Yesha wakes up with a big stretch, her hands and feet touching the opposite ends of the cave she calls home. Once this place was gigantic, now it is merely cozy, though with her troll blood it is only natural that such would happen. Yesha is in fact a half troll, the blood of humans and greater trolls flow in her veins. From her paternal side she took her appearance, a body that looks almost entirely human with a couple of exceptions: Her white short tusks protruding from her lower lips, her long sharp ears vaguely resembling those of elves, her yellow eyes, and her dark purple skin. Aside from that, her shape is entirely human, from her toes to her long black hair going down to her shoulders.

From her maternal side, she took everything else. Her body naturally developed powerful muscles without any effort on her side, flexing and bulging out with each of her movements, making her even more massive than she already is. Like any other troll, she will never stop growing, slowly over time, accelerating the process greatly if she manages to eat anything particularly powerful. Also like any troll, she heals extremely quickly, her skin is as tough as steel, and her stomach can digest virtually anything, even rocks and metal.

That alone would make her an extremely dangerous opponent, but normally trolls are dumb, ugly creatures that would barely be able to speak. She instead has the intelligence of a human, making her a far greater threat. Using her cleverness, she managed not only to survive alone for most of her life, but grow far beyond what any normal troll can even dream of. Slowly building up from the smallest monsters and weak humanoids to powerful heroes and deadly beasts, until she became a force to be reckoned with.

These days she stand at 357ft tall, religiously measured by her faithful goblin slaves each day as per her request. To the small 3 ft tall humanoids she looks even bigger, and a few goblins are regularly lost every few mornings when the measurement is taken, having to traverse their owner’s gigantic body while she stirs and turns around. The dumb horniness of her human father and the weird tastes of her troll mother created a truly dangerous creature. It is a shame Yesha never got to meet them: She was raised by a group of travelling halfling tricksters and thiefs, conning their way to their next meal and stealing what they could not get. They found her wondering the forest alone while merely a year old and barely taller than a human five year old. She learned to speak, and more importantly to think, thanks to them. If she did not have the sheer luck to stumble into them at that point of her life… Well a whole host of creatures would have survived far longer.

Fortunately for the world outside of her quiet valley, she has no grand ambitions of domination or conquest, her only interests are to satiate her hunger and her lust, and for the time being her valley provide for both. So she is content live her life in peaceful solitude among the familiar mountains and regions that she has claimed as her own. Well, peaceful for her at least, any monster of significant power has been long exterminated or devoured long ago, and the once powerful goblin tribes dominating the area have been reduced to her fearful servants, sending her hundreds of new toys and snacks each week for her to enjoy. It is a good thing goblins reproduce really fast, otherwise her appetites would have exhausted the valley’s resources years ago.

Truth be told, she has no need to eat meat to survive: The rapidly growing mushrooms that she had found and cultivated in her cave provide more than enough sustenance; She just really likes meat; no she loves it, especially if it is the thinking kind and very much still alive while it goes down her throat. She has grown long past the point where even powerful humanoids could give her any size boost, but the taste and pleasure of devouring them never went away.

And this morning is no different from the others. Yesha raises her back and sits down on the floor, covered in a thick pelt that she stitched together after hunting a whole herd of mammoths herself. To her left, the cave went further into the mountain, the passage shrinking in size. She once fit in most of the tunnels there, now only a handful can still contain her on her hands and knees. She keeps her mushroom farm in there, but she is in no mood for them at the moment.

Instead, she looks in front of her, where there is a raised platform, barely knee high to her. On top of it, the goblins sent to her for that week stand in silence. “Good morning, my cute little morsels” she says, her powerful voice echoing in the giant cave, a deep but feminine voice that could make even the bravest of men tremble. Her muscular arm extends forward and her fingers grasp a handful of the tiny green bodies. A few squish against her fingertips, blood splattering over her purple skin, but she pays it no mind, at her size handling such small things safely is difficult and not worth the effort when they will soon disappear into her throat.

She looks at the specks in the palm of her hand and smiles, feeling drool going down the corner of her mouth as her stomach rumbled. They are merely a light snack to her, each barely half an inch tall, a dozen easily fitting in the wide palm of her hand. Without warning, she tilts her hand over her open mouth and pours them in. Tiny screams reach her ears as the goblins fall into the dark cavern. Many directly tumble into her throat, swallowed whole and sent to her stomach alive and still squirming. A few fall onto her teeth, and are soon turned into a red paste when she closes her mouth, washed away right after by her saliva.The taste of goblin flesh fills her mouth once again with its spiciness and earthy tones; it is definitely an acquired taste, a far cry from other races, but she came to enjoy it over the years.

She pats her stomach, feeling the outline of her powerful abs with her fingers, then she grabs another handful, sending them down her throat right after. “Ahhh” she sighs, leaning back against the cave’s wall, feeling her belly filled with tiny struggling movements. What a wonderful addictive feeling, one that she will never stop being in love with. And as on clue, another kind of hunger awakes in her. Her hand trails down her abs to her pussy, dripping wet already. She always starts the day with a good orgasm, and she will not stop today.

Her fingers tease her lower lips, while her other hand grabs yet another handful of goblins and shoves them into her without hesitation. Many tiny bodies are simply squished against her rock hard skin and pussy lips, providing the briefest instant of stimulation to her eager cunt, but many others get inside, wonderfully squirming and wriggling against her inner walls, while they drown in her juices and trying to avoid her deadly fingers. “Fuck, you little shits always feel so good” she says, not expecting an answer from the trembling and rapidly reducing mass of goblins. They are terrified of her, and yet they stay still on the platform. Far too many have died under her soles or hands trying to escape, they know better.

But their terror only makes things better for the towering half troll, her breathing becomes deeper, her chest moving up and down as her heart hammers against her ribs. Warmth spreads through her body, as her orgasm builds up and up, her fingers digging deeper, her juices leaking onto the floor in drops big enough to drown a man. She can no longer feel squirming neither in her stomach nor in her pussy, and that is exactly the push she needs to go over the edge. “Fuck!” She shouts, her body trembling in pleasure, waves of bliss washing over he mind.

Her pussy quivers and pulses, reducing to mulch anything left in her and washing it away with her cum. Leaning back and recovering from her climax, she lifts her fingers and brings them to her mouth, eagerly sucking her own grool off of them. She always loved tasting herself, her pussy is almost as deadly a predator as her mouth, she lost count of how many people died in there, and yet every time it feel so incredibly good. She finally stands up, the roof of the cave getting closer and closer to her head every time she wakes up.

Smiling, she turns around and gets on her knees, crawling into her little tunnel system and recovering a large patch of mushrooms. She still needs a real meal after all. She slurps them up raw, not fearing any kind of poison, sure that her body can easily deal with anything, as it did many times in the past. Finally satisfied, she pats her belly and gets out of the cave.

At three hundred and a half feet tall, most of the trees around her are knee high at best, with a few at the heart of the forest reaching her waist and her shoulders. She can clearly see from her vantage point the paths she carved into the flourishing forest, with trees crushed and crumpled onto the ground, where her mighty feet landed. She tries to avoid damaging the place too much, but sometimes she indulges in a little extra destruction, just to feel the pleasant tingling it gives to her soles. Turning to the left, she walks to a big waterfall running down the cliff where her cave is.

She puts her hands under the flowing water and greedily drinks the crystal clear fresh liquid, then she steps forward going under the waterfall. Thousands of gallons of water flow down her body, washing her skin and cooling her down. “Ahhh” she sighs, stepping out, feeling refreshed. It is then that she spots a tiny figure running towards her. Strange, the little things usually run away. She squats down to get a closer look, finally recognizing the tiny as a goblin riding a wolf. She even knows that particular goblin, his name escapes her but he is one of her scouts, keeping an eye on her valley for her. He is moving so slowly though, like all tinies.

She steps forward, putting her giant wide feet just in front of him, the earth under her soles sinking a few feet down, leaving a perfect imprint of her foot behind. The goblin stops, his ride startled by her sudden step forward, threatening to throw the rider off. Fortunately, the goblin regains control. “Mistress!” He shouts with his squeaky voice, “Danger! From the west pass!” She can barely hear him, in fact it is only thanks to long years of training that she can understand the little things at all, their voices as feeble as their bodies.

Yesha raises an eyebrow. Danger is nearly unknown to her by this point, the last time she feared for her life was when she was still just a few years old. “Explain” she simply says, holding back the power of her voice in order not to scare the wolf and blow the goblin away.

“Dragon!” He shouts again, straining his lungs, “big one! Black!”

“A dragon?” Yesha says, suddenly very interested. A smile creeps upon her lips, saliva already accumulating in her mouth as she imagines her new prey sliding down her throat. “Where?” she asks.

The goblin simply points to the west, as he said. “Saw it flying over mountains. Went towards Old Bastard!” Old bastard? The name of one of the oldest trees in the valley, one of the very few that towers over her and sacred to the local goblin tribes for some reason she could not be bothered to learn.

“Thank you, you’ve done a good job. You’re from the Blackjaw tribe, correct?”

“Yes, mistress!” He says.

“Tell your boss he can skip the sacrifice this week. And that you’re to thank for it” Yesha says.

“T-Thank you, mistress!” The goblin says, excited, running off immediately.

The giant half troll stands up straight and starts walking towards the Old Bastard. Her steps sends tremors all around her, although the animals and goblins of the valley have learned to live with that by this point. Still, she does not often go to the very farthest west point of her dominion, which is where the Old Bastard is, which means she has to veer off into the virgin forest, which means carving a new path through the woods.

Her knees collide with tree trunks, splintering them in two or more pieces, while her feet bury the smaller ones under her soles, flattened to such a degree that one could make paper with them. Not even rocks are safe from her booming steps, as the weight of her colossal body causes them to crack and explode under her soles, tickling her thick skin just in the right way to elicit a giggle from the giantess. Once in a while, she even notices animals scrambling away, and goblins too. At some point, she crosses path with what must have been some kind of outpost, hidden beneath the trees. Her big toe hits the makeshift huts, erasing it from existence in the blink of an eye. A few goblins scramble to escape her passage, but a few unlucky ones go in the wrong direction, ending up under her other foot. The giant sole is merciless, reducing them to a thin red smear on the ground. Yesha barely feels them, which only makes it better for the giant half troll, reminding her just of how insanely big she has grown to be.

