It was such a sure deal the bounty payout was already dancing before my eyes. We had been tracking Agatha the Black-Hearted for months, searching every dark cave and abandoned tower, only for me to catch sight of her when the wind blew her hood back at a village market. From there it was simple to follow her back to a dilapidated shack in the woods, making sure to avoid her suspicious gaze. When I was sure we had our golden opportunity – she was alone, away from her servants and cronies to conduct research – I went back and reported it to the rest of my group.
They were skeptical, but I was positive it was her. Short of powerful illusion magic, there was no way anyone could match Agatha’s uniqueness. She had a tall, slender figure that had been obvious beneath the cloak, and a maroon scar that followed the veins from one eye made her silver irises and pallid skin stand out. A few strands of long, straight black hair also blew free from behind her ear with the wind, cementing my certainty. We had finally crossed paths with the most despicable witch of our era, and it was time to send her to her final reward.
The plan was simple, that way there was little chance of anything going sideways. The other three would break in through the door, drawing her attention so I could use a wand to phase through the wall behind her. With any luck my sword would pierce her black heart before she could even raise a hand in an incantation, and within a week we would each be buying our own fiefdoms.
In the quiet forest air it was plain to hear the sound of a wooden door splintering under Gorpel’s shoulder, and the battle was soon to be joined. I counted three heart beats then took a deep breath, wrapping my fingers around the wand of transportation. Carefully I pressed it against the wall, making it permeable for me, and stepped through the stone. Agatha was right on front of me, her back turned, just as expected. My legs sprung into action and I lunged toward her, the point of my blade leveled at her heart, and time seemed to slow down as it drew closer to piercing her skin.
It stopped just short, and the shock of stabbing solid stone ran up my arm. My leg was still in the air, expecting inertia to carry it forward, and when my advance suddenly stopped I was thrown off balance. Agatha did not even turn around to meet my attack. She simply began laughing, a low, mocking tone that made it clear she did not even register me as a threat. There was no sign of the rest of my party, and from the surprising cleanliness of the hovel I could see no sign of a struggle. Somehow they had failed, and I was all alone with the sorceress.
On a nearby shelf, a small ivory statuette began to glow, and in the bright blue arcane light I noticed it bore a striking resemblance to Agatha. In an instant the witch grew to tremendous size, such that even the back of her orchid-colored flat towered over me. As I looked up in astonishment at her pale ankle and saw her leg propping up the fabric of her black dress flowing over it I realized everything except me was just as it had been moments before, and it hit me. My thrust must have triggered a contingency, set to drastically shrink anyone who attacks her.
Continuing to ignore my presence, Agatha took a languid step forward. When her shoes hit the wooden floorboards they resounded with a great shudder, creaking beneath her weight. Vibrations came with the sound, shaking the old planks with each step. She moved unhurriedly toward the only door, moving as though she were taking an evening stroll. I looked at the tremendous walls around me and the gigantic woman at the door, then glanced at the sharply bent wand still in my hand. I was trapped and at the mercy of one of the wickedest women who had ever existed.
Gorpel smashed through the old wooden door, sending splinters flying as he cleared the way for his companions. Before he even came to a stop he reached for the great broadsword that hung from his hip, ready to do battle. As the debris cleared, however, he saw that they were not where he expected. There was no shocked witch standing in front of him, nor were there any cauldrons or alchemy bottles. It was nothing more than a featureless white room, lit only by what filtered in from the high ceiling.
“Laestryl,” he said, turning to the mage on his left, “where the hell are we? Did we get… diverted, somehow?” It would hardly be his first time in an extradimensional space, but the sooner they figured out what kind the quicker they could get out.
“Not so far as I can tell,” came the elf’s nasal reply. “There are no illusions, either. We are inside the witch’s hut, and this is the naked reality of it.”
With a growl, Gorpel ground his teeth together. He turned around, to a man in full armor muttering a quiet prayer. “What about you, Roderick?” he asked. “Any insight from your god?”
There was a moment while he finished his chant, then Roderick opened his eyes. “He is silent,” he replied, his mouth dry. “In fact, I don’t feel His presence at all.” Gorpel swore. That could mean any number of things, none of them good.
