Her hands reached out to eagerly grab more and more of the planet that came towards her, barely a care in the world; scooping up states and subdivisions of the global civilization, and rearranging its borders with the same abandon and ease as if she were kicking about in a sandbox. "Hwe'll captoor thees, and thees, and thees..."

200 km. The mix of strong emotions on the crashing ship, as flesh expanded out before the crew, contributed to even further growth. It fed into the fury, despair, hope, and lust in every new city met with the Cultist's prying fingers. Even those who evacuated the ship found just an ever-widening field of skin on all sides, their slight wrinkles forming mountain chains that grew more intimidating. Surrounding those were four even larger pillars, making up the chaotic entity’s other toes.

250 km. The buildings that had once served to scratch her itches, those remaining spires were at the same scale as those makeshift picks now. More and more of her body pierced through the thick layers of smog covering the surface at 5 miles high, revealing large stretches of her legs and backside to those looking from below. It was even somewhat clear for those above, as if her body were passively generating its own, different atmospheric distortion. Whole swaths of those brave forces began to cover her in assorted masses, landing among her exposed stomach, across her limbs' wraps, or at Ringarde's buckling feet; Cultist tossing some of them on herself.

300 km. The approach of Orks alerted all nearby Imperials. Battlekroozas tied together and decked out with hundreds of half-thought-out "improvements''; Hammers with great torpedos that could be flagships of their own fleets; Ram Ships ploughing ahead through solar debris recklessly; even massive Hulks of assorted Imperial and Chaos ships recovered and powered by little but some tape, bolts, and a mix of impossible hope and colourful swears. They made no pretence of caution, yet in their solitary coordination, had no problem breaking through the Imperium’s meagre blockade, its walls already cracked by the loss of its strongest ship to Cultist's jaws and toe wiggles.

350 km. The Orks also made no pretence of interest in Imperial 'umies. They even lost a few ships to human forces’ stray gunfire, their decked-out crafts crashing down on the expanse of a soft knee, or into a huge armpit. That was their goal, anyway - right into the center of the biggest and strongest opponent they could find. The rapid assault directly brought them in close quarters with the Cultist. They fired with the strongest weapons possible; and when they ran out of fuel, simply evacuated out across the rapidly increasing range of flesh, smashing at the ground with all manner of melee weapons and ruins of their old ships.

420 km. Though Orks saw the remains of hive cities resting upon her, and humans watched the warriors descend from those shattered barriers, neither had time to make contact. The sheer mix of fury and tension led to every pore, every sinew, every single digit stretching further and further into the distance at alarming rates. At this point, her skin was supple enough that every blow sunk inwards. Even the sharpest weapons reacted like butter knives against fluffy cushions. Even if she wanted to stop, there was no way she could - the unbridled powers of chaos continued to fuel her from every angle, energy channelling through her at the basest level of her existence.

486 km - past the mark of 300,000 times her original height. And she didn't want to stop. When she paused her country-rearranging mud-flinging, the patterns of Imperial cities lay out beneath her. Now extended above toxic rivers, she could see the grid of carefully-planned, arranged structures, stretching out with clear barriers: trenches drawn by rivers or walls. Even with the buildings rearranged haphazardly, built on top of each other vertically, the ground layout of the areas was strict, straight, and rigid, in accordance with the Throne's will. Their squarish patches seemed to form a special pattern... and Cultist's red eyes flashed as soon as she understood it.

"Hopscotch!" She called out. A mountain chain in her hands, she instantly leaped up, rearranging landmasses decorating her body - and tossed the crumpled-up "rock" below her, watching it tumble among the sprawling regions of land.

"Whan, two, three..." Skipping on one foot, then two, and jumping on another, her voyage across the "board" sent quakes that made even those outside the radius of her 80-km soles crash to the ground... and get scrunched underneath with her earth-rattling return voyage, even when it seemed as if her hopping feet were an impossible length in the distance. And with each jump, that footprint scale only increased - along with the debris upon it…

Art by trayxx

As Ringarde stuck in place - now tall enough to match major cities’ size in her own right - she looked to the grey splotches spread across the Chaos marks below. "They're staying on... it's like they've been glued to - her sole! --W-woah-!" The hop jostled her in place, bosom bounding, even as she easily gripped to the fabric and the ring around the cleavage. And no matter how the torso curled, stretched out, lowered and folded inwards as Cultist was grabbing more "rocks" below for her game, the bikini-like wrap kept in place. Every jump ahead actually seemed to make Ringarde lighter in comparison.

