

Her stomach growled—a deep, earth-shaking rumble that echoed through the city and sent birds scattering into the sky. Ava frowned, clutching her abdomen. She hadn’t eaten in hours, but how could she possibly find nourishment now?

She scanned the cityscape, her massive frame casting shadows over rooftops. Then, inspiration struck. She reached out, plucking a water tank from the roof of a nearby building. With a single squeeze, the metal crumpled in her hand, releasing a cascade of water that gushed into her mouth. Thousands of gallons disappeared down her throat in seconds.

The remaining crowd, scattered across nearby streets, gasped audibly at the sight.

“I guess this city won’t miss one water tank,” Ava muttered dryly, though the quiver in her voice betrayed her unease. She stood, towering over the skyline, and stretched, her muscles stiff from the tension of the last few minutes. Her foot accidentally toppled a streetlight, and she glanced down with an exasperated sigh.

“Oops,” she muttered weakly. Her attempt at softening the situation with levity fell flat, even to herself. The weight of her actions pressed harder than the ruined streetlight. It was all so absurd, but there was no room for laughter—not when her every movement left destruction and terror in its wake. She wouldn’t be able to rely on the crutch of self-deprecation the way she had as a young starlet cutting her teeth in show business– this was life and death.

Her thirst quenched for now, Ava wandered aimlessly through the city, her footsteps echoing like thunderclaps. Each step left a crater in the asphalt, sending tremors through the surrounding blocks. Shattered windows, overturned cars, and gaping sinkholes marked her path—not out of malice, but as an unavoidable consequence of her sheer existence.

She paused briefly, crouching to rest her manicured hands on her knees. Her manicured nails, so meticulously polished just hours ago, now gleamed with dirt and fragments of shattered glass. In a nearby alley, a group of streetwalkers clung to each other, trembling, their wide eyes fixed on her.

“Please… don’t be scared. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she boomed, her voice warbling with guilt despite her attempt to sound calm. But the group didn’t move, their fear paralyzing them. She realized any attempt at a gentle tone wouldn’t translate, amplified by her enormity.

Ava sighed, her breath generating a gust of wind that knocked over several trash cans. She straightened, her titanic frame blotting out the moonlight. For years, people had reacted to her presence with joy and excitement. Now, they cowered in fear. There could be no coming back from this: her career was sure to end tonight. For reasons she couldn’t make sense of, however, the idea of that didn’t feel as devastating as she might have imagined it would. Perhaps it was because this, whatever ‘this’ was, felt bigger than any performance or public image, both more and less real at the same time.

Ava turned away from the alley, her gaze falling to the pavement beneath her feet. She had started scanning the ground instinctively, her every step now a cautious act to avoid crushing something—or someone—else. It was tedious and disorienting, constantly looking down, but she supposed it was necessary to avoid creating more damage than was unavoidable at her new size.

Her foot hovered over a fire hydrant, and for a moment, she hesitated.

The hydrant seemed impossibly small, insignificant in contrast to her monumental presence. It looked more like a child’s toy than a vital piece of city infrastructure. She flexed her toes, hovering above it, struck by the sheer fragility of the object. One careless step and it would be flattened—a warped, unrecognizable scrap of debris. A single electrical impulse in her brain was all it would take.

The thought sent a chill down her spine. A memory surfaced from her past, as vivid as it was unwanted. She had been standing in the backyard, fascinated by the bustling activity of an anthill. She’d eventually succumbed to morbid curiosity, crushing the mound in an instant beneath a sandaled foot. A puff of dirt rose into the air, and the ants had scattered in every direction, their world upended by the casual movement. Within a minute or so she had lost interest, not giving the act a second thought.

That had been years ago, but recalling it now sent her stomach churning. What had been a thoughtless act of whimsy to her must have felt catastrophic to the ants. She glanced down at the fire hydrant again, then at the jagged remains of the streetlight she had toppled minutes earlier. Was that how the people of this city saw her now? An agent of casual cruelty who could bring about cataclysmic destruction with a single step?

Ava’s foot hovered a moment longer before she shifted her weight, carefully planting it beside the hydrant. It remained intact, untouched amid the wreckage. A small victory.

Her chest tightened as conflicting emotions surged through her. She wasn’t the same woman who had once crushed an anthill for amusement, was she? But now, as a giant, every movement carried the weight of that same careless power, only in a different proportion. Ava Nova glanced at the horizon, her pulse quickening as the distant wail of sirens reached her ears. She clenched her fists, unsure if the sirens meant rescue—or retaliation. Either way, the city was surely reacting to her existence—and she had no idea what came next. There was no denying it anymore: the world was her anthill now.

Chapter End Notes:

(Drop a review and let me know what you think. I'd love to continue if there's interest in where the story goes next.)

Chapter 2: Shattered Spotlight

Word Count: 3045

Added: 03/20/2025

Updated: 04/05/2025

Third-Person Age 25-34 Age 35-54 F/fm Sci-Fi Deific Feet Destruction Accidental Crush Gore Violent Fatal

Chapter Notes:

(The city's response to Ava's unwitting destruction leaves her reeling, threatening to destroy her sense of identity along with it)

As the sirens drew closer, Ava glanced back regretfully at the path of destruction she’d carved. The once-iconic venue behind her was now utterly unrecognizable—a splintered husk of shattered glass and twisted metal. Smoke rose in lazy tendrils from severed power lines, their jagged ends sparking like spent fireworks. The acrid tang of burning plastic mixed with the stench of pulverized concrete stung Ava’s nostrils as she stood frozen in place. Rows of seats that had moments ago been filled with ecstatic fans now lay flattened beneath her colossal footprints, mulched into a multi-colored amalgam of debris.

Her eyes darted to the remains of the stage, where shards of her glittering jumpsuit lay scattered like broken dreams. The lights that once dazzled the audience now flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows across the wreckage. She dared to look down, her gaze settling on the faint outline of her toeprints embedded deep in the rubble. Blood and grime clung to the ridges of her wrinkled soles, and for a brief, stomach-churning moment, she thought she saw movement—someone trapped beneath the rubble, too weak to call for help.

“Oh God…” was all Ava could muster, her voice saddled by heavy remorse.

She took a cautious step back, the debris-covered street shuddering under her weight. Each movement felt like a betrayal. The more she tried to fix things, the more the world seemed to break beneath her. In the distance, the pop star could hear faint cries—people calling for loved ones, for help, for mercy. It was a sound that would haunt Ava for the rest of her life. She had to do something… but would the act of trying to help just make things worse at her unwieldy size? She felt paralyzed with indecision as her mind raced through a hundred permutations of what to do next.

The wail of approaching sirens cut through the haze of destruction, sharp and grating. Ava turned her head slowly, her movements deliberate, as if any sudden action might shatter what little remained of the city’s fragile balance. Emergency vehicles screeched to a halt at the edge of the devastation. The first responders hesitated, their faces pale as they took in the impossible sight before them. Firefighters began setting up triage stations near the edges of the rubble, their radios crackling with frantic reports of casualties. But it was the line of black, armored trucks that caught Ava’s attention. A row of NYPD tactical vehicles fanned out across the street, their reinforced bumpers scraping against cracked asphalt. Officers in riot gear spilled out like ants, their movements precise and coordinated. Floodlights mounted on the vehicles snapped on, bathing Ava in harsh, artificial light. She winced and raised a hand to shield her face.

“This is the NYPD Special Tactics Unit,” a voice blared from what sounded like a megaphone. Ava squinted, her partially-blinded gaze settling on the figure standing atop one of the armored trucks. Captain Marlowe was a striking silhouette against the chaos—tall and commanding, her dark tactical gear gleaming under the floodlights. She confidently gripped the megaphone with one hand while the other rested on her hip, fingers twitching near her holstered sidearm. “Remain where you are,” Marlowe ordered. Her utterance was steady, but even from a distance, Ava could see the tension in her shoulders.

“Do not attempt to move. We are here to contain the situation and ensure the safety of all civilians.” Ava’s lip curled at the word “contain.” She glanced over her shoulder at the wreckage behind her, the bloodstains still visible against the white fragments of shattered seats. Wasn’t that what she was doing—trying to contain the damage? Trying not to make things worse?

“I… I didn’t mean to—” Ava began, her tone cracking like thunder. She cringed as the sound of her own words echoed through the broken streets. There had to be some way to explain this that wouldn’t escalate the situation even further, but she was in no state to come up with anything resembling an articulate explanation. Everything was happening much too fast.

A few officers flinched at the sheer power of her voice, their weapons trembling in their hands.

“Hold your fire!” Marlowe snapped, her hand shooting up. The officers hesitated, their fingers hovering over their triggers. Would their fight or flight response instinct outweigh their commitment to orders from a superior? Ava took a step back, her gigantic foot sinking into the asphalt with a dull crunch. The asphalt buckled beneath her, sending a fresh ripple of panic through the ranks.

Behind the newly-formed barricade, a restless crowd had gathered from outside the venue, drawn by the surreal commotion. Faces glowed eerily in the light of phone screens, capturing her towering nude silhouette against the fractured skyline, unevenly revealed by the floodlights. Ava’s sharpened senses caught several fragments of their various reactions, each word cutting through her like glass.

“She’s enormous… how does someone even get that big?”
“Is that Ava Nova? It is! What the hell happened to her?”
“Forget who she is—look at that wreckage. People are dead! She did that.”
“Maybe it’s not her fault. She doesn’t look like she’s trying to hurt anyone.”
“Not her fault? Are you kidding? There are bodies under her feet!”
“She saved lives! I saw her pulling people out of the rubble!”
“You’re blind. She’s a danger to everyone here. She’s got to be stopped.”
“She’s a goddess. Look at her. What else could she be?”

The last words, soft but unwavering, rose above the chaos. Ava turned her gaze toward the speaker—a young woman stepping forward from the crowd. Dust and streaks of blood lined her face, but her expression shone with conviction. She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer.

“Goddess Nova, please!” the woman called out, her voice trembling. “You didn’t have to save us, but you did. Thank you!”

Ava’s breath caught. “I’m not—” she began, but another scuffle cut her off.

“Get away from her, you idiot!” a man shouted, grabbing the woman’s arm. “She’s not some savior—she’s a menace!”

The woman wrenched herself free, spinning to face the crowd. “You didn’t see what I saw!” she cried, her voice raw. “She didn’t crush us. She protected us! She’s not a monster!”

“Oh yeah?” the man snapped, pointing at the wreckage. “Take another look at the bodies under her feet. Tell me that’s not a monster’s work.”

The crowd’s muttering swelled into a chaotic din—fearful accusations clashing with hesitant praise. Phones captured every second of it, their blinking lights glinting off the debris like judgmental eyes. News helicopters sporting their own cameras whizzed by tentatively, like flies orbiting an active kill.

“Stop it,” Ava declared, unsteady but firm. She stepped back, trying to create space, her bare foot pressing into the fractured street with a deep thud. The sound elicited a fresh jolt of panic through the crowd, the exact opposite of her intention. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Please… just stop.”

Despite her intentions, the nude titaness’ words found little footing in the rising commotion. To some, she was a protector. To others, a walking catastrophe. Ava turned back toward the barricades, where additional floodlights flared to life, fully illuminating her now in stark, unforgiving detail.

From the barricades, Captain Marlowe watched the chaos unfold with narrowed eyes, her jaw tight. “Do we have a clear shot?” she asked into her radio, her tone calm but clipped with a subtle tension.

“Negative,” came the reply. “Too many civilians in the way. Crowd control is still clearing the area.”

Marlowe cursed under her breath. “We need that perimeter secure now. If she moves any closer to the populated zones, we’ll lose our chance at containment.”

The officers at the barricades shifted uneasily, some for the first time questioning their careers. They had trained for riots, hostage situations, even acts of domestic terror from foreign entities—but nothing could have prepared them for something like this. The sheer scale of the naked woman towering over them was enough to sap any trace of confidence from even the most seasoned veterans.

One officer clutched his rifle tighter, sweat glistening on his brow. “Captain, she’s… she’s just standing there. I mean, she doesn’t necessarily look hostile.”

Marlowe’s glare swung to him. “She doesn’t have to look hostile. Did you miss that goddamn crater she left behind!? Do you think those innocent fans under her feet care whether she meant it or not?” She lowered her volume, speaking more to herself. “Intent doesn’t mean a thing here. The destruction does.”

Her radio crackled again, as if to punctuate her point. “Captain, fire crews are reporting civilian clusters trapped in the adjacent buildings. Structural integrity’s compromised—those walls won’t hold much longer.”

Marlowe glanced at Ava, then back at the glowing outlines of bodies pressed against shattered windows. Her gut twisted.

The harsh light of the floodlights cast her shadow across the wreckage, making her seem even larger. Ava winced as she shifted her weight, another faint tremor shivering through the ground. She could feel every set of eyes on her—accusing, fearful, worshipful. It was suffocating on a sensory level.

“Please, just listen,” she pleaded, her plaintive request echoing across the doomed plaza. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I was trying to—”

“Quiet!” Captain Marlowe harshly snapped through the megaphone. “Do not move another step! You are endangering lives with every second you stay here. Stand down, or we will take action.”

Ava flinched. “Stand down?” Ava repeated slowly, her question tinged with confusion. “Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I want to be this way?”

Somewhere in the crowd, the young woman who had deified her earlier raised her hands again.

“Leave her alone!” she shouted, just loud enough to be heard. “She’s not attacking anyone!”

The burgeoning cult’s chants swelled again, this time louder and more confident. “She’s a goddess! Goddess Nova!”

“Enough of that!” an officer barked, stepping forward with his baton raised. He shoved one of the kneeling devotees back, causing the others to scatter slightly.

Ava’s eyes darted to the commotion, her pulse quickening. “Don’t hurt them!” she called out, instinctively raising a hand. The abrupt motion sent a gust of wind through the crowd, toppling more than a few bystanders and rattling nearby vehicles like they were matchbox cars. A sudden crack split the air. Ava turned sharply, attention locked on a nearby building as a plume of dust erupted from its side. The structure groaned under its own weight, chunks of masonry tumbling to the street below. Another anthill falling under her power.

“They’re trapped!” someone screamed from the crowd. “There are people in there!”

Ava hesitated. She glanced at the crumbling building, then at the line of officers. “If I move, they’ll shoot,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible even to her own ears.

Another wail pierced the din. Ava’s clammy palms gradually balled into anxious fists. She had to act.

Before Captain Marlowe could bark another order, Ava stepped toward the building, her massive stride spawning more vibrations beneath the teeming street. Her shadow began to slide over the barrier.

“Hold your fire!” Marlowe shouted, though the edge of panic in her tone betrayed her. “Do not engage!”

Ava crouched by the collapsing structure, her huge hands painstakingly picking away loose debris. Every movement felt agonizingly slow, her fingers trembling as she pried open a section of the wall. She could see them now—a group of civilians huddled together, their wide eyes reflecting the chaos outside.

“You’re okay,” she said softly, her tone as gentle as she could manage. “I’ve got you.”

She extended her hand, gritty palm facing up, and watched as the group deliberated for a few tense moments before reluctantly climbing aboard. The small band of survivors looked up at her with a mixture of fear and wonder as Ava’s lips twitched into a weak smile.

Carefully, she placed them on the ground near the barricade. Several firefighters rushed in, guiding the survivors to safety from where she had carefully placed them. The crowd fell silent, save for the faint chants of “Goddess Nova” from her devotees.

Marlowe seized the moment without skipping a beat.

“Snipers, get into position,” she hissed into her radio.

Captain Marlowe lowered the megaphone, her expression unreadable as she watched Ava stand to her full height again. The tactical officers exchanged nervous glances, unsure whether to act or retreat.

“She saved them,” one whispered.

“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s a threat,” Marlowe shot back, her tone notably lacking some of its earlier conviction.

Ava straightened slowly, her hands still shaking as she wiped the grit and dust from her palms. Being the object of what felt like the city’s collective gaze was stifling. Every camera, every flashlight, every set of eyes scorched like a searing brand upon her skin.

The constant chatter began to dwindle for the first time since Ava had transformed. It pressed against her like a vice, an unrelenting pressure that made the steady chant of “Goddess Nova” echo louder in her ears. Her vocal minority of devotees had fallen to their knees again, bowing in reverence as though she had just performed a miracle. New converts appeared to trickle in as the minutes ticked by.

Ava’s eyes flicked to Marlowe, whose steely stare radiated distrust. She doesn’t care that I saved them, Ava thought bitterly. She’ll only ever see me as a threat.

She turned her attention to the survivors she had just rescued, watching as they were finally ushered to safety behind the barricade. Relief washed over their faces, but their demeanor revealed something more complicated as they looked up at their unlikely rescuer: Fear. Not just fear of what had happened—but fear of her. Was she really so foolish to believe that one good deed would absolve her? Intentional or not, Ava was only picking up after the destruction she herself had wreaked to begin with.

“I’m not your enemy,” Ava protested aloud, though the words felt hollow as they left her lips. Her vocalizations boomed across the plaza, carrying a weary resignation. “I just… I just want to help.”

Marlowe’s radio crackled. “Captain, we’ve got civilians clear of the target zone. Do we engage?”

Ava’s heart sank. Her focus shifted back to the barricade. It continued to amaze her how her sharp hearing was catching every word.

“Negative,” Marlowe replied curtly. Her grip on the megaphone tightened, knuckles whitening.

“Hold your positions. We’re not gonna risk endangering more lives unless she forces our hand.”

Ava exhaled, relief flooding her body, even as her instincts cautioned that this was only a temporary reprieve.

Wafting up from the crowd, a man’s voice broke through the tense stillness. “You see that? She didn’t crush them! She… she actually saved them!”

More murmurs followed, hesitant but growing in conviction.

“She’s not trying to hurt anyone…”
“Maybe she’s not a monster after all.”
“She’s still dangerous! Look what she did to this block!”
“We should all leave before she tries “helping” us again!”

Ava lowered her head slightly, her shadow now entirely engulfing the barricade as she adjusted herself on her feet. The whispers pricked her like needles, each one sharper than the last.

“I… I can’t undo this,” she stammered weakly, eyes finally welling with tears she’d been too shocked to spill until now.

The young woman from earlier stepped forward again, her face alight with fervor. “She saved us!” she cried, her voice shaking but resolute. “She’s not a monster—she’s our protector! Don’t you see that?”

Her words emboldened the others rallied by her. The chant began anew, stronger this time. “Goddess Nova! Goddess Nova!”

The noise swelled, filling the plaza as more people joined in. Ava’s stomach twisted. She didn’t want their worship; she wanted their understanding. But wasn’t that impossible now? Could she ever just be beloved pop star Ava Nova again?

Captain Marlowe stepped down from the truck, her boots crunching against the debris filling the area. Her measured stride carried her to the front line of officers, where she stopped and surveyed the scene.

“Captain, your orders?” one of her lieutenants inquired nervously.

Marlowe’s eyes never left Ava. She saw the giant woman’s shoulders sagging under an invisible weight, her colossal hands hanging at her sides, as if restrained by trepidation. Marlowe’s instinct told her Ava wasn’t an immediate threat—but instincts alone wouldn’t suffice. There was too much at stake here.

“Hold the line,” Marlowe said, her commanding tone sharp as ever. “We don’t fire unless further provoked.”

The lieutenant hesitated. “And if she moves again?”

Marlowe’s jaw clenched. “Then we’ll stop her. Whatever it takes.”

The cultist chant had reached a fever pitch, clashing with the muffled cries of grief and anger from those who had lost loved ones. Ava turned away, unable to bear the chaos any longer.

Her gaze settled on the skyline, its jagged horizon fractured by smoke and flashing lights. She didn’t know where to go, but she knew she couldn’t stay here. Every second she lingered risked more destruction, more lives lost.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her apology drifting over the wreckage. It wasn’t clear who she was apologizing to—the crowd, the survivors, or herself. Carefully, she stepped away from the barricade, her enormous footfalls shaking the ground. The NYPD officers stiffened, weapons at the ready, but Marlowe simply raised her hand, halting them instantly. Ava cast one last glance at the woman who had called her a goddess. Their eyes met, and for a moment, Ava saw something she hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity— adoration.

She didn’t deserve it.

Turning away, Ava began to walk, each step widening the chasm between her and the city that had once been her home. The mantra of her devotees faded into the distance, replaced by the distant wail of sirens and the crackle of collapsing debris triggered by her retreating footfalls.

Captain Marlowe wearily lowered her hand as the officers around her relaxed slightly. She stared vacantly, watching the towering figure disappear into the darkened skyline. She still couldn’t believe it. Although she was only vaguely familiar with the singer, her kid was something of a superfan. To think she had almost put her daughter’s idol down, like a bear who had innocently wandered too close to a suburban home. Hell, she might still have to.

“What now, Captain?” one of her lieutenants asked, disrupting her reverie. Marlowe cleared her throat.

“We regroup. Assess the damage… and then we figure out what the hell we’re dealing with.”

She glanced at the crowd, the growing faction of devotees shouting praises to their so-called goddess. “Because if she comes back…” Marlowe’s statement trailed off, her expression hardening. “I need to know if she’s just a misguided friend of the people—or a walking catastrophe waiting to happen.”

Chapter End Notes:

(Alright, hopefully this second chapter will give you all a better understanding of where this is heading. I very much appreciate all the reviews and comments thus far! It's been nice being able to write with the audience's reactions in mind. Feel free to give me your feedback as we proceed so that I can continue to consider your input as I plot the pacing and direction of the story moving forward.)

