The smoldering detritus cluttered the city where buildings once stood. Only those constructed of slower burning material still smoked. Repair crews were busy at work salvaging scraps and clearing ground to reconstruct the trampled wall among other fortifications. The attacked had ironically provided a much needed demolition. The architects had built the fortifications intending to rebuff the assaults of more traditional foes. With the reconstruction it would be instead designed to withstand the new, much larger threats. Concealed inside the makeshift mortar and stone was a nasty surprise for their Urtyke friends. Keenly sharpened metal spikes, taller than any man and many times as massive, positioned to literally be a thorn their toe, a very very large thorn. Moreover, the new walls were smaller, both to further incite reckless destruction from the giantesses and because rebuilding the walls in their former splendor was redundant as they would simply be plowed over again. Altoa, once boastful of is lucrativeness, would either adapt or perish.
Tuest observed from his perch on Antara’s naked shoulder. Initially she had been quiet stubborn to find anything suitable to cover herself, but Tuest had made it plain that there were no such garments short of Tress, especially for her new size. Looting dead Gargans had proved effective before, but at her new size there were nearly no other Pantarchs who measured up. Although, once put into perspective she reasoned she didn’t actually reside in her own body. Delusions always make for the best motivations but, then again, is it delusional to hope she might one day recover her old form? It was a pointless question and so he dismissed it. However, with all that had happened in the past few days Tuest was hesitant to call anything impossible regardless of how farfetched it appeared. Throwing Aldeituses into the mix always complicated matters in the worst possible ways. To say they had kicked the hornets’ nest would be a drastic understatement. More like we bathed in lard and charged into a wolf’s den screaming like banshees. He chuckled at the mental image of such an absurdity.
Her new body lacked ear piercings and so also lacked the large hoops which he had previously acted as a railing for him. As if they would be long enough to hang from her ear to me anymore. The sheer alteration of size was still settling on him. His psychological familiarities protested still, as they had when they met two years ago, and clashed against rationality. Even her personality seemed contorted, whiplashed from being ripped thrown right back into this world, yet still recognizable. Whatever had occurred between her death and rebirth had, although she refused to admit it, shaken her. It was still a tremulous topic which he was hesitant to bring up and so he filed it away for later.
His attention shifted back to the construction. The months it would take to rebuild the walls would be just another intangible effigy branded upon the memories of the Altoan people, the wall itself a palpable one. And yet the months upon months of effort these people expended to complete this arduous task Antara was capable of effortlessly outputting in a few motions. The raw power she possessed now was easily greater than that of every human which resided in the city, many…many…many times over. Still, delicacy and strength were not synonymous. Her force was a sort which would easily decimate what many years of effort compounded to construct, but never be so subtly and intricately directed to create such a structure. It was, in Tuest’s mind, what differed between species.
The Urtykes had a similar relationship to humans as humans had to ants. The miniscule marvels ants fashioned could never be imitated by humans. Yet humans were capable of destroying them effortlessly and indiscriminately. The small build and the large destroy, simply the nature of any hierarchy characterized by such disproportionate power. Predictably, most Urtykes embraced this, falling into the niche they had created for themselves, destruction begetting purpose. Antara fought that current and in rebelling against it, embraced it. She had to destroy to have any hope of building one day.
Tuest looked over at her face, expression unreadable, and wondered where her thoughts roamed. Wherever she was musing, it was deep, the profundity matching his own. “They no longer seem to regard fearfully.”
“Don’t embellish it; I’ve gone from predator to pariah in their eyes, hardly something worth celebration… Although I do admit, it is not as bad as them looking to me as their savior.” Her voice still sounded foreign to his ears, altered both by her new body and size, the discrepancy disturbing him. He suppressed a shudder.
“It’s still better you stand aside and leave them to their labors unaided. Even before you made them uneasy, and although I know you’d never hurt them their faith in anything is fragile. Gratitude is rarely reciprocated when warranted, but they’ll come around eventually. Just keep giving them their space.”
“Can’t say I blame them.” The sympathy was more sincere than Tuest would have thought, yet she was still clearly vexed, as much with the irrationality of her frustration as of the citizens.
“Dwelling on it isn’t doing us any favors…” He paused, carefully choosing his next words, “It’s good to have you back.”
Her tone betrayed unease, “It’s good to be back. Even so…its… well-”
“You don’t need to say it, I know”
Neither of them spoke for a moment, simply observing the construction, both reluctant to speak, procrastinating where the conversation would eventually wander. Words escaped him. Tuest loosed a deep sigh and spoke. “Our…alone time…it’s not going to be what it was.”
“No, it won’t.” her voice held a pained sadness to it, “Nothing will be what it once was.”
