Ada’s quaking steps neared.

“Retreat lightly,” Henry said, him and two props easing their way backwards. Henry had one fireball in his hand, the others had two each. The two props holding the rope made eye contact as Ada approached their line. Henry watched their actions carefully, trying to time his move with theirs. They’d wound the rope around their wrists to get an even better grip. If the line didn’t provide enough resistance, Ada would simply kick through it.

They nodded. Ada was nearing. Both of them raised the rope overhead to get as much height as they could, then pulled it towards themselves, anchoring their heels into the soil. Ada’s right ankle stepped through the rope. The two props were yoinked off the ground and whirled around her ankle like the balls of bolas, but they succeeded in yanking her foot back. The startled expression Ada made inspired confidence. Her knee came up to greet the ground instead of her foot, and Ada was late to catch herself with her hands, grunting as her elbows did it instead. The crowd gasped.

“Go!” Henry and his two companions sped forward. They waited too long to get a good sense of where she’d land, needing several seconds until they got close. Ada rose her head and saw them. “Throw!” Henry threw the one fireball he had left, his two companions threw one of theirs. Henry’s fireball hit her chin first, shattering with a bright crackle. Ada cursed and flinched her head downward, grabbing her chin, a reaction which aided her well as the fireballs of the two props came thereafter and burst upon her scalp instead of her face. Henry relentlessly rushed in, not a good chance, but the best they’d get. He jumped towards her head, body flowing with golden energy.

Ada reactively swung an arm back-and-forth, afraid of further impending fireballs, and Henry couldn’t have asked for any worse luck as that swinging arm found him and slapped him aside, deflecting his advance by sheer accident. He landed with a couple of rolls and stabilized. “Damn.”

“No, she got them!”

Henry watched and could only sigh with a shake of the head as he figured it out. Due to Ada lying on all four from the fall, her soles pointed upwards, presenting the two props who were thoroughly smushed to her feet. The ones who tripped Ada with the rope and had been thrown forward with her hadn’t taken the chance to get away. Instead they thought they could free their friends from her soles, no doubt an effort led by the same guy who’d challenged Henry’s proposal and suggested they free some of the props trapped in her body. Ada had caught them both, rising up with both of them in a hand each.

“A valiant effort from our humans,” the narrator shouted. “But they ended up losing two more!”

Ada tugged at her tight brassiere, opening it up on the left breast and depositing one of them there. She deposited the other on the right, and with a snap the fabric sealed them in. Their outlines were visible through the brassiere, hugging them tightly against her chest. Two under her feet, one between her butt cheeks, one in her pussy, and two in her breast; her body was their prison. Only Henry and two props remained, with Leeman uselessly lying where he’d first been stomped and six of them trapped in her body.

But Ada had some rearrangement in mind. She picked up her left foot, grabbed the left leg of the prop stuck there, and peeled him off. The slashing sound of torn paper as the prop parted from her soft foot demonstrated well how thoroughly married he’d been to it, a yellowish, human-shaped frame left on her sole. The prop dangled limply from her fingers, all energy meticulously trampled out of him. Ada threw him far away, then picked up her other foot and did the same to the other prop. Both of them joined Leeman in their torpor, knocked out of the fight. Though as Ada’s feet stepped together, those toes wriggled vivaciously. The soles were freed up and ready to take two more. Henry and the two props remained.

There was no time for strategy or to even wallow in their pity, Ada stepped towards Henry. He had nothing left but to meet her challenge, summoning the art of the fighter and charging in. That surprised the crowd. Ada and him had performed this dance before, Henry dodging her stomp, weaving in punches and kicks wherever he could, absorbing her hits tactically where he could so long as it wasn’t a stomp. When he caught sight of her face, she tried to contain a smile. This was what she loved. One of her sweeps caught him, punting him away from the Garden of Chance, back on plain grass with none of the concealing comfort of shrubbery.

“Goddamn it.” Henry breathed long and slow. He didn’t get up. “There’s no point.”