Chapter 3: Crash And Burn

Word Count: 3304

Added: 03/20/2025

Updated: 04/03/2025

Third-Person Age 18-24 Age 25-34 Age 35-54 F/fm Sci-Fi Rampage Deific Feet Gentle Destruction Accidental Crush Violent

Chapter Notes:

(Ava struggles to get some breathing room while Captain Marlowe grapples with what to do about the threat at hand)

Ava awoke to the low, mechanical hum of drones circling in the gray pre-dawn light. She blinked, disoriented, her eyes adjusting to the unfamiliar skyline of a city she once knew intimately. Dawn was only just breaking, streaks of cold light dappling into her vision. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the faint murmur of traffic. But up above, the rhythmic thrum of helicopter blades and the whirring buzz of surveillance drones were a constant reminder of her captivity—if not physical, then psychological. The tortured young woman had hoped in vain that she would awaken to find this all a bad dream, but the alien enormity of her new form greeted her the moment she awoke, like an uncomfortable exotic outfit she couldn’t undress from. Her gargantuan size, and the events of the previous night, were all too real.

She sat hunched behind an abandoned skyscraper on the outskirts of Manhattan, her colossal body casting a jagged shadow across the empty street. The building’s reflective windows offered a distorted, fragmented view of herself: Ava Nova, once a star on every billboard, now a towering anomaly under unrelenting scrutiny. Her formerly-styled blonde hair was disheveled, slightly matted with chunks of concrete and dust that contrasted her pallid complexion. The lenses of the ever-present drones glinted like the eyes of predators. They never blinked, never left her alone, documenting every breath, every twitch.

Ava buried her head in her hands, feeling the residual grit from digging through the rubble the night before sting her face. No matter how much she wished she could, traces of her experiences the night before clung to her body, thwarting all attempts to repress reminders of their existence. Intense remorse and pain exploded in her skull with the discovery of each sordid memento of last night’s horror. She fumbled with chunks of debris and other detritus, struggling in vain to find anything large or durable enough to cover her exposed anatomy. It was a new height of exposure and vulnerability that even a perennial celebrity such as herself was completely unable to cope with.

“Just leave me alone,” she whispered. Her words were too quiet to carry beyond her immediate surroundings, but the raw desperation in her tone felt deafening to her own ears. Hours passed. The city was waking up, and with it came the relentless tide of attention. Enticed by her developing breakdown, news helicopters hovered ever closer now, their cameras trained on her as talking heads debated her every move. Ava could hear snippets of their commentary, her sensitive ears catching aspects of vitriol and fascination alike.

“She represents an objective danger to public safety—”

“—No evidence she means to be hostile—”

“—a miracle, or an apocalypse? Is it too early to say for sure?”

“—#GoddessNova trending worldwide—”

Ava clenched her fists as she took in the words, her sorrow simmering into a frustrated rage, bubbling just beneath the surface. It wasn’t just the media hounding her now. It was the crowd that had begun to gather again at the edges of the police barricades before. Some seemed to be there simply to gawk, others appeared to be there with more reverent intentions. They seemed to belong to the group who had proclaimed her as a goddess back at Madison Square Garden. Of course, there were those who had clearly pursued her just to vilify her outright. Despite the variety of motivations driving them, all Ava could think was how strange and infuriating it was that they had followed all this way. Couldn’t they understand she needed space? For their safety even, not just her own.

“She’s a monster!” another screamed, pointing at the jagged skyline. “Look what she’s done to our city! If NYPD is too chicken shit to do anything about this bitch, maybe we need to get the military down here!”

“Do you see that?” someone in the crowd shouted. “She’s standing up! She’s moving again!”

Another voice jeered, louder this time: “Yeah, and look at the wreckage she left behind! Just standing here, and she’s already wrecked half the block.”

“That’s not true!” someone else yelled back, their tone sharp with conviction. “She saved people last night! I saw her pull survivors out of that rubble!”

“Oh, sure,” another voice sneered. “And how many people are dead under her feet right now? You think they’re "saved" too?”

“She’s a goddess,” came a trembling voice from the edge of the crowd, cutting through the noise. It was a woman clutching a handmade sign, her eyes wide with fervor. “She’s not here to hurt us. She’s here to guide us!”

“Guide us straight to hell!” someone shouted back, triggering a fresh wave of arguments.

Ava’s jaw tightened. Each word felt like a dagger, a reminder that no matter what she did, someone would twist it into a narrative she couldn’t control. Salty tears began to spill from her eyes. Was there no escaping this nightmare?

Inside a hastily constructed command center near the barricades, Captain Marlowe stood before a wall of monitors, each screen offering a live feed from a different angle. Drones hovered at various altitudes, capturing shaky but mostly detailed footage of Ava’s towering stature. Helicopter cameras provided sweeping aerial shots of the devastation, while ground-level body cams delivered an up-close view of the tense situation around the barricades. Every move Ava made was logged, analyzed, and debated in real time. Unlike the news footage spilling out of every other screen, blotted over with censorship blurs and scrolling chyron, Marlowe could monitor the situation as it actually was from a safe, objective distance.

“She’s not making any aggressive moves,” one analyst noted, adjusting his headset as he scrutinized a live drone feed. Ava’s defensive figure was hunched low, seemingly trying to shield herself from the ubiquitous floodlights and surveillance. “She hasn’t moved much since she found that hideout last night.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous,” Marlowe snapped, her sharp tone cutting through the room like a blade. The atmosphere in the command center was thick with tension; even the hum of electronics seemed subdued in her presence. She emphatically pointed at a monitor showing the smoldering ruins of Madison Square Garden. Smoke still rose in gray wisps from the collapsed structure. “That wasn’t “aggressive” either—yet we’re still counting the dead.”

Several officers exchanged uneasy glances. They had watched the footage of Ava’s initial transformation on repeat, every detail scrutinized frame by frame in the best resolution money could buy. Nevertheless, watching it hadn’t made the fantastical events of the previous night any easier to understand. One moment, she had been a pop star, commanding the adoration of thousands. The next, she had become something impossible—a force of nature that defied logic and threatened everything around her. It was like something out of an old science fiction movie. Yet there she was, a living, breathing movie monster that challenged everything modern humans thought they knew about what was possible. Even the handful of physicists the media had on so far had been rendered speechless by the unreal growth.

A police lieutenant approached with a clipboard, his expression grim. “Captain, the crowd’s getting bigger,” he reported. “Protesters, worshippers, media—everyone wants a piece of this.”

Marlowe rubbed her temples, exhaustion seeping into her movements. “Of course they do,” she muttered under her breath. “Because this isn’t just a crisis. It’s a goddamn circus.”

She gestured toward another monitor showing the throng of people pressing against the barricades. Protesters held up signs with slogans like MONSTER OUT OF CONTROL and CONTAIN THE THREAT NOW. Others waved hand-drawn images of Ava, adorned with halos and surrounded by glowing auras, their makeshift placards reading GODDESS NOVA—SHE WILL SAVE US. Between them, reporters jostled for position, their microphones angled toward anyone willing to talk. Pigs in shit, all of them.

Behind her, the room buzzed with activity. Analysts updated tactical maps in real time, their screens flickering with overlays of Ava’s movements and the crowd’s position. Another monitor displayed social media feeds, hashtags like #GoddessNova and #ContainTheMonster trending worldwide. Some feeds showed live streams of Ava sitting behind the dilapidated skyscraper, her gigantic frame filling the screen. Others replayed clips of the destruction at Madison Square Garden, the chaotic aftermath frozen in time.

“She looks… scared,” one younger officer murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He flinched when Marlowe turned sharply to glare at him.

“Scared doesn’t matter,” Marlowe said curtly. “Scared can still be dangerous. Scared is unpredictable.”

The officer looked away, cowed, as Marlowe returned her attention to the screens. Her mind raced through possible scenarios. She knew the risks of acting too soon—provoking Ava could lead to untold destruction. But waiting too long came with its own dangers. The longer Ava sat there, the more the crowd swelled. The more the media speculated. The more chaos loomed. Would she really have to wage a war against a frightened young woman? With the world no doubt watching by now, there could be no false moves.

A comms officer called out from across the room, breaking Marlowe’s train of thought. “Captain, drone reports show increased activity in the surrounding area. Civilians are still filtering toward the scene.”

“Fantastic,” Marlowe moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because that’s exactly what we need—more collateral damage.”

Another officer chimed in, his voice tense. “Captain, we’ve got reports of civilian clusters in nearby buildings. Structural integrity’s compromised—fire crews say they’re unlikely to hold up if there’s any more seismic activity.”

Marlowe’s eyes flicked back to Ava on the screen. The woman hadn’t moved in hours, yet her very presence was a ticking time bomb. “Get those buildings evacuated,” Marlowe ordered. “And double-check the perimeter. I don’t want one more civvie slipping through the cracks.”

Her radio crackled to life with a response. “Yes, ma’am. Fire teams are working on it now.”

Marlowe’s gaze hardened as she studied the monitors. She observed Ava shifting uncomfortably under the glare of floodlights, her enormous hands gripping her knees in what looked like an effort to stay still. She could see the tension in Ava’s every movement, the barely-contained energy of someone holding back a storm. It was looking more and more likely that she was going to have to bring the hammer down on her daughter’s hero, sooner rather than later. But she would understand, right? She was a rational girl, after all. Come to think of it, the officers she’d tasked with bringing her daughter to a safehouse hadn’t reported on her daughter’s emotional state at all. That would have to be attended to after the dust had settled.

“What’s the plan, Captain?” the officer asked cautiously.

“We wait for her to make the first move,” the burdened mother said, her voice measured but cold. Her posture tightened as she leaned closer to the monitors, her reflection faintly visible on the screen. “And when she does…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.

Marlowe folded her arms, staring at Ava’s colossal figure. “What the hell are you waiting for?” she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible. She didn’t know if she was asking Ava—or herself.

The hours of the new day dragged on with a relentless weight, the constant surveillance pressing on Ava Nova like the bars of an invisible cage. Drones buzzed closer with a voyeuristic confidence, their tiny motors emitting an incessant whine that grated against her heightened senses. Helicopters orbited in unceasing loops above her, their searchlights cutting harsh, accusing beams across her vulnerable frame. It wasn’t just surveillance—it felt like a performance she’d been unwillingly thrust into; one where each and every unrehearsed move she made was captured, dissected, and broadcast to an audience she couldn’t see.

She hunched lower behind the crumbling skyscraper, curling her arms around her knees as if trying to make herself smaller. Her breathing was shallow, an attempt to steady the turmoil inside her, but the noise around her was unrelenting. The distant shouts of the gathered crowd, the whispers of those speculating on her next move, and the maddening hum of machines collectively clawed at her fraying nerves. It was worse than the overstimulation of any concert she’d ever performed, where at least she had some semblance of control over the spectacle. Here, she was the spectacle, trapped and on full display.

Something had to give.

More tears began to stream down her dirty cheeks, but she angrily blinked them away. A new wave of emotion began to slide over her sadness, galvanizing her with the resolve of righteous rage. No more crying. She didn’t have to accept this insane invasion of privacy. No one else needed to get her, and she would find some way to atone, but for right now she just needed to be alone to catch her breath.

Ava exhaled deeply, dreading the inevitable procession of prying eyes that would pursue her. Slowly, and even more cautiously, she stood, her immense shadow spilling over the ruined block behind her. Each of her movements felt deliberate this time, the understanding that any sudden gesture might tip the already fragile situation into chaos crystallizing in her mind. The crowd gasped at the sight of her rising to full height, their murmurs blending into a discordant hum of awe and fear.

Ignoring the cacophony, Ava began walking northward, her steps deliberate and slow, shaking the fractured street with every stride. Helicopters immediately adjusted their flight paths to follow her, their cameras zooming in with every movement. She could feel the scrutiny like a weight on her back, even as she left the outskirts of Manhattan for less crowded terrain. Civilians scattered in her wake, their distant screams a sharp reminder of the fear she inspired.

As she moved farther from the city’s core, the density of drones and news crews thinned, but the ever-present thrum of helicopters and the occasional glint of a hovering camera reminded her that escape was an illusion. Even in the absence of crowds, the gaze of the world was still upon her, dissecting her every step.

By the time night fell, Ava had reached the edges of the city. Before her stretched the dark expanse of the forest, its dense canopy offering an almost mythical promise of concealment. For the first time in what felt like eternity, a glimmer of hope flickered in her chest. Here, at least, she might find some reprieve from the unyielding eyes that followed her.

She crouched low as she entered the forest, her enormous hands carefully parting trees and branches like someone wading through tall grass. The crackling of snapping wood and the rustling of leaves were strangely soothing, a natural symphony that drowned out the droning machines overhead. Ava’s gigantic silhouette cast shifting shadows under the pale light of the moon, the forest swallowing her presence with surprising ease.

Deeper and deeper she ventured, the oppressive noise of the city replaced by the gentle babble of a stream. Ava paused there, kneeling by the water’s edge, and dipped her fingers into the cool current. The sensation grounded her, a fleeting tether to her humanity. She watched the ripples her touch created spread across the surface, distorting the reflection of her face. In the momentary calm, she closed her eyes, letting the sounds of nature lull her.

But the calm was short-lived. The faint hum of helicopters in the distance grew louder, a constant reminder that even here, she wasn’t free. She sighed bitterly and muttered, “Of course.” The bitterness in her tone startled her; she hadn’t meant to sound so defeated.

As dawn broke, Ava’s heightened senses picked up something new: voices. Sharp and startled, they pierced the relative peace of the forest. She turned her head sharply toward the sound, her heart sinking. A pair of hikers emerged from the underbrush, their faces frozen in shock as they took in the impossible sight before them.

“Uh…” one of them stammered, gripping the straps of his backpack like a lifeline. “Is that… is that Ava Nova? No way.” He looked like a man in his early thirties.

“It can’t be,” the other whispered, taking a hesitant step back. “She’s… huge. What do we even do?”

Ava raised a hand instinctively, her palm facing outward in what she hoped was a calming gesture. “It’s okay,” she said softly, though her voice carried an unintentional boom that made the hikers recoil. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. Please, don’t be afraid.”

The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the faint hum of helicopters above. “The news said you—” He hesitated, glancing at his companion. “They said you… crushed people. That you destroyed half the city.”

Ava flinched as though the words had struck her. She wanted to defend herself, to deny it outright, but the memory of crushed seats and rubble under her feet silenced her. “I didn’t mean to,” she finally managed, her voice trembling. “I was trying to help. I… I didn’t know what else to do.”

The hikers exchanged an uneasy glance. After a pause, the second hiker to speak stepped forward slightly, her fear tempered by curiosity. “What do you want from us?” she asked cautiously.

“Nothing,” Ava replied quickly, shaking her head. “I didn’t even know you were here. I just… I just wanted to get away. I needed somewhere quiet.”

The woman nodded slowly, her expression softening, though her wariness didn’t fade. “If you go deeper into the woods, there’s—”

An amber spotlight slashed through the trees, blinding them all. Ava shielded her face with one huge hand, her heart sinking as the unmistakable thrum of a helicopter grew louder.

“They found me,” Ava muttered bitterly, lowering her hand as the hikers bolted, vanishing into the shadows of the forest. She watched them disappear, her chest tightening with a mix of regret and resignation. She didn’t blame them for running.

The mechanical whir of a drone pulled Ava’s attention upward. It hovered mere feet from her face, its lens glinting like a predatory eye. The buzzing grated against her nerves until, in an impulsive motion, she swatted the machine from the air. The discordant crunch of metal as it hit the forest floor was oddly satisfying, but the victory was ultimately a hollow one. That was just one prying eye among many.

The helicopter descended lower, framing her like a criminal caught in a searchlight from an old cartoon. Every feature of her face was illuminated in stark detail, and Ava’s grimace deepened. “Just leave me alone,” she whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion and anger.

When the helicopter held its ground, refusing to retreat, something in Ava snapped. Her hand shot out, fingers curling around the tail rotor. The machine’s metal frame groaned in protest as the blades slowed to a grinding halt.

Inside the cockpit, the crew scrambled, their panicked shouts muffled but audible. Ava hesitated, realization crashing into her like a tidal wave. She loosened her grip, but it was too late. Gravity had claimed its prize. The helicopter plummeted, crashing into a clearing with a deafening explosion. Flames erupted from the site of impact, their light casting flickering shadows across the forest as thick smoke billowed upward. The ground trembled beneath her feet, and Ava staggered back, her expression frozen in horror.

“I didn’t mean to…” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the chaos.

Far away, in the command center, Captain Marlowe’s voice was sharp and decisive. “Engage,” she ordered coldly, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Tactical vehicles roared to life, their engines growling as they surged toward Ava’s location. Drones swarmed, their lenses locking onto her as snipers adjusted their scopes from concealed vantage points. The forest, formerly a place of refuge for the beleaguered pop star, had become a battleground.

Ava’s heart raced as she turned her gaze back toward the rising smoke. She clenched her fists in a desperate attempt to brace herself, feeling stray chunks of glass and metal biting into her palms. She could already hear the approaching hum of engines, as well as the cracking of twigs under heavy boots.

They weren’t going to listen. They wouldn’t stop.

Deep down, as the flames crackled and the forest trembled with the approach of soldiers, Ava realized one terrifying truth: neither could she.

Chapter End Notes:

(Things start to pick up in this installment, and I hope people appreciate the pace so far. Let me know what you think about where the story is heading in the reviews!)

Chapter 4: Ava Puts Her Foot Down

Word Count: 3977

Added: 03/21/2025

Updated: 04/05/2025

Third-Person Age 18-24 Age 25-34 Age 35-54 F/fm Sci-Fi Rampage Feet Destruction Crush Domination Gore Cruel Violent Fatal

Chapter Notes:

(Our reluctant giantess reaches her breaking point after every attempt to avoid violence fails)

The forest floor trembled underfoot as Ava retreated deeper into its reaches. Her lithe frame clashed with her towering height as she wove between the trees, snapping ancient trunks like twigs. She took care to avoid outright leveling the terrain, but the swath of damage created by her haste was unavoidable. Each footfall still sent tremors through the earth, scattering birds and causing animals to flee in panicked waves.

Soft moonlight filtering through the canopy cast fleeting silver patterns over her skin, the play of shadows reminding her how exposed she was. Ava crouched by a clearing, the far-off sound of approaching engines grating against her constitution. Even in this remote expanse, she couldn’t escape them. The reinforcements weren’t subtle—she could hear the low growl of tactical vehicles and the rhythmic beat of chopper blades in the distance, drawing closer by the second. Their flood lights flickered through the forest, carving paths of unnatural light between the trees.

“Why can’t they just leave me alone?” she inquired to herself, her voice low but resonant, carrying through the night. She clenched her hands, her fingers digging into the soil and leaving deep furrows. “I don’t want to hurt anyone…”

Ava’s body tensed as she spotted a drone flitting closer, its tiny red light blinking like a voyeuristic eye. She let out a slow breath, trying to suppress the growing frustration that simmered beneath her surface. Even in this vast wilderness, she was never truly alone. The world wanted her to be their monster—or their goddess—but no one seemed willing to let her simply exist.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sharp crack of breaking branches. The tactical crew had arrived, their vehicles edging cautiously into the clearing. Soldiers poured out in tight formations, their weapons trained upward. The first few floodlights snapped on, their beams slicing through the darkness to illuminate her impossibly tall form. Ava instinctively shielded her face with one hand, the sudden brightness momentarily disorienting her. She could barely make out some details via the inconsistent illumination. Though she was no expert, Marlowe’s NYPD team appeared to be joined by what looked like military troops and vehicles. Escalation.

“Giant entity is in sight,” a voice barked over a loudspeaker. “Prepare to engage. Civilians are cleared from the area.”

Ava’s stomach lurched. The phrasing—“entity,” not “person”—was a stark delineation of how they saw her. Not as Ava Nova, the pop star who had sung to millions and was beloved the world over; but rather as an anomaly, a threat to be neutralized.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Ava called out, her voice echoing across the clearing. The soldiers hesitated, their formations tightening as her words rolled over them like thunder. “Please, just let me go. I’ll leave. You won’t ever have to see me again. I’ll… I’ll fucking disappear!”

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the faint hum of a hovering drone. Then, a sharp reply came from the loudspeaker. “Stand down, and we can negotiate terms for your containment.”

Ava’s jaw tightened. “Containment?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief. That wasn’t the first time they had used that word, and it was getting old very fast.

“You think you can contain this?” She gestured broadly to herself, her enormous form looming over the vehicles like a living mountain. As soon as the words left her lips, Ava knew there was no walking it back.

With that, the tension finally broke as gas canisters arced through the air, hissing violently as they released clouds of thick smoke. Ava stumbled back, coughing intensely as the acrid fumes stung her eyes and throat. Her reactionary movements sent shocks through the ground, unbalancing several soldiers who scrambled to maintain their footing.

“That’s enough!” she bellowed, her voice swelling with anger and desperation. She swiped almost instinctively at the nearest drone, her fingers brushing it with enough force to send it careening into a tree. The impact shattered the tiny machine, its pieces raining down in a glittering cascade. Fragments rained down from the sky onto the troops below.

The soldiers reacted immediately, their weapons discharging bursts of rounds that pinged harmlessly against Ava’s skin. She glared down at them, her frustration continuing to boil. “I said stop!” With a single step, she closed the distance, her dominant foot sinking into the earth just yards from the nearest vehicle. The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, knocking more soldiers flat on their backs. A stray hand grenade landed between her big toe and its neighbor, the concussive blast and ensuing shrapnel leaving no damage to speak of. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but Ava found herself feeling virtually no pain at all from the attacks. The emotional blow of it all had certainly landed, however.