Tuest shared her pain, a dull pressure on each muscle and joint, but despite it he constantly found himself stealing glances at her new unfathomably large bust. Lust, the vice of every man with a cock, desire overcoming guilt indefinitely. Comprehension, if anything, only worsened his guilt. He found his mind reciting some of the basic tenets of his training if only so he could escape the present. ‘You never have perfect knowledge.’ ‘Should you be presented with perfect knowledge, know it for a lie.’ ‘When confronted with a foe, on or off the field of battle, sever yourself from pride, but never intuition.’
Antara grunted, snapping Tuest out of his daze, realizing from her perspective it appeared he was gawking at her chest for…Abyss! How long was I staring for… “Oh…uh, sorry Antara; it wasn’t what you think it was.” It sounded as corny and hollow as it felt.
“I’m sure…” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s ok, I know we’re all antsy.” She raised a hand to grope her right breast. “They are much larger than befo-ohhh” She squeezed, the overabundant tit flesh firming out between her fingers. He felt her shudder beneath him, her eyes dilated with the delectation. “and…much more sensitive” she said breathily. She tightened her grip, distorting more tit flesh, and conceded a whispered moan, “Ohhh…”
Antara’s self-control was as staunch as it came and so for her to indulge despite herself was truly uncommon. She wasn’t lying; they were emphatically more sensitive. “Perhaps we should we seek some privacy?” his voice staggered
She released her breast with a deep exhalation. Her rock hard nipple served to further signify her arousal, as if it wasn’t already apparent. Fortunately dusk was less than an hour away, the darkness already sufficient so that the inhabitants likely overlooked her slip. Those who would have seen would convince themselves their eyes deceived them or so he hoped. “Yes, no need to confirm what their imaginations will come conclude anyway.” She said, visibly recomposing herself.
She made her way to the southern rim of the city; now mostly abandoned farmland littered with the remains of homes, barns, and granaries, the wreckage just another casualty of the assault three days ago. It served to keep Antara far enough from the city to provide some measure of privacy, a peaceful escape from civilization which had begun fostering an intimate climate for Tuest each night, Even before her new stature, her sexual escapades could rock the earth something fierce for miles in every direction. She was always cautious though, lest Tuest meet with an unfortunate accident. The experience was comparable to an avalanche melded with a cyclone, consuming everything with a power incomprehensible to his miniature mind. Regardless of her denials of such times, there had been plenty of close encounters where Tuest had nearly met his end. Such are the perils of my existence. Rather I die young and invigorated than old and trepid.
The walk was similar to the previous nights. Her footsteps beat rhythmically over the night’s susurrus sounds, silence perpetually broken and restored, redolent of condensation beads dripping down upon a subterranean pond, the rippling water virtually settled into stillness only to be roiled by the subsequent drip. The sound was oddly euphonic for noise birthed of such power, fashioning amenity from eerie darkness. The tranquility suffused Tuest as it had the two nights prior, reconciling the obstinate tension which racked his muscles and psyche. Unburdened and blissfully idyllic, Tuest traveled aloofly on Antara’s shoulder. His residual endurance would be drained by the night’s events regardless.
She covered in minutes what was considered a good day’s march for a good sized regiment of infantry before settling down amidst the emptiness and serenity, placing Tuest on her thigh. They were quickly becoming intimate, decadent impulses overwhelming other caprices; intimacy, it seemed, both subliminally and patently embodied the night. They cut strait to the chase, dispensing with the usual formalities and romancing as quickly as their clothing…well Tuest’s clothing.
Since he had met Antara she had possessed a mirror of his own possession, with a single exception. Her sexual volatility was … well volatile. She might go weeks or, in some cases, months without a single indication of libido, but it invariably returned with renewed vigor. The first night always the most vehement, as tonight would be he surmised.
The moonlight was sparse, yet provided sufficient illumination to display the massive womanhood awaiting him. He met her eyes and, in a fashion anything but subtle, she closed her tender hand around him, the contact deceptively dulcet given her size, and strayed towards the folds of skin between her thighs, sluiced in amorous fluid. The vastness of it dominated his eyes, demanding awe. His attention shifted upward, regarding her face. Biting her lower lip, eyes deep and pleading, she wore a sultry expression which begged permission to relinquish her last shreds of restraint. Deeper still was a hidden message. “His sanctioning, while preferable, was not a necessity.” Lust would win out over her inhibitions.
He gave her a terse affirming nod, swiftly plunged into the wet eager crevasse, and overwhelmed in the deluge of her natural lubricants, displaced by his penetration, rushing by in a convulsive torrent. She loosed a wanton moan, muffled to Tuest’s ears. The fingers gripping him retracted from the blissful abyss, providing Tuest only an instant to fill his lungs before plunging back into Antara’s ambrosial ever ravenous nether lips. Her juices slopped against him, squeezing him in their fluid embrace upon each entry as he displaced them. Her lewd moans were deadened, suffusing with the sounds of her turbulent cunt; the totality of the situation amalgamated his multiple senses into a singularity. Taste, sight, feel, scent, and sound became indiscernible from each other as he was barraged with an overwhelming battery of sensations.