The ground shook, and a tremendous crash filled the air. A second later it happened again, then a third, growing stronger each time. Gorpel unsheathed his blade and held the grip with both hands, ready to meet the threat. “Wherever in the Hells we are,” he began, “there’s a big ol’ beastie with us, and it’s coming.” The other two prepared themselves as best they could, though whatever it was they had certainly never encountered anything like it before.
The great beast’s head peaked over the walls, and what resolve they had was shaken. There was no mistaking Agatha’s striking, hauntingly beautiful features, especially when they were the size of a keep on their own. Her silver eyes shone down from atop the living tower, and she crossed her narrow arms beneath her breasts. She smirked at the trio, confident in her absolute superiority over them, both magical and physical.
“Well, well, well!” she boomed, mocking the tiny adventurers at her feet. They looked back up at her, awe-struck by her gigantic form looming over them. “It looks like my trap’s caught some bugs! Let’s give them a look and see what I got, shall we?” With a mercurial grin her titanic body bent over, placing a hand on each of the narrow walls, and effortlessly picked the box off the floor. The adventurers were thrown from their feet and slid over the floor while their captor carelessly lifted their enclosure. After another cataclysmic crash Agatha slammed it down on a counter, and their brief journey came to an abrupt end.
Agatha’s pale face dominated their view while she silently looked them over, sizing them up. Gorpel grabbed his sword and snapped up into a crouch to defend himself when her hungry eyes were on him, but they soon passed over and came to rest on Laestryl in a corner. Her eyes lit up like braziers, and she declared, “Ah, a mage!” Her voice made their teeth and joints rattle, and they felt her hot breath pour over them. “A magelet, to be more precise. Though I dwarf your power, I can’t risk you doing something stupid like trying to even the odds, can I?” Throughout her mockery, Agatha’s voice was soft and seductive like velvet despite its overwhelming volume. “Better get you out of there and somewhere more restrained.”
Agatha plunged a tremendous hand into the box, and a tiny gasp was all that could escape the elf’s mouth before he was engulfed. Long, porcelain fingers curled around him, restricting his arms, then she placed the whorls of her thumbprint over his face. She roughly snatched the tiny wizard out of the box, contorting his body with her grip, though her thumb kept him from squeezing. Her lips spread in a cruel smile, exposing surprisingly white teeth between her maroon lips, while she gazed at the puny man in her hand.
“I have an outstanding idea, magelet!” Agatha exclaimed. “Let’s have a magic duel! I’ll even let you go first, since I’m really eager to see what you can do!” With his body completely bound and her thumb gagging him, there was nothing Laestryl could do but squirm. “Aw, not even a cantrip?” Agatha teased after waiting a couple seconds. “Did you just buy some robes and think it’d come to you naturally? Well, it’s my turn, and I cast Agatha’s Crushing Fist!”
Excitement beamed from her face, and with a twinge of effort Agatha clenched her fist. Every bone in the puny mage’s body snapped in rapid succession, making a series of quiet pops that culminated in a soft squelch. She opened her fingers to briefly admire her work, then turned her palm over. The wizard’s broken body dropped back into the box, landing in a misshapen heap of ruptured flesh and broken bones.
Before the others could even recoil, Agatha turned her eager gaze to them. “Which one of you is next?” she asked, her eyes darting between the pair of adventurers. They came to a stop on Gorpel, the tip of his blade still extended toward her gigantic, smiling face. “Do you want to fight me, little man?” He did not know whether it was courage or idiocy that held his pose, but he did not waver.
“That looks like a yes to me!” she proclaimed, then swiped at the diminutive warrior. Agatha’s hand expertly collided with Gorpel’s shoulder, shoving him into her fingers wrapping around from the other direction. She formed a tight fist around him, leaving just his head and one arm poking out, the tiny sliver he called a sword firmly secured by her middle finger. Agatha roughly withdrew him from the box, and his head swam while she raised him to her face.