The sight of them scrambling sparked a conflicted pang in her chest. She didn’t want to hurt them—but she couldn’t let them keep pushing her, either. Her irritation manifested in a new way as she crouched, bringing her enormous face closer to the ground. The soldiers froze in fear, their gazes darting between her massive features and the shadows cast by her all-encompassing presence. Maybe now they would understand a fraction of how it felt to be locked in someone’s inescapable gaze.

“Do you understand now?” she asked, her voice soft yet edged with steel. Her breath ruffled the grass and sent stray leaves spiraling into the smoky air. “You’re not in control here. I am.”

The soldiers stared up at her, their hesitation palpable even through their rigid stances. Ava’s shadow now completely engulfed them as she leaned in closer, her features accentuated by the stark floodlights. The faint whir of drones overhead felt like a mosquito’s buzz in her ears, a constant irritant that chipped away at her already frayed patience. She was running out of ideas for how to reason with them.

“Please,” she reiterated, though the calm in her voice now carried a weight that seemed to almost suffocate the hazy scene. “You don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. Just stop following me.”

“Hold your positions!” a commanding voice barked through a loudspeaker, penetrating the tense atmosphere. The soldiers managed to regroup, their rifles trained on her once more.

Ava exhaled sharply, the force of her breath sending dust and leaves scattering across the clearing. “Why do you people think you can solve everything with guns?” she muttered, more to herself than to them.

Then came the next wave—rockets streaking through the air with thin trails of smoke. Ava’s eyes widened as the projectiles arced toward her. Instinctively, she threw up her arms to shield herself. The explosions struck her forearms and shoulders, leaving behind faint scorch marks but causing her no real harm.

Still, her temper flared once more. “Enough!” Ava roared, her voice reverberating through the forest like a sonic boom. She lashed out, a gigantic hand sweeping low to brush aside a line of advancing vehicles. The armored trucks toppled like toys, their sirens sputtering as they slammed into trees and boulders.

The soldiers scrambled to avoid her retaliation, their formations splintering as she rose to her full height. Her piercing glare swept over them, blue eyes glinting with a mixture of rage and regret. “Why do you keep pushing me?” she demanded. “You’re forcing my hand!”

The chaos of the moment was subverted by the appearance of another helicopter. This one, larger and sleeker than the others, hovered just out of her reach. A much more powerful spotlight snapped on, bathing her in its blinding glow. Ava shielded her eyes, her teeth gritting in frustration. It wasn’t just the light—it was the way the camera’s lens seemed to leer at her, as if the entire world was watching and judging her every move.

“Back off!” she shouted, her voice a warning growl. The helicopter didn’t budge.

Ava hesitated. Her anger burned hot, but beneath it was a profound sense of sadness and isolation. The world didn’t see her as a person anymore—just a spectacle, a threat, or a symbol. That realization struck harder than any weapon they could aim at her. The spotlight remained unwavering, the camera documenting every second of her turmoil.

Ava’s fingers twitched. She wanted to crush it, to swat it out of the air like the other pesky drones—but would that only make things worse? The answer came in the form of a second barrage: gas canisters and sonic bursts aimed at her exposed legs. The shrill noise made her wince, her hands instinctively covering her ears. They had escalated first. She just wanted to be left alone. This was too much.

“That’s it,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

In one fluid motion, Ava reached up and grabbed the helicopter’s landing skids. Her grip was firm but controlled, her fingers curling around the metal frame with ease. The pilots panicked, their screams audible even over the hum of the rotors. The machine groaned in protest as Ava held it aloft, her strength effortlessly overpowering its feeble attempts to escape. From their forced perspective in the cockpit, the view of the personnel inside was limited to Ava’s enormous breasts looming over them through the haze. She caught herself peering into the helicopter for a moment before quickly averting her gaze. Lingering on their suffering would only weaken her resolve for what had to be done.

“Do you get it now?” she demanded, scowling at the soldiers below. “You can’t fight me. You’ll only hurt yourselves.”

With calculated precision, she turned and hurled the helicopter into the forest, ensuring it crashed far from the soldiers at her feet. The explosion lit up the trees, sending sparks and debris into the night, but Ava felt no satisfaction in the act. It was intended as a message, not an attack—a line drawn in the sand.

But the reinforcements weren’t finished. More vehicles rolled into the clearing, their floodlights slicing through the smoke. Ava could hear their commanders barking orders, their voices urgent and strained. It was clear they hadn’t expected her to retaliate so decisively.

Ava sighed heavily, the sound rumbling like distant thunder. “Why won’t you just listen?” she asked, her voice tinged with both anger and pleading. She stepped forward, her foot sinking into the earth with a deep crunch, and the soldiers instinctively fell back. The sight was a strange mixture of satisfying and saddening. It was the first sign that they might actually relent since this all began.

She crouched low again, bringing herself closer to their level. Her fingers brushed the ground as she leaned in, her expression softening despite the tension in the air. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said. “But if you keep coming after me, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

For a moment, there was a flicker of doubt among the soldiers. Courtesy of her advanced vision, she could see the conflict in their eyes—the uncertainty, the fear, and perhaps even the glimmer of understanding. But it was short-lived. Another voice rang out over the loudspeaker, sharp and commanding. “All units, engage at will!” Their orders couldn’t be more clear.

Ava’s patience snapped. “Fine,” she muttered. “Have it your way.”

She returned to her full height, her figure dominating the clearing, no longer postured in a way that communicated restraint. The soldiers scrambled to adjust their tactics as she moved with deliberate intent. With one swift motion, she swept her hand across the ground, toppling another line of vehicles like mere dominoes. The sound of metal crunching and engines sputtering filled the air.

The soldiers’ response was immediate—new salvos of rockets and a hail of bullets flew toward her, their impact peppering her skin with harmless pings. Ava barely noticed. Her attention was fixed on the soldiers themselves, their frantic movements resembling tiny ants scattering underfoot. So be it.

She took another step, and this time her foot planted dangerously close to a group of retreating soldiers. The impact sent them sprawling, their weapons clattering to the ground. Ava’s gaze lingered on them, a blend of frustration and pity playing across her brightly-lit visage.

“You don’t stand a chance,” she said resignedly, her voice carrying an air of finality. “Leave while you still can.”

As the battle raged on, Ava couldn’t help but acknowledge the cost of her own actions. Unlike with the helicopter, she couldn’t avoid the sensation and sight of what she was inflicting upon the army. Each step, each motion carried with it visceral consequences—both for the soldiers beneath her and for herself. She wasn’t just fighting for survival; she was fighting to be understood, to prove that she wasn’t the monster they believed her to be. Ironically, she knew that in doing so, her right to defend herself was sure to be overshadowed by the terror that sprung from her actions. It was all on camera, after all. There was no going back now.

Ava lunged forward, her titanic body a blur of motion that sent torrents of terror through the ranks of soldiers below. Her colossal right foot slammed into the ground with the force of an earthquake, the shockwave radiating outward and sending troops sprawling in all directions. The impact alone crushed several unfortunate soldiers beneath her sole, their cries lost in the deafening rumble. Others scrambled to get out of the way, their panic palpable as they tripped over one another in their desperate bid to escape the monumental footfalls. A handful of soldiers who had escaped being directly crushed clung to her top, bottom, and even the sides of her spread toes. Those who didn’t succumb to her movements managed to hang on for dear life for the moment, unable to do anything but wait out the nightmare.

A lone sergeant, his face pale with terror, raised his rifle and fired, the bullets bouncing ineffectually off Ava’s skin as he knew deep down they would. She didn’t even notice, her attention focused on the line of tanks ahead. As she shifted her stance, her heel twisted slightly, and the man’s world became one of unbearable pressure. The sergeant’s defiant battle cry transitioned into a sickening crunch as the soft flesh of her footpad met the unyielding earth. His presence never even registered to the pop idol above.

The throng of soldiers scattered like insects beneath an overturned rock as Ava took another step, her massive toes sinking into the soft earth and dragging debris with them. One squad, positioned too close to her path, found themselves caught in the wake of her advancing foot. A soldier at the edge of the group turned to run but slipped, his body sliding directly into the trench-like imprint her toes had left behind. He barely had time to scream before Ava’s foot settled into place, the pressure pancaking him into the dirt in an instant.

“Please, pull back!” one of the officers screamed into her radio, voice cracking with desperation. She waved frantically at the troops under her command, boots slipping helplessly in the churned mud created by Ava’s weight. Nearby, another group of soldiers huddled behind an overturned armored vehicle, their wide eyes locked on the enormous toes that flexed just yards from their position.

One young private, his hands shaking uncontrollably, couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sheer size of her foot. Even just one of the Ava’s toes was larger than the armored vehicle they all desperately hid behind. In that surreal instant, the private’s mind was struck by the irony of how he used to look up pictures of those same feet to get off. Never in a million years could he have imagined they might be the last thing he would ever see.

As Ava adjusted her position, the ground beneath the soldiers seemed to shift like a living thing. Her toes splayed slightly, the subtle movement dislodging chunks of rock and dirt that showered over the huddled troops. One soldier gasped as the shadow of her big toe darkened his entire view, his mind frozen with the realization that he was utterly at her mercy. She was unstoppable.

Her gargantuan foot lifted ominously, the action pulling debris and bodies into the air before slamming back down with a dull, earth-shaking thud. Boulder-sized stones and dirt clods rained from her enormous sole in a lethal hailstorm. Another group of soldiers cried out as the suction created by her descending step drew them into its crushing embrace. Their shouts were brief, swallowed by the overwhelming sound of the disturbed earth compacting beneath her.

Ava hesitated, her gaze flickering down to the chaos at her feet. Her heart flipped as she caught sight of the carnage left in her wake: bodies flattened beyond recognition, vehicles crumpled like soda cans, and soldiers screaming for medics amidst the wreckage. “Stop… just stop,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. Her words fell on deaf ears, the remaining troops either too terrified or too resolute to heed her.

One particularly courageous—or perhaps desperate—soldier sprinted toward her, clutching a satchel of explosives. His target was clear: her foot, the most immediate source of the havoc being wreaked upon his comrades in arms. But before he could close the distance, Ava shifted her stance again. Her mighty toes, flexing unconsciously, caught him mid-stride. The soldier’s body crumpled under the immense weight, his final act of retaliation reduced to nothing more than a faint red smear against her skin.

The realization hit her like a physical blow. Ava’s breath hitched as she stared down at the soldiers she had just unwittingly crushed, their lives snuffed out by her mere presence. Her mind raced, desperate to reconcile the growing toll of her existence with the person she believed herself to be.

The crowd of battered soldiers at her feet thinned out as survivors in all manner of sorry states retreated further into the forest, their movements frenzied and chaotic. The sight of her towering figure, her toes curling and flexing as she adjusted her balance, was enough to send even the most stalwart among them into a panicked retreat. But for those who remained trapped beneath her, there was no escape. Each shift of her blood-caked feet, each unconscious twitch of her toes, brought with it the risk of total obliteration.

Ava’s chest heaved, her hands trembling as she looked down at the clearing. The devastation was undeniable, the casualties piling up with each step she took. She wanted to scream, to tell them to stop pushing her, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. The damage was already done, and the world would never see her as anything other than a monster. Not that it would stop them from watching.

The mayhem at Ava’s feet reached a fever pitch. The remaining soldiers, battered and shaken, scrambled to retreat, their movements disorganized and desperate. Some abandoned their weapons and equipment entirely, driven only by the primal instinct to survive. The cries of the injured and dying filled the air, mingling with the rumble of Ava’s shifting weight and the distant hum of fleeing helicopters.

One soldier, slinging a bloodied brother over his shoulder, glanced back at Ava’s immense form. Her powerful toes wiggled slightly, the faint movement enough to dislodge a fresh torrent of earthy rubble that tumbled toward the fleeing troops. The soldier’s face twisted with combined awe and terror as he pushed forward, his labored breaths pouring out in ragged gasps.

“She’s not even fucking trying to kill us,” he cursed under his breath, his voice quivering. “And look how she’s snuffing us all out like bugs…”

Nearby, a sniper on a rocky outcrop steadied his rifle, his state-of-the-art scope trained on Ava. His hands shook as he adjusted the sights, the enormity of his target making him doubt the effectiveness of his weapon. No previous attack had seemed to penetrate any spot on her body in any meaningful way, and she wasn’t even wearing anything to protect her skin. His weapon was one of the most powerful rifles money could buy, and it might as well be a water pistol in his nervous grip. “Captain,” he hissed into his radio, his voice tight with panic. “With all due respect, there’s no stopping her… she’s a force of nature.”

In the command center, Captain Marlowe’s jaw tightened as she watched the live feeds from the battlefield. Her monitors displayed the wreckage left in Ava’s wake from all angles—flattened vehicles, shattered trees, and the gruesomely disfigured corpses of soldiers crushed beneath her god-like steps. The camera feeds zoomed in on Ava’s feet, showing the grim details of her unintentional destruction: bloody impressions in the dirt, twisted scraps of metal embedded in her soles, and the faint outlines of uniforms among the rubble.

“She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing,” an officer murmured, his voice heavy with disbelief. “It’s like… like she’s too big to even notice us.”

Marlowe’s fist slammed onto the console, silencing the room. “She’s aware,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the tense silence. “She knows exactly what she’s doing, even if she won’t admit it to herself. She’s a danger to every living thing on this planet, whether it’s deliberate or not.”

“But Captain,” the same officer hesitated, gesturing to the screen. “She’s not attacking anyone directly. She’s just… moving.”

Marlowe turned toward him, her expression a mask of restrained fury. “And every time she ‘moves,’ people die,” she said coldly. “Intent is irrelevant when the consequences are this catastrophic.”

Her radio crackled with incoming reports from the field. “We’re losing too many men out here!” a frantic voice shouted. “We need to fall back, regroup—anything! We can’t keep fighting something this size!”

Marlowe’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the screen, watching Ava’s movements with laser focus. The giant woman was crouching now, her face a portrait of anguish as she surveyed the carnage at her feet. She looked like she wanted to speak, to plead for understanding, but her voice wouldn’t change the outcome. The soldiers on the ground had already made up their minds—fear and self-preservation were their only motivators now. The captain could hardly blame them.

“Pull back the ground forces,” Marlowe ordered into her radio, her tone grim. “Get the injured out of there and regroup at the secondary perimeter. We’ll reassess once we’ve secured a safe distance.”

The tactical room fell silent as the order was relayed. Marlowe crossed her arms, her gaze locked on the screen as Ava rose to her full height once more. Her colossal figure loomed over the forest, casting an ominous shadow over the retreating troops. For a brief moment, her eyes flicked toward one of the drones, as though she knew she was being watched.

“She’s not a force of nature,” Marlowe began under her breath. “She’s a ticking time bomb. And if we don’t figure out how to defuse her soon…”

She let the sentence trail off, her words hanging heavily in the air. The room succumbed to a morose climate of silence, the toll of the unfolding catastrophe settling over the command center like a shroud. On the monitors, Ava began to move again, each footfall like the bang of a booming war drum as she delved deeper into the forest. The remaining cameras followed her retreat, capturing every detail of her towering silhouette against the shattered landscape.

The unlikely arboreal battlefield was mostly quiet now, save for the groans of the injured and the crackling of burning wreckage and aftershocks that signaled Ava’s departure. The soldiers who had survived stared at the destruction around them, their expressions blank with shell shock. For many, the sheer enormity of horrors they had just witnessed was just far too much to process.

“She’s unstoppable,” one officer whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “The eggheads are saying she’s at least five hundred feet tall. I mean, how do you fight something like that? Captain, nothing we did made a goddamn dent.”

Marlowe didn’t have an answer. She could only speechlessly observe behind her screens as the last sign of former media darling Ava Nova melted away into the horizon, her tall shadow finally fading into the mist. The show was over for now. The world could only hope there was a way to stop her before the next one.

Chapter End Notes:

(Okay, for those of you who have been waiting for the interaction to heat up, I hope I delivered for you at least in part. We also get a better idea of Ava's size and scale with this chapter, which I know some of you were curious about in the reviews. As always, drop a review with your impressions and let me know if there's anything you would like to see moving forward. This chapter was a major turning point in many ways so there will be a more clear direction from here on out.)

Chapter 5: Cult Of Personality

Word Count: 3822

Added: 03/21/2025

Updated: 04/05/2025

Third-Person Age 18-24 Age 25-34 Age 35-54 Age 55+ F/fm Sci-Fi Deific Worship Feet Gentle

Chapter Notes:

(Ava' s cult of admirers manage to find her forest retreat, and their enigmatic leader has strong opinions about Ava's role in the world)

In a darkened warehouse in the outskirts of Manhattan, a woman named Naomi stood before a crowd of nearly fifty people. The impromptu gathering was a far cry from the organized sanctity of a church, but the fervor in the air rivaled that of any Sunday mass. Naomi, dressed in a simple white blouse and jeans, radiated calm authority as she addressed the group.

“She saved us,” Naomi declared, her voice carrying conviction that resonated with her audience. Her dark eyes scanned the room, landing on each eager face. “She saved me. When everything was falling apart, and everyone else abandoned us, she stood tall—literally—and saved lives.”

“She’s a goddess,” a man near the front said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“She’s misunderstood,” Naomi corrected gently, pacing in front of the group. “The world is too small-minded to see what she truly is. They’re scared of her because they can’t control her. But together, we… we can guide her. Show her that she’s not alone. We can offer our services as allies where she has seen only enemies.”

The crowd responded with a boisterous tide of agreement. Naomi raised her hand, silencing them instantly with a single gesture like the conductor of a choir.

“She’s out there, somewhere,” she continued. “And she needs us. If we don’t stand by her now, who will?”

Behind Naomi, a makeshift command center had been set up. Screens displayed a patchwork of live feeds from social media platforms, surveillance footage, and blurry images of Ava from various news broadcasts. A tech-savvy follower named Hector manned the computers, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he triangulated Ava’s likely location based on reports of sightings and movement patterns.

“Yo, I think I got something,” Hector announced, his voice brimming with excitement. “There was a live stream posted an hour ago—someone caught her heading north, toward the river. So if we cross-reference that with her estimated walking speed, she should be in… hold up– the Hudson Highlands by now.”

Naomi nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. “Then that’s where we go.”

Ava trudged through the dense forest as the first light of dawn painted the sky in muted pinks and grays. Her colossal footsteps left deep impressions in the earth, each one accompanied by the faint crackle of distant trees torn asunder by her passing. She’d barely slept after the chaotic battle in the forest. The weight of the lives lost beneath her feet bore down on her as heavily as her own newfound size.

The mountain valley was stunning in its isolation, its cliffs looming like silent sentinels. Mist clung to the valley floor, curling around tree trunks and wrapping the stream in a shifting veil of silver. The air carried the earthy scent of moss and damp soil, mingling with the faint tang of pine resin. Each rustle of leaves in the breeze sounded sharper in the stillness, a reminder of just how alone she was in all this.

She crouched by the bank of the stream, her colossal knees bending into the soft earth, and dipped her fingers into the cool water. The sensation grounded her, a small reminder that she was still human—or at least, she had to believe she was. Her reflection rippled in the stream, distorted by the current but unmistakable. Wild blonde hair, streaked with dust and grime. Hollow eyes that stared back at her, filled with exhaustion and regret. She barely recognized herself as the woman who just days ago had stood before thousands of adoring, die-hard fans.

For a brief moment, Ava allowed herself to hope that she’d found a place where the world might forget about her. The valley seemed untouched, as though time itself had slowed here. She focused on the gentle rhythm of the water, trying to match her breathing to its flow.

Her mind replayed the events of the night before in excruciating detail. The shouts of the soldiers, the metallic crunch of helicopters under her hands, the crushing weight of guilt as she realized how many lives she had taken, however unintentionally. She clenched her fists as she relived the trauma, the splintering bark of a fallen tree biting into her palms as she struggled to ground herself to the present.

“They’ll never stop coming,” she murmured to herself, her voice low and rumbling. The sound was barely above a whisper, but it carried through the valley like distant thunder.

Ava closed her eyes, trying to push away the screams that haunted her from the night before. A sudden shift in the breeze brought an unfamiliar scent to her heightened senses—sweat, oil, and the faint metallic tang of city air. She froze, her sharp gaze scanning the treeline. The figures emerged slowly, their outlines hazy through the morning mist. Ava’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t heard them approach; how had she let her guard down? Their faces gradually broached obscurity as they drew closer, and the first individual she identified sent a jolt of recognition through her body.

It was the woman from Madison Square Garden. Ava recognized her instantly, even at this distance, the memory of her fervent cries of “Goddess Nova!” still fresh. The woman stepped forward, her dark hair catching the morning light, her face painted with a mixture of awe and determination. She wore a simple shirt and jeans, the kind of unremarkable attire that made her stand out even more amidst the group of devoted worshippers carrying handmade signs and offerings.

Ava frowned, her unease growing as the group approached. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of this. Rising slowly to her full stature, she cast a menacing shadow that draped long over the intruders, her voice low but resonant. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

The woman hesitated, lifting her hands in a disarming gesture of peace. “Please, Goddess Nova—we mean no harm. We’ve been following you… through the live feeds.” She motioned toward her companions, who looked up at Ava with expressions ranging from reverence to trembling fear. “We’re here to help you– to support you after the trials you’ve endured since your ascension.”

Ava’s stomach churned. “I already told you, I’m not a goddess,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly. “Besides, you shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

The woman stepped closer, her confidence unwavering despite the sheer enormity of the haggard woman towering above her. “You saved us,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of conviction. “Back at Madison Square Garden. You didn’t have to, and yet you did. I saw it. You protected us.”