The shaking within the battleship generated greater turbulence than any warp storm. New passengers of the sole ended up stuck fast, scooped from the planet's surface indiscriminately.

Kay-Oss happily "GNNNGRRRGHFFLLLGH"ed at the incoming ships landing on her shoulders, or hair. Their last-ditch attacks barely registered, and they were blown about by simple giggles, eyelash motions, or breaths.

Sepsis snoozed as her pit grew deeper still, light practically not piercing the black hole of the sweaty navel.

And the Orks-

The Orks had landed a hit.

With the power of all their scrap, a single small opening formed near her stomach. Barely a flesh wound, so much as a minor scrape. This seemingly invincible monstrosity, embodying the destructive and recreative potential of the Chaos gods themselves, bled...

And the blood drop laughed uproariously.

A towering red drop, 3 meters tall and counting, morphed and warbled, filled with the will of Khorne - projected upon it by the wild, eager horde. It grew arms, legs, a torso, and a head. Slowly the plasma reshaped itself to a vaguely humanoid shape, before its facial elements filled out. Drawing on the energy of the blood god, the blob kept moving, steaming, boiling... forming the recognizable features of their owner, with small variations, and a noticeable crimson glow.

Cultist's blood cell had turned into a daemonette - one larger than most of the Orks, save the top leaders.

"Wargh?" Anzuz scratched his head. "'That ain't something natural. Wot kinda development's goin' on in her body?"

Klawstompa shook his arms. "Dis some kinda hidden Chaos power?"

The Cultist daemonette waved down to them. "Don't ask us, hwe jahst succed as mach raege as hwe could!" She cracked her knuckles, did some stretches, and approached one bit of scrap metal from their craft - eagerly kicking it into the distance. "DIDN’T HYU BOIZ COME FOR A FAIGHT?"

"WWWWARGH!" Earnestly in accord with her proposition, the burliest of the rowdy invaders began swinging at her - spores flying all over as they brawled eagerly, rolling on top of each other and around. Those who didn’t have a space in the crowding mob of shifting green, grey, and red soon found new blood cells to duke it out with - each of them growing into giantesses of their own right...

As sweaty beads dripped down from her wild exercise, cities found the kilometer-high droplets engulfing their streets... swishing them inside... and, forming eyes and hands, ascending from the influx of emotions to daemonettes in their own right. The hopes of the freed populace, and the plans of the nearly-escaped nobles, met together to change them in the ways of Tzeentch - cackling, giggling, joining and shifting with every motion.

"Fuufuu - hwee theenk theese people hweel move here –"

"Then hwee'll move these wans here – Eet's like a chessboard–!"

"Foolish - hyuu theenk hwee're playing chess - thees eez a game of Shogi!"

"Baht did hyuu know – hwee're actshually hyuu?" Two droplets joined into one, even bigger - as another split apart, glowing blue in the atmosphere and across the azure tattoo.

From above, Kay-Oss' eager yapping and running aided their directions, each of his heads pointing the personified sweat drops to a different move in the great game across her body, leading everywhere and nowhere.

And yet, not everywhere was marked by change. In the stomach's depths, amid the chaotic churn of waters, a strangely stagnant peace bubbled upwards. Daemonettes of Nurgle formed from the green surroundings, lazily swaying among the pulsating walls - and keeping those who yearned for some consistency and persistence safe in their long arms. Hearing the continual rumbling move to a silence as the waters calmed to a lazy slosh behind her, Sepsis rolled in the small navel spot, snoring.

"Ahh, yep. That makes sense." She gave a halfways thumbs-up to the sounds past the fleshy barrier. "Doing great, sisters."