“I win,” she declared, holding him an inch from her lips, “and to the victor go the spoils.” Agatha’s fingers opened, leaving just her thumb and forefinger wrapped around him, then gave him a light squeeze. The sword fell from his limp hand and into her waiting palm. She chuckled, making his insides shake, and she delighted in his helpless squirming in her grip.
“Tell me, mighty warrior,” she began, “how many dragon’s gullets have you stared into?” He did not answer, and Agatha did not wait for one anyway. “Did you ever imagine you’d find your end in a human’s?” She tipped her chin back, carrying him along with her lips. Gorpel began thrashing desperately to get free, but he had no hope against the strength of a titanic witch. Her fingers opened, dropping the puny warrior toward her open lips.
Gorpel planted a foot on each of her maroon lips, a desperate ploy to stay out of her maw a few seconds more. Agatha slowly opened her mouth wider, spreading his legs little by little and promising his eventual drop. He looked down and saw the vast pink cavern waiting for him, the uvula dangling on the far end, and gasped. She took the opportunity to strike him on the back of the neck with her middle finger, neatly popping him into her mouth.
Once she had him inside, Agatha snapped her jaw shut, sealing him in. He landed on her tongue and slid along it, back towards her throat. She raised her tongue, slamming him into the roof of her mouth, then ran him along the rough palate. His miniscule body vainly struggling against her tongue gave her shivers, and she held him there while his movements grew weaker. Once she was satisfied with his enervation she flicked her tongue, throwing him back into her throat. With a sickening schlurp her throat opened, and he fell into it.
Roderick watched the lump move down her throat, knowing it would be the last he ever saw of his companion. Agatha was still for a moment, then raised a hand to her lips. Gorpel’s sword was pinched between two of her digits, and she made a show of picking her teeth with it despite swallowing him whole. It saddened him to see such an artifact used as a toothpick, though he could not feel sorry for it. The foremost worry on his mind was what she was going to do to him.
Agatha’s eyes shot down toward him and he froze up. Her lips curled into a mercurial grin and she leaned over the box, throwing her shadow over the pitiful priest. “You’re all alone now, holy man,” she said, and the box shuddered when her hand set down on the side. “But it’s not just your friends that are gone, is it?” She traced a finger along the edge, almost seductively. “Your deity has abandoned you, too.”
“How did you…” was all he could manage from his choked throat. Fear pervaded every bit of his body while he looked up at the gigantic sorceress looming over him.
“I have my ways,” Agatha replied coyly. She slipped her hand into the enclosure, and he did not even try to move away from her fingers coiling around him. When she had him secured she pulled him out of the box, making his head spin with vertigo. “In this place, your deity is as small and weak to me as you are. But they don’t have to be.”
She paused for effect, waiting for a gasp from the tiny man clutched in her fist, but got nothing. “In all your travels, have you ever encountered something as powerful as I am? As awe-inspiring as my might, astounding as my magic, or humbling as my sheer size? To you I am nothing less than a goddess, and if you treat me as such you will, in time, get your powers back.”
Roderick hesitated. Was he ready to forsake his god for his life? The titanic face in front of him blurred and whizzed back and forth while Agatha violently shook him. “I bet you’re expecting me to crush you if you say no, right?” she asked. She bit her lip and gave him a light tap on the head with a colossal finger. “No. I would keep you here, in my shadow, forcing you to stay alive in the absence of your deity.” Her tone shifted to be much more serious, an overt threat in the tone. “This is a one-time offer. Accept me as your goddess, or perish in oblivion when your short, miserable life finally ends.”
That made the decision much easier. “Ag-Agatha the B-Black-Hearted,” he stammered, “t-tell me your will so that I may f-fulfill it, my… goddess.”
She smiled down at him and gave a light squeeze. “There, was that so hard?” she asked. “Maybe if you worship me hard enough, you’ll actually get some powers!” Agatha cackled and reached onto the shelf in front of her. With a loud scrape she pulled a jar off the wood. Carefully she positioned it beneath the tiny priest, then let him go, dropping him into the container. His metal armor clinked against the glass, and she raised it up to get a better look at her new servant.