Ava’s front faltered, her resolve cracking before the woman’s earnest gaze. “You don’t understand,” she murmured. “I caused all of this… the destruction, the deaths. I’m not your fucking savior. I’m a mistake.”

“No,” the woman said firmly. “You’re a miracle.”

Ava’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

The woman hesitated, her gaze dropping briefly before meeting Ava’s again. “My name is Naomi Vasquez,” she said. “And you may not think you’re a goddess, but to us, you’re more than just a woman. You’re… power incarnate. You’re what this world has been waiting for.”

Naomi’s presence among the cultists was hardly a random twist of fate. A fiercely intelligent and passionate woman in her early thirties, Naomi had a commanding aura that drew others to her. Her heritage was evident in her warm, caramel complexion and the sharp angles of her cheekbones, but it was her eyes—dark, intense, and unyielding—that left the most lasting impression. They bore the telltale signs of someone who had seen too much and refused to look away.

The charismatic figure carried herself with the defiant confidence of someone who had fought for every inch of space in a world designed to box her in. Her voice was calm but laced with conviction, each word carefully chosen to resonate deeply. All the quintessential hallmarks of a leader exuded from the woman, culminating in a heady presence that was equal parts disarming and mysterious.

Before Ava could collect her thoughts and respond to Naomi, one of the other worshippers broke from the group, carrying a makeshift wreath of wildflowers. He approached Ava’s feet, his hands trembling as he placed the wreath near her feet and bowed subserviently.

“Stop,” Ava said, her voice sharp. She stepped back, the earth trembling beneath her. “I don’t want this. I don’t want your worship.”

The man froze, his head still bowed, as Naomi turned to him sharply. “Not like this,” she said, her tone laced with quiet authority. She placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back toward the group.

Naomi turned back to Ava, her expression softening. “I’m sorry. They don’t fully understand yet.” She paused, then added, “But I do.”

Ava crossed her arms, her brow furrowing. “What is it you think you understand?”

Naomi took a deep breath, her confident demeanor dropping for the first time. “I understand what it feels like to be trapped,” she began. “To have your power stripped away by people who don’t see you as a person, just a thing to control.”

She stepped closer, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. “I… was a journalist once. A good one, actually. I broke stories that mattered—corruption, abuse, inequality. Despite all that achievement, it only takes one man in power to destroy a career.” She grimaced, hands curling into fists at her sides. “One editor with a grudge, one lie, and suddenly you’re out. Suddenly, your voice doesn’t matter anymore.”

Ava’s expression softened slightly as Naomi continued.

“I fought back,” Naomi said, her voice growing stronger with indignation. “I tried to make them listen, but the system isn’t built to protect people like me. People like us.” She looked up at Ava, her eyes glistening. “But you… you’re untouchable. You’re the very thing they fear. A woman with a power so profound they can’t take it away.”

Ava stared at her, the weight of Naomi’s words settling heavily on her shoulders.

Naomi stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t have to be a goddess if you don’t want to. Titles are unimportant. But you’re more than just a pop singer now. You represent something bigger. Something no one can deprive you of.”

Ava swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wanted to reject Naomi’s words, to push her away along with the growing group of worshippers who saw her as a divine figure. Still, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if Naomi was right about the implications of her growth. Her mind reeled with cognitive dissonance.

Naomi’s gaze softened. “Let us help you,” she said. “Let me help you. I know you didn’t ask for this, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

Ava looked down at the group gathered at her feet. Some knelt with trembling hands clasped in prayer, their whispered words drifting like smoke. Others stood frozen, gazing up at her with wide eyes—some filled with awe, others shadowed by doubt. A young woman clutched a tattered notebook, scribbling feverishly as if documenting a miracle. A man in his fifties held a rosary, his lips moving in silent supplication as he stared at Ava’s feet. It was all unsettling.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ava admitted quietly.

Naomi smiled gently. “Then let us figure it out together.”

As the cultists set up their makeshift camp near Ava’s mountain refuge, Naomi waited until the others were preoccupied to approach Ava directly. Despite her size, Ava felt small under Naomi’s intense gaze. Naomi bowed respectfully, placing a hand over her heart.

“Goddess,” Naomi began, her voice reverent but measured. “I hope we’re not intruding. We’ve come only to offer you our loyalty—and our gratitude.”

Ava hesitated, her instincts screaming to send them all away. But Naomi’s demeanor was disarming. Unlike the other cultists, whose worship bordered on hysteria, Naomi’s tone was thoughtful, almost calculated.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ava said softly, trailing off into a whisper. “It’s not safe.”

Naomi tilted her head. “You mean for us—or for you?”

Ava frowned, taken aback by the question. “For everyone.”

Naomi nodded, as if she expected that answer. “Then let us help you. We came because we believe in you. Because the world has never seen someone like you before, and it terrifies them. But it shouldn’t terrify us. You are the beginning of something extraordinary, Ava.”

Hearing her name, spoken without the title of “goddess,” caught Ava off guard. She met Naomi’s gaze, probing for evidence of the ulterior motives she sensed from the woman.

“You don’t even know me,” Ava said, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve built me into some… symbol. But I’m not your symbol, Naomi. I’m a person. If you’re here because you want me to be some sort of weapon against the ones who wronged you, then maybe you’re no better than the people hunting me.”

Naomi exhaled through her nose, sighing. “You’re wrong. I know exactly who you are—or at least, who you were. I used to watch your interviews, read the tabloids, even went to one of your concerts with my girlfriends back when I was a grad student. I know you were always more than what they tried to package you as.”

Ava’s defenses wavered, but she quickly shook her head. “Look, I’m not the answer to anyone’s prayers, okay? I can’t fix the world.”

Naomi stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I don’t expect you to fix the world, Ava. But I do think you’re its reckoning.”

Ava stared down at Naomi, unsure whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “What are you talking about?”

Naomi hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I wasn’t always this person. I used to be... complicit. Quiet. The kind of girl who kept her head down, followed the rules, and smiled when men told me to. Until one day, I couldn’t anymore.”

She looked away briefly, her jaw tightening. “My mentor, and later boss… someone I trusted, someone I thought respected me—decided he wanted more than news articles from me. I declined, and that ended up being a decision that ruined my life.”

Ava felt a pang of empathy. “I’m sorry,” she stated quietly.

Naomi nodded, her countenance hardening. “I realized then what the events I wrote about had always demonstrated: that the world wasn’t broken—it was rigged. Rigged to benefit men like him while women like me were crushed underfoot. And now...” She gestured toward Ava’s towering form. “Now, the world has a reckoning. A woman who can’t be silenced, controlled, or destroyed. Honey, don’t you see? You could topple the whole patriarchal structure in an afternoon!”

The words hung in the air, heavy and electric. Ava shifted uncomfortably.

“I don’t want to destroy anything,” she said, her voice firm despite the turmoil in her chest. “Maybe you see power in me, but I just see chaos. I don’t want to fix the world—I don’t even know if that’s possible—but I sure as hell want to stop breaking it.”

Naomi stepped closer, her voice softening. “I understand that, but think about what you represent! Women everywhere—women like me— look at you and see hope. They see power. For the first time in human history, they see a real future where we’re not the ones being stepped on.”

Ava looked away, her mind racing. She had spent so much time trying to distance herself from the destruction she’d caused, but Naomi was reframing it as something almost… righteous. It made her uncomfortable, but it also stirred something deep within her—a longing to matter, to mean something more than a spectacle or a nightmare. Could her size be really used for good after all?

“I don’t know if I can be that person,” Ava admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Naomi smiled, a hint of warmth breaking through her intense demeanor. “You don’t have to decide right now. Just let us stay. Let us minister to your ailing spirits, and when you feel you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

Ava studied Naomi for a long moment. Despite her doubts, she felt a flicker of trust toward the woman. There was a sincerity in her eyes, tempered by the fire of someone who had been through hell and refused to break.

“Okay,” Ava said finally. “You can stay. But only if you keep the others under control. I don’t want any trouble. I’ve had enough of people following me around to last a lifetime.”

Naomi bowed her head, a faint smile gracing her lips. “Thank you, Goddess.”

As she turned to rejoin the others, Ava watched her go, a strange mix of gratitude and unease swirling in her chest. She didn’t know what Naomi’s presence would mean in the long run, but for now, she wasn’t alone. And in this vast, hostile world, that was enough to hold onto.

The hours stretched on as Ava sat by the water, her back resting against the valley’s incline. She watched the worshippers move about cautiously, their every action steeped in a stew of reverence and fear. They stayed far enough to avoid encroaching on her personal space, but close enough to remain under her watchful eye. Despite Naomi’s efforts to keep their curiosity at bay, their adoration was palpable, like a silent pleading that pressed down on Ava with each stolen glance.

Naomi had taken charge with an ease that both impressed and unsettled Ava. She delegated tasks, reassuring the worshippers while keeping them from overwhelming Ava. Despite her authoritative presence, there was a subtle intensity in Naomi’s gaze whenever she glanced at Ava, a glimmer of something deeper—an agenda simmering beneath the surface.

Ava tried to focus on the flowing stream, its quiet rhythm calming her frayed nerves. The memory of last night’s battle in the forest clung to her like smoke, each image sharper than the last. She could still hear the screams, feel the snap of broken bodies beneath her steps.

“You’re quiet,” Naomi said, interrupting Ava’s thoughts. She had approached without Ava noticing, her own steps light despite the tension in the air.

Ava glanced at her briefly before turning back to the water. “What is there to say?” she muttered.

Naomi crouched near her, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You’re carrying a lot,” she said gently. “It’s okay to talk about it.”

Ava hesitated. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” Naomi said, her tone soft but insistent.

For a moment, Ava remained silent, her eyes locked on the river’s surface. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. But no matter what I do, people die. And I can’t stop it. It’s like… like I’m poison.”

Naomi tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “You’re not poison,” she said firmly. “You’re power. And power is messy. It’s not good or bad—it’s just… what it is. The world doesn’t know how to handle it yet. Hell, you don’t know how to handle it yet.”

Ava frowned. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Naomi agreed. “But it means you have a choice. You can let the guilt crush you, or you can use it to figure out what kind of person you want to be. What kind of power you want to be.”

Ava’s gaze flicked to Naomi, something flickering in her eyes. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have blood on your hands.”

Naomi’s jaw tightened, and she looked away for a moment, almost pensive. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes. But I do know what it’s like to feel powerless. To have everything taken from you because someone else decided your life didn’t matter.”

Ava blinked, her curiosity piqued despite herself. “What happened?”

Naomi hesitated, then sighed. “I spoke earlier about when I was a journalist. Back then, I uncovered stories about corruption, abuse of power, things people wanted buried. It wasn’t easy, but I was good at it. I thought I was making a difference.” She paused, her expression darkening. “The others, they already know most of my story, but I didn’t get into what the man I crossed really did to me. It was more than just my job that he took.”

“What did he do?” Ava asked softly, almost immediately feeling regret for not posing the question more delicately.

“He erased me,” Naomi said bluntly. “Sued me for defamation, had me blacklisted from every major outlet. My sources dried up. My reputation was irreparably shattered. He made damn sure I couldn’t work in the field I loved ever again. Couldn’t work anywhere, really. All because I dared to tell the truth.”

Ava’s brow furrowed. “That’s… awful.”

Naomi nodded. “It was. And for a long time, I thought that was it. That he’d won. But then I realized something: he wasn’t just one man. He was a symptom of something bigger. A system that was designed to keep people like me in our place.”

Her eyes met Ava’s, blazing with intensity. “That’s why I believe in you. You’re not just power, Ava. You’re justice. Evolution’s answer to centuries of oppression. You’re living proof that women can rise above everything the world throws at us—and destroy the systems that hold us down.”

Ava recoiled slightly, overwhelmed by the radical turn. “I told you before, I don’t want to destroy anything!” she snapped.

Naomi’s expression softened, though the revolutionary fire in her eyes remained. “I know. But sometimes, destruction is necessary in order to create something better in its place.”

Before Ava could respond, a commotion from the worshippers drew their attention. A group had gathered near Ava’s feet, their heads bowed in fervent prayer. One of them, a middle-aged man with graying hair, stepped forward, holding a small vial of water.

“Great Goddess,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “This is holy water, drawn from the sacred spring of—”

Enough,” Ava commanded, in a tone firm but not unkind. She leaned down, her eyes locking onto the man with the vial. “If you want to help me, stop treating me like something I’m not. I can’t solve your problems, and I don’t want your worship.” Her gaze swept over the group, the words burning in her throat. “But if you’re going to stay, you’ll need to respect my boundaries.”

The man faltered, clutching the vial tightly. “But you are divine,” he insisted. “You saved us. You showed us your mercy.”

Ava’s shoulders sagged, her frustration mounting. “I’m not divine. I’m not here to be worshipped. I just want to figure out how to fix this mess.”

Naomi stepped forward, placing a tender hand on the man’s shoulder. “Give her space,” she said gently. “She’s still finding her way.”

The man hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. The group retreated, their murmurs of prayer fading as they moved away. Ava exhaled deeply, running her fingers through her disheveled hair to soothe herself.

“Thank you,” the giantess whispered, already feeling herself regaining control over her emotions.

Naomi nodded. “They mean well,” she said. “But I get it. This isn’t what you wanted.”

“It’s not,” Ava said. “But maybe… maybe I can make it mean something. If I’m going to be stuck like this, I might as well try to do some good.”

Naomi smiled faintly. “That’s all anyone can ask for.”

The two women sat quietly for a moment, the water’s gentle flow filling the silence between them. For the first time in days, Ava felt a sliver of hope.

Chapter End Notes:

(Coming down a bit from last chapter to focus on some character development and setup. Your patience will be rewarded!)

Chapter 6: The Protector's Dilemma

Word Count: 4122

Added: 03/21/2025

Updated: 04/03/2025

Third-Person Age 25-34 Age 35-54 F/fm Sci-Fi Hands Deific Feet Small Couples Gentle Destruction Bullying Domination Degradation Cruel Violent

Chapter Notes:

(A buried darkness from Ava's troubled past emerges when she ventures into a rural town looking for aid)

The valley was quiet save for the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft babble of the stream. Ava leaned back against the slope of a hill, her knees drawn up as she took in the vast expanse of untouched nature. The cultists were scattered nearby, busying themselves with their tasks or simply observing her from a respectful distance.

Naomi Vasquez approached, her steps soft but deliberate. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” she said, standing close enough to be heard but not intrusively.

Ava glanced at her and nodded. ‘It’s quiet. Almost… normal.’”

Naomi offered a measured smile. “Do you miss normal?”

Ava let out a humorless laugh. “Every second. But I don’t think it’s coming back anytime soon.”

The two women stood in silence for a moment, the weight of Ava’s words hanging in the air. Finally, Naomi tilted her head, her curiosity evident. “Before all of this… what made you happy?”

Ava hesitated, the question catching her off guard. She closed her eyes, searching her memory. “Music,” she said finally. “Performing. Writing songs. It’s the only time I ever felt like… me.”

Naomi’s eyes brightened. “Then why don’t you sing?”

Ava opened her eyes, looking at Naomi as though she’d suggested something absurd. “Sing? Now?”

“Why not?” Naomi said, her tone light but encouraging. “You’re still you, Ava. Even now.”

Ava hesitated, anxiously shifting her focus to the cultists in the distance. They hadn’t noticed the conversation yet, their attention on their tasks.

Taking a deep breath, Ava closed her eyes and began to sing softly. Her voice was low at first, uncertain, but as the melody took shape, it grew stronger, fuller, filling the valley with a haunting beauty.

The cultists froze mid-task, their attention drawn to Ava’s voice. They stood silent, transfixed, the notes weaving through the valley like a spell. Among them, a younger girl—her hazel eyes wide and unblinking—clasped her hands tightly together as though she were praying. Her freckles seemed to catch the sunlight as she looked on with visible appreciation, her breath hitching with every note.

Naomi watched Ava intently, her expression softening as the impromptu performance rolled on. For the first time, she saw not a weapon, not a force of nature, but a woman—vulnerable, yearning, and sincerely human.

When Ava finished, the silence that followed was almost deafening. She opened her eyes, her cheeks flushed as she realized how many people had been listening.

“That was…” Naomi started, but her voice faltered. She cleared her throat and tried again. “That was incredible.”

Ava shrugged, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I still have it.”

Naomi stepped closer, clearing her throat. “You have more than just a gift, Ava. You have a connection to people—one that goes deeper than anything you realize. They don’t just see you as a goddess. They see hope. This moment proves that you’re still you, no matter how much bigger you’ve gotten.”

Ava looked away, unsure how to respond. The vulnerability of the moment was both comforting and overwhelming.

Before she could speak, her stomach growled loudly, breaking the tension. Ava winced, her hand instinctively moving to her midsection.

Naomi raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smile. “And here I thought goddesses didn’t need to eat.”

Ava rolled her eyes, but her amusement was evident. “I’m not a goddess, and I haven’t eaten in… I don’t even know how long.”

Naomi’s expression grew serious. “We can help with that. Let us gather what we can.”

Within hours, the cultists returned with their foraged findings. They carried bundles of berries, roots, and even freshly caught fish, the offerings piled high on makeshift sleds they had fashioned from scavenged wood and rope. One young woman distinguished herself among them as the most diligent, carefully arranging the items in neat piles with an intensity that betrayed her nerves.

As the group settled their wares, the woman approached Ava tentatively, her cheeks flushed. “I just wanted to say… I’ve been a fan of yours for years,” she began hurriedly, as if she feared losing the courage to speak. “I saw you perform in Brooklyn when I was sixteen. It was… life-changing. It was right after my parents split up, and I… I didn’t think I’d make it through that year. But your song—‘Breathe Again’—it saved me. It felt like you were singing just for me. Like someone out there understood. That’s why hearing your song just now… it was like being at one of your concerts again, only better.”

Ava blinked, taken aback. She hadn’t thought about ‘Breathe Again’ in years, a song she’d written in her darkest hour. The idea that such a personal song could resonate so deeply with some anonymous girl in the crowd back then had never really occurred to her before.

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m glad it helped. So hold on, you were a fan back then, and you are… still? Like, even now that I’m like this?” she stammered, gesturing generally at herself in disbelief.

The long-time fan nodded, her freckles standing out as she smiled shyly. “You’ve always inspired me. Not just your music, but like… how you owned who you were. You made me feel like I could be strong, too.”

A squall of emotions swirled within Ava as she pondered the words. “Thank you,” she repeated, the words now richly imbued with a sense of gratitude. “That means more than you know.”

Ava watched as they presented their haul, her expression a mix of appreciation and discomfort. Her stomach clenched painfully, the deep, hollow ache like a drumbeat reverberating through her entire frame. Even the thought of the cult’s meager offerings felt as futile as attempting to quench a raging inferno with a teacup of water. It was all the best they could do, and she hated how much she had to rely on them. The giantess crouched low, carefully picking through the pile with her jittery fingers, selecting the least perishable items first. The berries burst on her tongue, their sweetness momentarily dulling the rumbling in her stomach.

Despite the initial relief of eating for the first time in days, each piece of fruit, each meticulously arranged pile of roots, felt like another brick in the wall of obligation they were building around her. They weren’t just feeding her; they were staking a claim on her, and the thought gnawed at her almost as much as the hunger itself.

“This won’t last long,” Ava stated robotically, appearing lost in thought. She glanced at Naomi, who stood nearby. “I need something more sustainable. And I need to find someone who can help me… figure this out.”

Naomi tilted her head, her expression curious. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” Ava said, gesturing to her colossal self. “There has to be someone out there—a scientist, a doctor—who can tell me why this happened. Maybe even fix it.”

Naomi’s visage hardened slightly, though she quickly masked it with a cocky smile. “What if it’s not something that needs to be fixed?”

Ava frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Naomi seemed to hesitate, then shook her head. “Never mind. If that’s what you think you need, then we’ll support you. There’s a small town not far from here. Maybe someone there can help.”

The forest stretched around Ava like a living cathedral, its towering trees filtering sunlight through a canopy of green. She moved carefully, her immense strides leaving soft tremors in the earth. The cultists followed at a respectful distance, their pace quickened to keep up with her long steps. The adoring fan from earlier walked near the front of the group, her line of sight drifting to Ava whenever she thought no one was looking.

Ava’s mind wandered as she walked. Singing had stirred memories long buried, fragments of her past life resurfacing like echoes. She thought of stadiums and flashing lights, the crowds that screamed her name. She had lived for those moments—when her voice filled the air and, for a brief time, she felt untouchable.

But there had been darkness too, shadows cast by people she had trusted.

Her thoughts turned to Jason. Even now, the memory of him made her muscles tense. Conditioning, she supposed. He’d been her first serious boyfriend, a fellow musician who had seemed perfect at the start: charming, talented, confident. Over time, that confidence soured into arrogance, and his charm became a blade he honed over time, eventually wielding it against her with malice.

“You’ll never make it without me,” he had said once, his words like venom. “You think that voice is enough? It’s not. On your own, you’re just another pretty face, Ava Nova. Remember that.”

She could still see the smug smirk on his face, hear the dismissive tone that made her feel small as if it had been just yesterday. Jason had belittled her every step of the way: dismissing her ideas, undermining her confidence. When her career began to eclipse his, his insecurity curdled into cruelty, lashing out with words that cut deeper than she’d ever admit.

Ava’s pace slowed as the memories resurfaced, her brow furrowing. Jason was gone, a relic of her past. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Still, the anger simmered under her skin, its heat unshakable. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the present.