In twenty minutes, she arrives at her destination, having carved a bloody path through the forest. The Old Bastard stands before her, the tall thick trunk one of the few things left around that makes her feel small. She gently slaps the old tree, “Some day you’ll be too small for me too, looking forward to it, Old Bastard” she says, giggling.

Suddenly, a roar breaks the silence and a shadow appears at her feet. She looks up to see the dragon flying over her, high above. It is indeed a black dragon, and fairly big too, about the size of her foot, maybe a little more. A big and tasty meal for once. Feeling her mouth water already, Yesha looks around to find a big enough rock, giddy with excitement.

Finally, she spots a boulder in good shape. She picks up the twenty ton rock as if it was just a pebble, and aims at the flying dragon. Closing one eye, she brings her arm back and takes a deep breath and focuses on the big lizard in the sky. After a few excruciating moments, she hurls the boulder towards it. It flies high and fast. The beast sees the object coming towards it, and scrambles to dodge, roaring in fury.

“Who dares challenge me?” He shouts, his guttural growl making the skies quiver in fear, but certainly not the giant half troll. Luckily for Yesha, the arrogant beast is slightly too slow and the rock hits its rear, opening a huge gash in its armored leg and making it fall down towards the ground. A few moments later, a huge boom could be heard. Yesha rushes forward towards the dragon, finding it collapsed against a tree the size of her knees. The beast shakes its head and roars again at her, but its wings are tangled in the branches of the tree, it cannot escape.

“How dare you? Injure me with a rock? You filthy creature born from mud and filth! I am a black dragon! You will pay for attacking me. Now suffer my wrath!” it shouts, boiling with anger. It opens its mouth and releases its deadly breath. A cloud of black poison spreads through the clearing, turning the grass white and making every brush and tree in the way whither and die in seconds.

The deadly cloud reaches the towering giant and for the first time in a long while Yesha feels pain. The skin of her legs start itching like crazy as if a thousands tiny creatures bit her simultaneously and somehow managed to pierce her skin, while her huge muscular calves are tense and contracted by the poison, feeling hard as rock. Unfortunately for the dragon, the crazy regenerative abilities of trolls make quick work if its deadly breath. As soon as the cloud disperses, her skin quickly heals and recovers, returning to normality in less time than it took the cloud to cause harm.

“I’m sorry, little lizard” Yesha says, “if you were a red or green dragon you might have done some actual damage, though not much more than that, if it makes you feel better.” She takes a few steps forward, seeing the powerful creature squirm in fear before her. Gods, she could not get enough of that look of utter defeat. Her body warms up, a familiar tingling in her pussy makes itself known as she places her foot over the dragon’s body, feeling its ribs creak and groan under the weight of her appendage.

The monster snaps its jaws against the giant toes, but all it manages to do is tickle her slightly, its teeth not even piercing through her skin. The dragon is silent now, but its red eyes boil with powerless rage and desperation. “No last words? You were all so high and mighty a moment ago, now you are all sad ‘cause I got my foot on your face?” Yesha says, her grin growing wider. She bends down and grabs the dragon by its thick neck, finally removing her foot. She lifts it up as if it weighted nothing, her huge biceps bulging out with power. “Pity, you had a cute voice. Oh well, you can always scream while you’re in my belly, that would feel nice” she says, opening her own maw.

“Wait! You filthy creature, what do you think you are doing?” It finally says, shaking and squirming in her hands, roaring powerlessly to the sky, raging against the inevitable.

“What a big gal like me likes to do with small things like you” Yesha says, saliva accumulating in her mouth. She brings the dragon’s head into her mouth and her teeth clamped down. The beast has no chance to resist, her teeth plow through its scales and bones as if they were made of paper, and its head tumbles into her mouth. “Oh wow, what an interesting taste!” She says, feeling her whole mouth on fire, the poison of the dragon acting as a very powerful spice. It is a bit strong at first, but the aftertaste is surprisingly pleasant: Sweet and delicate.

So she continues to devour the dragon, one bite at a time, black blood oozing down her mouth, bones and scales snapping against her teeth, flesh getting caught onto her tusks, as she drinks enough poison to kill an entire city and then some. Her body has no trouble dealing with it, in fact by the end of her meal she has fallen in love with the wonderful spiciness of its meat. “Ahh!” She sighs satisfied, looking down at her belly protruding from her once perfectly flat abdomen.

It is rare for her to feel full, once she reached a good size she started to slow down and pace her meals otherwise she would hit the limits of what her wonderful valley could provide. Another perk of her cunning human side, a troll her size would have stripped miles of territory clean and starved itself to death years ago. Still, once in a while, she is eager to indulge, it is her troll blood’s call.

She lays down, feeling quite tired after such a big meal. Soon enough, she falls into a peaceful and quiet sleep, her giant body relaxing in the placid sun of the late morning, warming up her tough skin. And as she hoped, her metabolism is sent into overdrive. The flesh of the strong fuels her growth, adding whole feet in mere hours where it would have taken her years to grown that much naturally. Her belly shrinks, returning flat by the time she wakes up, feeling refreshed as ever.

This is exactly how she managed to grow to such insane size. Ever since she could think, she sought stronger and stronger enemies, carefully selecting her prey so that her growth was as steady and as safe as possible. First it was wolves, then bears, then giant spiders, then goblins, then gnolls, manticores, adventurers, all the way up to dragons and legendary heroes, among the very few that could still provide her a size boost. B

y the time she wakes up, she has gained almost twenty feet of height, bringing her close to 380 feet. At her staggering size, it is not immediately obvious to her how much she has grown, if at all, but someone as obsessed with size as she is quickly picks up how her feet no longer quite fit her old footprints on the ground, or how the trees appear a little shorter still. She sighs, a shiver going down her spine. There is no better feeling than to feel her body growing even more powerful. The hedonistic half troll caresses her muscular body, feeling the barely contained strength of her flesh under her fingers, loving every second of it.

A moan escapes her lips, as she gets into a frenzy of self love and lust. She looks around for a moment, and picks up a long oblong boulder laying nearby. Quickly sucking on it for a moment, she brings it down and plunges into her pussy, already leaking on the ground, mixing in with the black ichor that is, or was, the dragon’s blood. “Fuck!” she screams, birds suddenly lifting off every tree in a mile flying away, scared by her sudden burst, while pleasure envelops her. Yesha pushes the improvised toy into herself, moaning and shivering, her feet digging into the earth and cracking the upper layers, while her ass lifts off the ground only to come down again with a thunderous boom, as she starts thrusting her hips into the air.

Her self love session keeps going and going, blissful release coming closer as pressure builds up in her groin. A lake forms around her crotch, almost a foot deep, while the power of her movements causes a nearby tree to collapse. Her skin glistens with sweat, each drop as big as a pumpkin, her body hot enough to feel painful to the touch. Her body shudders and an animalistic grunt escapes her throat as she finally goes over the edge. Her muscles bulge out while waves of pleasure take over every cell of her mighty body.

Her pussy clenches against the boulder, cracking and crumbling it into a thousand pieces, that get washed away with her cum, flooding the whole area between her legs. “Gods!” She shouts, finally satisfied and exhausted, as she relaxes again against the ground. After taking a minute to recover her breath, she stands up, admiring how her body distorted the earth under her. Her heels dug deep trenches, while her ass left a sizeable imprint in the ground, which will certainly become a big pond next time it rains.

Feeling dirty, she turns towards the Old Bastard and walks a bit further. A lake is there, barely a pond to her but more than enough to wash herself. She dips her feet into the crystal clear water, which immediately turns darker as the mud and debris stuck to her sole and toes is washed away. She sits down slowly, so that she does not flood the whole area. With her ass touching the bottom, the water reaches the underside of her boobs, while her body occupied a good third of its total surface, her legs stretching almost to the center. She submerges her head, rubbing her hair to get every bit of debris out. Her hair always collects a ton of branches whenever she walks through the forest, it is such a hassle to get it all out.

“No! What are you doing!” Suddenly a female voice screams. Yesha takes her head out of the water and looks around, finally spotting a naiad rising from the center of the lake. The water spirit has the appearance of a young beautiful woman, only her flesh seems to be made entirely of water. She is no bigger than a human, however, puny as the rest of them.

“Washing myself, obviously” Yesha says. She did not know such a spirit has taken residence in her valley. She’ll have to have a word with her goblin scouts.

“You’re polluting my beautiful lake! Corrupting it with your flesh and your vile spirit!” The naiad shouts, her anger makes the water move, creating angry waves crashing against Yesha’s body.

“Listen, tiny… I had a wonderful day today, so I am in a merciful mood” Yesha says, extending her arm until she could grab the tiny spirit. Caught by surprise, the naiad finds herself trapped in between fingers the size of trees. “Now, be a good little spirit and leave me alone.” Yesha looks down, noticing how indeed the once pristine lake is now muddy, dark, and suffering, filled with mud, her cum, her sweat, and the dragons’ poisonous blood. “Sorry for the pond, or whatever” Yesha says, more annoyed than apologetic.

“Sorry is not enough!” The naiad screams, still brave and defiant even in between her fingers.

Yesha rolls her eyes, “oh, I’ll find some more water if that will get you to shut up!” With that she lets the naiad go, she falls for fifty feet before hitting the water. Yesha stands up, untold gallons of water rolling down her skin. There is a small river feeding the lake, it comes from the mountain nearby. The half troll takes a few steps towards the river’s source, leaving deep wet footprints behind. She studies the rocky surface until she finds where the water comes out from. Closing her fist, she tenses up her muscles and releases her strength.A loud explosion breaks the silence in the valley, it can be heard all over. The rock explodes around her fist, sending debris everywhere. Yesha barely feels any pain at all, by the time she retracts her hand and swings again her skin is already fully healed. Ironically, her own strength is among the few things that can actually hurt her. Another mighty fist carves a deeper hole into the mountain, and that is enough.

Yesha feels her fingers getting wet, more and more water leaks out, enlarging the small river until it is her foot’s width. The fresh water quickly reaches the lake, and carves a new outgoing river, rolling down towards the forest. By the time Yesha is back at the lake, the water there already looks cleaner. The spirit resurfaces, looking around speechless.

“T-Thank you” the naiad finally says, amazed by the actions of the giant half troll.

“You’re welcome! Though don’t think you’re getting away with your little temper tantrum” Yesha says, squatting down so that her giant body looms over the small spirit even more, her wide grin showing off her teeth. “I think I’ll use this pond more often from now on. Keep it nice and clean for me, all right?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaves, her footsteps again filling up the valley with the very familiar boom every inhabitant has grown accustomed to.

