Through continual growth, approaching 25000 times the size of a human, Cultist's knee pads were easily higher than most of the surrounding spires - at least, the ones she didn't accidentally send crashing into assorted rubble and debris as she stumbled and bumped into them. Massive trenches led a path around the landmass, covering the distance of small countries. And each print went wider, deeper, carving into the subterranean underhives as it pierced the soil's moist layers and the protective shells of buildings alike. The shakes from her body made the outskirts of each hive tremble... even when she wasn't moving.

She tapped her stomach, rubbing right around the mark of Nurgle, unable to quell the rumbles. "Eet's a leetle embarasseeing... Baht hwee may haff to stahp for food. Like hwe gave Kay-oss beefor."

Sepsis briefly stirred from her navel perch, nodding. "Yeah. Hard to relax with this gurgling all around."

Stronger quakes rattled through multiple sets of streets, ploughed down by her legs as she leaned over part of the sprawling settlement. Skylines were rearranged as mile-high fingers dug beneath them, burrowing deep and grinding buildings into the grime and rubble within her glove's material, catching some in the scarlet wraps and the meagre perches made by her nails. Either palm could hold 5 million square meters; and both of them, together, were eagerly unearthing a whole platter of Imperial cityscape.

Citizens were practically squashed against the street's rockrete, crumbling like cookie crumbs, as she lifted them up with greater speed than any powerful space elevator. Above the clouds even as she kneeled, the populace slowly regained a sense of their surroundings and gravity - just in time to see her sharp, crowded teeth shimmering in the starlight; the mists rolling off her tongue; and the heretical smell of her breath overpowering even the layers of smog. A few odd droplets of saliva made impact on the long chunk of looted cityscape, each 90 meters in diameter and leaving behind wet pools - any space Marine shorter than the Custodes would have their head covered in those ponds.

All horizons surrounded by eagerly-curling fingers, or the vast depths of a gullet, they were frozen in a mix of awe and blood-curdling terror. Cultist's red eyes, with lashes large enough to slice through buildings, blew some away as she blinked at the shifting colours; her drool uncontrollable at this point. She poked one area with the tip of her (relatively) tiny nose, and asked: "Please put the healtheest food here! Hwee're sure hyou’ll geev us something good, even eef eet's smahl!"

And with barely enough time for them to recover (let alone rebuild) from the vast destruction wreaked by her vocal cords, she spread her thin olive lips even further; a kilometer in width, and nearly that in height, approaching the edge of the city block, dangling over the precipice she dug herself; swamping them in the vast embrace of her pink tongue. The stars and skies became the roof of her mouth - all noises and voices echoing into the shining, slobbery white and red walls around.

With only a moment to show off the rest of the city they were leaving behind, the teeth descended. The pearly daggers cut through the light, surrounding thousands in darkness. Every single breath was synced to her gasps, as the enamel guillotines effortlessly sliced a long, jagged border - and cutthem off from the world they knew.

*CRUNCH.*

*Muuunch-*

*GUUUULP*

With a simple raise of her chin to the cosmos, displaying a barely-discernible lump descending down her throat, she'd eaten a major residential area; licking in a few stragglers between her teeth and lip segments. "Eet's dusty... A leetle dry. Hwee deedn't need to chew mahch." Rooftops quaked atop her tongue as she spoke those words, the rest of the handheld metropolis awaiting her next move. "Eet may be easier to swhallow eef hwee just get hyuu wet first!"

At that, her tongue hit the soil. Her nose and eyes covered the clouds, and all signs of help, as she dragged the muscle across the cityscape. Structure after structure, traffic, civilians, each in turn ended up ripped from the plateau, glued to her taste buds. The round shape of her uvula dangled overhead as her licking speed overtook their escape ships; oral organs growing further in the distance as her tongue’s width grew, too, from surging emotions. The slow, steady laps worked away at the platter of millions, hands spinning it around to make sure she slurped every side.

The spittle eroding the soil meant escapees getting caught in newly-created mud, sinking into what was once a solid street. As she tilted the huge tract of land, more and more people fell from the twisting gravity, practically creating miniature sandwiches of civilians and soldiers alike between the plates of former streets.

And like soup or cereal slurped down from a bowl, the final gulp led them, along with the caved-in ruins, down the long slide past her lips; over her gums; and, if they weren't lucky enough to have their homes, offices, and statues impaled on her fangs, into the abyss with a final swallow.