As they neared the edge of the forest, the small town came into view. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint hum of voices drifted through the trees. The sight made Ava hesitate, her steps faltering as unease coiled in her chest.

Naomi approached her side, her voice tender but steady. “Do you want us to go ahead? Scout it out?”

“No,” Ava replied, her tone clipped. “I’ll handle it.”

The cultists stopped at the forest’s edge, hanging back as Ava stepped into the open. The town was nestled in a valley surrounded by rolling hills, its cobblestone streets and quaint cottages giving it an almost idyllic appearance. But as Ava stepped closer, people screamed, scattering like leaves in the wind. Doors slammed, windows shuttered.

Ava winced, her stomach twisting at the sight. She hated this reaction—hated being seen as a monster. She had hoped this place might be different, but it was playing out just like back in the city.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone!” the blond titaness called out, her voice reverberating back to her off the hills like a sonic boomerang. Her size inadvertently made her words feel like a warning, no matter how much she tried to soften her tone and volume.

It was then that she heard it—the triggering sound of shouting, angry and venomous, cutting through the chaos.

“You stupid bitch! How many times do I have to tell you—”

The voice petrified Ava in place. It was male, deep and slurred with rage. Her sharp eyes locked on a small house near the town square. A man stood in the doorway, his hand raised as if to strike a woman cowering before him.

Ava’s vision blurred with sudden, hot anger. The man’s voice—specifically his tone—was all too familiar. Jason’s voice echoed in her mind, his reached words from the past blending with the stranger’s in a cruel symphony.

“You’ll never make it without me.”
“You’re nothing without me.”
“Know your place.”

Something snapped inside her.

Ava’s steps quickened, each one shaking the earth beneath her feet as she closed the distance to the small house. Her pulse thundered in her ears, a thunderhead of rage and reverie consuming her thoughts. She barely noticed the terrified townspeople scattering in her wake like beetles. All she could see was the man standing in the doorway, his hand still raised, his face twisted with fury.

“Hey!” Ava’s voice boomed, echoing through the valley like a crack of thunder. The man froze, his head snapping up toward her. His expression shifted from anger to wide-eyed terror as Ava’s shadow fell over him.

The woman cowering behind him staggered back, her face streaked with tears. Ava’s sharp senses trained themselves to the bruise darkening her cheek and the way she clutched at her arms as though trying to disappear into herself.

The man stepped forward, his bravado returning just enough to mask his fear.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he shouted up at Ava, his voice trembling yet defiant.

Ava’s jaw clenched. “I think I’m stopping you,” she countered. “Leave her alone.” A couple tense seconds of silence crept by.

“This isn’t your business!” he shot back, though his bravado cracked at the edges. He looked around as though expecting backup, but the street was empty, all townspeople having fled the moment Ava arrived.

Ava stepped closer, her sheer presence demanding his acknowledgement with its size and power. “It is now,” she said coldly, her voice like a rumble of distant thunder.

“I’ve seen you on the news,” the man spat, his bravado teetering on the edge of collapse. “Big-time Hollywood whore who got bigger than she bargained for, right? So what are you gonna do next? Stomp me flat? Go ahead! Show everyone here what a monster you really are!”

Ava’s temper snapped. She bent down impulsively, her hand shooting out to grab him. Her fingers plucked him effortlessly off the ground. He screamed, thrashing against her grip, but it was useless.

“Let me go!” he yelled, his voice rising to a shrill pitch. “You’re crazy! You– you can’t do this!”

Ava held him aloft, her arm trembling as the weight of her rage fought against her self-control.
“Do you really think you can just hurt people because you feel like it?” she growled, her voice low and filled with fury. “You think there are no fucking consequences?!”

The man’s struggles weakened as her grip tightened. His face reddened, and his breaths came in sharp, panicked gasps. “I’m sorry!” he choked out. “I’m sorry, okay? Just let me go!”

Ava’s glare burned into him, the memories of her past swirling in her mind. The belittling comments. The dismissive sneers. The feeling of being trapped in a toxic relationship with someone who saw her as nothing more than a tool for their own gain. This man wasn’t Jason—but he was close enough.

Her grip tightened further, and the man let out a strangled cry. The power she held in her hand was intoxicating, overwhelming. It would be so easy to end him, to snuff out his pathetic existence like a flickering candle. No one on Earth was in any position to deny her this justice.

But she wasn’t that person. Was she? Hadn't there been enough killing in the forest? That was only self defense, but this… this would truly be murder.

With a deep breath, Ava forced herself to loosen her grasp. The man fell to the ground in a heap, coughing and gasping for air.

“Get out of here,” Ava said, her voice shaking with the effort of reining herself in. “And if I ever see you hurt anyone again...” She let the threat hang in the air, her shadow casting him in abject darkness.

The man scrambled to his feet, clutching his side as he stumbled away hastily without a word.

As she watched the man stumble away, a pang of guilt sliced through her anger. The power in her hands had been both intoxicating and frightening. Was she shielding that woman—or trying to convince herself she wasn’t the monster others saw?

Ava exhaled shakily, her hands trembling as she looked down at the woman who had been cowering by the house since the ordeal began. She knelt carefully, lowering herself to the woman’s level to achieve some semblance of a disarming presence.

“Are you okay?” Ava asked delicately.

The woman swiftly nodded, her wide eyes displaying an uneven medley of fear and gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered tersely, still in too much shock to say more.

Ava offered her a small, tentative smile. “You’re safe now,” she said before standing again, towering protectively over the woman like a monument of a hero that had sprung to life. She may not have found anyone to help her, but at least she had been there to help someone else.

From the edge of the treeline, the cultists emerged one by one, their faces alight with awe. As the group met Ava, their whispers of reverence floated on the breeze. She wondered how closely they had monitored her actions at the town. The answer came quickly.

“She saved that poor woman,” an older man declared, awe thick in his voice.

Another added, “A true protector.”

The words sparked conflicting feelings within Ava. Was this what it felt like to be deified? To have your every action reinterpreted as something divine?

Naomi was at the forefront, her dark eyes gleaming with pride as she approached Ava, flanked by a lithe young woman with brown wavy hair and freckled cheeks. Ava recognized her as the same one who had spearheaded the project of foraging food for her before.

“That was incredible,” Naomi said, her voice reverent.

Ava frowned, glancing down at her hands. “I almost killed him,” she muttered.

“Yet, you didn’t,” Naomi countered, stepping closer. “You chose mercy. You chose justice.” She gestured toward the townspeople who had cautiously begun to reemerge, their whispers filling the air. “Look at them. You gave them hope.”

Ava shifted in clear discomfort, studying the ground. “I don’t know if this is what I want to be,” she admitted.

Naomi smiled warmly, her expression softening. “Sometimes, what we want doesn’t matter. What matters is what we can do. And you, Ava, can do so much.”

The young brunette stepped forward, holding a carefully wrapped bundle in her arms. “We made this for you,” she said, her voice steady but quiet. She unwrapped the bundle to reveal a flowing garment stitched together from sheets and tarps, a patchwork that must've taken hours to complete.

Ava hesitated, taking in the sight of Naomi, the young woman, and the garment. “You made this?”

The young woman nodded, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I... I helped. My name’s Caylin. I don’t think I mentioned it before when you sang. Naomi said it was important to honor you properly, and that we should start introducing ourselves to you.”

Naomi placed a hand on Caylin’s shoulder, a proud smile on her face. “Caylin worked harder than anyone to bring this vision to life. She believes in you as much as I do.”

Ava reached out slowly, her still-nervous fingers brushing against the fabric. It was soft, lighter than she expected. She held it up, the makeshift robe billowing in the breeze. It felt impossibly soft, almost fragile in contrast to her towering strength.

Naomi stepped closer, her voice low and persuasive. “You don’t have to decide everything right now. Just accept this humble token of our appreciation. Let us help you figure out what comes next.”

Ava nodded slowly, her resolve softening as she processed the gift. Draping it over her shoulders, she realized it represented more than just clothing—it was their belief in her, tangible and weighty. She wasn’t sure she could carry it, but she had no choice but to try. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her feel… human.

A wave of cheers rose from the cultists as the garment settled over her shoulders, their voices rippling through the valley. Ava forced a smile, but the sound made her shoulders tense. The cheers felt uncomfortably familiar. Once, she’d craved the adoration of strangers, the roar of the crowd fueling her like oxygen. However, this was different—this wasn’t admiration; it was faith, heavier and far more fragile. Faith could shatter if you faltered. Caylin beamed with pride as she looked up at Ava. From the edge of the forest, she stood transfixed, her hands clasped tightly.

“She’s amazing,” Caylin whispered to no one in particular, her voice dripping with awe.

For the first time, Ava allowed herself to smile. “Thank you,” she said, her voice carrying warmth and gratitude.

Naomi stepped back, with a thoughtful look filled with quiet satisfaction. “This is just the beginning, Ava. Together, we’ll change everything.” The enigmatic woman’s gaze lingered on Ava as the cheers continued, a satisfied glint in her dark eyes. “You’re already changing the world,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Ava looked down at the group gathered around at her feet. Their belief in her was overwhelming, but it was also… comforting. For now, she thought, this is enough. Like the first step toward a larger journey.

Ava leaned back against a rock formation at the edge of the valley, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she stared at the vast expanse of stars above. Her newly adorned figure—the simple, minimalist garments woven by the cultists—felt strange against her skin. It was somewhere between a comfort and a burden. She couldn’t deny the warmth of gratitude she felt toward them, but the deeper implications of their devotion still troubled her.

The pop star’s thoughts drifted back to the confrontation in the town. The man’s haughty sneer. His insults. The way his words had mirrored those of her ex during their worst moments as a couple. The same venomous tone, the same cruel disregard. She could still feel the fading heat of her anger, the tremble of her hands as she’d restrained herself from doing what Naomi might have wanted.

Would it have been justice? Or just a reflection of what they expected her to be?

The faint patter of footsteps drew her attention, interrupting Ava's muse. She turned to see Naomi approaching, her face displaying an unreadable mix of pride and determination. Behind her, Caylin followed, her steps light and eager. Her deep reverence radiated through her every movement.

“You’ve proven so much today,” Naomi said softly, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Your strength, your mercy, your wisdom. You’ve shown them—shown us all—that you’re more than they could ever understand.”

Ava shifted uncomfortably, observing Caylin, who stood at Naomi’s side like a loyal shadow. The younger woman’s hands fidgeted constantly, twisting a strand of her wavy hair as though her nerves had a mind of their own. She twisted the hem of her shirt, each jittery movement laced with unspoken tension. Her voice, when she spoke, carried a surprising steadiness in contrast to the overall neurotic demeanor.

“I didn’t do it for them,” Ava said after a long pause. “I did it because it was right.”

“And that,” Naomi said, stepping closer, “is why you’re ready.”

Ava frowned. “Ready for what?”

Naomi gestured to the gathered cultists in the distance, their campfires glowing faintly against the darkened hills. “Tomorrow, we’ll celebrate you. Not just for what you’ve done, but for what you represent. For the hope you’ve given us.” Her words hung in the air like a promise she knew Ava couldn’t refuse. She smiled then, small and knowing, her dark eyes holding a glint of satisfaction—as if she were already certain of the path Ava would take.

Caylin stepped forward then, her voice timid and trembling with emotion. “It’s m-more than just a celebration,” she said, her words tumbling out quickly. “It’s… a way to show our devotion. To you. To your cause.”

“What does that mean?” Ava asked, her voice edged with suspicion.

Naomi placed a hand on Caylin’s shoulder, silencing her. “You’ll see soon enough,” Naomi said, her tone calm and deliberate. “It’s a sacred act. One that will bring everything into focus.”

Caylin was teeming with anxious excitement, her eyes darting between Ava and Naomi as though she struggled against a secret too big to keep.

Ava’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“That’s because you still think too small. You may not like the sound of it now," Naomi said, her voice dropping into a soothing cadence, "but the truth has a way of finding you when you’re ready to hear it. I know you’re ready, Ava. One step at a time. Tomorrow… tomorrow, you’ll see the truth,” she said sagely. Something lurking in her tone betrayed a hint of calculation Ava hadn’t noticed before.

As the two women turned to leave, Caylin hesitated, her freckled face still flushed from the excitement of the day's events. “Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice trembling. “For… everything.”

Before Ava could respond, the young acolyte scrambled to catch up with Naomi, leaving Ava alone under the stars. She stared after them, uncertainty welling up in her stomach like a slow-burning ember. The notable suppression in Caylin’s voice lingered in her mind, mingling with Naomi’s cryptic words.

The celebration loomed ahead, its meaning cloaked in shadows and Naomi’s cryptic promises. The woman’s words lingered in Ava’s mind as she stared at the stars. There had been something too assured in her tone, too pleased, as if she knew a truth Ava hadn’t yet grasped. It made her skin prickle. The cool night air carried the faint scent of smoke from the cult’s campfires, mingling with Ava’s unease. She closed her eyes. The stars above offered no answers, only cold indifference.

Ava sighed, the weight of Naomi’s words hanging ominously in her mind like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Tomorrow would bring clarity—or chaos. Perhaps both. When it came, Ava vowed she would face it on her own terms.

Chapter End Notes:

(Threw in a bit more interaction here but this chapter is largely setup. Chapter 7 will likely be much longer than this one and deliver on a lot of what's simmering here in this one. Drop a review and let me know what you like and dislike.)

Chapter 7: Consumed

Word Count: 7613

Added: 03/21/2025

Updated: 04/03/2025

Third-Person Age 18-24 Age 25-34 Age 35-54 Age 55+ Sci-Fi Hands Deific Worship Feet Gentle Consensual Vore Cruel Fatal

Chapter Notes:

(Ava is faced with a horrible decision as the ritual's particulars are revealed...)

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.

Chapter End Notes:

(So, this is a pretty meaty chapter, about twice the length of my average for this story. How are we feeling about this twist? Let me know in the reviews)

Chapter 8: Sanctuary Under Siege

Word Count: 6435

Added: 03/21/2025

Updated: 04/05/2025

Third-Person Age 25-34 Age 35-54 F/fm Sci-Fi Hands Rampage Deific Breast Feet Body Exploration Entrapment Destruction Crush Domination Gore Cruel Violent Fatal

Chapter Notes:

(In the aftermath of the ritual, Ava has little time to process when danger arrives at her doorstep)

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.”

Chapter End Notes:

(Another longer chapter here, but I'm thinking this one had enough going on to be a crowd pleaser. Character-focused moments but interaction sprinkled in throughout. Drop a review with your thoughts!)

Chapter 9: What Lies Beneath

Word Count: 3606

Added: 03/21/2025

Updated: 04/05/2025

Third-Person Age 18-24 Age 25-34 F/fm Sci-Fi Horror Deific Worship Feet Sweat Implied Fatal Accidental Crush Gore Cruel Violent

Chapter Notes:

(Ava grapples with an unexpected numbness while Hector stumbles upon tangible evidence of a sinister plot lurking within the Nova cult)

The valley was still, save for the faint crackle of dying fires and the murmurs of cultists moving through the camp. The morning’s 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 she’d 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t she care? Was it exhaustion? Survival instinct? Or was it something worse—something 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."

Naomi’s voice pulled her from her thoughts as the woman calmly approached Ava’s outstretched foot. A group of cultists stood behind her, offering up bowls of food. Fresh fruit, dried meat, warm grains—all 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 don’t know if I—"

Naomi stroked the side of her foot gently, like one might calm a restless horse. "You’ve done what was necessary. You protected your flock from the wolves who sought to slaughter them. Don’t let doubt rob you of your strength. We need you now more than ever, Ava."

Ava’s 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 must’ve found game at some point during the conflict. It was the first meat and protein she’d had since…

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 thinking—meant to reflect just a little longer—but 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 elsewhere—

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 wasn’t just a leader—she 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 wasn’t some hardened military tactician. He was a self-taught computer expert—a guy who had spent way too much time online reading between the lines. He’d gone from a poor street kid who discovered he had an affinity for tech, to an ethical hacker swept up on the wave of Naomi’s 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.

Hector’s fingers moved on instinct, switching screens, pulling up logs of old transmissions. He had to be sure. A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Why aren’t you with the others?"

Hector nearly jumped out of his skin.

Naomi stood over him, her dark eyes reflecting the laptop’s glow. She wasn’t smiling, but her voice was smooth as silk.

"Uh—" Hector scrambled, quickly minimizing his screens. "Just, uh, making sure we’re 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. That’s when he saw it: a small vial tucked inside her sleeve. She moved quickly, but not quick enough—and 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 her—toward the food being prepared for Ava. The bowls were filled high with fresh offerings. Suddenly, something clicked. What if Naomi wasn’t 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 couldn’t 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, sure—but this wasn’t paranoia. This was real.

His face went pale as he glanced back toward the food. He had dismissed Ava’s 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 thoughts—

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 hadn’t been for a long time? The questions didn’t sit well, and he feared they would only continue to roil and swirl in his gut like the aftermath of a bad meal.

Hector’s pulse pounded in his ears. He knew what happened to people who got in Naomi’s 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 Caylin’s? 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 wasn’t safe. Naomi was too smart to leave him unchecked forever. If she suspected he was onto her…

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 Ava’s 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 he’d 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.

“Ava Nova! Ava Nova! Ava Nova!”

She was dressed in a flowing, translucent gown that perfectly suited her size and divinity. A far cry from the torn, singed makeshift garment she’d discarded after the battle. The sheer fabric draped over her like liquid gold, accentuating every curve, every inch of skin the audience worshipped. She wasn’t just a performer here—she 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 wasn’t wood or metal or any other material she’d 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 on—soft, 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.

“Ava, Ava, Ava!”

The crowd’s 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 respond—squirming, 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 screams—gasps. 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," Naomi’s 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 intensity—too much and yet not enough. The audience above erupted into thunderous applause. Ava’s mind began to race.

This isn’t real. This isn’t 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.

"Don’t let him ruin this for you, Ava. He just doesn’t understand."

Hector’s 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 below—only for them to reach for her, clinging, desperate, dependent; and then— CRACK.

The moment she shifted her weight, the structure beneath her collapsed. The crowd wasn’t a stage. They were the foundation. Without her standing on them, it all crumbled.

Screams filled the air—real ones this time—as 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. Hector’s 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, writhing—alive! Her hands clawed at her throat, but Naomi’s 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 lips—

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 taste—that taste—lingered, 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 veins—the feeling of their bodies, the taste of worship, the weight of her own indulgence. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead.

"I’m not that person," she whispered. "I’m not."

But deep inside her, an anonymous voice put forth a single, chilling inquiry—

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 couldn’t 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 wasn’t military. Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there.

Hector frowned, fingers flying over the keys as he cleaned up the audio. It was faint, distorted, but—

"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 didn’t part on the best terms, but let’s be real—you 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 didn’t recognize the voice, but something about it—the casual arrogance, the faux warmth masking something predatory—made his skin crawl. He grabbed his laptop and bolted from his tent.

Ava’s eyes were closed when she heard Hector’s hurried footsteps. She exhaled sharply through her nose, barely stirring from her half-dozing state. But something in his energy—his frantic breathing, the way he practically tripped over himself in his rush to reach her—made 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 then—

"Ava, honey. You up? It’s been a long time."

Silence.

Ava’s entire body stiffened.

Her breath caught, her expression hardening like cooling iron.

Naomi’s 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. You’re angry. You’ve always been so emotional. Lucky for you, the public loves a spitfire type. But let’s not forget what made you special in the first place. What made you... sell."

Ava’s nails dug into the dirt.

Hector’s confusion deepened. Sell? What the hell was this guy talking about?

The transmission crackled.

"Come on, Ava. You don’t 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 wasn’t just some opportunist. This wasn’t 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 on—how much of your career was really your doing?"

Ava’s fingers twitched.

Naomi studied her closely, but said nothing.

Hector swallowed. "...Who is that?"

Ava didn’t 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 I’m sitting, you need me now more than ever. You need someone who can manage your... let’s call it ‘image’... before the world turns against you for good."

Ava’s knuckles whitened.

Hector’s 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 don’t think you’re the only one with connections, do you?"

Ava’s breath hitched. Her lips curled in barely contained rage. She’d hoped to never hear that man’s smug voice again, and yet here he was, mocking her from the ether.

Naomi took a step closer. “Ava, don’t let him bait you—”

“Hector,” Ava interrupted, her voice low, controlled. “Where is he?”

Hector hesitated. “I don’t know if—”

“Where is he?”

A beat of silence. Then, reluctantly, Hector turned back to his laptop, fingers dancing over the keyboard.

“I’ve got a location trace,” he muttered. “Signal’s coming from an abandoned radio station about fifty miles southeast. Looks like he set up there to make sure his transmission reached us.”

Ava rose to her feet.

The motion sent a tremor through the ground, causing a few cultists nearby to stir in their sleep.

Naomi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Ava, listen to me.” Her voice was steady, coaxing. “This isn’t the way to handle this.”

Ava didn’t even glance at her.

“They always talk like this,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “Like I owe them something. Like they can still control me.”

Ava’s 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 wasn’t a commodity. She wasn’t a pawn. She wasn’t his.

Hector adjusted his glasses, uneasy. “Are we sure this isn’t a trap?”

“If it is,” she said, her voice dripping with finality, “I’d like to see them try to contain me.”

Before Ava turned to leave, her gaze flicked to Naomi. The woman’s expression was unreadable at first—just 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 didn’t 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. “She’s got a lot to learn about control.”