A lingering thought remains in her head, while she watches the horizon before her, the light of the early afternoon warming up her skin: What made that dragon come here? It was an adult dragon, if she is not mistaken, although a relatively young one, still not a pup looking for land to settle. Something must have pushed it away. And that something might be strong enough to give her a few more feet of height. A smile appears on her lips. It has been far too long since she left her wonderful valley. It is time to take a little trip outside.

The grand city of Nabelle dominates much of the Escathi plains. It is one of the biggest cities in all of the fae kingdom of the Setting Sun, the most powerful Elven nation in the continent. Nabelle also hosts the famous imperial academy of arcane crafts, its most famous institution. A hundred thousand elves find their home here, plus a few thousands inhabitants of other races such as humans and dwarves. Its beautiful architecture is dominated by slender tall buildings and spires, white as the popular local marble. Two rings of walls surround the city: The outer walls, fifty feet tall, running a circle around the city until they meet the bay where the docks are located; and the inner walls, eighty feet tall, protecting the academy, the city council, and a few more crucial buildings, as well as the main citadel.

The land around the city is filled with prosperous farms and small satellite communities and villages. Wide roads cross the country side, connecting Nabelle to the rest of the empire and the neighboring nations, merchant caravans constantly passing through them at virtually every hour of the day.

That particular day is a fairly special one for Edraele, the arch-magister of the academy and one of the most important political figures in the kingdom of the Setting Sun. The tall mature woman is walking down the luxurious hallways of the academy, towards the city council, where an important diplomatic meeting is about to take place. Animosity with the Atlassean empire, the neighboring human nation, is rising once again: The Elf nobles are eager to humble their human rivals after the last war ended in a shameful white peace, and now they found an excuse after a minor skirmish at the borders. And as usual it is up to Edraele to cool the hotheads.

The blonde elf walks quickly, her blue eyes so cold and determined they freeze the blood of any elf unfortunate enough to cross her path. Wearing a regal flowing white dress and a silver tiara, she is a stunning sight, but anyone that knows anything about her steers clear: Her magical power is matched only by her temper, and she really does not like to deal with nobles.

The upper city is built on top of a hill, allowing a full and unobstructed view of the whole city. Edraele takes one last long gaze into the horizon before having to leave for the hours long meeting, when she spots something peculiar: A group of five scouts rushing towards the gates. Using her arcane gaze, she sees the proud warriors are battered, bruised, and exhausted, their horses foaming at the mouth from the extended ride, ready to collapse. They are coming from the west, but to her knowledge there is nothing in that direction but a bunch of small goblin tribes, surely no threat dangerous enough to warrant such a response.

She looks behind her, the majestic building of the city council towering over her, while elf and human nobles mingle outside its beautifully carved doors. They will have to wait. The Elven mage whispers an incantation, and a disc of blue light appears under her sandals, lifting her into the air and floating her towards the main gate.

In merely a minute she crosses most of the city and gets to her goal. There, the exhausted scouts finally arrive, the horses collapsing to the ground almost immediately, followed by the scouts themselves. A few mages rush in to heal them, while the captain of the guard, a tall muscular male elf in full armor, stomps his way towards them, demanding answers. It is only when he notices the arch-magister that he slows down and bows.

“Sir! Lady!” One of the scouts says, a short young female elf, “a monster is coming to the city, from the west, from the Lost Valley.”
“The Lost valley?” Edraele says, raising an eyebrow, “You mean that black dragon we chased away a few weeks ago? He was spotted going in that direction.”
“No, my lady! I… I’m not sure how to say this without sounding insane, but it’s a troll, a greater troll, or whatever is above a greater troll.”

“A troll? All this fuss for a stinking troll? What is it going to do? Throw feces at the walls?” The captain says, laughing in the scout’s face.
“You don’t understand, sir. This is no ordinary troll! She’s as big as a mountain! A dragon would look puny compared to her!”
“Her? How do you know it is female?” Edraele asks, suddenly very intrigued.
“Well, she is…”

Her words are interrupted by a low rumbling in the distance, like a thunder without a storm. Then another right after. And another, at a very steady rhythm.
“What in Alia’s tits is this?” The captain says, looking at the horizon.
“S-She’s here!” The scout screams, somehow finding the strength to stand up and run away, in the opposite direction.

Edraele rolls her eyes, watching the cowardly scout run away, then her gaze goes back to the horizon too. The thunder is coming from somewhere behind the twin hills to the west of the city. There she appears: A colossal being walking through the two hills, far taller than the trees around her. Edraele finally understands why the scouts called her a she, it is clear this creature is not a full bloodied troll. How could such an abomination even exists escapes the magister’s mind, refusing to entertain the idea of such filth living in the same world as the noble Elven people.

And yet, her thundering steps give the mage pause. Filth or not, she poses an immense threat to the city.
“This must be a trick! The humans conjured some kind of illusion!” The captain says, taking a step back, his jaw hanging open.
“I am afraid there is no magical explanation for this, captain” Edraele says. Taking a deep breath, she whispers an arcane word and an elegant tall staff appears in her hands, white with a blue stone at the top. She stabs the staff into the earth and begins chanting. Powerful arcane leylines awaken all around her, blue light flooding the streets of the city as a massive and old spell is activated to protect the city.

“Brothers and sisters, I call to you” the arch-magisters says telepathically to all the mages of the city, “join your might with mine, let Aegis protect us from this foul threat.” Merely moments later, she can feel the spell’s power growing tenfold, as more and more mages offer their mana.
The central plaza is bathed in blue light, the very air vibrating with arcane power. From the very center of it, a pillar of blue light rises up into the sky, forming a mushroom top that slowly expands to create a dome over the entire city.

With the spell active, the arch-magister removes her staff from the ground. “Prepare your men, captain. We will stop her before she reaches the city. Use your knights to delay and bait her, buy yourself enough time to set up our ballistas.”

The captain looks at her with his eyes wide open, but the intense gaze of the supreme sorceress knocks back some fight into him. He takes a deep breath and nods. “It will be done, arch-magister” he says, before starting to shout orders to his men, loudly enough that even the upper city could hear him.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Yesha cannot believe her eyes. When did the tinies build all of this? Just a few steps outside of her valley she already saw five villages and roads everywhere. How long has she remained in her little valley? They long years of peaceful life blur together in her mind, with little changing but her own size over time. She always thought she was still relatively young judging by her own appearance, but maybe it is not quite the case. None knows how long troll live after all, or if they even age, and for Yesha it very much seems like they do not; her human blood may put a limit to her own lifespan, eventually, but if she does have such a limit, she does not feel anywhere close to it just yet.

Her wide powerful feet stomp forward, crushing virgin lands under her soles. Outside of her valley, the vegetation seems different, more colorful compared to the almost uniform green of her home, making the landscape around her now seem almost painted. Patches of beautiful pink and orange trees in particular attract her gaze. She even bends down to pick one up, and seeing some fruits on it decides to throw the whole thing into her mouth. The palm sized tree is reduced to mulch in moments under her teeth, and disappears a second later into her throat. “Oh! That is very sweet!” Yesha says, surprised that wood could even have such a flavor.

As soon as she crosses between two big hills, she finally sees the big city. Yesha stops in her tracks, amazed by the sight. It is huge! It would take her a full minute to walk from one side to the other! So many pretty little buildings, looking so delicate and fragile. Why would they build them so tall and thin? It is as if the are asking for something to happen to them.

It is not the first time Yesha sees a big city: In her time with the halfings, she visited a big human one, but it was a brief stop, and her perspective was very different, barely taller than a human, if even that. But this one is a far cry from those few scattered images in her memory! Yesha quickens her pace, excited to be able to play with such a big toy that day. It has been so long since she has tasted elven flesh too, the arrogant little things have an amazing taste!

Her feet step forward, crushing a wide road under her heels, cracking the stone surface and turning it into something resembling swiss cheese. With feet deep craters, the road is completely unusable after her passage, but the towering half troll does not even notice the destruction happening below her, her eyes firmly on the city.

As she gets closer, a dome of blue energy grows from above the city to encapsulate it all. Yesha stops to admire it, amazed that those tiny little things could create something taller than her. The apex of the dome is probably twice as tall as she is, and wide enough to cover the whole metropolis. Any other invader would be intimidated by such a grand display of arcane mastery, but Yesha is not, her only thought is wondering how long it can resist her, waging bets with herself on the results.

Before she can reach the city, the gates open and a hundred knights pour out, encased in shining white steel armor, gleaming under the sun, their long lances bearing down towards her, their powerful war horses making the very earth tremble under their four hundred hooves.
Raising an eyebrow, Yesha continues her approach, eyeing the army with curiosity. What do they think they can do with those toothpicks? Poke her to death? No, these little toys are probably meant to delay her before they can set up the big toys. Surely, this is not everything they have, Yesha has not exactly been subtle in her approach, they had plenty of time to prepare.

A couple of steps away from her, the cavalry splits into two groups, diverging from her direct path to attack her flanks in a pincer maneuver. Yesha continues straight, not really interested in the display of martial prowess. Still, the little knights manage to surprise her and gather her attention, when the two formations suddenly yell in unison, and their lances burst into white flames. The knights pick up their pace, their weapons trained against her ankles, the flames stretching far behind them.

Yesha stops, feeling her body freeze for a moment. One of the few weaknesses given to her by her troll blood. Fires slows down her regeneration, making it a lot more effective than common weapons, but the real trouble is the psychological effect. Trolls’ fear of fire is within their very blood, and that same ancestral fear makes even the towering half troll stops in her track for a moment.
Fortunately, she is not a full troll. Her human side quickly overcomes that fear, replacing it with anger, anger at herself for letting those tiny little things scare her even for a moment.

“You should not play with fire, little things” she says, raising her fifty foot long left foot, “you’ll get hurt.” her voice thunders in the skies, overpowering the cacophony of the cavalry charge, but her tone is cold and controlled, almost too rational for such a huge monster.

Her foot comes down before the left group. Two dozen knights immediately disappears under her sole, turned into a red paste and metallic scraps. The force of her stomp makes her foot sink into the ground, creating a deep imprint, with wide cracks creeping out of it, swallowing a few more horses in the dark chasms. But the ones not directly into her foot’s way are far from safe: The shockwave sends everyone around her foot flying, some going as far as thirty feet into the air, armored horse and knight both. With that single stomp, the entire left group’s charge is effectively nullified. The twenty or so knights still unharmed scatter and retreat.