A quiet, slow "thaaanks" resonated from the other end of the stomach walls. As the influence of Nurgle spread, their contact went from auditory to visual; the pieces of navel lint, too, lazily lumbering upwards their own green daemonettes.

While higher above, the wriggling from Ringarde - one of the only ones who had the perspective to see and understand everything happening - grew stronger. "Haah, my word, my word, how would that even be possible? It's like - the different feelings projected on her by every person, they end up manifesting in small ways... drawing from the endless pool of warp energy and fueling it? Does that mean, even my feelings could... could… Turn into one of those..."

The Sororita’s gaze moved away from the growing mass of green, from the shifting splotches of blue, from the huge explosions of red, across the surface below. Above, as Cultist gleefully cheered the numbers imagined in the ground she leaped across - "eight! sevehn!" - small, almost invisible traces of moisture flew from her lips, off her pink tongue -

trickling in streams down her chin and neck -

- pooling at her cleavage, building around the curve of her chest -

- and forming multiple teensy, smiling creatures that began crawling across the sister's open arms and dark armor, from her shaking shoes to her albino hair, and almost-as-pale face.

"Hyuu really have been holding thees feelings een for a while, hmm~?"

"Hwee are at hyour service, Ringarde~"

"Mahstohr... or whatever hyu desire us to cahl hyu~"

Ringarde’s pale face moved to a heavy blush, as she looked to the skies, away from the daemonette swarm. "She's... when I thought she broke my will already, she's started again... please, deliver me---"

Such were the events on Cultist's body, as the Chaos colossus transcended the size of some countries of the old world, easily passing 648 kilometers - over half a megameter. It qualified as its own biosphere at this point, holding such an overwhelming number of interacting organisms - mountains of skin folds, rivers of perspiration, forests of hair. And yet, she moved actively, consistently, her lively hops crossing the grid of seemingly-endless urban buildup left across the planet's surface.

"Fihve - foar-- threeeeee---" Every jump growing in power, height, and speed, she shaped mountains with every motion. In fact, her toes were mountains in their own right, easily outmatching any shadowy inclines the sprawling cities had been built around or on top of. They carved away gargantuan pieces of the landscape, and brought new wonders to the surface of her skin, as she kicked them up; the constant pace both destroying the ground, and collecting materials and people to "recycle" on her own landscape. More and more of the chaotic spirits popped up from her pores, cells, and bacteria. Even the smallest segments of her channelled a frenzied, confused, and obsessive dedication of chaotic emotions. These Daemonettes themselves grew their own small sub-areas of her body; yet remained undivided, part of the greater whole.

Not that she was aware of any of these goings-on. The leaps were simply part of a game of hopscotch, while her body was filled with odd mud and rocks. Higher, and higher, she sprung, until - in one large, vast bound, the woman who had become the very embodiment of chaos left low earth orbit.

She was presently the size of a moon. Not quite of Luna, and nowhere near the same orbital distance as most natural satellites; but nevertheless, her jumps drifted into low-orbiting flutters. Her palms reached out, first in confusion - then in curiosity, as they parted the thinning, stagnant air before them. "Huh? Hwee - hwee have been gifted weeth flight! Zhe gods haff been zo very generous to us!"

That voice should not have reached the fleet; there was nothing for sound to travel through but the void of space. And yet, the soundwaves not only crossed the face of the planet, but across other worlds in the Brore system. The echoes and whispers of the Warp, spreading their influence in subtle areas, stirred from the force of her joyful screech - one that surprised even the most devoted of the heretics.

Free from weight, and long freed from any trace of the polluted oxygen, Cultist drifted ahead in turbulence-filled paddles; backwards starfish-like strokes; wide breaststrokes; and rapid kicks that still hit the terrestrial surface. She seemed to suck in more and more of the available space at every instance, extremities stretching outwards to fill out the darkness with her olive flesh and tattered clothes - eclipsing every trace of the Emperor's worlds for those below still.