Chapter End Notes:

(As you probably noticed, we're cycling back to a more plot-heavy chapter but I hope the dream sequence, however abstract, kept you guys interested. Feel free to make predictions or share theories in the reviews! I love the level of engagement this story seems to have spawned)

Chapter 10: Strings Attached

Word Count: 6669

Added: 03/21/2025

Updated: 04/05/2025

Third-Person Age 25-34 Age 55+ F/m Sci-Fi Playful Deific Feet Embarrassment Entrapment Destruction BDSM Humiliation Bullying Coercion Crush Domination Degradation Gore Cruel Violent Nonconsenting Fatal

Chapter Notes:

(Ava contends with her inner demons as she rushes to confront an abuser from the past)

The night swallowed the world around her, ink-black and endless; the stars smeared like distant smudges on glass. Ava moved through the darkness, her strides devouring miles with a constant rhythm, each footfall a quiet, rolling tremor through the earth. The mountain air was crisp and thin, carrying the lingering scent of distant pines and upturned soil, but she barely noticed. The giant woman had fifty miles to cross, but she didn’t rush. She would use the time to think.

The voice still echoed in her head, replaying like a needle stuck on the same warped groove of a record: "Ava, honey. You up? It’s been a long time."

He had spoken her name with that same casual arrogance, that same casual confidence, as if the years between them had meant nothing. As if he still had some claim over her. Men like him never changed. They saw power as a commodity— something to be shaped, owned, and sold to the highest bidder. By that metric, she had been one of his best products. A vehicle for his own success. And now, even after everything, he still believed she needed him. The sheer audacity of it only fed the flames flaring within her.

Ava exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing the rage to stay buried—at least for now. Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides, aching for something to break, something to crush beneath her heel.

Not yet. She had to savor this. He had no idea what he was walking into.

The ground softened beneath her bare feet, cool soil pressing into her skin as she crossed a quiet stretch of forest. The trees barely reached her knees, their canopies swaying gently from the wind of her movements. Normally, she might have found some small comfort in this—the quiet, the solitude—but tonight, it only amplified the thoughts in her head.

She had spent so much time resisting, trying to hold on to something human inside herself—but why? If men like him still believed they could control her, what was she even clinging to? She recalled a warning Naomi had given her around the time they first met.

“They only want you when they can control you– but you belong to no man.”

But was she really free? As long as men like him still thought they could pull her strings, she might as well have been right back in their grip. Her steps quickened, her breath coming in slow, measured pulls.

Ava crested a ridge, and the landscape opened before her. She knew this place.

At first, the town was just another scattering of empty buildings beneath her. But as she descended, the details sharpened—the neon glow of a gas station sign flickering weakly in the distance, the narrow streets lined with abandoned cars, the skeletal remains of a billboard half-toppled over a vacant parking lot. She stopped in her tracks. This was the town, the one she had visited days ago, when all of this was still new.

The giant pop star had walked these very streets, stepping carefully around buildings, trying so hard not to scare the people below. She had spoken softly, crouched low, made herself seem as small as she possibly could, despite the fact that she loomed over them like a living mountain. She had saved someone here—stepped between a man and the woman he had been menacing. She had imagined herself then as a protector, a force of good. She had been so naive. The town was totally abandoned. Ava could literally retrace her steps from her last visit, the massive footprints and sunken asphalt trenches yawning up at her with a morbid posterity.

The main road lay in ruin—abandoned cars slumped on flattened tires, windshields fogged with dust. Dark storefronts gaped open, their shelves stripped bare. A child’s bicycle lay on its side near the curb, rust creeping up the chain. No lights, no voices. No sign of life at all, but plenty of signs of her enormity left behind.

They had run.

Not just the abuser. Not just the woman she had tried to save. All of them.

Ava crouched, her massive hands pressing into the pavement as she peered down the empty street. This was what her kindness had earned. Had she really been such a fool as to think she’d given them justice? No matter what she did, no matter how carefully she moved, no matter how much she wanted to be something better, they would always fear her. Always run. Always watch timidly from the shadows, bracing for the moment she lost control.

Her nails dug into the fractured asphalt, splintering it into tiny rubble beneath her fingertips. She should have known. She should have expected this. It was absurd to think her size could be wielded for good, and even if it could, would people ever really see it that way? Ava didn’t know what she wanted more—to scream or to tear this place apart until nothing remained.

Her eyes flicked toward the gas station, its sign still flickering weakly in the dark. Something moved in the darkness. Ava’s head snapped toward it. Not a person, in fact. Something smaller. The faint hum of machinery buzzed in the distance, cutting through the stillness of the night like a whisper: it was another drone. Of course. Ava sighed, the sound of her voice feeling out of place amid the desperate silence of the ghost town that stretched before her. She turned her head slowly, scanning the dark sky. A pinpoint of movement hovered above the rooftops, a faint red light blinking from its underside.

Watching. They were always watching. Her fists tightened at her sides, breath coming in slow, deliberate pulls. It didn’t matter who was behind the camera—military, media, or some perverted freaks. The expectation was always the same. They wanted to see the monster. This ghost town was just another stage. Well, she would give them a show, alright.

Ava took a step forward. The drone adjusted, shifting slightly in the air, maintaining its distance but keeping its focus locked on her. She reached down, plucking up the base of a telephone pole as if it were a carrot growing out of the ground. With an almost effortless tug, the pole tore free from the ground, snapped power lines hanging off it like roots. The drone hovered, unmoving, as if calling her bluff.

Without much thought, she angrily tossed it. The telephone pole sailed through the air like a javelin, whistling as it missed its intended target, pivoting lengthwise as it slammed through a storefront below the drone. The face of the building erupted in a spray of shattered glass and crumbling brick. The drone dipped sharply, adjusting its altitude. Ava snarled.

She reached for something else—a car this time, its roof caving beneath her fingers as she inadvertently crumpled it from the indelicate snatching. The car alarm stuttered to life for a brief moment before she launched it skyward. The drone banked to the side, narrowly avoiding the impact by what looked like inches. As she watched its nimble maneuvers, cool and casual in contrast to her sloppy rage, something inside her snapped. She wasn’t a caged animal– some primitive beast to be studied or used for amusement. It was time she started acting like it.

Ava lunged forward, this time finding a truck in her grip, her gargantuan body becoming a blur of motion as she flung it with deadly precision. The drone tried to pivot again, but it was no use. The truck collided mid-air, obliterating the flying object. Sparks showered in every direction, and what was left of the drone spiraled downward in a hail of metal fragments, slamming into the pavement with a hollow, mechanical screech. A grimace crept onto her lips. It was a start.

Silence followed. She stood there, shoulders heaving, staring down at the wreckage. They would send more. They always sent more. She turned away from the ruined street, stepping over the crumpled drone as she walked. The town was dead, and there was nothing left for her here. Her anger hadn’t burned out. Not yet. She still had someone left to punish. The wreckage of the drone still smoldered behind her, but Ava didn’t look back. She moved through the night, her anger not yet spent, her mind fixed on the road ahead.

The land stretched wide and barren now, the remains of the town shrinking in the distance. With each step, the giantess closed the distance, the miles slipping beneath her like mere inches. She had never felt more powerful, more untethered from the human constraints that had once defined her. She wasn’t creeping through backstage entrances anymore, afraid of who might see her and snap a photo. She wasn’t shrinking into her seat during a meeting while others discussed what she would do next as if she wasn’t even present.

She was coming for him.

Far ahead, perched on a lonely stretch of land, the radio station stood against the horizon. A squat, blocky structure surrounded by rusting fences and skeletal radio towers that clawed at the sky. A single road led up to it, winding through the empty countryside like a forgotten vein. Ava slowed down, keeping her focus sharp like the point of an arrow. The building was dark. No lights. No movement. But she knew he was inside. The building looked just like it had on Hector’s laptop in the satellite view. In an area this remote, it hadn’t been hard to find.

She stepped off the road, lowering herself beside a copse of trees at the base of a hill. It felt ridiculous to hide—there was no concealing something her size even in the dark—but instincts from another life kicked in. She wanted to observe first. To give him a moment to realize the error of his judgment in reaching out to her after all he’d done. To let him feel small for once, just as she had for years under his thumb.

Inside the station, the well-dressed man sat hunched at the desk, illuminated only by the pale glow of a computer screen. The static from the radio hissed and popped with intermittent military chatter, filling the room with its restless noise. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling through his nose as he forced himself to relax. This was just another deal. Another negotiation. That was what he was good at—controlling the conversation, steering the narrative.

He had built stars from nothing before. Repackaged them, rebranded them, polished them until they gleamed. Ava had been no different. She had needed guidance, needed someone to show her how the game was played. And now, after all this time, she had come crawling back.

Of course she had.

The flickering screen in front of him displayed old footage—interviews, performances, moments from a career long buried. He had combed through them before sending the transmission, selecting just the right clips to remind her of what she had been, of what she could be again. Ava might be bigger, but her actions since Madison Square had all told the tale of that same timid, malleable girl he’d molded into a premium product years ago.

The desk chair let out a slow creak as he leaned back, exhaling through his nose. He had done what he needed to do. The signal had gone through. Now it was only a matter of waiting. Ava would come. Of course she would. She had always been predictable. Even back when she was a teenager, with all her attitude and ambition, she had still fallen in line when it mattered. The industry had been too big, too ruthless for her to navigate on her own, and he had been the one to guide her through it. She owed him for that. A smirk tugged at his lips as he reached for his glass of bourbon.

Then the walls shuddered.

A faint vibration. Barely noticeable. The man frowned, lowering the glass. For a long moment, there was nothing. Just the static-filled hum of the radio equipment, the dull flicker of the screen, the distant rustling of wind against the old station walls. Then it came again. Stronger this time. A low, rhythmic tremor. His expression of smug reminiscence had faded.

The glass in his hand trembled. Not much, just a whisper of movement, the ice cubes inside clinking together as if disturbed by an unseen force. Another tremor. Closer. The breath caught in his throat. This was more than just the sting of the alcohol. The man downed the rest of the drink, suddenly alert. He straightened in his chair, ears straining, his skin prickling with something unfamiliar—something he hadn’t felt in years: unease.

The next impact came heavier.

Something outside groaned—an old wooden sign, jolted from its hanging place, swinging violently against the wall. The equipment on the desk rattled. A loose pen rolled off the edge.

Boom.

The weight of each step pulsed through the floorboards, growing steadier, heavier. Ethan felt himself begin to sweat. That wasn’t thunder. That wasn’t the wind. It was her.

Ava Nova, his pride and joy.

The air inside the station felt thin, like the pressure was shifting, like the whole world outside was contracting inward toward the massive force approaching. She wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t storming in, wasn’t charging like some mindless beast. No, she was walking. Taking her time. Drawing it out. The wariness in his chest grew as he realized the gravity of the situation.

He pushed himself up from his chair, moving toward the boarded-up window, fingers twitching as he reached for the edge of the plywood. He pried it back just enough to peer through the crack— She was close now.

Even in the darkness, she was unmistakable—her massive form illuminated in streaks of pale moonlight, her long strides swiftly closing the distance between them. She looked different from the last time he had seen her. Not just bigger– darker. Her silhouette was no longer that of a woman trying to navigate the space between human and monster. She had made her decision.

The footsteps didn’t stop.

The well-dressed man took a step back from the window, pulse hammering. The last time they had spoken, he had been in control. Gently reeling her in from a distance like an expert fisherman. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe. She wasn’t going to hurt him. Not really. Not when she heard what he had to say. He licked his lips, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt, forcing his nerves back into something resembling composure. Ava had always been emotional. He could use that. He had done it before. He just had to remind her who she was– who she had been.

The footsteps were nearly at the door now. The walls shuddered again. The man squared his shoulders, adjusting the watch on his wrist. He could do this. He was still the best agent in Manhattan, and this girl used to eat out of the palm of his hand. This was just another meeting. Another deal to close, like so many more before under his belt.

The building shuddered.

She still needs me. She just doesn’t know it yet.

The man straightened his sleeves, smoothing down the front of his shirt. The doorframe trembled. Dust drifted from the ceiling. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, then stepped forward, careful and deliberate. The charm had to come first. That was always the way.

He pulled the door open, and what he saw nearly floored him.

He had prepared himself for this—or at least, he thought he had. He had seen the footage. He knew what had happened to her, had watched the same clips over and over, studying every inch of her newfound immensity, preparing for how to handle it. Still, knowing something and looking up at it like the Statue of Liberty were two entirely different things.

She was colossal.

Even crouched down, her sheer size was overwhelming, a force that seemed to stretch beyond the boundaries of reality itself. Her legs folded beneath her, bare feet pressing into the soft earth, arms resting on the ground like she was settling in to watch him. To observe.

He forced the tension out of his shoulders, but didn’t let himself step back. He had to keep maintaining an air of control; to own the moment. So he smiled. The very same cocksure smile that had diffused scandals and saved careers others thought shot to sunshine. That had turned ruined artists into grateful, desperate creatures who owed him their lives.

"Ava, sweetheart," he said smoothly, like he was greeting an old friend. "Goddamn, aren’t you a sight for these sore eyes?"

The words barely left his lips before she answered.

"Ethan."

She said it flatly. No inflection. No warmth. Just the impression of a coffin lid slamming shut.

Ethan barely had time to blink before the silence thickened around them, pressing down like a vice. For the first time in years, he wasn’t sure what move to make, so he defaulted to the only strategy he had ever needed—he kept talking.

"You look good," he said, chuckling just enough to feign ease. "I’d almost forgotten how good you looked in your birthday suit. Hell, you look even better this way. Always knew you’d go big, but this? This is something else."

Ava didn’t react. No wry smile. No shift in posture.

Just watching him.

The weight of her stare was suffocating. He felt like a bug under a microscope, a specimen being considered. Ethan exhaled, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Come on, don’t just stand there glaring at me. Let’s talk. I meant what I said in the transmission—I want to help you, sweetheart. You and I built something incredible once. We can do it again."

Ava leaned in slightly, and his stomach clenched.

The pressure in the air changed. He could feel her breath, a slow, steady pull of wind sweeping over him as she inhaled. Then, finally—finally—she spoke.

"Close the door, Ethan.”

The words were low. Measured. A command, not a request. Ava tilted her head down until her gaze was perfectly trained to the man, as if staring straight through him. "You’re not leaving."

The moment stretched, thick with something Ethan didn’t want to name. He knew how to handle high-pressure conversations. Knew how to smooth things over, to say just the right thing to keep the balance in his favor. But this? This wasn’t some actress throwing a tantrum over a bad contract. This wasn’t some singer furious over a leaked scandal. This wasn’t some strung-out starlet he could manipulate with praise, with money, with the promise of something bigger. This was Ava Nova, the monster from the news, and she hadn’t come here to bargain.

Ethan licked his lips and cleared his throat. He had to pivot. Fast.

So he stepped back into the radio station, keeping the door open just enough to gesture her inside, like he was the one setting the terms.

"Alright, alright," he said, voice smooth, collected. "We’ll talk. Just like old times."

Ava didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just smiled.

Not her smile. Not a mark’s smile. No, this was the kind of grin he’d seen plenty of times in his time. He’d rubbed elbows with all sorts of prickly devils: stock sharks, mobsters, politicians, you name it. But he’d never seen the hallmark of a predator on this little fawn. Well, not so little anymore, was she?

She’s bluffing. She still needs me. She has to.

And for the first time, Ethan felt something settle in his chest that had never been there before.

Dread.

Ethan stood there, a forced smile pulling at his lips as he tried to regain control of the situation. He had been through this before, countless times—the dance, the play, the manipulation. He knew the moves, knew how to win the game. Ava had always been a pawn in his hands, a naive girl he had molded into a star. And now, she was a monster, yes—but monsters could be tamed, couldn’t they?

He started with the words that had worked so many times before.

"Ava, sweetheart, everyone’s talking about you," he said smoothly, as if nothing had changed. "Look at you. Goddamn, you’re enormous! You’re like a feminist’s wet dream." He let the smirk slide onto his face, taking a step forward, his hands raised in an open gesture. "I mean it, really. You’re everything I promised you’d be, and more.”

More silence. What the fuck was going on in that overgrown brain of hers?

“There’s no need to destroy everything we built. We can still make this work! You know I can help you. I always did. All you have to do is let me in again. I know exactly what you need. I’m still your agent, after all. You still remember the good times, right, Ava?"

Ava didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. She just stood there, watching him with those unreadable eyes. The tension thickened around them, like the air before a storm.

"Take off your clothes, Ethan," Ava said suddenly, her voice low and cold.

Ethan froze. His laugh died in his throat. Surely, she was just playing. She had to be. He chuckled nervously, trying to brush it off.

"Ava, you’re joking, right? Come on, we’re past all of this." He scanned her, desperate for any sign of softness, of humanity. At her scale, it was hard to tell, but it wasn’t looking good.

"Take them off," she repeated, her voice now edged with something darker. "Or I will."

His heart skipped a beat as he finally comprehended how serious she was. Slowly, reluctantly, he began to strip. His designer suit slipped off his shoulders, his undershirt next, followed by his tie. He moved in slow motion, his fingers trembling as he removed his cufflinks and even his watch. Ava watched him the whole time, her gaze sharp, cruel. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. When he was down to his boxers, he tried to meet her eyes, as if somehow the final act of humiliation would stop. He was wrong.

Ava stepped forward, and her foot—a towering, lethal thing—came down in front of him. His heart thudded in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening!

"That’s not enough," she said, her voice quiet but carrying a weight he couldn’t escape. "You think you deserve dignity after all you’ve done? Strip. All of it. No more bullshit"

With shaking hands, Ethan undid his final piece of clothing. As it dropped to the ground, he looked up, unable to read her face from his angle. His mouth went dry. This wasn’t the same woman he had known. Not the girl he could control, not the star he had built. The woman before him was an immovable force, cold as the night air around his naked body.

"Now crawl to me," she said.

The words hit him like a slap. He opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

Each movement, each scrape of his bare skin against the rough earth, was a reminder of how far he had fallen. Ava didn’t speak as he neared her. She didn’t need to. Her presence was enough to shatter whatever shred of dignity he had left.

When he finally reached her, trembling with humiliation, Ava didn’t kneel down to meet him. No. She simply raised one bare foot, positioning her big toe above his head.

"You know what? Kiss my toes, Ethan."

He recoiled at the command, his pride flashing in his eyes for just a moment. But Ava's face, unyielding and cold, made it clear there was no choice. He fell to his knees and pressed his lips to her big toe. The moment his lips made contact, he gagged, a quiet, involuntary noise that only deepened his shame. There was something so cosmically wrong with this. Anger flared within him, but he knew better than to do anything but comply. There was still a chance to get out of this, albeit with a bruised ego. He just had to play the game.

Ava smirked, shifting her foot just slightly, forcing more of her toe into his mouth.

"That’s right," she murmured. "You always had a way with words. Now stop yapping and use that tongue for something useful for once."

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to obey. The scent of her skin filled his nose—clean, smelling faintly of dirt, but unbearably oppressive at this size. He dragged his lips over the smooth surface, pressing weak, trembling kisses along the curve of her toe. His hands shook at his sides, clenching and unclenching as if grasping for something to hold onto, some way to escape the humiliation burning through him. Was she getting off on this?

"I said use your tongue," she ordered, tilting her head. "Actually please a woman for a change."

His body rebelled at the thought, yet he obeyed. Slowly, shamefully, he let his tongue flick against her skin, tracing a line over her toe in a weak attempt to please her. He expected her to pull away, to let this be enough, but instead, she laughed—a rich, amused sound that made his entire body seize up with dread.

"Pathetic," she whispered, flexing her toe against his face, smearing the moisture of his own desperation against his cheek. "I’ve had better from men who actually wanted it. And you? The man who once held my fate in his hands? Look at you now. On your knees, licking the dirt off my feet like a fucking worm."

Ethan whimpered, his breath shaky, his body trembling with fear. "Please, Ava," he choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, no more."

Ava stepped back, giving him a moment to breathe before she twisted the knife.

"Oh, so now you want to ask nicely?" she inquired, tilting her head. “I don’t remember you being such a gentleman when you put your hands on me when I was teenager, Ethan. A fucking child! And all the times after, when I was older, I don’t remember you asking permission at all!”

The words hung in the air like an unwanted hand on her skin—one she could finally slap away. Confronting him by saying it aloud after all this time unearthed a dozen more painful memories, but she had spent enough time suppressing them all these years in tortured silence. She had to let herself feel that pain again, and Ethan had to finally answer for it. Before, he likely never would have faced any real consequences. He’d have hidden behind a wall of corporate lawyers and dragged it out in court for years; but now? No one was in any position to tell her she couldn’t carve out her own justice. The tables had turned, and now he was the small one without anyone to save him.

Ava cleared her throat.

“This should be good for a laugh: give me one good reason why you, Ethan, deserve to live."

He choked on his words, trying to formulate something convincing.

“I… I didn’t know you didn’t want it…”

Not his best work. When the words came out, they sounded empty. Hollow. Even to his own ears. Ava only rolled her eyes and shook her head as she stared down at him.

“Pathetic,” she repeated, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is pointless. You’re just an actor, a liar. I can’t believe that even now you can’t admit what you did. That’s it, you had your chance, but we’re past talking it out."

Before he could retort, she spoke over him. "Dance for me."

Ethan froze. His eyes darted from her towering form to the ground. "I—I don’t—"

Ava’s voice turned dangerously soft. "You’ll do it. Now."

He stumbled to his feet, his legs barely holding him as he started to move awkwardly, his body unwilling to obey his commands. He gyrated, his movements stiff and desperate as he tried to recall the old routines he once made her do. The result was a stilted mess.