The other group, however, manages to reach her. Their lances impact against her foot and ankle, penetrating her skin and searing her flesh. Still, her foot does not move an inch, her immense weight far to great for them to even budge, causing the full force of their own charge to bounce back against them. Lances break, knights are unsaddled and sent dozens of feet back, hitting their own comrades and even ending up impaled on their lances. Their force is broken by their own doomed charge, bodies piling against her foot in a mass of metal and broken bones, while the towering half-troll is still busy looking the other way.

The pain does get her attention, however. Even if the lances are barely the size of a splinter to her, the fire engulfing them hurts. She looks down, seeing the mess that the knights have become, and without even thinking lifts up her injured foot and stomps down. The might of her foot erases almost the entire company from existence, those that manage to survive do so only because they avoided her foot entirely to begin with, skirting around the edges of the formation.

The sensation of those tiny bodies breaking under her is almost enough to make her forget the stinging sensations of those fire lances piercing her thick skin. She rubs her foot with her hand, putting out the tiny fires in one motion. With the flames out, her body quickly regenerates, the lances are pushed out of her flesh and fall harmlessly to the ground, while her skin returns to her immaculate purple color. In but a few seconds, all that remains of the elves’ assault is a few scorch marks, little more than scar tissue that will disappear in a day or two.

Yesha sighs, amused and a little impressed that the little knights managed to get such a reaction from her. This might turn out to be a fun challenge after all! It has been a while since she had a proper fight. Not that she dislikes her strength and power, far from it, but every once in a while she does miss the adrenaline of fighting for her life when she was smaller.

Looking in front of her again, she sees another formation coming out of the city. Another cavalry unit, bigger in numbers, maybe two hundred strong, with smaller and less armored horses, the riders wearing leather armor and wielding bows that look far too big for the slender delicate elves.
Yesha smiles. Surely, they do not expect arrows to win where lances have failed.

The riders seem to think differently. They move forward at surprising speed, seemingly not intimidated by the fate of their comrades or the thundering steps of the giant, confident that their agility will keep them out of harm’s way. With another shout, their arrows are aflame much like the knights’ lances, and the horse arches release their deadly volley. Yesha is prepared this time, however, and the wall of fire coming her way is not nearly as effective as the first surprise attack. She brings her right arm towards her left hip and quickly moves it upward, as if to slap the whole flock of arrows away like gnats.

The wind created by her movement scatters most of the arrows, sending them all over the forest behind her, and snuffing out the flames of pretty much all of them. A few dozens still ht her arm and legs, but they bounce off harmlessly, not even piercing her skin.
“My turn!” Yesha says, a grin creeping up her lips. She lowers herself down and starts running.

If her steps before could be heard all over the plains, now they are akin to an earthquake. Her feet ding into the ground, leaving craters behind big enough to nest several houses in them, the earth scarred by her sprint so deeply that it may never fully heal.

The formation simply panics, their confidence broken and buried in merely a minute. Any semblance of discipline is thrown away, every elf for themselves. But it is far too late. Yesha reaches them far sooner than anyone could have predicted, appalled that something that large could move so quickly. The once tight formation now covers a wide area, fleeing in almost every direction but the half-troll own.

Yesha watches delighted how simply her running has sent the arrogant little things into complete disarray. A guttural laugh escapes her throat, as she jumps into the air and simply lets herself fall over the entire group.
The impact makes the very earth tremble. Every building in the city shivers, dust falling down onto the elves below as the shockwave travels through Nabelle. An explosion of untold power annihilates everything in the vicinity of the colossal half-troll, wiping out the two hundred elves in the blink of an eye. “Eheh, how clumsy of me” Yesha says, slowly standing up again, admiring the clear imprint of her body etched into the land, her breasts leaving two particularly large craters.

But the elves are far from done. Now that Yesha is merely a dozen steps away from the walls, a new weapon makes it appearance. Firing from behind the magical barrier, thirty mighty ballistas start firing bolts half the size of Yesha’s fingers at her. The bolts fire straight at her, hitting her legs, abdomen, and arm raised just in time to protect her face. The combined power of the bolts is enough to make the giant stop and take a step back.

A few of the bolts hit her at an odd angle, glancing off harmlessly, a few more only barely pierce her skin, falling off almost immediately, the wounds they caused closing up right behind them. A few however strike true, penetrating her flesh deeply. The bolts them shiver with arcane power, turning white hot in mere moments, hot enough to melt metal. Yesha grunts her teeth, feeling her flesh being seared and cooked. For the first time in a long while she feels genuine pain.

But what the elves on the walls do not expect, is to see her lower her arm and reveal the large smile she is wearing on her face. Her eyes glow with excitement, even while her teeth grind against each other to suppress the pain. “Oh, you should not have done that” she says, not as a threat but as a mere statement, because now the puny elves have piqued her interest, and that means there will be not much left of the city once she is done. Such a good toy must be enjoyed to the fullest.

“Ahahah!” The half troll laughs, as she pulls the bolts out of herself, the blackened wounds slowly closing, oozing a few drops of thick blood. For the first time in who knows how long, Yesha has spilled some blood, the metallic smell sending her into a feverish frenzy.
“Do your worst!” She shouts, her voice booming all over the plains. Then she charges forward, right for the main gate.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

“W-What is she doing?” The panicking captain of the guard says, watching as the giant half-troll charges the fortified gate where he is standing. “Your shield will stop her, right?” The big burly elf looks at Edraele who stands beside him, desperate for reassurance, but the arch-magister is a stone wall, not letting any emotion show on her face. “It will” she simply says, refusing to even acknowledge the possibility that the pinnacle of elven magic could submit to such a savage beast.

The ballista crews are desperately working around them to reload the mighty machines. Housed in the many towers along the defensive wall, each is nearly as big as a house, standing several times taller and longer than an elf. Each is equipped with two massive wheels that several men run in to crank the giant arms of the ballistas, one step at a time, while the massive bolts are loaded in and enchanted by mages before being fired. They are mighty war machines created to take down dragons, the pinnacle of elven martial engineering.

Another volley is ready just as the troll is a few steps away from the city walls. The war machines release their bolts with with loud cracks and clangs of wood and iron, filling the giant body of the monster with deadly hot metal. A good chunk strikes true and buries itself into the troll’s flesh, but despite the evident pain that causes her, she barely slows down, if anything growing more excited. Her front is peppered with a dozen bolts, half buried in her flesh, her mighty muscles bulging and straining around them. A few pop out of their own, shaken out by the immense weight of her muscles propelling her forward in her savage charge, others burn and sear her flesh, leaving blackened wounds all over her body.
Still, she does not slow down, and even the arch-magister’s collected and cold demeanor starts to crack.

Finally, Yesha’s body hits the barrier. Giant arcs of magical lightning whip her body, causing black smoke to rise from her skin, as a roar of pain erupts from the giantess’ mouth, forcing everyone on the walls to drop to the knees and press their hands against their ears.
The barrier flickers for a moment, barely able to contain the half-troll’s momentum, but it holds. Edraele grunts in pain as she feels her own mana being drained to recharge the barrier. Several mages in the city simply drop unconscious or even dead, drained to the last drop of their power.

But the troll is not done, if anything, her maddened eyes are more alive than ever. Her battered body seems to be barely slowed down by the wounds they have inflicted on her. Instead, she recovers from the impact and raises her fists, releasing them against the thin veil of arcane protection.
The blows are almost as loud as her initial charge, her hands hitting the barrier every few seconds, more lightning hitting her skin, her fingers black and trembling, her skin completely burnt to a crisp.

But the barrier is failing. Large cracks start appearing where her fists hit. Each time, more mages collapse, each time fewer and fewer remain to supply the barrier with more power. The arch-magister watches as her masterpiece crumbles before her, overpowered by sheer physical might and utter brutality. A lone bead of cold seat goes down her forehead, as she finally pulls herself out of the spell, leaving the remaining mages to bear the burden by themselves, dooming them to go down with the barrier.

This close to the walls, the ballistas cannot shoot. Only two still fire, those in the main gate towers themselves, but their attempts seem so futile before the sheer destructive power of the barrier, which is falling apart before them.

And finally, it breaks. Cracks grow all over the thin surface, and then it simply explodes, releasing the remaining mana all over the city and beyond. Arcane arcs of lightning hammer Nabelle, setting buildings on fire, sinking ships in the harbor, and killing mages, soldiers and civilians alike.
Even Yesha is not immune, the power cursing through her body forces her to fall onto one of her knees, her blackened hands gripping her own thighs, her teeth creaking under the immense pressure as she grits her teeth to deal with the pain.

But a few moments later, she finally stands up again. Her insane regenerative abilities quickly get to work. The bolts still in her flesh are by now cold, and are being pushed out of her body by her healing flesh; and with no more lightning hitting her, even her hands can heal.
“Ahahah! her insane laugh breaks the silence that had fallen all over the city after the barrier’s collapse. The few brave hearts still remaining simply break hearing that deep, savage laugh. The monster has not been stopped, it has barely been slowed down.

“I must admit, that was impressive” She says, inspecting her bruised body, “it has been a long while since I felt this much pain.” She takes a drop of her blood with a fingers of hers and brings it to her mouth, licking it up. “Thank you, this was an an expected treat. But regenerating this much damage takes a lot of energy” she says, looking at the city, while a new noise spreads another wave of terror through the city: Her stomach grumbling.

“But d me a favor and keep fighting back, ok? I’m sure this is not the last of your tricks” she says, as she takes a step forward, finally standing in front of the main gates.
The fifty foot tall walls look absolutely pathetic in front of her enormous 380 foot tall body, barely reaching halfway up her shins, with the mighty towers standing guard beside the gate almost reaching her knees. It is not even an obstacle for the giantess. The giantess raises her foot and brings it down on top of the main gate.

“Gods protect your chosen” the captain says, looking up as the shadow of the giant foot covers everything in sight. “Magister, please stop her!” He shouts, turning around, only to see a faint blue glimmer beside him. He has barely the time to curse the sorceress, before the foot comes down and obliterates him together with the gate and a few houses beyond the walls too.

Yesha does not even put a lot of power in her stomp, simply stepping over the structure and letting her immense weight flatten it all. In mere moments, the proud gate is reduced to rubble, only fit to provide a pleasant massage to her sole. She grinds her foot a bit, just for good measure, making sure there is not a trace left.

