Giantess World
Marigold revolved in all directions, casually shuffling her bare heels in circles until the shape of her every motion was worn into the earth. Impatiently, her long and agile toes grappled with the powdered remnants of planetary crust, jumbling avalanches’ worth of rock and a sparkling mixture of those curious silvery particles, which she still didn’t take note of. While the giantess idly sighed, scarcely thinking of what her feet were up to now that she was in “safe” territory, her ten disastrous digits made quick work of the towns below.
Tightly-packed urban alleys of a dozen cities had no choice but to look up, given the sudden eclipse of the sun, just in time to watch the peachy-patterned texture of Marigold’s sole flesh washing overhead like an ocean unto itself. Her feet moved too fast, covering too many miles in a single breath, for most to comprehend what was happening. All they knew for sure was a rush of cataclysmic wind and the shadowy ravine-laden sculpture of the unidentified object above. Whenever the girl’s foot paused, however, granting just enough stillness for the most observant onlookers below to question why there was a miles-wide toeprint swirling like a vortex over their whole city at once, this was generally the last thought anyone had, as a halt meant Marigold’s unconscious padding and shuffling was about to render yet another town into paste.
Her soft, bulbous toes clawed into the breakable earth, digging well-below the ground level of any city unlucky enough to exist below Marigold, simply in the act of absent-mindedly entertaining herself. Then, when the oval of spiraled skin curled back up, hugging the grit up toward the ball of her foot, everything shattered as a unit. Entire cities, sometimes more than one in a single swoop, were pulverized against the tender inner flanks of Marigold’s toes. Miles back along that same foot, uncountable numbers of rural communities and thickly-populated urban spaces alike were turned to rubble beneath the girl’s high-arched sole and unforgiving heel.
Though some cities could momentarily remain standing if they were fortunate enough to be “missed” at first, aligning with the tidal-wave-sized sole wrinkles or the crevices between the officer’s dexterous toes, all it took was one twitch or adjustment in balance to clobber these locations as well. Occasionally all the ticklish grazing of her skin along the multi-tiered topography made the giantess need to scratch, which resulted in her rubbing her foot even more vigorously into the ground, until the annoyance was quenched and her footstep had doubled the depth of its last crater.
Within several minutes of waiting, most of the province was in utter ruin. Marigold’s broad footprints now pockmarked the once-lush landscape beyond recognizing. There was barely a scrap of land, an entire square mile, not yet blessed by the unaware blonde’s wandering toes and itchy soles. Most shapes were still distinct, matching the contours of her feet, with a diverse color palette filling in the spaces depending on whether she’d stepped on a greenery-rich national park or a populous skyscraper-dotted civilization. The longer Marigold strolled in circles, anxiously trying to spot the airships, however, the less distinguishable her individual footsteps became from one another, and the more everything under her came to resemble a vaguely beige, smoking slab of clay.
Nervous now, Marigold kept her phone open, just in case she’d missed a change in the plan. Yet there wasn’t a single message. Coming to a relative standstill for the first time in ten minutes, she still couldn’t help but tap one foot. The concussive force of each gently-intentioned footfall scattered the smushed remains of cities for dozens of miles around the impact zone of every descending toe. Grit and debris billowed out to the oceans, only to be turned back by still-crashing waves churned up by Marigold’s arrival here. A universal mixture of crushed buildings, mountain peaks, and trees now jumbled together, becoming unsettled like sawdust at the slightest disturbance of Marigold’s feet, which happened to be often. Some of these miscellaneous demolished city-clouds were caught up in a series of tornadoes created by the grinding and rolling of her toes, and were kicked into overdrive whenever the girl flattened her soles hard to the ground for a tap. Those wind-storms often delivered the manmade detritus right back to the same foot which caused its undoing, thus caking dirt and destruction into the deep valleys between Marigold’s digits. Hundreds of thousands of rebel-citizens, most now deceased after the initial crushing but some miraculously still alive via bizarre physics, gravitated toward those catastrophic feet: caught in her sole-dimples, speckled along her heel and ankle, and especially jammed into every groove of Marigold’s toe-skin texture. If her strict attention happened to drift down to ground level for even a moment, which of course it never did, she’d have noticed little more than the accumulation of unknowingly organic lint clumped between her lovely toes.
“Maybe I should give them a call. Just to be certain,” Marigold said aloud to soothe herself. After all, it simply wouldn’t do to spoil such an important mission over so trivial a matter like the meeting place. Maybe they’d changed the flare color to blue, not knowing the giantess would never spot it against the sky? Nevertheless, she dialed her superior’s number, and tap-tap-tapped her foot in time with the dial tone. To her dismay, she received a busy signal.
“Oh, no. That’s not good at all!” Marigold grumbled, awaiting the answering machine. “Hello, sir? I’m reporting for duty at Province G-75, as instructed. I arrived at the meeting place fifteen minutes ago at 1400 hours, but nobody is here. I don’t see the fleet or their flares. Please advise. Was the meeting site changed? Where are you, sir?”
After that, Marigold ended the message, not wanting to appear too out-of-sorts, and therefore risking a blight on her military professionalism. Still she wrung her hands, opening up her phone every thirty seconds to check for a response, and resumed her nervous pacing yet again. More even than before, Marigold focused on the skyline, practically to the exclusion of all her other senses, in order to find the fleet. If the girl wasn’t so adept at marching, she might’ve nearly stumbled over her own two feet while doing so, especially after her trampling footprints had nearly smoothed the province proper to an almost slippery surface, at least relative to one of her immense size.
She squinted, focusing her depth perception down to only what was directly in front of her face. Several times, in her thoroughness, Marigold wandered to the edges of the province, kicking up sandstorms and raining boulders down from the plush underhang of her rising feet into the neighboring lands. Without even setting foot upon one of these nearby cities, most were mowed down anyway by Marigold’s meandering journey: victims to giantess-induced earthquakes and meteor-like bits of toe-grunge flung their way whenever the girl flexed her foot at the top of an arc.
Those towns that survived instead were made to witness the absolute deconstruction of the resistance capital, all its sister cities, and the entirety of the anti-Unifica military in less than twenty minutes flat. Even through the muddy haze of smoke and ash that now coated all of G-75, the one-time rebels could see one undeniable shape, or rather two, wreaking havoc on millions of lives and quashing the hope of revolution in a matter of oblivious goddess-sized tramples.