“Just as every cop is a criminal
And all the sinners, saints
As heads is tails, just call me Lucifer
Because I’m in need of some restraint”
-The Rolling Stones, “Sympathy for the Devil”

Ranavalona hadn’t just dropped her robe to entice Marcella, although she certainly might have been willing to acquiesce if the paladin had decided to stay. Rather, the mage needed to change to more appropriate attire before the game could play to its ultimate conclusion. As she paused for a moment to let the cool night air wash over her exposed skin, she considered how, up to this point, every move had fallen exactly as she’d anticipated. As fun as it may have been if Marcella had fallen to her seduction in the bedroom, it would ultimately have been a disappointment.

As twisted as it was, Rana held a legitimate respect for her opposite number, and knew she was too strong-willed to betray her ideals, even under these circumstances. No, the final maneuver had to be dramatic, just as much as it had to be rooted in a firm rejection of the girl’s puritanical notions. Rana ultimately decided on a blood-red gown with a black corset, before she recalled one more act to be done.

“Mustn’t forget to bait the trap,” she mused, performing a small incantation. Two days prior, before shrinking and imprisoning Marcella, Rana had gathered a half-dozen men from Starling tavern. One, now dead, had served as Marcella’s jailer. The other five were sent on a half-day’s ride to secure an item in Rana’s possession, and bring it back to the castle. They’d returned before Marcella had escaped confinement, so Rana had simply use a spell to freeze the men in time, ensuring they’d still be in the courtyard, unpacking her prize, when Marcella fled the castle. Now, Rana simply broke the time-lock, freeing them to move once more. To their perspective, nothing had happened, and they’d move as normal.

Only now, they’d move right into Marcella’s path.

And with that, Ranavalona had played her last move. It wasn’t a particularly complex game, once she’d figured out the trick to it. Still, there were so many variables, particularly when her opponent didn’t realize they were playing at all. With anticipation, the mage took a place by the window as she dressed herself, eager to see the events below her unfold. As she pulled her dress over herself, she paused to summon one of her favorite pairs of boots to be pulled on last.

Mustn’t ever forget the boots.

§

Marcella was still running before she realized she had no real plan, and that wasn’t at all acceptable. She slowed to a stop, still in the main hall of the castle. She’d been so disturbed by the entire conversation with Ranavalona that she’d temporarily panicked, and chided herself for doing so. She knew full damn well she was better than this. The mage thought her beneath notice, and Marcella would do whatever it took to prove that was a mistake.

Obviously, though, she was currently outmatched. She needed some sort of white magical charm to protect her from further attack by the depraved girl, and she knew of a few select locations to procure such an item. She’d be forced to leave Starling, and that was incredibly risky; her target may move on before the warrior was able to return.

Marcella started walking again, calmly, for the main entrance. She didn’t even realize that the safety of the citizens trapped under Ranavalona’s rule hadn’t even entered her head; only the possibility of further failure and humiliation spurned her onwards. However, they quickly returned to her thoughts as she reached the main courtyard. To her surprise, she saw a stagecoach backing into the castle gate, manned by four men. As the rear of the coach opened, she saw a fifth man inside, standing watch over a large iron chest. The chest had a single rune inscribed upon the heavy iron lock, which took Marcella a second to place. It was a pagan symbol, (Marcella couldn’t recall which language, off the top of her head), generally associated with dangerous magics.

It didn’t take much to guess that whatever these men were bringing to the castle, it was to aid Ranavalona in…whatever in the Seventh Circle she was plotting. This realization made it supremely simple: Marcella had to intercept whatever was in that chest, and destroy it utterly.

Or…what if she could turn it against its master?

The thought froze Marcella in place. Strategically, it was completely sound. Marcella did know some very basic casting, and if that artifact was powerful enough to warrant such precautions, it could very likely give her the added edge she needed to claim Ranavalona’s head. Further, she wouldn’t run the risk of her prey fleeing Starling while she went to find some additional white magic talisman.