Yesha looks before her satisfied. The streets of the city before her are filled with panicking elves, soldiers run away from their position, a few even throwing themselves off the walls in an attempt to escape the doomed city. Their will has been broken, their power crippled, and all they have accomplished is giving her a few scars that will disappear within a few weeks.
The half-troll bites her lips, feeling the wonderful sensation of sheer power washing over her, unconsciously grinding her foot some more, feeling the debris turning into a fine powder. Yesha takes a deep breath down, trying to calm herself, but her naked body tells another story: Now that the adrenaline of the fight is finally going down, her arousal is growing exponentially.

During the fight, she let her instincts act, a euphoric display power that she rarely gets to display or experience, but now she can no longer ignore her depraved and cruel thirst.
She takes another deep breath, a plan formulating in her mind. To give them a bit of hope, she will give the elves an offer: Peace for tribute. The arrogant little things will never accept, assuming there is anyone in charge left that could even negotiate with her, but snuffing out hope once given is so much sweeter than destroying a city already gripped with resignation.

“Now that you understand the situation, I have an offer for you all” the giantess says, putting her hand son her hips, “I do not ask much: Send me tribute each week, fifty elves plus a ton or two of food. Do that, and I will leave your city alone. If not, I will simply take my due right here and now. What do you say?”

The reply soon comes, in the form of a giant sphere of pure fire hitting her stomach.

Edraele reappears just outside the citadel, the grand fortress standing at the center of the city. Its thick walls look a little out of place among the slender and delicate structures around it, but it still has a certain elegance to it, with its clean white stone exterior and the well decorated interiors. Two guards stand before the entrance, bracing their weapons against the blue mist that anticipated her arrival.

“Magister!” One of the two says, “W-What is happening out there?”
Edraele rolls her eyes and walks past them, she has a mission to accomplish. The sorceress stomps into the fortress, hearing the complaints of the two soldiers outside, too scared of her to even try to stop her. The neutral expression she always wear is now replaced by a mask of anger, her beautiful face twisted by pure rage. Never has she felt so humiliated, so ashamed, to think that a dirty troll would defeat her spells like that! And with just her fists and that disgusting giant body of hers, so thick with muscles and curves that only an orc would find her remotely attractive.

Stomping further into the fortress, she reaches the deeper parts of it. Whispering an ancient spell, she makes a whole wall disappear from sight, revealing a long and dark tunnel behind it. Without hesitating, she gets into it, reaching a cave beneath, illuminated by a blue light, coming from a giant glowing blue crystal, half-buried in the rock.
This is what Nabelle has been built around, why it has such a big magical academy and why so many of its citizens are so naturally attuned to magic: A primordial crystal, said to be the congealed blood of the Gods themselves, spilled in the wars of creation, when pantheons fought one another for control over the newborn material world.

She never cared much for that story, only on the fact that the crystal is an enormous source of arcane energy, pure magic made physical. Many mages have tried to wield it and they have been burned to a crisp, but she will not fail. She will prove her superiority. So she stops before it, the crystal writhing with power almost taunting her. She closes her eyes and places a hand on top of it, and let the energy flow into her.

“Ah!” A grunt of pure pain escapes her throat, as her knees fail and she drops to the ground. The power travels through her like molten lava flowing into her veins, burning her flesh to a crisp. Cracks start forming over her skin, glowing blue and threatening to disintegrate her very being, but the arch-magister resists, gritting her teeth and managing the overwhelming wave. Sparks of power whip the environment around her as she glows more and more herself, her body seemingly falling apart, her muscles twitching and shaking, her bones creaking.

And then it is finally over. The crystal looks spent, its glow now much duller. Edraele instead is the one illuminating the cavern, her body barely staying together, the cracks along her skin glowing so brightly that she almost got blinded herself. Containing so much power in her body is far from easy, and if she does not act fast it will burn her out, even with her immense skills.

So she does not hesitate, and blasts her way through the rock ceiling into the fortress and then the sky, leaving behind a trail of destruction. The entire city is below her. Her eyes focus on the gloating monster and without hesitation she conjures a gigantic ball of flames, burning hot above her. The fireball travels through the sky like a comet sent down by the Gods to punish the wicked. Her spell strikes through, hitting the creature’s stomach. The ball explodes outward, engulfing her entire body in flames.

Having spent so much energy for that spell, Edraele feels more in control of her body once more, still with an immense amount of power to spend and somehow keep from burning her up. A smile creeps on her lips, seeing the monster crashing down against the ground with a huge blast, smoke rising from every inch of her sickly purple skin. She could get used to this power, maybe after this she could experiment some more, train her body to retain this power, ascend beyond what mortals can achieve. She almost has to thank the troll for finally pushing her to go this far, and unlocking a whole new world of magic for her.

“I assume that is a no, then?” A booming voice suddenly says, freezing the magister’s blood in her veins.

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Yesha slowly gets back up, her body in pain from head to toe. Her stomach in particular hurts like hell, the sort of agony that she has not felt ever since she was barely the size of a house. Back then too it was a bunch of mages that made her kneel over in pain. She looks down to see her scorched skin, completely black on her stomach. Still, despite how badly it looks, it is not actually as sever as she thought, most of it is just ash and burnt dust and debris, her body is mostly fine! If a little crisped.

The pain is powerful, however, overpowering even, but strangely enough she finds herself smiling at it. After so many years of lording over her valley without any credible threat, being forced to her knees in pain is incredible, making her feel more alive than ever! She is so big now, and yet there are still tinies able to hurt her, meaning she still has plenty of room to grow.

“Shame, you would have made for a perfect little slave town” she says, taunting the city, while dusting herself off. Her skin hurts even more now that she touched it, but she can already feel it healing: In a few minutes only scars will remain, which is incidentally exactly what Yesha’s plans for the city too.
Her eyes look around for the source of the fireball, finally spotting a tiny glowing blue dot in the sky, about eye level for her, floating above the center of the city, at about twenty, maybe thirty, of her steps away from her.

The tiny blue dot soon enough finds itself in the shadow of another growing fireball, a sphere of pure flames swelling over it, and finally it releases it in her direction. Yesha squats down, and pushes her fingers into the very earth around the walls. Tons of rock and earth are pushed aside as the walls tremble and grumble, until a whole chunk separates from the rest. Yesha lifts up the fifty foot long piece of wall, using it as a shield, just in time for the fireball to hit it.

Roaring flames explode over the stone surface, turning into a smoking smoldering slab, while fire spill over it and scorches Yesha’s shoulders and legs. The damage is far more limited this time, enough that Yesha barely flinches, but her makeshift shield crumbles in her hands, unable to keep itself together. “I was hoping you’d build sturdier stuff” she says, with a smirk on her lips.

Without wasting anymore time, the giant half-troll bends down and sprints into the city. Her colossal body starts slowly, but quickly picks up the pace, devouring the terrain under her in great strides, her fifty foot long soles carving a bloody path into the city. The impact on the ground below her is nothing short of apocalyptic: Everything under her feet is obliterated, turned into fine dust, while everything around it is blasted away as if one of those very fireballs was thrown there. The streets are filled with panicking elves, trying to flee her. The tiny ants look so damn slow to her eyes, but they provide such a nice little nice feeling to her soles when they explode under them.

Yesha is aware of the catastrophe that is her advance in the city, a perverse glee warms her heart seeing the casual destruction her run causes. She does try to avoid damaging buildings and people as much as possible, though: Broken toys are boring to play with.

She looks down and spot a whole platoon of tiny elven pikemen, their minuscule weapons not even a finger long to her, yet still they stand in formation, to protect the inner city. The ball of her foot lands before them, a few splatter under her toes, wetting them ever so slightly, while the rest is blown away fifty feet back, smashing into buildings, people, or the inner circle of walls. Of the fifty of so soldiers, barely four are left alive after her passage.

The fireball finally comes for her, but at this point she is close enough to the mage that she can simply dodge out of the way, fainting a right turn and watching as the ball of fire flies harmlessly out of the city and into the ocean, where it fizzles out against the water surface, raising a giant steam cloud. The sorcerer clearly did not expect someone her size being able to move with swiftness, trolls are not known for being agile after all, but she is no ordinary troll.

So many tinies in her life have thought of her a simple enemy as soon as they saw the tusks, the long ears, and the purple skin, too stupid to plan ahead or deceive, too slow to react, too clumsy to wield weapons or tools. The half-troll stopped caring for what the tiny people thought of her as soon as she was big enough to squash one under her foot. Let them think she is dumb, it only makes it easier for her to fill her belly up.

The inner walls are the last obstacle between her and the flying mage. They are taller than the other walls, at a hundred feet tall they are barely as tall as her knees. She merely needs to raise her legs to go over them. On the other side, her feet land on an opulent looking district, crushing a huge mansion and turning it into dust, while a few more fancy houses nearby are blasted apart by the shockwave caused by her small hop over the walls.

The tiny blue dot seems to finally realize it is very much in danger, as it is merely a step away now from the mighty troll. It snuffs out the fireball it was about to cast and flees away. To Yesha’s surprise, it does not fly higher or away from the city, which would have been the smart thing to do, instead towards a big goofy looking building in the inner walls, its shape so simple and utilitarian that it looks out of place in the slender and luxurious crowd of buildings around there.

It disappears inside, just when a new volley of ballista fire reaches Yesha. Now that she stopped for a second, the defenders of the inner walls had the time to aim and fire their bolts at her. Unfortunately for them, these are not enchanted, so most simply bounce over her skin, and the fire that pierce it fall off of her moments later, pushed outside by her regenerating flesh. Yesha rolls her eyes, not even bothering doing anything about it. “You out of mages or something?” she idly asks, while taking three steps forward, looming over the cube shaped fortress.

“Come out and play now, little thing! Or are we playing hide and seek now? Let me see if I can squeeze inside!” She says, her booming giggle filling the air around her. She kneels down, the structure still far shorter than her, then without hesitation she raises her fist and hits the building. Her hand simply goes through the thick layer of enchanted rock, as if made of paper, carving a huge hole into the structure. “Your walls are worth nothing, little elves. No wonder I could just waltz in here like I owned the place!” She continues to taunt the populace, reveling in the ease with which she dismantles her mighty fortifications.

Another fist hits the fortress, causing the whole left side to crumble to the ground. But the pounding continues, until she reveals a cavern underneath, glowing blue. “Oh?”

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

This is all insane! How is this possible? Possibly the most powerful fire spell ever cast in centuries if not ever barely caused any damage! Is she even a troll or some kind of demon disguised as one? Sure, her size is far beyond any troll in the historical records, but she should still cry and flee at the mere sight of flames!