For what seemed like hours, the pulsating esophagus tube carried the crowds downwards; slimy liquids trickling down either side of the muscular barricades, barely visible in the darkness yet intensely audible. In steady, almost soothing pumps, more and more of their Imperial civilization ended up descending deeper, towards the inevitable drop at the very bottom.

The initial *splish* and *splash* of the populace landing inside was something causing mass panic. The final glimmering lights of buildings, sinking slowly into the murky yellow-green seas of digestive juices, illuminated a mass of seemingly endless wrinkles in the stomach wall on all sides; waters crashing over like tides on a beach, and sucking up more and more of the contents.

But as the continual churning of sized-up enzymes ate away at the strongest substances and food reserves, it only wettened the populaces' bodies. The sting of acid quickly halted, giving way to a fizzing sensation; not unlike a bubble bath. At worst, some clothing was being ripped apart, or people knocked into soft stomach walls. Those plunged deep into the liquid by the falling foodstuffs (and the cities containing them) didn't drown - inhaling and even savouring the strange liquid, which had a taste resembling bacon the more they sucked in. Perhaps due to her unique diet, or the chaotic influence, none of them were on the path to digestion. In fact, a good number of them were swept to safety on relatively untouched fleshy spots on the gut's flooring. The remaining foods that grew with her from before the rampage, though lacking and partially broken down, were enough to feed a huge number of the starving citizens.

They still witnessed continual motion from all sides. Not just from her steps, as she rose back up for more; but the walls, themselves, stretched out further and further, making room for more contents. Having this food filling her body - the thankfulness of the people within - or the thoughts of those outside - something had increased the strength of Chaos flowing through her veins. Though it was impossible to make out from inside, her size had doubled over the course of her snack, now making her 50000 times the size of a human.

And yet, that wasn't enough. From both the interior and exterior, the low, bassy gurgles resonated, shaking across thousands of souls. Cultist patted her stomach, dark gloves stretching across her abdominal tattoos, and stretched out. "Eeeeh, eet dahsn't feel lihke mahch changed... Hwee need more!"

From above, rattled by the stomach bubbles rising up and overwhelming any voice, the still-growing Ringarde - now at about the same height of a spire - looked down to the massive, olive-ish expanse beneath her, moving actively across the grey continent. "That... that shouldn't be. With this much warp energy, she shouldn't have to eat at all! Add the fact that a hive city can't be very nutritious... Is her body just not used to this...? Or is it seeking out people to fuel her growth more...? Or... aa-aaAAAH..." Red crossed her face as it was covered by the shadow of a rising, thick pillar.

Cultist lifted a spire upwards, past her navel, bosom, neck, shoulders, giving every passenger on her a chance to see the shapes of flickering lights. Hundreds of buildings, long untouched, trickled down the expanse of her belly, some caught in the wraps on her thighs. Nearly ten billion in her hands, enough on its own to populate a Frontier World packed in this tight space - held from the extravagantly-decorated tip, like a particularly large popsicle or small cotton candy cone.

The colossus of Chaos lifted it to her outstretched tongue, brushing it around the circumference of the upside-down underhive. This massive muscle swept across the structures that were already loosening from the gravitational pull; everything from shacks to elaborate cathedrals rushing into her mouth. Eventually, her lips got to work on it, too - soft masses easily detaching city blocks into their folds, parting the toughest foundations from the soil beneath.

Without even realising it, her simple hand and arm motions send the entire hive spinning in circles. The initial lift made thousands fall out, to her feet perched in the ground below; and hundreds of thousands clung to their furniture, or tumbled to their ceilings. Amid lightless, murky rooms, various belongings smashed through the walls at high speed with every lick - and the people within tilted like pinballs. Escaping vehicles had little luck, their sturdy armour the only thing protecting the drivers from high-speed collisions with the landscape; and not protecting at all from the floods of wetness that sent them swirling in whirlpools towards Cultist's taste buds.

All things considered, her mouth was a far larger, roomier space. Having lived their lives in such cramped quarters, it was almost an enlightening experience to be able to stare high into the clouds, and see no mists hanging above or gaudy statues in the distance; only fleshy red walls and sharp teeth, with a seemingly endless capacity. And the stomach they inevitably sunk to was even vaster.

At first, it had trouble fitting in all the way. But as the followers of Chaos grew in number, so did the width of her smiling mouth, and her palm. Her grip strengthening without her fully grasping it, the gold-and-platinum decorated heights began crumpling like aluminium wrap in her palm. And with one last decree, echoing across the world --

"Eet's naht that tasty... Baht eet would be rude to separate hyuu from hyour friends!"