But the use of dark magic artifacts was expressly forbidden by the Order, even with the best of intentions. Their power tended to corrupt, and even those who could resist being tainted themselves found that the very usage of such things had unanticipated consequences for the world around them. If the Order found out she’d used such a relic, she’d be cast out in disgrace.

Marcella shook her head. She’d already decided, back in that cell, that any sacrifice was worth stopping Ranavalona’s evil. And she was still the High Paladin of the Order of the Radiant Warriors. She was better than those other weaklings who’d allowed themselves to be consumed by mere trinkets. And this was her opportunity to prove it, once and for all. To Priest Ezekiel. To Jezebel. To the people of Starling. To Ranavalona.

But not to herself. Marcella was far past the point of doubting herself.

Her course set, she advanced stealthily upon the stagecoach and its passengers, immediately picking the weak link from the pack. He was tall, but fat and slovenly, making it simple for her to slide up behind him. In a single motion, she slid his own sword from its sheath, and forced it into his back. He let out a frightened cry of pain, which was cut off by a bloody vomit that dribbled down his front. Frowning in disgust, Marcella retracted the sword and left the man to die in the dirt.

Unfortunately, that attracted the attention of his comrades, three of whom immediately abandoned the stagecoach to avenge their fellow. The first to reach her was small and lithe, but incredibly agile, dancing around her with a wicked glare. He pulled a rapier upon her, but Marcella quickly gained the advantage by slinging his fallen friend’s blood through the air; a large glob of it caught the man in the eyes, slowing him for a moment. This turned out to be his last moment, for it was all the opportunity Marcella needed to end his life.

The other two assailants elected to charge her simultaneously, forcing Marcella’s back to the wall. One man tried to run her through, but found his sword caught in the masonry of the castle instead. The other, a great bear of a fellow, realized swordplay wasn’t in his favor, and instead charged Marcella full-on.

Marcella knew that a man of his girth would be able to survive a stab wound from her present position, and instead opted to roll aside, quickly coming up behind him. Before he could turn, she brutally stabbed her blade upward, through the base of his exposed neck, and twisted until she felt the tip of the blade emerge through his face. He dropped with an inhuman moan.

His companion had finally freed his sword from between the heavy stones of the castle wall, but it was far too late. Marcella was already behind him. Her sword was left in her last opponent, so she satisfied herself by captured this one in a headlock.

“Sorry, ‘dear’,” she hissed, mimicking Rana’s casual diction before she twisted his head back sharply. She claimed his sword as he fell. One to go.
She approached the back of the coach, prepared for an ambush that never came. Flinging open the rear doors, she saw the chest, and its guard sitting just beyond it. He was armed, but his hands were nowhere near his dagger; they were high in the air, in the universal gesture of surrender.

“Lords below, lady! Just take the cursed thing!” he practically screamed.

Marcella frowned. “You. You serve Ranavalona, don’t you?” It was a question, but not really.

“Not for this, I don’t! Not no more! Here,” he moved to take the key, which hung from a loop around his neck. He tossed it at Marcella’s feet. “You want this thing, it’s yours! No pay is worth this!”

Marcella glanced down at it, then back to the prisoner, considering.

The man saw her indecision, and tried to press his case. “Please, just lemme go,” he insisted. “I won’t tell no one what I saw.”

What he saw. That certainly made the decision easy for her.

She made a swift motion with her sword, and the man fell forward roughly, gasping and clutching at the red gash that now ran from side to side along his neck. Blood freely pulsed from said gash, sliding with terrifying ease between his fingers.

Marcella roughly kicked him out of her path. “I don’t think you will, either,” she agreed, as she pulled the chest out of the stagecoach.