"Keep dancing, Ethan," she demanded. "Why don’t you sing for me too, while you’re at it? We’ve all seen how well you can act. You still know all your lines. Let’s make you a triple threat today."

Ethan hesitated, his lips parting with no sound coming out. The silence between them stretched, Ava's expectant gaze freezing him in place. Then, with a shuddering breath, he obeyed.

He sang.

His voice was thin, shaking, the notes wobbling with fear. It was one of her old songs, one he had forced her to sing over and over again when she was younger, called “Strings Attached” The irony wasn’t lost on her. Ava watched, arms folded, as he struggled through the melody, his breath catching as he tried to push through his terror. She was clearly revelling in it.

"Louder," she commanded, smirking down at him. "Once more, with feeling."

Ethan raised his voice, the sound cracking with desperation. He danced along to it, his body jerking awkwardly, pathetic in its attempts to follow the rhythm. Tears gathered in his eyes, but Ava only smiled.

"That’s it," she cooed mockingly. "You always told me the audience loves passion. So give me passion, Ethan. Sell yourself."

He sobbed as he twirled, his dignity in tatters. This wasn’t a performance. It was his eulogy.

Ethan whimpered, his breath shaky, his body trembling with fear. "Please, Ava," he choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, no more. I’m sorry, okay? What do you want me to say?"

Ava sighed, as if bored. She put her hands on her hips, looking down at him, then exhaled as if disappointed. "I think I’ve seen enough.”

“You’re not gonna let me go, are you?” the man squeaked.

“Oh, that depends. Have enough energy left to run?"

Ethan blinked in confusion. Was she actually giving him a chance?

"Go on," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Run. Get as far as you can. Maybe you’ll make it."

His body jolted into motion before his mind fully caught up. He bolted, feet pounding against the dirt, lungs burning as he scrambled down the slope toward flat ground and the trees below. His arms pumped furiously at his sides, his breaths coming in ragged, wheezing gasps. He could feel the cold night air against his skin, the sweat slick on his back. Each step felt like an eternity.

For a moment—just a moment—hope flared inside him.

Then the earth quaked.

A wave of darkness loomed overhead between Ethan and the moonlight, massive and inevitable. The wind rushed past him as something enormous moved, and in the span of a heartbeat, an earth-shaking boom shattered the silence. The ground in front of him split apart, dust and debris flying into the air. He barely had time to register what had happened before his body lurched backward in terror.

Ava’s foot had slammed into the earth just ahead of him, her sole pressing into the dirt like an immovable wall. Ethan skidded to a halt, his knees giving out beneath him. His breath came in frantic, uneven gasps. He craned his neck upward, eyes wide with horror, to see her smirking down at him.

"Going somewhere?" she purred from on high.

The naked man sank to his knees, hands clasped together. "Please, Ava! I-I can change! I swear! I was wrong! I was blind! You were always meant for more! I can help you—I'll do anything, just please, let me live!"

Ava cocked her head, seeming to consider his words. Her expression softened, just a fraction. "Anything?"

"Yes! Yes, anything!" He nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face. "You want me to disappear? I will! You want me to dedicate myself to making it up to you? You got it! I was a fool—I see that now! Just give me another chance, Ava! I can help you!"

For a long moment, she watched him, tapping one finger against her chin as though contemplating his pathetic display. Then, finally, she exhaled.

"Hmmm... nah. Oh, and one more thing, Ethan… you’re fired."

Ava’s foot loomed above him, her toes curling slightly. He couldn’t believe features so petite could become so intimidating at this size. The ridges of her toe print were visible now even in the darkness– intricate patterns of whorls and creases, mesmerizing in their enormity. His breath transitioned in short, frantic gasps, each one shallower than the last as sheer terror robbed him of air. He was well and truly fucked.

Her colossal foot descended in one slow, deliberate motion. Ethan howled, hands raised in a useless attempt to stop the inevitable. The man’s scream tore through the night, raw and ragged, a desperate, primal plea for mercy. His hands, shaking and weak, shot up in a final, useless attempt to push back the massive toes descending upon him. His fingers pressed against the smooth, warm skin, but it was like trying to hold back a falling slab of stone.

“No, no, please! Ava! Don’t do this! I can change! I’ll—!”

His words choked off as the pressure began.

Her toe met his outstretched hands first, nimbly pressing them down into his own chest. The strength behind it was overwhelming– suffocating, unyielding. His bones groaned in protest as his arms bent at unnatural angles, his shoulders collapsing inward under the impossible weight. His fingers clawed at her skin, his nails scraping uselessly against the massive, warm expanse of flesh, leaving behind faint, imperceptible streaks of sweat and dirt. His body was pinned, flattened against the dirt, his spine arching involuntarily as his ribs began to compress.

Ava’s smirk never wavered. If anything, it grew.

“Ethan,” she mused, her voice like a velvet noose tightening around him. “You always did talk such a big game. Whatever happened to all that confidence?”

A sickening crunch echoed through the still night as one of his ribs snapped. An animalistic cry wrenched from his throat as his legs kicked wildly, heels digging into the ground in a feeble attempt to push himself backward. His hips twisted, his spine contorting in a desperate, instinctual need to escape the crushing weight bearing down upon him. Her gigantic digit pressed lower, the point of her toenail now hovering just above his throat like a poised guillotine ready to drop at a moment’s notice.

“You always thought you were God’s gift to humanity. Well, look at you! I might as well be God to you now, and frankly, I’m not impressed with what I see.”

Ethan gurgled, his mouth opening wide in a silent, strangled scream as more ribs caved in. His chest, once broad and muscular, now looked sunken. Misshapen. Blood rushed to his face, his eyes bulging as his lungs struggled to expand, the pressure turning every breath into a shallow, wheezing rasp. His arms flailed at his sides, fingers twitching, spasming uselessly as nerve endings fired in panic. Ava let out a soft hum, as if considering something.

Then, for the briefest of moments, doubt flickered in her eyes. Her former agent was utterly pathetic now, pleading and gasping. All of his smug arrogance driven from his broken body. Did this truly make her feel free? Did this make her more than what he had tried to turn her into?

The old Ava might have hesitated. Might have backed down. Might have let him slither away with another empty promise, but she wasn’t that girl anymore. She had burned her old self down to the bone, and this was what remained. She swallowed.

With a resolve that came easier than it should have, she continued. Her foot locked in place for a beat as the world seemed to hold still. After a few seconds of silence, Ethan whimpered– a choked, wet string of filthy epithets spilling from his lips. With that, the doubt vanished as quickly as it had come. He didn’t deserve her mercy. He’d never extended her the courtesy.

Ava leaned in slightly, savoring the sensation once more. The raw power thrummed through her as she continued to push down gradually. She wanted him to feel every bit of it. To know, with absolute certainty, that he was dying beneath her, that his body was nothing more than a fragile, pitiful thing to be snuffed out at her whim. He deserved to feel how she felt for years: at another’s mercy.

The man struggled in the dirt beneath her, hands scrabbling against the dirt in what she could only assume was some desperate attempt to get free. Ethan wheezed out a sound—something phlegmy, rattling. For a second, Ava thought it was another sob, but the way he shook—shoulders trembling, lips curling—it wasn’t fear. It was recognition.

And then he laughed.

Not much. Just a broken, breathless chuckle, like he’d figured out the punchline of a joke right before the reaper came to collect.

Ava’s brow furrowed. “What the fuck is so funny?”

Ethan coughed, blood splattering over his own chest. His lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. “You think you’re free?” he rasped, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

A flicker of something uncomfortable ran down Ava’s spine. He was just stalling. Just talking shit to get in her head and find an angle to escape. She pushed down slightly harder with her toe; the weight of the moment pressing against her as heavily as she pressed against him. There was something deep within her—something old, bitter, a phantom of who she used to be. Once, she would have cared. Once, she would have let him crawl away and convince her he mattered. She swallowed. With a resolve that came easier than it should have, she pushed down.

"You think this was your idea?" Ethan gurgled, his ribs folding in with a sickening crunch. He gasped in agony, spitting out a tooth. "You're still just a goddamn product! Still their—”

Enough words.

His stomach caved next, the internal organs compressing like overripe fruit beneath her touch. A wet squelch accompanied another strangled scream, his voice now hoarse, barely more than a rattling breath. His legs spasmed, his feet kicking at nothing. The veins in his neck bulged, his face turning a deep shade of red, then purple. Blood trickled from his throat as he gasped, his body fighting against inevitability. Her nail had finally sliced through him, decapitating the man in one cruel stroke. The guillotine had fallen. His mouth hung open, but no more words came.

The laughter was gone.

Ava lifted her foot slowly, surveying the remains that still clung to her sole. There wasn’t much left that resembled the man who had once thought himself her master. Just a mess of shattered bone, crushed muscle, and a smear of red staining the earth. She wiggled her toes indulgently, feeling the remnants of his existence beneath her, the final proof that he had been nothing.

She should have felt triumphant. Liberated. But all she felt was a hollow silence settling into her bones. The night was still, save for the faint whisper of the wind. Ava exhaled, rolling her shoulders, trying to shake the tension of something she couldn't quite name. Ethan was gone. It was done. But the doubt still lingered, clinging to the edges of her mind like a stubborn shadow.

Suddenly, Ava heard the familiar sound of a mechanical hum. A flicker of movement in the sky in her peripheral vision. It was a red light, blinking like a heartbeat, hovering just beyond the treeline. Another drone. They had seen everything, just like always.

Ava chewed at her lip. Of course they were watching. They were always watching. Naomi had assured her that hurting, or even killing, her enemies was sometimes necessary. She had thought this was about reclaiming her power, but was it really hers at all? Or was she still just dancing to someone else’s tune, just like she had every time before?

Ava took one last look at the stain where Ethan had once been, then turned away, stepping into the darkness once more. Her gaze lingered on the macabre scene, mulling over its implications. As she turned to leave, something caught her eye. Even her enhanced vision hadn't picked it up before, the heat of the moment clouding her attention to detail. She squinted, leaning closer. At first, it was just another smear of blood in the dirt. But then she saw it—words, hastily scratched into the ground by a dying hand. Almost erased:

"She played us."

A new font of rage bubbled inside her, dark and insistent. Naomi had some explaining to do. Too many missing pieces. Too many things that no longer added up. This time, there would be no spin, no carefully crafted narrative wrapped in easy words. No empty reassurances from the cunning ex-journalist. Ava wouldn’t be brushed aside. She wouldn’t be handled. She’d get the whole truth—no matter what it took. Just like Ethan, Naomi wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of this one.

Chapter End Notes:

(I hope you guys don't feel swindled by the bait and switch. Jason will absolutely still be a player in this story, and the misdirect here with Ethan will serve his and Ava's role in the story. Let me know what you think in the reviews! Hate mail is fine, too)

Chapter 11: Revelations

Word Count: 6561

Added: 03/21/2025

Updated: 04/05/2025

Third-Person Age 18-24 Age 25-34 Age 35-54 F/fm Sci-Fi Hands Deific Feet Vanilla Destruction Coercion Domination

Chapter Notes:

(As the world fractures over Ava Nova’s rise, alliances are forged, betrayals are unveiled, and the line between liberation and manipulation blurs)

The world had been watching.

Every screen, every news outlet, every social media platform replayed with footage of the night before—of Ava, colossal and unrelenting, delivering swift and brutal justice to Ethan Mercer. Most of the civilized world had seen it happen in real-time. A man who once forged the careers of some of the world’s most beloved pop culture darlings was now reduced to nothing beneath the heel of one client who became too big for him to handle. The reactions were divided, but more than ever before, Ava Nova was all anyone was talking about worldwide.

Some called it retribution—a long overdue form of vigilante justice that the world’s institutions had simply failed to deliver. Others saw the killing as a dangerous precedent, a sign that the balance of power had shifted in an uncontrollable and terrifying direction. Hashtags trended in every language, debates exploded on television panels, and think pieces flooded the internet dissecting what it all meant. Meanwhile, the American government was deadlocked in countless emergency meetings, desperately working on a plan to maintain peace and order when all attempts to neutralize the giantess threat had become spectacular, public failures. Religious leaders squabbled over whether Ava represented a divine reckoning for mankind’s wickedness or a heretical idol to be destroyed.

"It's fuckin’ biblical," Jason muttered, scrolling through endless feeds of commentary. "Half the world thinks she's the wrath of God, the other half thinks she's the second coming. It’s all going to hell!”

Captain June Marlowe stood behind him, arms crossed, her iron gaze flicking between the reports playing on various monitors in the command tent. News anchors speculated, military officials gave non-answers, and politicians scrambled to decide what position to take on a woman who had outgrown every system built to contain her. Satellite imagery tracked her movements, AI-generated analysis churned out potential threats and outcomes, and military forces worldwide braced for what they feared might come next.

In some places, there were protests—both in fear and in reverence. Some demanded she be stopped at any cost, calling her the most significant existential threat humanity had ever faced. Others knelt in the streets, praying for her to lead them into a new era. There were reports of riots, of self-declared loyalists forming into factions in her name almost overnight. The world was fracturing over its newest ideology, and Ava Nova had become the fault line.

"They’re still so focused on how to categorize her," Marlowe said, watching footage of armed forces repositioning near the borders of Ava’s known movements. "Terrorist? Savior? Living natural disaster– what does it even matter? She’s a killer. It’s just that simple."

Jason exhaled, rubbing his temples. "If they can't put you in a box, they'll build a new one. Question is, who gets to decide what kind?"

Marlowe scoffed. "I know what kind of box I’d put that overgrown brat in– the world’s biggest coffin."

Jason let out a short, humorless laugh. "Look at that, she’s got jokes! Sure, drop a bomb on her head and walk away. Like that fixes everything. I gotta say, I’m relieved to see my hard-earned tax dollars at work with this kind of strategy. You guys are top notch… I guess that’s why you had to resort to asking for a civilian’s help, huh?”

Marlowe’s glare burned through him. "It’s the only thing we can do! You saw what she’s capable of, and she’s only getting worse. The world’s tripping over itself trying to figure out what to call her, meanwhile her death toll is racking up more and more innocents by the day. We tried negotiating her surrender and got nowhere. The only solution at this stage is to find a way to put Ava down for good before she inevitably takes the rest of us with her."

Jason leaned back, drumming his fingers against the table. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make her sit in it. "And what if you’re wrong? What if it’s not Ava we need to be worried about? Can’t help but notice no one seems to be talking about Little Miss What’s-Her-Name in the corner over here in almost every clip, though."

He looked down and briskly thumbed through at the heavily-redacted intelligence files in front of him, the limited breadth of information about the Ava Nova growth incident he was allowed to see as a contracted consultant until he found a match for the woman’s face he’d seen over and over while reviewing the footage. “I’m sorry, ‘Naomi Vasquez’ is her name. I’d hate to offend the mighty cult leader. You know how those narcissist types can get.”

Marlowe scoffed. "Let me get this straight. You, of all people, aren’t convinced Ava’s culpable?"

Jason held up a hand. "You don’t get it. I know exactly who Ava is and what she’s done. Hell, I was in the spotlight first, remember? You think it doesn’t fuck me up every single day how Ethan built me up, only to drop me the second he found someone he thought he could make bigger than me? I saw how the whole world flocked to her the second she stepped on the scene, like I never even existed. But this? This is a whole new level."

Marlowe crossed her arms. "And you think killing her won’t fix it?"

"I think she’s just a poster girl," Jason began, taking a thoughtful beat. "You think taking her out ends the problem, but she’s just a performer dancing to somebody else’s tune. There’s always some conniving asshole backstage benefiting off of people like me and Ava. First, it was Ethan. Now maybe it’s this Naomi person, maybe not, but she’s got the potential to be dangerous."

Marlowe turned away, her fingers pressing hard into her arms. Jason could see it—her stake in this operation wasn’t just tactical, it was personal. She was following orders so long as they served her own goals. He could use that. He just needed to nudge her the right way.

"She’s already proven to be dangerous," she muttered, mulling over the connection. "If… if she hadn’t aided and abetted Ava, my daughter might still be alive."

Jason’s lips parted slightly as if weighing his words, finally finding an opening. "Exactly. That’s what it’s really about for you, right? Not some lofty sense of justice for all the nameless dead. That’s just how you’re justifying it. What you really want is revenge for your daughter. I get it. Caylin was innocent. She believed in something– thought she was part of something bigger, something meaningful. Cults are built on that kinda shit. Just don’t lose sight of the real threat.”

“I am not letting my personal feelings cloud my judgment. Ava is the real threat. Do you actually believe some religious nutjob is more deserving of our attention than a giant bimbo who murders people every time she takes a step?” Marlowe replied, testier than before.

“See, that’s what all you government types don’t seem to get. Ava’s size isn’t the only thing that makes her a threat. That’s why a missile or a fucking bomb won’t be enough. News flash, June– nothing you’ve thrown at her has even made a dent. The military’s wasted more firepower on her than some countries have in their entire arsenal, and yet she’s still standing. Getting more popular by the day, by the look of it."

Marlowe visibly tensed, but she stayed silent.

Jason leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Fine, let's say you guys cook up a way to kill Ava– then what? She only becomes a martyr. A legend. You think those people out there are obsessed with her now? Just wait until they believe she died for something. You saw how they reacted to that ratfucker Ethan Mercer. Even a bastard like him is getting a funeral. You think Ava won't get a fucking religion, if she hasn’t already? Imagine what happens when the pop idol darling they worship is taken from them. She won’t just be a ‘threat’ anymore. She’ll be a fucking cause. I don’t know about you, June, but I think a mob of crazed fanatics stretching across the globe is a much greater threat than any one person."

Marlowe’s short-trimmed nails pressed into her palms, her throat working around the words she wanted to say but couldn’t. Jason saw it—the flicker of conflict, the weight of her grief crashing into something she hadn’t considered before.

Jason exhaled, slow and deliberate. "If you really want to destroy her, you don’t kill her. You break her. You take what she’s built and turn it against her. You pull the people away from her, make them doubt her, make them see her for what she really is…" His voice softened, almost tender. "Because isn’t that what Caylin deserves?”

An uneasy pause seemed to suck the air out of the room, but Jason continued.

“Look, you want revenge? Fine. I get it. But don’t just hand her an easy way out. Make her suffer first."

Marlowe’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She didn’t agree—not yet. But Jason didn’t need her to. He just needed her to consider it.

"You think killing Ava brings Caylin back? It doesn’t, and it sure as hell doesn’t stop whoever’s next from doing it all over again. But if we dismantle her—piece by piece—if we unravel everything she’s built… that’s something permanent. That’s how you really finish a person off. You want to know what Ava does best? She makes people disappear– and I should know. She did it to me first, June."

Marlowe exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before finally looking at Jason.

"This is a mistake,” the weary captain began, "but… fine. If we’re doing this your way… we start with Naomi Vasquez. She’s at the center of all of this. We can refocus our efforts on digging into everything we have on her and go from there. And be quick about it! We can’t waste time debating while more people die. Get on with it.”

"Took you long enough." Jason smirked. "First good idea I’ve heard all day."

“Oh, and one more thing,” Marlowe added, “It’s Captain. Only my friends call me June.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Outside, the world burned with Ava Nova’s name on its lips, but in this room, bathed in the dim glow of the monitors, Jason and Marlowe sat in a bubble of begrudged understanding. The birth of an unholy alliance. They had been thrown together by desperation and circumstance, but now? Now, they were bound by something else entirely—by loss, the will to survive, and a desire for revenge against the same woman who had ruined their lives. But before they could move on Ava, they had one person to go through first.

Naomi moved with practiced precision, her fingers gliding over the small glass vials laid out before her. She had not slept—not even for a moment. The night was too important, every second of it a piece of a grander design. She had anticipated Ava’s anger, even prepared for her confusion. She had waited for this reckoning, knowing it would come as surely as the sun would rise. The deep night still held its grip outside, the firelight flickering weakly against the vast darkness, with only the moon casting faint, silvery outlines over the scattered objects. The candlelight flickered over the vials, revealing subtle variations in the liquid inside. She hummed softly under her breath, carefully measuring a drop from one vial into the food bowl before her. Just enough to keep the process balanced. Just enough to ensure Ava remained open to her guiding hand. She stirred the mixture methodically, letting the motion ground her in the present. Outside, the world was shifting, bending to the weight of the moment, but here, in the quiet, Naomi controlled the outcome.

Then came the tremorous sound of heavy footfalls approaching.

Ava was angry. She could sense it in the cadence of her mighty steps. That was only natural, of course. A net positive. Anger was fuel—fire. It burned away weakness, reshaping people in its molten crucible into something new. Something stronger than before. Just as it had for her years ago.

Naomi sat still in the dim candlelight, hands folded in quiet contemplation, the night air thick and heavy around her, the moonlight tracing soft edges around her form, as the ground trembled beneath Ava’s approach. It had been inevitable.

Ethan Mercer had been one of many chains still wrapped around Ava’s soul throughout her formative years, and now he was nothing but dust: the last pitiful link to the subjugated woman who had done as she was told to her own detriment, time and time again. For too long, the world had dictated who Ava could be and what she could become. Now, the shackles of the mind could snap, just as the shackles of the body had when she grew.

A smile played at the edges of her lips. Ava would come seeking answers, thinking this was her moment of clarity, but the truth was so much simpler: she was finally ready to listen.

Naomi reached for a nearby cup of tea, her fingers curling around the warmth as she brought it to her lips. The scent of herbs and something more medicinal filled the small space, grounding her. She had waited for this moment. She had prepared for it. Every moment, every whisper, every sermon—it had all been leading to this point: true apotheosis, at long last.