And how could she be smiling! Smiling! Even laughing, as she destroyed her Nabelle to get to her, dodging her spells as if she was throwing playing balls. For maybe the first time in her long life, the arch magister freezes in terror, and then flees, unable to withstand the gaze of that loathsome creature any longer. She needs more power, surely that will stop her! There is no creature she cannot defeat! Especially lowly trolls.

So she retreats to the fortress, to get to her crystal. Maybe she can leech off some more power! She has barely tapped the surface potential of the Gods’ blood. Who cares if her body will fall apart if she dives in again! She cannot simply let the brute win! So flying as fast as she can, she finds her way back into the cave. The relative silence in there is almost soothing, the loud booms caused by the giant’s movements a distant echo.

That is, until the monster starts demolishing the fortress above her with her bare hands. Incredulous, the magister can barely raise a barrier in time to save herself from the roof collapsing on her, only to find herself staring right into those orange eyes of hers. “You foul beast will not take a step further!” She shouts, touching the crystal again, and feeling the invigorating stream of energy overflowing into her. She was right! She barely scratched the surface of the power in the crystal.

“Prepare to feel the wrath of the G-No! No!” Edralele screams, as a purple hand reaches down for her, its thick fingers digging into the very rock to scoop up her together with her barrier and the crystal. “Such a feisty little thing. You almost make me want to keep you around for a bit longer, and properly break you, but your fire darts really made me hungry” the beast says, rubbing her abs. Gods above and below, her injuries are already healing! How can it be that fast! She used fire, pure arcane fire! The troll should be begging for her life, not taunting her!

The desperate magister lets out one last roar, releasing everything she has. Wild arcs of magic lightning and fire erupts from her body, but all that does is slightly delay the inevitable as the half troll keeps her arm extended and simply waits for her display to end. As the barrier around her flickers and breaks, the magister drops to her knees, realizing she just wasted what remained of her energies on a useless light show that barely tickled the monster.

The giant brings her closer, a huge smug grin on her hideous face, creepily similar to a human with the features of a troll. Her mouth opens, the huge cavern right in front of her eyes, a dark abyss that nothing can escape from. Desperate, the magister touches the crystal again, to siphon more energy and fly away, but as she does so, her body starts to break apart, her fingers and toes turning into fine dust. She has reached her limit, the godsblood stone is useless to her now. And it is about to join her in the creature’s stomach.

Her crumbling body is a blessing in disguise, in a way. The monster tilts her head and the magister tumble into her throat, together with the crystal and tons of rocks she casually dug up with them. The moment her head collides with her throat muscles, she loses consciousness, slowly turning into dust even before she got broken down by her stomach acids.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Yesha lets out a little giggle after swallowing the annoying tiny mage, together with that fancy piece of rock she was clinging to. It reminded her of the sugar crystals the halflings used to make in her childhood, and gave to her as a little reward once in a while. The half troll wonders for a second what it was exactly, but as soon as the thing hits her stomach, it is quickly forgotten.

Yesha puts her foot on top of the crumbling fortress and looks around. She is triumphant, uncontested. These elves threw everything they had at her and came closer to doing real damage than most, but still far from enough. The half troll came out victorious from much worse fights, in which her body barely held together and the field of battle was drenched in as much of her blood as her prey. Still, this has been by far the most entertaining fight ever since she grew big enough to casually defeat dragons.

Which is very bad news for the surviving elves, because now the victor is eager to collect the spoils of war, and celebrate with a feast. Seeing the fleeing masses of elves and the destruction she already so casually caused stirs very familiar emotions and needs in the half troll, turning her grin into an ever more dreadful sight, while her body reacts in kind, getting more and more excited.

“Shame you had to fight to the end, now I will not hold back one bit” she says, even if this is exactly the outcome she was hoping for. Without wasting any more time, she starts walking towards the main gate of the inner circle of walls, where a huge crowd of nobles, soldiers, priests, academy students and professors, and the upper crust of elven society, is trying to fit through the tiny gate.

The plaza facing the gate, where the crowd is accumulated, is big and luxurious, like everything else in the city. Encircled by tall elegant buildings belonging to the academy, it is big enough for the troll to comfortably sit in cross legged. The sea of bodies, dressed with their frivolous fancy dresses, weaves and shudders with each of her steps, people trying to run over each other, trampling many in their mad dash for false hope.

And Yesha cannot help but soak it all in, feasting on that terror. She stops just outside of the plaza, crushing dozens of stragglers lingering on the edge of the thick of the crowd. Elves crush differently than goblins, their bodies crumbling more easily, giving her soles a softer but larger stimulation thanks to their slightly bigger size.

Yesha drops to her knees and smiles at the crowd. They are so slow, so few can fit through that tiny gate, she could crush them all before a tenth could escape, leaving the gate intact will keep them concentrated there instead of scattered through the inner city, which is just perfect for her. So she takes her time, looming over the crowd and feasting on their fear, letting huge drops of her saliva drop down onto them, like a ravenous wild monster.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you staying for my party?” She says, before lowering her head and extending her tongue, sweeping up dozens of tiny inch people into her mouth. Their bodies fill up the dark cavern, thrashing around wildly, being thrown around by her tongue so easily. Their lives in there are short, many drown in her saliva, many more hit their head against her teeth and die or lose consciousness. A few stronger ones survive, but only to suffer more as she swallows and they are sent into even thicker darkness, crushed by her throat muscles and sinking into her stomach acids.

Before long, they are joined by others. A hundred elves find their way into her stomach, then two. By the third hundred serving, the half troll starts chewing, her mouth filling up with the delicious taste of elf flesh: Sweet, delicate, tender; such a far cry from goblins, a refined meal, almost a dessert. She cannot stop eating even if she wanted, completely enraptured by the overwhelming feeling, and the crowd is barely thinning out in front of her.

So she feasts on the elite of the city. Wealth and power mean nothing in front of her, they are meaningless to a being that transcends both, her needs and desires simultaneously so much simpler and yet so much grander than their small narrow lives. They are simply food now, a moment of pleasure for the half troll before she moves on to the next feast.

Twenty minutes later, Yesha has crawled all the way to the gate, devouring most and crushing the rest with her advance. Her hands, lips, and knees are covered in elven blood, but her orange eyes glow with immense satisfaction. Her normally flat stomach is a little inflated due to the sheer amount of elves she has just ingested. “Fuck… that was incredible!” She says, slowly standing up, rubbing her hands over her body, feeling the bulge in her belly and the wetness in between her legs.

She looks around for a toy good enough to relieve her, spotting a huge ship slowly leaving the docks. Smiling, Yesha turns towards the port and simply walks forward. In her way, there is the main building of the academy, a huge elegant structure, with architecture so intricate that magic must help keeping it together. The half troll barely cares to glance down towards it, its beauty merely a nice added bonus to the fun of seeing it crumble against her legs.

The tallest tower almost reaches her crotch, and it is the first to explode into a rain of debris as her knee hits it. Her leg carves a huge gash into it, causing even more to crumble on top of her foot as she steps down. Her other leg does even more damage to the compromised structure, her foot flies through it, barely slowed down by the tons of bricks and the many magical reinforcements, sending debris flying high in the air and landing all over the city.

In but a single step, the glorious Nabelle academy of arcane arts is reduced to a pile of rubble. A lone tower manages to survive her passage, only to slowly tilt to the left, falling over the rest of the pile, like an old rotted tree falling over.
The same fate awaits a few mansions in the way, their luxury only providing the half troll with new and intriguing textures and sensations to feel under her mighty feet. She can even feel a few more bodies popping under her weight, a few foolish elves hiding in their panic rooms, thinking they can escape her.

The lower city is definitely less impressive: Smaller buildings, simpler construction, but they are much denser and still full of fleeing elves. The fun of making might monuments crumble is quickly substituted by the pleasure of feeling bodies breaking under her weight. She will never stop being surprised by how slow the little things are, they barely move from her perspective, advancing maybe a finger’s length for each of her colossal steps.

She finally reaches the port. Her foot steps into the water, sinking in until the water reaches halfway up her shins. The ship has not moved much since she spotted it, barely reaching the mouth of the walled port. It is a fancy looking ship, with many delicate decorations and a curvy elegant design, and a bit shorter than her forearm.

A ballista is on top of the upper deck, its men desperately shooting at her, but the bolts barely manage to even pierce her skin. Surely they do not expect to win where thirty of them before could barely make her flinch. Yesha simply ignores them, much more interested in something else.
Putting her feet on both sides of the ship, she simply bends over and scoops it up, gallons of water raining down under it as she effortlessly does so, while a few sailors are sent flying downward, splashing into the cold water or crashing against the docks.

With a giggle, Yesha lets herself fall, her ass landing onto the docks themselves. The power of her fall is nothing short of apocalyptic, obliterating several huge warehouses and drydocks, crushing the ship being worked there and turning them into mulch. The shockwave makes every building around her explode outward, breaking windows, stripping wooden planks away, and even making the closer ones completely break apart and crash against their neighbors. The elves caught in the explosion turn into red splotches or fly high in the sky to land hundreds of feet away somewhere in the city.

Yesha looks down at her prize, breaking the ship’s masts and throwing them away. Laying down, and crushing a few more buildings under her, she brings the ship down to her sex and starts slowly pushing it into her. “Oh fuck, that is just what I needed!” She says, her body shuddering while the wooden ship groans and creaks, her inner muscles putting it under immense pressure.

Foot after foot, the vessel is swallowed by her sex. Planks snap and break, as the ship crumples up, unable to resist the immense forces against it, turning passengers and crew into body soup, but maintaining just enough integrity to do its duty. Yesha grunts in disappointment, feeling her toy barely able to survive a single thrust, but the sensation Is still wonderful, and so everything is quickly forgotten in the waves of pleasure flooding her mind.

Groping her tits with her free hand with enough strength to crumble rocks, she starts fucking herself. Moans powerful enough to deafen a dragon shake the city, her body shivering with each thrust, as the ship breaks down more and more, until she is simply smashing a ball of wet wood against her pussy lips, but it is enough to make her body shake up and her mind go wild.

“Fuck, fuck” she whispers repeatedly, as the warmth of her body grows, drops of sweat running down her muscles, her breathing becoming shallower and her heart beating loudly against her chest. She keeps going and going, letting all the wonderful feelings bloat into her until she cannot take more. Her orgasm takes her breath away from “Ahh!” A shout escapes her lungs, making what remains of the city tremble, while her body shakes and quivers, pleasure taking over.