Sliding the key into the lock, Marcella wasn’t sure what she expected to find in such a large chest. She was a bit disappointed when she opened the lid, only to find the majority of the space inside filled with straw. Among that straw, however, she pulled a single, exquisitely beautiful necklace. The chain and backing were solid gold, and the centerpiece itself was a perfect black diamond, almost the side of a tangerine. Upon inspection, Marcella though she could feel a small series of runes cared into the backing of the piece, but they didn’t appear visible in this light. Unsure of what to do with the thing, she slipped it onto her own neck, where the jewel snuggled comfortably between her generous bosom.

Marcella paused, taking stock of the situation. She didn’t feel any differently with this supposedly dark object around her neck. Perhaps she’d been mistaken in its purpose? If so, she’d exerted herself a great deal for nothing…well, not nothing. These worthless followers of Ranavalona were dead, at least.

Still, after days in captivity, being shrunken, and the ensuing battle, she had to admit that she was sore, hungry, and exhausted. She’d be no use to anyone without some rest. She decided to trek back to Starling, find a room for the night, and then finish matters tomorrow, when she awoke fresh and rejuvenated.

And she would certainly finish matters.

§

The full moon was high in the night sky as Marcella returned to Starling, and the cool air was a welcome relief for the woman. She’d been incredibly warm since dispatching Ranavalona’s thugs outside the castle, a warmth that went beyond mere exertion. She kept replaying the battle in her mind, noting the ease with which she’d slaughtered them, and felt her pulse quicken. She’d always felt good after a proper battle, but this was something else. The complete abandon with which she’d attacked, secure in the knowledge that no one else knew of her brutality, gave her a thrill almost as deep as Ranavalona’s attempted seductions. Marcella had never confronted this part of her nature, before, and decided this was absolutely the worst time to do so.

Instead, she made her way to where she’d hidden her belongings by the path into town, and took a small satchel of coins she’d brought with her. Sighing in anticipation of the hassle she knew was to come, she made her way back to the tavern. This time, she didn’t stand on ceremony; she already knew these people were selfish, hostile brutes, clearly little better than the Prince she’d once hoped to save them from. The warrior flung open the doors, advancing directly to the barkeep.

“I’ll have a room for the night, and some supper,” she said firmly, throwing a handful of silver coins on the bar in front of her. “And spare me any of your lip. I’ve no tolerance for it this night.”

The one-eyed barkeep looked at her money with the same disgust as if she’d just vomited on the bar in front of him. “We told you to get out of town,” he snarled. “And we meant it.”

“Ranavalona won’t trouble you,” she insisted. “Just let me have a room, and I’ll be out of your hair by dawn.”

“We know she won’t trouble us,” a man in the crowd noted. “We made peace with her. The Mordecai brothers went to help her take care of you.”

“So you sold me out,” Marcella muttered. “Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

“Now, to that,” the barkeep demanded. “Where are the Mordecai brothers? She said they was going to track you down.”

Marcella was starting to realize that the situation was a great deal more perilous than she’d imagined. Her initial assumption was that she’d just have to deal with poor reception as a guest. But these people were actively hostile, and potentially dangerous.

And what’s worse, she was surrounded.

“You got blood on yer shirt,” the barkeep noted. “Where did that come from?”

“I was attacked,” she objected, glancing behind her. Someone had already moved to block the exit, and she counted at least a dozen men in this establishment, and almost as many women. Most were armed.

“An’ whadja’ do to yer attacker, huh?” someone in the crowd shouted, angry.

“Calm yourself!” Marcella snapped. “Don’t you see? Ranavalona is using you to do her dirty work!”

“You say you were attacked,” the barkeep snarled. “But I don’t see any wounds on ya’. You killed one of them boys, didn’t you? Didn’t you!”

With an icy sensation, Marcella realized she was about to die. This crowd was hostile, ready for blood, and there were far too many of them for even someone of her strength and skill to escape. That wicked, sexy little mage had clearly outwitted her; Marcella had never considered that Ranavalona would do something as banal as turn a mob against her. It was such an…ignoble fate.