The Navy had been halfway towards retreating. Though strong, their machinations were slowed by internal struggles between commanders - over what their toe-stranded leader would've wanted, who inherited leadership now, and how to manage traffic jams with the ever-inbound Ork fleet. But finally, they'd established a tactical distance, to allow enough space to launch an Exterminatus. A proper, coordinated, solemn, good-old-fashioned extinction event. The only hope of saving the Brore system was severing its industrial heart - tearfully rendering millenia of their own development to ash, so that SHE may not seize it in her sinister, annoying tendrils.

And their target had the courtesy of approaching their attack. She fluttered in the mass of eagle-sigil ships, scattering them to the cosmic waves; and letting them collide with her arms. "Snow angehl! Snow angehl!" With only this warning, she started rapidly swinging her limbs up and down, right in the epicenter of their forces - creating huge waves that scattered would-be bombers even vaster distances. More and more fighters, with their full arsenals still loaded, crashed in the unavoidable valleys of gloves and red wraps, across her 250-kilometer arms and 250-mile legs.

Very few members of the Militarum, after all, were trained in the art of avoiding mountains. Those mountains were, for the foreseeable future, their homes.

As Cultist playfully kept pumping her arms, she looked back at the void she'd created in the sea of flake-sized attack fleets. A perfect outline of her profile, right down to her dangling purple locks; and what looked to be wings, spreading across continents. The winds from her “angel” creation had cleared away much of the smog planetside, leading to massive environmental changes. Among others, there lay a clear trace in the skies of the Cultist, from above and below. She locked her fingers in happiness, crushing a few stray armadas between the gloves. "Eet's zo preety! Hwee hope our friends can see eet, too!"

The toothy smile on her face, finally having a moment of stillness to admire her work, proved the perfect target. A single order of "fire!" echoed across the network of ships - from every scale, make, and origin. News had spread far beyond the reaches of this solar system, translated in languages far beyond Low and High Gothic. A sector focused on the volley of barely-controlled blasts breaking out across her - from terrified cultists, to hopeful Tau, to barely-woken Necrons, to drooling Tyranids, to exasperated Eldar, to Orks chanting fight songs.

Nuclear, cyclonic torpedoes, chemical arms, black boxes from orders only spoken of in whispers, even xeno tech - they collided in innumerable lights, blinding all the billions that resided on her and within her. She yelped in the single moment of impact, extreme heat making volcanic perspiration gush out - yet chills traversing her veins.

"Ngggh... too loud... need sleep..." Sepsis groaned, burying her face in the refreshing darkness and waiting for the blinding lights and blood-curdling screams to stop.

Above, Kay-Oss snarled, perked up in a defensive posture, and ran in circles as the once-active body froze up from the extreme rush of sensations.

By her curling toes, from the crumbling battleship, men panicked, attempting to send messages by radio: "no! NO! Halt! This wasn't part of the strategy! My liege, tell them to stop!"

Frosted tips lifting slowly from a bit of foot flesh, Ultramarine armor already painted with manifold debris and toejam, the commander’s hoarse voice rose slowly. "Can't... too late for us, now..."

Amid everything, the rush of manifold panic and squirming upon every inch, every micron of her, Cultist was detached from them. She smiled to herself. "Hah. Eet's blurry, baht... so clear now." The multiple conflicting sides of her were in unison - a silent farewell as she reached out below her, a goodbye to the mass of land she grew in below. "Hyess, hwee always suspected eet. Hwee deedn’t deserve thees power. Eet was just a long joke." Her fingers curled up, and reached to the stars she came from. "Hwee haff some fahn, hwee captoor a few theengs, hwee get purged. Eet ees laik thees. Eet hweel always be laik thees." The lights glowed between her narrow, black-clad fingers, each falling limp. "Hwee thought - hwee were zo foolish to theenk hwee could - be zho happy... Baht hwee are thankful, gods."

And, Cultist's hands rested towards her blue and green tattoos of change and constancy, feeling the sweat and dirt daemonettes rise to meet it. The reaction of the weapons spread throughout her in small bulges and bursts of light from within. "Zho, thees ees what a beeg purge feels. Eeet... Eet eetches zo mahch..." Her black-gloved fingers clawed at her stomach. "Baht... hwee need more...!"

They flung out in a sudden burst of radiant energy, fists squeezed tighter and tighter - jostling the nearby constellations.