Yesha finally slows down, until she lets the remains of the ship drop down in between her towering thighs. Her eyes close and she slip into a quiet sleep, digesting her huge meal and healing the scars of the day.

Nabelle suffers one final humiliation before the giant finally lets it go: The power of the arch-magister, further augmented by the crystal, is more than enough for her to grow. The survivors witness the giant growing even bigger under their very eyes, adding dozens of feet to her already towering height. Her expanding body breaks the minds of many, just crushed by the reality of their situation. Many do not even try to escape, so defeated that they simply remain where they are, catatonic and spent, while the rest escapes ever faster, in a frenzy of panic and terror.
In a few days the fall of Nabelle will be on everyone’s lips, and the tale of the monstrous troll responsible for it will reach every corner of the continent. The only one that will never hear them is, ironically, the very protagonist of said stories.

Yesha stirs awake, feeling better than ever once again. A yawn takes over her only to be quickly replaced by a self-satisfied smile, as she slowly drags herself up to a seating position, admiring the devastation around her. The docks area is simply no more, reduced to a pile of rubble and a few surviving buildings, the once clean and placid waters filled with wood splinters and bricks. The half troll slowly stands up, seeing the world from a new height for the first time. Her keen eyes immediately notice the telltale signs of her growth, if the way her body is feeling was not enough to clue her in.

Another big spurt in days! This has not happened since ages! Since she was barely taller than those very buildings she casually crushed under her ass a few hours prior. If she had to guess, she would put herself close to four hundred feet even, her loyal goblins will confirm it once she is back home.
Looking down at her hands and stomach, she can also see that the damage from her battle is also almost gone. A few scars remain, fire is one of the few things she cannot completely heal in mere seconds after all, but she looks barely worse for wear, if anything the scar tissue make her muscles pop even more, giving her a more threatening look. Not that she needs it, but it is a welcome bonus.

Looking around, the city is in rough shape. Her passage yesterday carved a bloody path through it, leaving entire districts ragged and devastated, in particular the upper city. The surviving palaces cannot compete with her new height, and those that even came close are long gone. Still, the city is not dead, merely injured. The half troll has no interest in wiping out the tiny inhabitants, after all, how would they repopulate to feed her or serve as her toys again next time?

As she assesses the situation, a peculiar sight catches her eyes: A group of elves coming towards her, slowly, their heads hanging low. A few are wearing fancy clothing, if dirty and torn, spearheading the weird procession shuffling towards her feet. She stands silent, curious to see what this is all about, they are no threat to her anyway, and they may yet prove entertaining.

They stop about a step away from her feet, the tiny inch tall elves look nervous towards her toes, each half as tall as them and far more powerful. They seem acutely aware of being very much in the range of action of the giant half troll, who would have to take but a simple step forward to end half of the group under her sole. They barely manage to keep their composure as they finally stop and look up, and up, and up, to look at her in the eyes.

“Oh mighty conqueror, please listen to us!” finally one of them says, an old elf in blue robes, who looks barely able to stand. “W-We surrender! Nabelle is yours! Please spare the rest of us, we are at your mercy!” His theatrical way of speaking does not hide his fear and doubt, if anything it multiplies it. As he finishes his little speech, he drops to the ground bowing down and practically kissing the ground, followed by the rest of the elves with him.
“Surrender? I offered you a deal, you did not take it” Yesha says, stepping forward and putting the hundred or so elves in between her feet. Her towering muscular legs surrounding them like two sculpted pillars of rock make them look even more pathetically weak. “I hope you are prepared to offer more. As far as I can see, I have won and I can take what I want no matter what you say.”

Yesha finds herself in a bit of a situation: On one hand, she would love to subjugate them so that she may have a steady supply of little elf toys, on the other their pathetic pleas are awakening the darker side of her mind, making her yearn for the sweet sensation of popping those bodies in between her toes.
“That was our magister! She took unilateral action without our consent!” Another voice says, a young male elf that stands a little taller than the rest, a bit of backbone left in his body even after all that happened.

“I suppose that is a fair explanation. I assume you refer to that angry flying blue elf? She was… tasty” Yesha says, rubbing her belly, fairly confident that the little morsel is largely to thank for her increase in size. Thanks to that, she is in a uniquely good mood, so the words of those little toys echo in her mind more than they normally would. “Very well, I will give you a chance. Prove to me that you can be useful and I will spare the rest of you, assuming you accept my original terms of surrender.”

Without waiting for an answer, Yesha sits down, letting her ass fall. The ground sinks under her incredible weight, creating deep cracks all around her muscular ass cheeks, and making a few surviving houses around her finally crumble. The group is thrown off their feet by the shockwave, with many falling over. “Get me off. If you can do that, I will be satisfied. I’ll let you determine the how.”
And with those simple but powerful words, Yesha lays down being careful not to let her lower limbs crush the group by accident. She then closes her eyes and waits to see what they will do.

It takes them a few minutes to find the courage to do anything at all, but soon enough Yesha starts feeling tiny sensations on her legs, the elves climbing up her thighs. Smiling, Yesha brings her hands under her head and relaxes, hoping for a nice quick release right after that fantastic sleep. Her goblins never managed to make her orgasm by themselves, but maybe the elves are resourceful enough to do so.

A few minutes later, the elves spread all over her body, two groups towards her nipples and another stopping at her crotch. The group has the last few surviving mages in the city as well as the remaining elite warriors, each putting their finely honed skills to the service of their giant conqueror for a fleeting chance of salvation.

The warriors walk past the vast fields of her abs, climbing up and down her muscles, to arrive at her large soft breasts. The fifty something elves climb up again, straining their powerful bodies to finally reach her nipples. Their hands have trained for centuries to wield swords, bows and spears, but against her it was all for nothing; the only use for their strength and endurance is to stimulate their new mistress. So they do, working her flesh with her fingers and mouths, putting their energy into their worship as if it is the last thing they do in life.

And fortunately for them, it works. Yesha lets out a quiet moan, her breathing getting deeper as pleasant sparks of pleasure invade her chest. “Oh that’s a good start” she says, biting her lips. Maybe they have a chance after all.

The mages soon join in. The elves’ connection to nature is leveraged in full for the herculean task they are called to complete: To please a pussy that could swallow five of them whole at once, and barely feel their bodies inside. Their voices rise up in the sky, as they stir something under the ground with their power, until roots start sprouting out of the ground, each the size of carriages and who knows how long. The magical roots snake forward, reaching for her sex. Slowly they gather together before her folds, intertwining with each other to form a braid shape, and finally pushing into the moist cavern.

“Oh!” Yesha simply says as a shiver travels up her spine, while the hard knot of roots penetrates her. “That feels nice” she adds, feeling the natural construct getting deeper. Barely anything can survive the vice grip of her inner muscles, and he roots are no different, but together like this they are barely enough to endure her for some time. Hopefully for her, and the elves, it will be long enough.

A few more elves gather over her crotch, tying each other up and slowly lowering a few of their numbers towards her pussy, reaching her clit. The engorged organ immediately responds to their touch, making Yesha shiver in delight. The ropes prove immediately useful as the elves are almost thrown off her and into the tangle or roots below, where they would be at best entangled into them and dragged inside, at worst crushed to death by her body or the roots themselves.

The elves at the other end of the rope pull back to save their companions, and just in time. Yesha is barely aware of all of this, only feeling the delightful sensations the little elves are giving her. Individually, each gives her almost nothing, but hundreds of little hands on her most sensitive parts is quickly building up inside of her, and the roots probing inside of her are giving her something almost entirely new.

Feeling filled for the first time in who knows how long, Yesha moans, doing her best to stay still. The roots move slowly, far too slowly for her, but maybe it will be enough! “Oh fuck! Keep going!” she says, scrunching her toes and gasping every few seconds. The wonderful feelings swell inside of her, building up towards her climax. Elated, Yesha smiles, happy that she managed to hold back her urges long enough to experience this triumph.

Unfortunately, the elves’ endurance is far from adequate to satisfy the titanic half troll. Soon enough, they start to tire and slow down, the wonderful tinglings they gave her getting weaker and less frequent, while the mages desperately try to keep fueling their spell, while the roots slow down to a crawl.
Gritting her teeth, Yesha curses under her breath and reaches down towards her clitoris, unwilling to let this wonderful climax slip away. Her merciless fingers come down on top of the exhausted bunch of elves, immediately crushing them against her most sensitive organ, eliciting a moan from her.

“Keep going!” She growls, while she starts rubbing her clit to get herself over the edge. With how well they were doing just mere minutes ago, it does not take long for it to come. “Yes! Yes!” She shouts, as pleasure builds up inside of her to finally explode. Her whole body trembles and tenses up, sending a few elves flying, while her mind is wracked by pure bliss.

It takes her a good few minutes to calm down. “Oh wow, that was good” She says, bringing her fingers back to her mouth to suck off her cum and the remains of her clit slaves. “I guess you technically failed, but none has come even close before, so I think I will forgive you, this time” she says, slowly bringing her torso up. The squad of elves on her tits hang on for dear life, a few falling down and bouncing on her abs or thighs.

“Now you have a minute to get off me. And congratulations, you earned your mercy, as long as you promise me you will be able to close the deal next time” she says, her grin immediately growing as she sees the elves scramble to escape her body as if they were escaping a fire.
“I-I’m sorry, conqueror, we will do better next time. We simply need more manpower” the old elf speaks again, from between her legs, kneeling before her leaking cunt as if it was some kind of altar to a dark Goddess.
“I don’t really care for the how, I already said so. You have however long it takes me to get back in the region, so don’t waste time” Yesha says, well aware of the arbitrariness of her decree. How long will it be? Weeks? Months? Years? Not even Yesha herself knows, the half troll has no need to plan her next move anymore, she is above it all now.

“I have a question for you,” she says, looking down at the slowly gathering group of survivors in front of her, less numerous and far worse for wear. “That little trick with the roots? I liked it. Most things I push inside of me break in moments. Make me a toy out of those roots.”
“B-But, to pervert our Goddess’ gift like that… it would be unforgivable, mistress. Our Goddess would strike us down in…” his words are interrupted by the prompt intervention of the younger male elf, putting his hand over the older elf’s mouth.
“T-The gnomes!” he says, “The gnomes can do it! They are masters of metal and machines! They’ll he able to craft whatever your heart desires!”