- Cultist dipped the whole hive city in her mouth. Her lips were full with it, letting the shaft fall into her form, surrounding it in a flooding wetness that moistened the foundations. The durasteel foundations that held these people under its iron grip for countless years - it sunk away from the wetness, in her toothy smile, as she shut her jaw with them inside.

Stammering from below, Ringarde could barely even get a word out. "Th-that... the whole thing... so long... erm..." She could feel the chest shaking behind her with the long, hard swallow; which sent her carrier's hands fluttering, scrunching into fists, and waving in a strange dance as she forced it down her throat. Until, finally, it landed in her stomach with a sigh - not just one from her, but a collective relief from the hive city she'd swallowed, seeing their relative safety.

And to everyone from within, the tower stood, tilted, sinking, as a monument in the middle of stirring stomach waters.

Such an excessive surge of emotions translated to a pulsing, towering growth. 80 km, 100, 130... Until her purple hair pierced the edge of the planet's atmospheric borders, followed by her eyes.

She blinked, sending clouds floating in rapid whirlpools. "Thees eez... spess?"

At 100,000 times her original height, Cultist now stood 160 kilometers in the sky - and that was only because multiple kilometers of soil were sinking beneath her unsteady feet, breaking apart with every terrain-ploughing fidget. Three mighty Emperor-class titans, lined head to toe, would be only a smidgen larger... than a gap between her toes.

"Woah... Hwee can see zo mahch..." She stepped forward, carelessly carving her way through more of the planet, as she reached out for the stars above. Her arms rose out to the cosmos in an embrace, practically waving and dancing - generating impossibly powerful shockwaves below. "Can hyuu see us, out there, mahstohr...? Hwee are here! Thank hyuu for thees gift!"

In a dance, celebrating her new position, she scooped up the few remaining cities on the footprint-painted landmass - built outside the high spires, easily fitting in her palms - and threw them up like confetti, laughing. They fell over her, sprinkling her from head to toe in steel that sparkled like gemstones, shimmering in the night sky. Even those expelled from orbit quickly fell down; as if, supernaturally, drawn to her very form. 

The signal, instantly, drew in the Imperial Navy. With the Emperor's Wrath and Hammer failing against her earlier, His Shield was raised high, forming a dome around her. From the Aeronautica Imperialis' scores of Lunar-class and Gothic-class cruisers with 100,000 troops - surrounded with Sword-class Frigates that each carried 26,000 men themselves - to Rogue Traders volunteering for the righteous struggle, in Havoc-class Raiders and Hazeroth-class Privateers, each over 1.5 kilometers. They had surrounded the foe; the abomination against everything the Imperium and the Emperor stood for; their wills incorruptible through number and training; their armor-piercing lances and torpedoes poised; thousands of weapons batteries firing across her skin, the soundless void lit with the fire of macrocannons and railguns...

They met with a single jump, and a lick.

The Navy had no time to gaze in shock. Hundreds of thousands lay horrified and confused by the sudden hops that outmeasured everything on the ancient Richter scale by several magnitudes, energy output outmatching an earth mass of TNT and a day of a star's burning. The cruiser in her mouth had crossed solar systems, the danger of the warp, to be a small snack. Yet, those commanding the ships ordered the fire to continue until she gave in - keeping their concentration through the power of prayer, or through the power of bolters against their heads.

And again, as if it were a game, she curled her legs, and jumped into low orbit - a little lower, now that she had greater size simply standing - and slurped up a Lunar-class cruiser. Her tongue wrestled with its thrusters for a moment, pulling back, like a fly (with the power to escape planetary gravity twice over) trying to escape a frog's mouth; until an unconscious curl of the wet organ crippled their warp drive, leaving them to fall into the depths.

A set of following frigates stood in questioning. Across secret Imperial channels, one messaged to the other: "What now?"

It received the response: "We follow our leaders' brave example!"

And such was it that multiple Imperial Escorts carried their crew, charging with chants of glory and victory, into Cultist's curiously open mouth - navigating past her rocky mountains of teeth, after the swallowed ships. They kept their fire heavy, unrelenting; yet, none of it did much but light up the pathway down her esophagus' tract, illuminating the slithering, pulsating walls. Interference from her breath sent many crashing into it; yet, there were many still flying long enough to hover above the stomach acids, reporting on the sights to those still outside her gut... At least, as much as what could get through the murky air within, interfering with the transmissions and their anti-gravity.

To to their surprise, even explosions that would've cripled or killed them all sent them simply for a refreshing dip in the bubbling acids. As if some force beyond description were preserving their lifeforces, for some greater purpose...