Ada’s shadow grew on him. But instead of her attack, Henry heard her yell with the crackle of fireballs exploding. The two props had thrown their last fireballs, detonating on Ada’s thighs. She grimaced and ground her teeth, rubbing her thighs where they’d hit. Her chin had already reddened where Henry had hit his. They indeed stung, but stinging pain couldn’t win a battle alone, not with the little they had. When Ada saw the two props who’d fired at her were empty-handed, she returned her focus to Henry. His motivation was shot, but Henry still dodged a stomp, ducked out of the way from a sweep of her foot, narrowly escaped the toes which fished for him with a grip.

A large glob of liquid fell on Henry’s head. “Huh?” It was her scent, and memories returned. He looked up the pillars of her legs above him and saw that she was dripping wet, and that the prop she’d shoved into her pussy now poked out with his head. All of Ada’s movement had progressively eased him out.

Distracted, Ada’s ankle caught him. Her right foot pinned his arm down. Her left sole rose up, ready to bring it down on him.

Ada quivered. Weakness ran through her body like a jolt of thunder. She stepped back, off of Henry. Ada bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, containing her moans. The prop inside her pussy used his free head and attacked her nethers, kissing her pink and swollen lips, grabbing her clit and sucking aggressively.

“Oh, god,” Ada whispered. She knew it was best to stop him, but her discipline had its limits, and she was helpless as the prop did his best to paralyze her from pleasure. The two other props sneaked up behind her and wanted to launch an attack. The prop’s assault on her most sensitive area worked too well, as Ada’s legs failed her. She fell backwards. The two props watched in horror as two round and enormous ass cheeks plummeted towards them. Ada sat right on top of them, their shapes consumed by her gummy flesh.

The crowds burst out in laughter. That laughter, as well as the narrator’s insulting descriptions of Ada earlier, visibly picked at her. A wash of sobriety came over Ada like a dive into a freezing lake, steeling her composure and pushing the prop deep into her pussy, sealing him inside once again. Ada had pride, and other giants could wound it.

As Ada rose up, the two props were gracelessly stuck to her cheeks. But the hold wasn’t firm, and her jiggling movement caused them to fall off. They didn’t get up. Not from an inability, but the motivation was gone. It was pathetic.

Henry watched the scene of defeat and let the hopelessness find its way inside him. How stupid was he for thinking he ever stood chance, for letting confidence slip in? Elly back in the village being awestruck over the tales of him and his friends defeating a giant, Leeman by the brazier in the cell yesterday praising his long journey in Gintessa, for a moment Henry believed he was anything extraordinary, but the reality was obvious. Luck. That’s all it was. He had never stood a chance against a giant, and not one example proved the opposite. Rennard made one lucky shot on that mountainside, a lucky shot born from Ada’s overconfidence, overconfidence which could only be nurtured by how much Ada had toyed with them. Winning wasn’t impossible, but Henry needed more years under his belt. As he was now, there was simply no way.

“I surrender,” Henry said and lay on his back. He just wanted rest. True rest. A room and a bed where he knew he’d be undisturbed, where he didn’t have to fear anything. As he lay and stared at the skies, hearing complaints from the crowd, he realized he hadn’t gotten any high-quality rest since their dumb prank in that guardhouse. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He didn’t want to have any hope. No next plan or scheme or thought of what to do. It was too exhausting.

“What a coward!” someone shouted, one amongst many complaints. They weren’t happy to see Henry avoid a proper beating.

“Get to him as well,” a spectator urged Ada.

“It’s only right he gets beat up at least as much as the props!” another added.

“I was told the human was responsible for the giant’s eyes. I expected vengeance and bitterness.”

“It seems the crowd wants pain!” the narrator said.

Ada stepped up to Henry, standing astride him. Her thick and toned legs consumed his view, and her pink lips stared right at him. The skin around her pussy moved dimly, the prop within trying to escape. The movement he made caused a smaller drop of cum to loosen and drop, landing right on Henry’s chest. Ada leaned forward, her face coming forward, her damaged eyes finding him. Wearing a smirk Henry recognized, she crouched down, covering him in her shadow.