Overloaded by the enormity of it he let himself slip into autopilot, still aware and as perceptive but submitting to his futility, accepting his impotency against Antara’s overpowering sexual onslaught. Antara was not treated with such an option. If she absolutely yielded to her carnal desires Tuest would exit his next submergence crumpled, contorted, and lifeless among a discharge of crimson tinted lubricant.
The ever approaching orgasm was fittingly climatic of Tuest and Antara’s awe-inspiring convergence. The spastic contractions of her cunt muscles shook her entire gargantuan form. Tuest poured out in a river, cum suffused to the deepest reaches of his core, beyond what any bath is capable of ever removing. As he was spat out, Antara’s previously muffled screams of ecstasy could be fully recognized; a cacophony assaulting his feeble ears and easily audible for miles upon miles off.
***
Avalaeish, Ava, bowed her head as she knelt, a feigned display of subservience. Even on her knees she stood taller than any of the other Urtykes in the emperor’s presence. Their surroundings were bleak and desolate, the turgid commonalties of the emperor’s courtrooms absent, not that any human structure would house this audience. Urtykes didn’t seem to possess any appreciation of human artistry anymore and even were disinclined towards the established formalities of such gatherings. However, the emperor was quite stringent. Appearances seeded power, and so much to the distaste of the Urtykes, each gathering began with all in the emperor’s presence bowing on their knees. Occasionally, the emperor would have to tug on the leash for the more independent Urtykes by invoking their vows. A smart man to demand such of his subjects. Unfortunately for him, brains can’t save him this time.
Glancing to her left she studied the collection of Urtykes, mostly Gargants. The largest of them, when upright, didn’t even reach her knees. A few Pantarchs were interspersed among them. Unknown to Ava, the thoughts belonging to this body still permeated from the back of her mind and contaminated her own, fueling a hatred for this man. Foreign animosities bubbled to the surface. It’s an atrocity that something so small, so weak, so insignificant should have authority over us.
Self-control honed from countless years doing nothing but waiting suppressed that anger. A little longer was nothing as far as she was concerned. Still, impatience incessantly itched.
This was a significant meeting and thus demanded that each and every citizen of Tress, the nation’s self-titled capital, attend. Any person who broke the ritual’s silence was punished severely. Although his rule was absolute, the people were content, living a lucrative existence under his effective rule. Yet his ruling method had one simple flaw. It only could be sustained by constant conquest. The Urtykes, used as the stick to enforce his edicts, were not contented to simply act as police. They yearned to destroy and if kept home too long they became tense and unpredictable. The bonds which maintained their obedience could only be pressed so hard and accidents did occur.
The utter silence of the opening ceremony was broken by the emperor’s austere voice, magically enhanced to reach the furthest members of his audience. “Rise.” He was garbed as he always was in typical Tressian warlord attire. Different cloths mixed in an intricate pattern of red and gold. Six spears pinned to his lapel marked him as the highest rank of warlord, the single supreme authority of Tress.
“This morning I received alarming news from a messenger returning from the most recent Romshilan campaign. It seems that one of our Urtykes fell in a siege.” The people stirred with curiosity. Urtykes dying, while spoken in hushed tones, was not all that uncommon an occurrence and certainly no reason to prompt such an assembly. “But that is not what I have gathered you to announce. Zandra, one of our most imposing Pantarchs did meet her demise. Yet something entirely more grievous coincided and it appears an Eyeless walks this world in her place.”
A wave of gasps and nervous chattering supplanted the awed silence, the nervous shifting of Gargants and Pantarchs even more obvious signs of nervousness.
“Hush!” his voice boomed with imperium. “This is no reason for fear. The stories of these beings are greatly exaggerated. Further, these tales are from an earlier era, a weaker era. We now possess means of combating such creatures.” He gestured towards the Urtykes, Ava the most dominant figure among them. “Our Urtykes are a weapon unprecedented in the history of our species and are easily capable of dispatching this apparition.
He turned to regard Ava “Lorill, our newest and greatest Paragon shall be the fulcrum by which we expel this unwelcomed intruder.”
Ava felt her anger spike. This self-important fool thinks us tools! Objects simply by which he can exert his authority! For the first time in a long time she felt her resolve tested by this fury.
“We will crush this apparition into dust!” he yelled, raising his hand in front of him clenched into a fist. “And then Romshilar will feel our wrath!” He gestured again towards Ava and the other Urtykes, “Lorill and her force will amass with the forces of our other two Paragons, an unstoppable regiment of over 200 Urtykes, the force of which nothing can oppose!”
A cheer erupted from the audience. The Urtykes simply stood in solemn obedience. Their celebrations would come later. For now anticipation sustained them well enough. His speech had been exactly what Ava anticipated, an assemblage of nearly every Urtyke. It served her ends perfectly.
She simply stood silent, her lips curled into an evil grin.