A few gasps rise from the crowd, stunned that one of theirs has just sold off one of their allies for a faint hope of pleasing their conqueror. Yesha’s interest is piqued, however. “The gnomes? I never had gnomes before. Where are they?” She asks, and quickly getting an answer. Her smile comes back, wider than ever, as she slowly gets up, ready for her next destination.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Clav Naberag, high forger of the sky metal clan, slams the doors of the war room open. The short humanoid’s artificial legs clang against the stone floor, while his brass monocle scans the room. He is an old veteran, his bald head and white beard proof of his long, for a gnome, life spent defending his city. His iron legs and brass arm are the price he paid, but he is ready to lose even more to ensure his clan survives.

“The message just came, high forger. She is coming” A short female gnome in wearing an elegant while rope with golden details says. A mage, rare among gnomes both for their natural weak connection to magic and their love for machinery. Still, despite their weird interests that Clav did not share at all, the high forger always found the mages’ help invaluable.
“Damn knife ears selling us out! I would have expected this from the humans, not the elves!” One of the military officers shouts.

The high forger ignores him. “What do we know? Weaknesses? Capabilities?” The old veteran says, looking out the window for a moment, taking a glance at his city: Perched atop a small mountain, it is a marvel of engineering; Stout brick homes stacked against each other, surrounded by shining metal pipes, giant gears, and towers, chimneys all over releasing black clouds of smoke, keeping the city snow free with their heat. Twenty thousand gnomes live here, one of the biggest gnomish cities on the continent if not the biggest, protected by thick blast-proof walls and an army of metal automatons.

“She… wiped out Nabelle, sir” the mage says. The war room falls silent as the officers and engineers digest what the woman just said. “The arch-magister is dead, the godsblood crystal is gone, half the city is a pile of ruins, and all the surrounding towns are flooded with refugees. It’s nothing short of a disaster, high forger.” The mage takes a deep breath, trying to keep herself calm. “She is a troll, sir, but fire seems to merely inconvenience her.”

Clav strokes his beard for a moment. If the elves failed to stop this monster, they have little hope for success. “How much time do we have?” He asks, his voice neutral and his expression calm, trying his best to control his emotions and think rationally. His demeanor helps with keeping the tension under control, but not even he is immune to fear.
“A couple of days, three if we are lucky” is the answers, the mage’s voice reduced to a whisper.

“Then there is no time to waste. Evacuate the population to the deep bunkers and activate the brass golems, all of them” Clav says.
“All of them, sir? That will exhaust our coal reserves within days!” One of the engineers shouts, a drop of sweat going down his forehead. He is a young engineer, a male gnome wearing a brown jacket and thick black pants. Half his face is covered in shiny bronze metal, a few gears lazily turning around where his left ear should be and a green lens covers his left eye, glowing slightly.

“Good, that is exactly how much time they need to buy. I’m not going to lie, gentlemen, this is not a battle we can win, not with so little time. We will save our people first, and protect the city second. Machines can be rebuilt, lives cannot” he says. The indignation among the engineers is almost palpable, but they do begrudgingly agree. “Also, have the alchemists mix some good acids. If fire failed, maybe that will gives us a better chance.”

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Yesha advances placidly through the countryside, barely noticing the temperature going down, her body easily adjusting even without clothes to protect her. Even when she was little, age and size wise, she barely wore anything, she never felt the need to, but her adoptive family preferred to have her clothed anyway.

She does notice villages getting more spread out and smaller, however. Leaving Nabelle, she took her sweet time exploring the countryside before heading for the gnome city, visiting the surrounding villages and tasting the local fauna. After what she did to the big city, every tiny elf she met immediately ran away of threw themselves to the ground hoping for forgiveness. After the feast she just had, Yesha surprisingly felt rather satisfied, so a fair few of those little things managed to survive her passage.

After a couple of days, she finds very little civilization left, just bigger and bigger swaths of territory covered in thick forests and rocky hills, with the occasional lake and snowy mountain. She is starting to doubt that elf’s words. What if he sent her onto a goose chase? Well, even if it was the case, the vistas are worth the trip anyway: Snow is rare in her valley, and so are big rocky formations. The cold soft texture of snow under her feet is surprisingly pleasant, although not too nice to eat.

At the dawn of the third day, she finally finds the gnome city. It is smaller than she expected, maybe a third the size of the elf city, the tallest building not even half as tall as the huge spires and towers the elven architects seem to love so much, making the gnome buildings look even smaller than they are by comparison. Still, the thick columns of smoke and all the shiny metal surfaces and machinery give it a far more sturdy and menacing look than the excessively elegant and anti-functional aesthetic of the elves, if still with a weirdly chaotic structure: The whole city looks like it was slapped together on a whim instead of being planned out. Even the pipes and gears are in the most unlikely places, following weird paths and connecting in weirdly convoluted ways, almost like the gnomes took pleasure in making them as overly complex as possible.

“What a peculiar little place” she whispers to herself, ever more curious to meet these gnomes. He heard of them before, but she never met one. They sure do fit the image she has of them, her childhood halfling companions described them perfectly.

When she is about a couple of miles from the city, a strange noise rises from within the stocky brick and brass buildings. Before long, a swarm of little flying vehicles lifts up and heads for her. They look almost ridiculous: A large cloth spiral spinning above a wooden seat, while some sort of machine sputtered behind the pilot’s seat, leaving behind a trail of black smoke. From such a distance, it is difficult to tell how big they are, but she could probably fit a couple in her palm, if not three.

Suddenly, a series of explosions crack the silence. Flashes all over the short thick walls in rapid succession, followed by whistling sounds and finally tiny little metal balls bouncing against the ground all around her. A few hit her legs and belly, with enough force to sting for a moment, only to bounce off her skin and land on the ground with a loud thud. Yesha instinctively raises her arms to protect her face, but she highly doubts it is necessary. Besides even if a lucky shot gets her eyes she will heal back in a few moments. It would not be the first time.

Still, the display is rather impressive. Yesha cannot help but smile, eager to stomp their hopes flat and show those pesky machines that no piece of scarp metal can stop her. She was worried the gnomes would prove to be boring after that fun fight with the elves, but this could be just as fun.

Before she can advance further, however, she suddenly feels something pulling her foot and slowing her step. Looking down, she sees several metal constructs emerging from the earth, their metal arms wrapped around her feet in an attempt to pin her down. They are humanoids in shape, made of brass, clanging and hissing with each movement, releasing tiny clouds of white smoke from the joints and neck. Their dead expressions almost make them look like metal undead creatures, if it was not not for their twitchy and sudden movements. Each is the size of her foot, a few bigger, a few smaller.

While she slows down to observe the curious constructs, more emerge from the city gates. These are much bigger, almost reaching her knees in height, moving more slowly but still with a similar rhythm, moving almost in unison. More smaller brass golems emerge from all around her. There must have been nearly fifty of the things, plus a good dozen of the bigger ones, and thirty or forty of the weird flying machines, plus a couple dozen cannons shooting at her from the walls.

Soon enough, even the bigger golems start shooting, their shoulder mounted cannons blasting more cannonballs towards her, making each giant machine recoil for a moment, shooting one after the other at perfectly paced intervals. Each shot is barely enough to sting, but the sheer volume of firepower is enough bruise her and slow her down even more, as more and more of the smaller golems pile in over her feet and even climbing up her legs. Overwhelmed by it all, Yesha stops, looking around confused and dazed, the cacophony of sounds and the constant bombardment scrambling her senses and brain.

Finally, the flying machines reach her. Hovering above her, they start diving down towards her head and release small clay jars, that break on contact, spattering their contents all over her hair and shoulders. The sudden flood of pain make the half troll grunt and grit her teeth. Acid! They are using acid! Her breathing quickens as her lips curl in anger.

Acid drives her mad like nothing else. Fire is something else, winning over her ancestral fear of it makes it always a fun challenge to overcome, but acid? Acid does not trigger a similar response in her, but it stings, it stings so much! Her scalp starts to itch terribly, her skin getting irritated immediately. The damage is barely superficial, but so Gods damn annoying!

Her body trembles in barely contained rage. She fills her lungs and lets out a huge roar, shattering every eardrum within a mile of her. Her voice travels far, all over the city, over the mountains, reaching above the skies. A few of the flying machines are thrown off their course and scatter all over the sky above her, a couple even falling down, spinning out of control. The fleet quickly retreats, heading back towards the city, their gnome pilots almost dying of pure fear by the colossal monster they just pissed off.

Yesha looks down and raises one of her feet, feeling it heavy and weighted down by all the metal clinging to it. Her huge muscles bulge out, then strike back stomping down with ferocity. The brass constructs simply flatten under her sole, offering almost no resistance. Metal yields to flesh, bending and cracking under the immense force of her stomp. In a few moments, half a dozen of those things are turned into scrap metal, smoke escaping the cracks on their shells, while a few limbs still twitch and move a little, their unfeeling metal eyes fixed on her, indifferent to the damage she caused.

It raises conflicting feelings in the living titan. The satisfaction of breaking metal and snuffing out the products of the most brilliant minds among mortals is making her chest feel with warmth, and yet she misses the excitement of seeing pure terror in living eyes before she crushes them. Plus, she hates to admit it but they are proving to be more resilient than she thought, managing to slow her down to almost a crawl. The elves came closer to injuring her seriously, but the gnomes might manage to actually stop her from reaching their city, at least for a while. “Clever little fucks” she whispers, feeling annoyed and impressed at the same time.

Her introspective moment of reflection is soon interrupted by another volley of artillery peppering her body. The bigger golems are getting closer, and their shots more accurate and powerful. The lumbering machines suddenly come to a stop a few steps from her. They aim at her once again and release a synchronized volley, this time the cannonballs explode against her skin in little balls of flames. Yesha stumbles back, startled by the sudden flood of fire and pain all over her body. The smaller golems meanwhile have managed to get a grip onto her feet once again, causing her to fall backwards onto her ass. The ground cracks under her immense weight, a cloud of dust obfuscating her body for a moment.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

“Did we get her?” The young engineer says, looking at the high forger.
Clav puts down his telescope and sighs. “We managed to trip her. That is more than I was hoping for” the old veteran says. “How is our evacuation going?”
“Almost done, we only need a few more hours” the mage says.
“Let’s hope our dear giant lady will be so kind as to give them to us” he says, just as the cloud of dust starts to clear, the whole room holding their breath, wondering if they managed to stop her for the time being.