“And that’s it, Henry,” Ada whispered. “I win. I choose what happens to you. I was told to try and make this crowd happy, that it’ll boost my rewards from this victory. So I’ll rough you up, and I’ll go hard.” She winked and blew a kiss. “But I know you can take it, honey. That’s why you’re best suited to be my slave, Henry. I’m rough, but you can handle it. And more than that, you like it.”

“Come on, you dumb bull, do something!”

The smirk on Ada’s face died off as she rose back up. Ada pulled her leg up and hovered her right foot above him. It contained blades of grass, stretches of soil, and the skeleton of a branch which fell off and landed next to his head. There was a human-shaped print of cleanliness along the middle, not at all free from the contents of the arena, but a noticeable mark nonetheless.

Ada stomped, and not lightly. The wind fled Henry’s lungs, opening his mouth to be filled with doughy lump of foot flesh right underneath the ball of her foot. He couldn’t believe they were so soft despite the rough treatment they received. The foot twisted, then settled upon him, and with the bit of cum she’d spilled onto him he had no trouble sticking easily. Henry came up with her foot the next time, and she stomped again. And again, and again, one, two, three, four, five, six, and Henry lost count as he snapped up and down, up and down, the pounding of her foot compensating for how little he’d endured throughout the fight with the props taking most of it. A rotation ensued, one between fresh wind seeping in under his backside as the foot rose, and firm, smelly foot heat in front sending him down until both sides crushed him. The world became more and more distant.

At last the foot didn’t descend and the rollercoaster ended. Her hand came and ripped him off her sole. Dangling from her hand, Henry thought he caught sight of Lily in the crowd. Her demanding mother had likely brought her to the arena, to try and harden the girl’s nerves.

Ada wasn’t done with him. Henry would be a fool to think it ended here. Holding his leg, Ada smacked him against the inside of her thigh. She was kind enough not to tighten her leg, but the impacts were harsh nonetheless, Ada marking her thigh with red prints using his body. It may have been ten or twenty spanks, Henry couldn’t tell anymore. What he knew was that he was conscious when the spanking ended, she threw him away at last, and the crowd laughed. He wished he could see Lily’s reaction, to find sympathy somewhere, though he didn’t have it in him to look. He lost grasp of the world. Ada still walked after him. As she did so, she casually removed the props from inside her brasierre, the one inside her pussy, and the one between her ass the way one would take off attire upon coming home. After tossing them aside, the props made no attempts to resume their fight, knowing she already had her victory.

Ada made a move reminiscent of the servant back in the Charmer’s house. The four toes of her left foot, the pinky excluded, came over his torso, and the four from the right over his lower body, and she got on her tiptoes, spearheading all her weight onto his tiny body. Henry couldn’t hear or see much of anything, the world crushed into nonexistence, nothing but the amassing heat and sweat as her toes flexed upon him. They raked in stretches of soil and grass, their soft and spongy texture melting his body. Henry felt the pressure peaking, and then, a sudden release, free to view and breathe the world again.

Ada had jumped.

He realized it just before the earth-shattering impact arrived, robbing him of all his peace. Like an explosion directed down, her landing produced a tiny crater, a pocket where Henry lay. The feet twisted, and enhanced with sweat and dirt gained a firm grip on Henry’s body, wrinkling his skin with every turn and grind. They squeezed the final bit of spirit out of Henry, and it might have been in combination with the poor sleep he’d gotten in the dungeon the night before, as he didn’t remember much afterwards. There was noise and conversation, being carried in someone’s hand, echoing hallways, him lying in a room, Leeman checking up on him, experiences and memories so hazy and fleeting Henry believed they were dreams.

He woke and stared at a roof of white marble lined with dark veins. The room was proportioned for a giant, an enormous space for him. Sunlight from a row of high windows almost near the roof poured in, illuminating the glazed surface of the marble, making the walls shimmer.