Agatha’s face seemed to curve around Roderick, peering at him from all angles with two enormous eyes. She tapped the side with her fingertip, making a resounding ping echo through the jar. “My first worshipper!” she exclaimed. “My first step to becoming a goddess!” Her booming voice resonated inside the container, overwhelming Roderick’s ears. “Or maybe I just wanted to keep you prisoner for the rest of your life, who can say?” With a smirk she placed it back among the row of empty jars, knocking him onto his back when it set down, and turned away.
I stalked toward the titaness, blade at the ready as I walked along the wood’s grain. Nothing could bring my friends back – they had been too badly mangled – but I was not going to go down without a fight. As the only one left it was my responsibility to see this through, and I began to formulate a plan as I looked up from behind her heel.
Agatha’s foot suddenly raised and spun toward me, and I was just able to dive out from beneath her sole before it slammed back to the ground. “Don’t think I forgot about you, little sneaklet!” she boomed in a sing-song voice. I looked up in panic, and to my surprise her silver eyes were looking right at me. “You may have evaded my trap, but you’re no less of a pest than they are!”
I sprung back to my feet, and without thinking charged the giantess. Holding my blade aloft, I placed my free hand on the pointed tip of her dark purple shoe and used that to vault me on top of it. Feverishly I dashed over the bulges of her toes, keeping my stride when I crossed onto her pale foot. Her ankle was almost in reach, and I lunged to close the distance.
Agatha’s foot abruptly raised, catching me unaware with its ascent. The enormous platform carried me upward before slamming back down, creating a tremendous crash. I landed face-first on her foot then continued sliding, practically bouncing off her soft skin until I went over the edge and past her ankle to sprawl on the floor.
She mocked me with a rumbling laugh, then raised her heel. The scraping of her sole grinding against the floor tore at my ears until I was looking up at the white sole over her heel. Briefly she cocked her knee then swung it down, and I was just able to roll out from beneath it before it pressed back against the floor with a thundering crash.
Knowing every moment mattered I shot back to standing, then looked up at the bulging ankle bone above and powerful tendon beside it. I leapt forward, reaching for the top of her shoe to grab on, but it moved just out of my grasp. Her shoe swung around and caught me in the chest with its tip, flinging me away from the colossal sorceress.
I landed hard on the unforgiving wood, and the blade dropped from my numb fingers as I rolled away from it. How did I ever think I had a chance? That was not even on purpose and it was enough to toss me aside like a toy. The only thing left to do was to accept my fate.
Quakes rumbled through the floor, and I looked up to find Agatha standing astride me, a playful grin plastered on her alabaster face. Her legs towered hundreds of feet over me, a simple black dress following her curves, and she had her hands on her hips in a triumphant pose. She looked down at me between her feet, simultaneously alluring and intimidating, and tremors wracked my body while she tapped her foot. “Well?” she boomed. “Is that it?” There was nothing else I could do; my sword was undoubtedly shattered somewhere beneath her tremendous foot.
She waited several seconds for me to do something, but I was resolute in my inactivity. Finally, Agatha clicked her tongue and looked at me scornfully. “You’re boring,” she declared, and raised her foot. It hovered over me for a moment before she stomped it back to the ground, just missing me. A deafening boom erupted from the impact, and I felt as though my body was going to shake apart just from that. Over the ringing in my ears I heard her laughing a deep belly laugh.
Agatha coiled her leg up again, taking time to let her foot hang over me again. She brought it down swiftly again, and this time she did not miss. Her sole rapidly grew until it encompassed my whole field of view, then it landed with tremendous force. For a brief second I heard the crack of her stomp, then everything went white and there was a brief flash of intense pain.
Agatha heard the tiny, pitiful crunch of the puny man beneath her foot, and for good measure stomped on him several more times, pounding him into mush. When she was satisfied she raised her leg again and grabbed her ankle, turning her sole toward her. With a look of disgust she scraped the miniscule corpse off her sole with the toothpick of a sword she had just acquired and flung it away, then grabbed the box. That trap had been incredibly fun for her, and she was eager to reset it and bait some fresh rubes.