There had been moments, early on, when she had wondered if Ava would be strong enough. If she would accept the gift given to her, or if she would crumble beneath the mantle of power like so many others before her. But Ava was different. She had always been different. Naomi had known it the first time she discovered her—before the growth, before the power—back when she was just a girl clawing for control in a world that refused to give it to her. A kindred spirit. Naomi had given her what she herself had always craved, but could never have. She had delivered Ava from weakness, from doubt, from the expectations of lesser men.

The ground quaked harder, the vibrations rolling through Naomi’s body as Ava finally arrived. The stoic woman remained seated as the moonlight above was suddenly blotted out. Her tent quivered as Ava loomed overhead, the giantess’ presence suffocating without uttering a word. Naomi folded her hands in her lap, waiting with the quiet serenity of self-assurance.

The earth shifted beneath her as unseen gargantuan fingers gripped the tent. She expected the sturdy canvas to tear instantly like tissue paper, but it held. Ava could have ripped it apart in an instant, but this indicated she was being careful. Precise. Naomi’s surroundings widened, the candle flames sputtering out amid the sudden gusts of wind that had spawned. Then, with the softest motion something of her scale could allow, Ava lifted the tent free, unveiling the night sky and her own silhouette.

Naomi looked up at her, now completely exposed, sitting cross-legged in the dirt beneath the open sky. Ava's hostile presence loomed overhead, her face unreadable at this angle. She hadn’t needed to see her expression; her actions had already betrayed a restrained rage. She could have crushed Naomi with the slightest shift of her fingers, but she didn’t. She just held the tent, allowing Naomi to comprehend exactly how fragile her world was in comparison. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, Ava set the tent aside, placing it gently onto the ground. Although it was the woman she had come here to see, something else suddenly caught her eye.

An assortment of vials glinted dully in the glow of the camp’s flames– some intact, others cracked and spilled to varying extents from the sudden displacement of the tent. Their faint shimmer caught the firelight, with mysterious liquid inside glistening in shades that looked anything but natural. Ava's brow furrowed as she scanned the ground, recognizing their deliberate placement near where Naomi had been sitting. These weren’t just random supplies. These meant something; enough to keep away from the eyes of the camp and Ava herself. Naomi had seen her taking notice of the vials, but there wasn’t fear in her reaction. It was something that disturbed her even more: expectation.

A rustling from behind her made Ava turn. Its source was so slight that she was surprised she had even detected it. She had shifted on her feet without even thinking. From the shadows at the camp’s edge, a figure she hadn’t even noticed before had emerged—hesitant, but determined.

It was Hector.

"Ava!" His cry cut through the tension, urgent, but she barely spared him a glance.

The bespectacled man barely had time to react before the ground beneath him buckled. Ava’s reflexive step had come down uncomfortably close to him, its impact sending a shockwave through the dirt, knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, rolling onto his side as dust clouded around him. Anyone in the camp who had managed to sleep through the previous events was up now.

"Wait—just listen for a second!" he shouted through a string of coughs, struggling to find his footing in the disturbed earth. "I know you’re angry, but she still deserves a chance to explain. We need to hear her out before you—" he hesitated, searching for the right words, "—before you do something you can’t take back."

Ava never broke line of sight with her target. Whatever Hector had to say could wait. All that mattered was the self-righteous manipulator sitting calmly in the dirt, watching her as though nothing had changed at all. The entire camp had assembled by this point to watch, keeping a safe distance away from the confrontation. They had repurposed the floodlights left behind by the soldiers in the previous conflict, and began setting them up to point at Ava and illuminate her dark silhouette.

Hector staggered, still unsteady, glancing at Naomi, then back at Ava. His face was tense, his eyes darting between Ava above and Naomi below, then to the new audience that had formed nearby. He hadn’t expected this to come to a head so soon, but there was no backing down now.

"Ava," he began nervously, "I saw her with one of those vials on her before. I still don’t know what they are, but please promise me you’ll listen first. Please! She has the answers we need."

"Start talking," she growled at her new adversary in a voice sharp with warning.

Naomi smiled. Not in defiance, not in arrogance—just certainty.

"The fury you feel is a righteous one," she declared, her voice low and measured. "It’s understandable that you’re upset after what happened. Change is difficult for us all. No metamorphosis is possible without both struggle and pain, but you’re almost there."

Ava’s hands tightened into fists at her sides. The air in the space where the tent had once stood felt smaller with her standing there, the firelight casting shifting shadows over Naomi’s face.

Silence was a tool—a test. Ava could shatter it with rage, demands, accusations. But what Naomi wanted—what she was listening for—was something else. Understanding.

"You knew," Ava finally said, her voice heavy with accusation. "Ethan. What he said before he died—you knew."

A faint, pleased hum left Naomi’s lips. "And what exactly did he say?"

The head cultist wasn’t going to give her anything yet. She had to tease out how much Ava had figured out on her own first. Naomi had a wealth of experience analyzing Ava from afar—and she had observed enough of her behavior to know the pop idol was holding back for a reason.

"You tell me," Ava countered, stooping down closer.

Naomi chuckled, shaking her head as if she were dealing with a stubborn child.

"So defensive," she mused. "Is that what troubles you? That there are things you don't know? Things that were set in motion long before you realized?"

Ava’s teeth ground together. Naomi could see the shadow of doubt behind her rage, that creeping unease that had lingered since Ethan’s death. Doubt was good. Doubt meant she was listening. Naomi regarded her with a calculating glance, her poise only deepening Ava’s chagrin.

"You’re standing here, demanding answers, but tell me this, Ava Nova—" Her voice was almost gentle now, as though guiding her to something obvious. "Would knowing the truth really change anything?"

Ava’s fists clenched, the tension in her knuckles visible even in the dim light. She hated the way Naomi spoke—detached and deliberate, like she already knew how this would end.

"Stop talking in circles," Ava snapped. "Tell me what you did. I want straight talk for once."

Naomi exhaled softly, as if she were disappointed but not surprised. "Oh, Ava…" She stood, smoothing the fabric of her robe, taking her time. "You’re asking the wrong question."

Ava’s breathing intensified as her patience waned. "Then ask the right one for me."

Hector lingered in the background, shoulders tight as his eyes flicked between them; a timid bystander to the battle of wills taking place around him. He cleared his throat, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to say something—but thought better of it. He wasn’t foolish enough to interrupt again—not with the air between Ava and Naomi thick enough to suffocate.

Ava didn’t step back. Every muscle in her body coiled, waiting—aching—for Naomi to give her a reason to stop holding back. "Explain," Ava ordered, her voice low, edged with something dangerous. "Now."

Naomi tilted her head slightly, studying her. "Explain what?" she asked, her tone infuriatingly smooth. "That you were never alone in this? That none of this was an accident? That you were always meant to be more?"

Ava felt blood rush to her temples. "You’re not answering me."

Naomi exhaled with a snort, as if indulging an impatient child. Frustration broke people down, leaving them vulnerable to suggestion. Too close.

"You already know the answer, Ava. You’ve felt it in every moment, every step you’ve taken since you left that vacuous life of celebrity behind. You think you just became this by happenstance? That you simply grew into what you are?"

Ava’s breathing was hopelessly heavy now, her chest rising and falling with barely contained restraint. She wanted to crush something—someone. But Naomi was playing a game, and she knew if she gave in to her emotions, Naomi would only use them against her.

"I want specifics," Ava ground out. "What do you know about Ethan, about what’s happened to me? And what’s in those fucking vials?!"

Naomi’s poker face didn’t waver. "I gave you what you needed. What the world refused to let you have. The power to take what was always meant to be yours."

Ava’s jaw clenched, her angry expression accentuated by the floodlights. "Be clearer."

Naomi’s lips parted slightly, as if debating how much wisdom to dispense. Then, with the faintest smile, she said, "The vials, Ava. The food. The water. Every step of your transformation—I was there, guiding it as your shepherd. Your growth affords you power, but a power as raw as yours needs a guiding hand to ensure it’s used the right way. I have only fulfilled that role for you."

Ava’s head snapped toward the ground, her vision raking over the scattered remains of Naomi’s belongings once again. A puddle of liquid and miniscule glass fragments was all that remained of them, reflecting ominously in the firelight. She hadn’t meant to destroy the vials, but now she was sure she wouldn’t miss them.

Before the giantess could respond, Hector cleared his throat and spoke. "Ava," he said, a strong sense of urgency filling his voice. "I saw her. Before you got here. She was mixing something into the food. I—I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it wasn’t normal. And those vials—" He gestured toward the mess beside Naomi. "They were lined up, like she was measuring something out."

Ava’s eyes locked onto Naomi’s, searching for a reaction. Naomi simply smiled.

"You’ve always been so strong, Ava," Naomi said, tilting her chin slightly, as if admiring her. "But strength alone isn’t enough. The world was never going to let you be what you were meant to be. That’s why I made sure you had everything you needed. If all women supported each other so, there wouldn’t be a need for revolution."

Ava’s mind raced. The pieces were falling into place, clicking together in a way that made her stomach roil. "You… you drugged me," she said weakly.

Naomi’s eyes flickered with something almost indulgent. “Indeed I did, but you don’t need them anymore. Using chemical agents to keep you open to my message was a clumsy measure, I’ll admit, but in the beginning I couldn’t be sure. I know now that you won't hurt me.” The words were soft, but they struck like a hammer. “Not yet, at least. Because you know I was right about you.” She exhaled slowly, as if savoring the moment. “I freed you, Ava. And I gave you what you needed most— the opportunity for justice. Agency in a world that deprives us all of it.”

Ava could feel something dark and unspoken settling in the space between them. Naomi saw it, and for the first time, she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering just enough to sound almost intimate.

"I arranged it, Ava," she confessed. "The meeting at the old radio tower. I gave Ethan your location because I knew exactly what he would do. His greed, his arrogance—he thought he could still control you. That he could twist you back into what you were before. But I knew better. You emancipated yourself without me even being there to guide you directly."

Ava’s mind recoiled from the blunt force of Naomi’s words even as they burrowed deeper, threading through memories she couldn’t suppress. She revisited Ethan’s final moments in her mind’s eye—his fear, his pleading, the sickening realization that he still thought he had control. She had destroyed him. Hadn’t she?

"That’s not freedom," she snapped, her voice like a crack of thunder. "That’s manipulation! You played me. Just like Ethan did. Where's the justice in that?!"

"I believed in you," Naomi continued, passion creeping into her previously aloof tone. "I knew you would see him for what he was. I knew you would make him pay. And you did. You finally embraced your power, Ava. Took what was owed. You ended him! The physical embodiment of all that’s wrong with patriarchy. Now I know you have what it takes to liberate all women."

Ava could only watch in stunned silence as Naomi continued.

"In truth, I didn’t trick you, Ava. I simply led you to a situation where you had to make a difficult moral choice, and you did what needed to be done. Tell me—would you take it back? Would you undo it? No. Because you know the truth. You weren’t a victim tonight. You were a goddess."

Naomi finally turned her gaze to Hector, as if acknowledging him for the first time. "I gave Ava what no one else ever could. And look at her now. Does she seem weak to you? Does she seem like someone who regrets what I’ve made her?"

Ava’s breath came sharp through her nose. She could already see it—Naomi broken beneath her fingers, the satisfaction of silencing her forever. It would be so easy. One step. One movement. And yet… something held her back, a force just as strong as her rage, whispering that this wasn’t over yet. But a part of her held back. Not just the nagging whisper of doubt, but Hector’s voice, still ringing in her ears. We need to hear her out. If Naomi died now, there would be no more answers, no more truth to uncover. And that—that—would be foolish. She clenched her fists tighter, the restraint almost unbearable, but she forced herself to wait. To listen.

“You say you ‘made me’. Tell me everything about your role in my growth, Naomi– from the beginning, and I’ll consider letting you live.” Her words carried a steely resolve. She wasn’t bluffing, not this time. She was different now, just as Naomi had dreamed of. The robed woman’s eyes gleamed in the firelight, her expression calm, measured. She took a step forward, her sight never leaving Ava.

“Alright, Ava, if the whole truth matters this much to you, I suppose you’ve earned it. You used your power to kill Ethan, but you still have the restraint to not succumb to your hatred for me. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, my goddess. You’ve passed your final test.”

She let the words settle before continuing, her voice even, almost hypnotic.

“As you already know, years ago, I was an investigative journalist. The real kind, the kind who chased stories no one else dared to. One day, I received a once-in-a-lifetime tip—whispers about a classified research project, hidden behind black-budget funding and layers of official denial. It wasn’t a weapon… at least, not in the way you’d expect. It was something else no one would believe.”

Naomi exhaled slowly, as if physically unburdening herself of the secrets she’d held for so long.

They called it ‘Accelerated Cellular Expansion’—ACE. An experimental serum meant to rewrite the limits of the human body. By all accounts it was a breakthrough. Only the research wasn’t exactly clean– a brazen violation of bioethics, I might add. It was buried under heaps of failed trials, subjects who didn’t survive the process, and other whistleblowers like me who conveniently disappeared when they learned too much. It was the kind of story that would have cracked the world open, had it ever seen the cold light of day. The story that was meant to make my career, ironically, proved to be the first step toward its end.”

Her lips pressed together for a brief moment, as if she considered stopping. After looking around for a few seconds, observing Ava’s rapt attention, and that of the rest of the camp, she continued her revelations:

“And so I did what any real journalist would do—I gathered evidence. Then I went to the police. And do you know what happened? Surprise surprise! Nothing. No investigation. No questions. My report was cast aside, and my claims dismissed as nothing more than the ravings of a conspiracy theorist with a worthless degree. You see, the government didn’t have to kill the story, Ava. They could just rely on the fact that no one would believe it.”

Naomi’s voice remained steady, but something colder lurked beneath the surface.

“But I wasn’t stupid. I knew what would happen if I tried to keep pushing. So I did something they never expected. I took a piece of their work. I stole samples of the serum.”

She let the words hang between them before taking another deliberate step forward.

“Not because I wanted it for myself. No, I took it because I knew what it meant. This wasn’t just a drug for American soldiers to abuse for the purposes of dominating the world. It was potential. A revolution waiting to happen. You see, I wasn’t going to let the same people who built the world to serve themselves decide what type of person got to use it.”

Her gaze sharpened, voice dropping just slightly.

“But then, my career… ended. Not because of them. Not because of what I uncovered. It was because of something so much smaller, Ava. Pettier. I said ‘no’ to the wrong man, and just like that, I was out. The doors shut. The connections vanished. Everything I had built, everything I had fought for—gone. But the one thing they didn’t know to take from me?”

She smiled slightly.

“The serum. And the knowledge that it worked. It was all lost in the shuffle once politics came into play the whole project was mothballed, but it actually worked, Ava. Obviously.”

Naomi tilted her chin upward, gesturing to Ava’s towering body.

“For years, I studied women in power, looking for the right candidate to deify. ACE had been shuttered, but I had still kept its untapped power in my hands, and I wasn’t about to waste it. I wasn’t going to give it to the arrogant, the selfish, the undeserving. I was looking for someone worthy. Someone who understood what it meant to take by force of will what the world refused to give them. Do you know how many I discarded, Ava? How many people weren’t deemed worthy of this sacred duty?”

She took a moment to compose herself, careful as ever in her wording and intonation.

“And then, of course, I found you.”

Naomi took another step forward, the space between them thinning.

“I saw you, Ava Nova. The way the world tried to shrink you. The way it pushed you down and told you to be smaller, quieter, less. The way it does all women. I’m talking about way back before fame sunk its claws into you, when you were just little Ava Monroe. I saw the embers in you. Tiny flames waiting to ignite. It showed me you were capable. You didn’t just want power—you actually fucking deserved it.”

She sighed heavily, taking in the sight of Ava standing high above her— more reflective now than rageful.

“All this to say, I didn’t manipulate you. Not really. I didn’t force your hand. I gave you what no one else ever would, and you exceeded my expectations. You took control of your story within a week. You erased the man who tried to own you. You are everything I believed you could be.”

Naomi’s lips curved slightly, betraying the smallest ripple of nervousness amid the pool of serenity. Now to see if she could stick the landing.

“So tell me—knowing everything I did for you, knowing that I saw the truth of you when no one else did… Do you truly regret my gift?”

"Gift? You call this a gift?" Ava let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "You drugged me. You stole my choices and fed me lies. You turned me into something I never asked to be, and after all that, you think I should be grateful?

The words hit the air like a slap. Naomi’s face flickered, just for a second. Ava didn’t stop.
"Ethan thought he owned me. Thought he could mold me into what he wanted. And now I see—you did the same damn thing. The only difference? You were better at it. You claim to want a better future for women, but you’ve used me the same way men have."

"You still don’t understand, do you?" Naomi retorted, her mask of stoicism slipping for the briefest moment. “No man gave us power—I had to steal it. I held the truth in my hands. And do you know what I realized?"

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly.

"It didn’t matter. You can’t win a game that’s rigged by playing by the rules."

Ava’s eyes narrowed. “You still could’ve brought the serum samples you took to the media,” she shot back, “Proven everything. If you really cared about how fucked up this program was, you wouldn’t just sit on something so important just because you couldn’t make a name for yourself. You could have shown it to other people who give a shit and they could’ve done something.”

Naomi let out a soft, almost pitying chuckle.

"To who, Ava? The same people who dismissed me? The same people who turned me into a joke? You think I could have just walked into a newsroom, held up a vial, and they would’ve believed me?"

She took a slow step forward.

“I tried. I tried to give them the truth, and they spat in my face. If I gave them the serum, they wouldn’t have exposed it. They would have buried it. Or worse—they would have used it. It would only risk our best chance to even the odds ending up back in the hands of the same men who saw fit to weaponize it against the weak.”

Naomi’s lips curled slightly, her expression knowing.

“And tell me, Ava—do you think they would have given you that power?”

The words gutted her with conviction, but Naomi wasn’t done yet.

“No. They would have locked it away. Kept it for their own. Because they don’t give power to people like us. They don’t share it. They hoard it, they ration it, they hand out just enough to keep us desperate while they lounge on the throne. I saw that, and I made a choice. I wasn’t going to give it to them. I was going to give it to the woman who would save us all.”

Ava's muscles coiled like vipers, ready to strike, to end this conversation with the same finality with which she had ended Ethan Mercer.

And yet, she didn’t move.

A part of her—an infuriating, lingering voice in the back of her mind—was whispering that she needed to hear the rest. She wasn’t sure if it was doubt or something worse.

Naomi studied her carefully, waiting for Ava’s reaction to come. Suddenly, her eyes flitted to something beyond her, and the barest hint of a smile crossed her lips. It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t defiance. It was certainty.

Ava heard it before she saw it.

A distant, rhythmic sound—not the wind, not the crackle of the campfires. It was deeper. Heavier. A rolling tide of footsteps, uneven yet unmistakable, sweeping toward them in the darkness beyond the camp. Dawn was just beginning to break with sunrise right around the corner, but the distance remained mostly shrouded in darkness.

Ava’s brows furrowed. She turned her head, scanning past the makeshift tents and scattered structures of Naomi’s flock. A small group of anonymous figures stepped into the glow of the firelight.

Then another. And another.

A procession of people, slowly marching forward, their silhouettes stretching as far as the darkness would show. The trickle became a flood, and in the dancing orange glow, Ava saw what they carried—banners, flags, crude paintings of her face. Some bore crude signs, scrawled in desperate handwriting.

SHE FREED US.

AVA NOVA: OUR SAVIOR.

THE GODDESS WALKS AMONG US.

The very air had changed.

A ripple of gasps swept through Naomi’s camp as they were met with a sight that challenged all they had come to understand of their established order. Some turned, stepping back in awe. Others dropped to their knees, whispering prayers into the dirt.

Hector took a cautious step forward, his face going pale. "What the hell…"

Ava’s jaw dropped. This wasn’t just Naomi’s flock. These people had come from beyond the camp. Hundreds. Thousands. Their expressions varied—reverence, desperation, awe, purpose. Some were crying, some simply stood in silent worship: all eyes locked onto Ava with a devotion she had never asked for. This wasn’t just a handful of fanatics. It wasn’t just Naomi’s inner circle. This was a movement, and Naomi appeared to be drinking it all in.

"Did you really think we would be the only ones to witness your ascent?"

Ava’s blood ran cold.

The enigmatic woman spread her arms, her voice rising in quiet triumph.

"What more proof do you need? You changed the world, Ava!"

Another wave of people arrived, some dropping to the ground in prostration. The sea of muddled voices swelled into chants, low at first, then growing louder.

"AVA! AVA! AVA!"

The ground trembled—not from her steps, but from the deafening roar of thousands chanting her name. The sun slowly continued to rise, bathing Ava and the new arrivals in the break of day. She felt a wave of anxiety wash over her. No. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t who she was. Was it? The thought chilled her, deep in a way nothing had before. It wasn’t Naomi. It wasn’t the crowd. It was the part of her that liked this.

Naomi turned her attention back up to her, unshaken, unwavering. Her eyes cleaned as she shouted above the din of the growing multitudes:

“So tell me, goddess… did you miss drawing a crowd?”

Chapter End Notes:

(After eleven chapters, it's about time you all got some answers! Let me know what you think of the reveals in the reviews)

Larger Than Life by Neon

Chapter 1: The Anthill

Chapter 2: Shattered Spotlight

Chapter 3: Crash And Burn

Chapter 4: Ava Puts Her Foot Down

Chapter 5: Cult Of Personality

Chapter 6: The Protector's Dilemma

Chapter 7: Consumed

Chapter 8: Sanctuary Under Siege

Chapter 9: What Lies Beneath

Chapter 10: Strings Attached

Chapter 11: Revelations