“You awake?” Leeman sat beside him. Henry noticed a soft surface underneath. With a yawn, rub of the eyes, and raise of the head, he noticed they lay on a red glossy blanket in the corner of the room, flanked by rows of plush square pillows with golden tufts at their edges. One portion of the room was elevated, fifteen feet up covered by three giant steps. There was the dark rumbling of water there, a large golden maiden holding a goldfish under her arm with water sprouting out from its open mouth and into the pool. There was a cupboard with bowls of fruit and unlit candles upon it, a sleek and exquisite quality of wood standing near their plush corner. Paintings of scenery and important giants lined one wall.

“Quite the room, isn’t it?” Leeman said.

Henry sat up straight, taking a few moments to endure the heaviness in his head. “Where are we? How long have— What happened after?”

“She won. Sorry I couldn’t be of much help during the fight, but I hope you weren’t expecting much from me. Well, I should hope you didn’t think we’d win to begin with. It’s been a few hours.”

Henry noticed a few faint lines along his torso. It was the swirly print of her toes. His arms felt heavier, and upon inspection, they were clad with a stretch of modrock. The black mineral was encased around his forearms with a distinguishable line across it, revealing they were like long cuffs for the forearm. A keyhole sat in the middle. Modrocks could take magic, and although it didn’t repress magic in its surroundings like the much more oppressive, rare, and expensive orkken rocks did, it was a potent inhibitor as long as it made contact. And an encasement around his forearms certainly qualified as contact. Henry might still be able to summon the art of the fighter, but it would be like moving with iron weights tied around the legs and waist and shoulder. The other props were in the room too, spread about, naked aside from the cuffs of modrock covering the forearms.

“They put those on us and put us in here,” Leeman said. “It’s sometime after midday now, I’d think. A few hours after the fight.”

“What…” Henry cleared his throat, gravelly from lack of use. “What did she say? I mean after the fight, what did Ada decide would happen to me?”

“You’re her slave now, her property. They’re getting the paperwork done, stamped with a Richmond seal. Makes it fairly official, I’m afraid.”

Henry nodded and looked forward, a hallway connecting to this room.

“You don’t seem too dismayed.”

“I expected it.”

“And it’s better than being owned by the arena.” This wasn’t Leeman’s words, but another prop who walked in on their conversation. “Apologize for not being of much help in the fight. I got stepped on right near the beginning when she chased us, couldn’t get off her foot.”

“It’s fine,” Henry said. “Why are you apologizing?” He swept a hand across the room. “You guys needed to win as well.”

“We need to perform, not win. Like I said, we’re owned by the arena. You might have misunderstood things, a victory wouldn’t free us. Some of us serve sentences here for some ‘wrongdoing’, like a prison, and for others this is like our ‘livelihood’, a forced livelihood, I should say. We live here. Well, not in a room like this, but in the dungeons, and they throw us into the arena as props for someone else’s fight. We get bonuses if we perform, perhaps something to send our family, and for the ones serving a sentence, it can be shortened. Or we can be bought out by someone, hopefully someone in the audience we impress. For you, winning was what mattered. For us, performing is, and I had far from a good showing.”

“Did anyone have a good showing?” Henry said.

“I heard about the tricks you guys tried to pull on her. That’s interesting, shows a creative mind. Those things matter. But I also heard many didn’t like how much you ran and hid in the tree, and they enjoyed the giant’s attempts.”

Henry snorted. “They can eat shit.”

Leeman chuckled.

“Anyways, how the hell did we get placed in here? I would happily accept this room instead of the dungeons, but it doesn’t seem right.” More of the props moved towards the blanket and pillows, seeing Henry had woken.

“The arena let her decide what happens to you,” Leeman said. “But it also rewards her for her efforts and entertaining the crowd. The way I understood it, this is her reward.”

Henry nodded his head to another prop who approached. “Hey, you know why we’re here?”

“Heard the same as him, that we’ll be spending the day in here,” he presented his arms to show both the modrock encasements as well as his nudity, “like this, as part of the giant’s reward. Don’t understand rightly myself.”

“That giant, you know her?” another prop asked Henry. He was one of the younger ones, no older than twenty and close to Henry's age.

“We’ve tangled before, yes.”