Though to any observer, it didn't appear as if her path of destruction against the fleet had much reason or direction. Even her stray gasps of surprise and slight discomfort at the set of ships bouncing around her innards sucked in scores of Cobra-class destroyers. And her exclamation to the world outside created winds that hastened the escape of Rogue Traders with its 3.7x10^22-joule energy, practically sending them scattering amidst her slight salivation.

"Thank hyu for the visit! Hwee aren't very hungry anymore, baht eet was fun trying to cap-toor hyuu!"

She took a seat, levelling mountains beneath her tush - and stretched her feet out to relax after the snacktime, generating massive waves as her toes wiggled in the air...

***

Pulled in by the changing gravity currents, the Apocalypse-class battleship was in freefall. Men who'd devoted their lives to the sanctity of this ancient, dependable tool of the Imperium, sworn to protect it with their lives, fled from the exterior of its multi-kilometer length; only to crash down into footprints and assprints below.

"Don't remember me as this man - remember me as the one who stood by your side during previous battles!"

"Exterminatus, I keep praying, just one Exterminatus and I'll end this happy --"

"This - this outmatches our predictions!"

At the front, looking the approaching mass of fleshy pores directly, the commanding Ultramarine knelt. "My Emperor, I've failed you. I must accept the consequences of this fate. Men, do not mourn me, the captain must go down with his ship."

Another of his men tapped him on the pauldron. "Sir, you still have time to escape..."

The leader swung back. "Ass, you are ruining the moment!..." He returned to the window, lowering his head once more, as the mass of humid flesh that he sought out approached. "*ahem* Give me solitude now, for I shall be haunted by the presence of her heartbeat from this moment on."

And it landed - not with a crash, but with a pathetic *thwimp*, cushioned, wobbling.

Her inevitable, proud declaration of its "kap-toor" rang out to the entire population.

The largest battleship in the Imperium, even with all manner of propulsion crippled, was still airborne - wobbling like a pendulum on Cultist's smallest toe.

Art by Grandezu

***

"And the lil' umie grew bigger n' bigger until she was bigger than anything else! The end! That's me story, boyz, ya likes it?"

On a minor Ork world, around a blazing fire from a fuel drum, a lot of broad green faces stared at Tyefwuh, incredulously scratching and murmuring.

Uskor broke the silence. "Well, it's... ya know, ain't bad..."

"Wossa matter?!" The author swung out, his muscles flexing in the light of the flame and flickering stars. "Ye stupid gits are usually all about gettin' big n' strong!"

Holding a partly-mechanical arm out, Trugzozz approached him. "Y'see, it's all right n' good bein' big n' huge 'n all, but what else?" He waved a club in the air in demonstration. "Whole blutty thing's lackin' a sense o' basic narrative strutcha, innit?"

Anzuz got up next, shouting. "Yeah, what's the drivin' conflict 'ere, internal or external? Kinda peters out in an anticlimax at the denouement, like a Zzappa wimperin' and runnin' outta juice." He pointed to the scraps of a zzappa in an example.

"That scope blows it outta perspective an' makes it 'ard to get personal or relatable." Rekrippah nodded in agreement.

"Ye got 'umies stuck at the extremes of bureaucratic totalitarianism n' hedonistic anarchism, but didn't do much research into either. Jus' changed the status quo to fit whatcha needed rather than explorin' its implications." Bonebasha crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Ain't brutally cunning or cunningly brutal. Jus' self-indulgent."

Klawstompa made a sign with his finger. "An' oi don't fink it's easy tah read stories if yah give yer characters literary dialects an' phonetic accents. Propah disrespectful in a lotta cases."

Gutzkrakah rubbed his steel-coated chin. "Izzis some kinda wank piece? 'Cuz 'at's just messed up fer a git with spore-based reproduction."

Tossing his messy papers in the air, the writer snarled. "Gaaah, who needs ya losers anywho? If ya don't likes it, don't reads it!"

Uskor held a finger up. "But 'ow can we tell if we likes it or not without readin' it?"

"An' in any case - sweet Gork n’ Mork, wozzat?"

Pointing in the distance, Ironstompah's gaze was fixated to the distance - where a humanoid shape was starting to become visible on the surface of the human Forge World, smiling and waving as her body spread across a continent. Cultist’s growth was now visible to them.

The Orkish language has many more words than can be accurately translated here, and yet, only one word was on the lips of the entire planet, spreading across them in a furor of excited thirst: "WAAAAAGH!"

***