Even though Liza was far from a friend, Garrick had spent the better part of his captivity convinced she didn’t aim to harm them. True, bodily harm. Which had been correct. He never realized he carried this assumption, how safe it felt. Only now he did, as he noticed it disappear at the sight of an enraged giant making her way straight towards them. Her wide, brown eyes were unhappy, fists clenched, the slaves able to feel the tremors in the soil as she stomped her steps down. Garrick saw those feet in a different light, the feet he’d cuddled with, which he’d kissed, licked, been promised a graceful relationship with so long as he obeyed. Now he could do nothing to stop their stampede. Those soles would flatten him. But that had been his plan.

And it was a damn stupid one, he thought, paying attention to the beating the ground took from her meaty soles. Her round, firm breast flittered, her full thighs clarifying where the gargantuan strength of her stride came from. Garrick tried to gather his composure and get ready. The other slaves behind him were just that, behind him, having taken a clear retreat. Martin was somewhere between, indecisive, though Garrick would never ask his friend to find the courage and join his side and meet the furious lady coming their way. Harry was at the far back. Liza’s punishment had gotten him well in line. Perhaps it was Garrick’s turn.

She came upon him, the end of her march right at his side. Liza stood astride him, Garrick leaning back to look up between her legs. Her impatient face showed itself between her breasts, attention on Garrick.

“So,” she began, “there seems to be no controlling you. You think that was funny, trying to annoy my friend?”

“I’m pretty sure she was annoyed with you, not me.” Garrick was possessed by a warrior’s spirit. He regretted his actions, yet he couldn’t stop himself. He could never surrender to her, it wasn’t who he was.

Her toes curled, ripping grass underneath them. “Do you think it gives you power to be a nasty little devil? That was all your time, those couple of words, a stick in the wheels of my day. Now it’s just us again, and you’re back to being at my mercy.”

It was the toughest shrug Garrick ever produced, as he mustered energy to make it look indifferent. “I wanted to go with Mia, it was just that. She had nice feet, and I liked her style.”

Liza had to chuckle to keep herself in check, baring her teeth with the airy remains of a laughter. Her fingers rubbed against one another, toes raking the soil. Surprisingly, her eyes went to the other slaves. “It’s just like you and that bitch Gloria.”

“Mommy, we said we were sorry!”

“Shut it!”

The slaves recoiled. Garrick watched it with amazement; she was about to have an episode.

“The blame for this falls on you, as well.” Her finger drifted across them all. “You haven’t helped bring them in, haven’t taught them what’s right, scolded them for their mistakes. You’ve only watched.”

Slave One stepped up. “That’s not true, Mommy! We tried!”

“Don’t raise your goddamn voice at me!” Her tone echoed off the mountain peaks, the first time Garrick had heard it so loudly. “You’ve gotten lazy, complacent. I’ve given you too much, too easily.” Her left heel lightly hovered, about to rise.

The idea flashed in Garrick’s mind. He turned around and sprinted, past his peers. “Everyone, run like we planned!” Garrick shouted, suggesting some master plan to undermine Liza. The lie was something they could easily dispel with a quick word, but Liza wasn’t in the mood for words. Garrick had never felt so creative, so alive. He didn’t need magic.

Liza ground her teeth. She set forward, Garrick her target, but she paid no care to all the slaves in between. Her first step was straight into the crowd, flattening Slave One and Three under her left sole. The right foot swung through in the pace she was picking up, the toes punting away Harry and Slave Two across the grass. She was quickly upon Garrick.

As he saw her come upon him, he turned around and yelled, “We all hate you, you’re a crazy witch who deserves to be locked up!” He put up his arms for the coming stomp, not to brace for impact. Nothing could help soften the tremendous left foot in its mission to crush him. But he presented his hardgum braces, never having been this dry.

Her foot was a power unlike anything else. An immense pressure snuffed out everything, sound and sight and sensation alike vanishing for a moment, until the few seconds after, able to understand the fat heat over his frontside was her sole. He couldn’t move a finger. All her weight was on that foot, directing it to him.

And then she jumped. The leap dragged him a way up with it, his backside departing from the surface. The foot caught him midair in its descent and sent him back down with a crush. She twisted her foot, grinding him, the doughy texture of her sole folding and contorting around him. Garrick could feel fragments at his arms, worried they were broken. Though that didn’t make sense, his magic wouldn’t leave his body so fragile.

Liza jumped once again, and Garrick could hear the slaves wailing in the short intermission. They’d been shown enough evidence to know they wouldn’t be mere bystanders to this rampage. Upon landing, Liza twisted Garrick some more. Then, her toes clenched around his head, lifted him up, and with a kick, tossed him away. The wind whipping over his body was a refreshing contrast to the humid foot.

Garrick slammed into the wooden side of the cabin and fell. The ground received him well compared to all else. He couldn’t move at first, in a daze, his body needing time. The neck and arms did everything to get his head up. Liza shuffled her feet about, throwing the slaves around, then trampled them. She appeared focused, scowling still, unthinking as she mowed down the loyal subjects who hadn’t wronged her. Multiple slaves were grappled between the toes, crushed, jumped upon, and when she had all of them close, she removed her feet off the ground and left the crushing to her ass. Her cheeks and thighs smothered all six of them with ease, and with heels and palms on the soil for support, Liza raised her bottom and slammed it down on them repeatedly. Garrick could feel the tremors.

Sensation was what first tipped Garrick off. That channel of power, the flowing river which he’d always known and felt, he remembered its sudden disappearance and could feel its presence again,

Magic.

The fragments at Garrick’s arms, dimly noticed in the maelstrom of Liza’s violent feet, they were of the hardgum crumbling to pieces. That laughable, silly, crazy, far-fetched, ridiculous description of a plan had worked. The hardgum dried to a sufficiently brittle form, and Liza had broken it apart.

Garrick slapped them together to get the last pieces of the toxic material off him. There it was, the river of magic. Garrick waved his arms about and summoned his base magics, the green light enveloping his arms and legs, finally at his empowered state. He’d never gone so long without it.

Though he was rusty and had never been an expert. No amount he summoned could bring him the courage and belief that he might truly triumph over this giant in battle. Even with his magic, as he watched Liza slam her ass down on the howling slaves, the water of the lake rippling to her weight, he had to swallow his pride for the last time and turn away. He would make damn sure this was the last time, as Garrick sprinted with his empowered body straight towards the wooded valley, towards freedom, towards help.