“You’re a lucky man,” he said. “She wants you, and she’s not bad-looking. I mean, she’s not the most good-looking either, but those eyes looked good somehow, even when hurt. And if she’d let her hair down instead of those stray ugly pigtails, and got a wash, you know, she can have that powerful beauty-look.”

“Are you ok?” Henry asked.

“Man was the one who got put up inside her pussy,” another added. “And he’s already in love. The young age speaks for itself.”

“Gentlemen, I’d like your attention.” They all turned to one of the middle-aged props, perhaps near forty. He pointed over his shoulder, to the top of the cupboard which stood near the pillows and carpet. “These modrocks are making it hard, but if we work together, we should try and get to that. Ripe and delicious fruit, just sitting there.”

“Sure,” Henry said. “I might be able—”

“No, we’re not allowed.” The one who spoke up did so with a shy attitude. “We can’t misbehave. I also heard we have to do everything she says. They said it was part of her reward, and its misdemeanor if we don’t follow it.”

“Oh.” That brought a wave of understanding over everyone.

Henry turned to Leeman in question, and the old man answered, “Misdemeanor can increase the sentence, lower rewards, and such. That’s what folks in here try to avoid.”

“They must really be spoiling this brat if we have to do everything she says or it’s a misdemeanor,” someone added. “What a reward she’s getting.”

“They said she did her best to make the crowd happy. And it’s only for a day." He pointed at Henry. "It’s only the challenger here who’s her slave for life.”

Slave for life. Henry hadn’t thought about it that way, and it sounded harsher and more absolute than he thought it was. He’d be her slave for life. Even thinking about it, he knew he didn't properly understand the magnitude of a lifetime, and he feared the day he would.

The groan of a door echoed through the hallway connecting to this room. Everyone turned their heads that way. It groaned, screeched sharply, then swung back with a clack and closed. Then followed the rhythmic clap of sandals striking against heels as a giant walked down the hallway. When she arrived at the turn and was in view of them, Henry thought it wasn’t her, for the sound of sandals assumed wealth and high power, and the sight of a luxurious, purple satin gown didn’t fit her either. But the profile certainly did, the height, the size, the movement, and as she stepped into the light of the room, it indeed was Ada.

“God, have they spoiled her,” one whispered. The youngster's comments, seeming ridiculous a few minutes ago, turned prophetic, as Ada’s hair was freed from the pigtails and she indeed looked much more womanlike and, Henry had to admit, gorgeous. The glittering purple gown gave a slim touch to her massive size, no doubt adding to the newfound splendor and beauty with which she marched into the room, carrying a feminine allure. They’d even let her have a pair of sandals for the day, protecting those feet which, normally dirty and travelworn, had been washed and cleaned to a pristine, shiny, glass-like fragility, and if one didn’t know Ada they would truly believe these innocent feet hadn’t braced the dangers of the world and were in need of coveted protection from these sandals. If Ada had simply marched on by for Henry and the props to observe, he’d be proud to announce his past dealings of her, of what she’d done with him, of how she’d used him and how he’d worshipped her. In that moment, for just a second, Henry was proud to be her slave.

But it was indeed Ada, and she didn’t march past them. She strode straight up to their plush corner of pillows and stopped right at the lip of the blanket, on the marble floor. The rubbery sound of her toes grinding against the sandals brought their eyes off her body and down to them, and she flexed those long and round digits inwards, yellowing from pressure, grasping against the sandal’s surface, grappling with the straps around the big and second toe. Context was everything. Before battle, in her worn-down, dirtied, barefoot self, it was a threatening show. Now, it was a coquettish advance, a lure, the honey she flaunted before these ten bees.

“In the grand scheme of things, we may all have been puppets entertaining these rich people,” Ada said, and in the marble room her voice echoed. “We may all be trash, insignificant lowlives who don’t matter.” She brought her shoulders together and tugged one end of, and then carefully, she shimmied out of the purple gown, letting its glossy folds wash down over her body and reveal clean, naked skin. The gown fell to her ankles. Ada stepped out of it, sandals still worn, and joined them on the blanket, towering over them in her naked glory. She licked her lips. “But right here, in this room, I am your goddess.”