But it doesn’t have to be, an all-too-familiar voice seemed to whisper into Marcella’s ear.

For a moment, the crowd encircling her seemed to completely vanish, as the paladin had to question whether or not she’d actually heard something, there.

Oh, you certainly did, Marcy, the voice continued to whisper. And the question you have to ask is, do you want to survive this night? Are you willing to do what it takes? Even if it means embracing the darkness?

As the first blows rained down upon her, Marcella made her decision, without anyhesitation. “Yes,” she whispered.

There was a brief hesitation in the crowd, as the otherworldly necklace Marcella wore began to glow and pulse, seeming to electrify her very being. Her eyes opened, the deep blues practically glowing. “Yes,” she repeated, more in a hiss than a whisper. “Oh, yes…”

To Marcella, it was if her body was alight with wonderful, amazing sensation. And what’s more, it seemed to be increasing with each passing moment. She stopped cowering, standing to her full height…and more. With a confusion that was soon followed by complete elation, she realized she stood half a foot taller than she had prior. What’s more, her vantage point continued to climb, her clothing growing tighter with each additional inch.

She was not about to let this go to waste.

“You stupid, worthless people,” she snarled, advancing on the mob that now had the good sense to try to flee the tavern. “I came to protect you. I can’t believe I wasted such time for you maggots!”

With an inhuman snarl, she spun back, striking the barkeep dead in the face. With satisfaction, she forced her expanding fist against his good eye, purring sensually as she felt it submit to her blow. Giving a second thrust with her expanding arm, she snapped his neck. She retracted her hand, taking a moment to lick some of the blood off.

“Now,” she hissed. “Who’s next?”

There were no volunteers. Indeed, the tavern was vacating even faster than before, if that were possible. “Oh, come on!” the expanding paladin called, moving to pursue her prey. “You were all ready to rip me apart a moment ago! Don’t go now!”

By this point, her clothing was practically skin tight, and it ripped and frayed as she leaned over to grab the nearest straggler. She laughed coldly at his attempts to escape; blows that would have felled a full-grown man did nothing but irritate her. She threw him to the ground in disgust, taking a moment to stomp down on his spine, ending him instantly.

The last of the crowd was escaping, now, but Marcella found she couldn’t pursue them; her growing frame was now too large to navigate through the building. She looked down, as the ground seemed to sink further and further away, and noted that the necklace was continuing to glow, and feed her extreme growth. The stylized cross tattooed on her shoulder had completely vanished…

Good. Meanwhile, if this building was a problem, it would have to go.

§

To those outside the tavern, the scene was completely surreal. The building seemed to explode, but the explosion wasn’t propelled by smoke or flames. Rather, it was fueled by an inhumanly large mass of feminine flesh. The growing giantess, formerly the mortal paladin Marcella, stood to her new height of over twenty five feet, now completely nude save for the radiant necklace almost completely hidden by her titanic cleavage. As she burst through the remains of the tavern, she erupted with a moan normally reserved for the most extreme of bedroom activities.

Looking at the small village beneath her feet, Marcella took a moment to enjoy how it continued to get even smaller before her, as if acknowledging her superiority by becoming less in comparison to her powerful form. But a moment’s reflection was all she allowed herself. Her new body continued to expand, and it ached for her to act.

Slowly, but deliberately, she slid a hand between her burning thighs. “I need you,” she whispered. “All of you. You insects are about to be useful, for one time in your miserable lives…”

And then Marcella went to work.

She enjoyed the violence, and the bloodshed, and made certain there was plenty to be had. At first, she took her time to kill individual villagers, getting more and more sensual pleasure from each bloody death at her hands and feet. But as her size continued to increase, and normal human beings became too tiny to stand up to sustained interaction, she moved on to the much more simple route of simply stamping them out beneath her feet. Each footfall became a source of indescribable tactile pleasure, eliciting low, albeit unsatisfied, moans.

Marcella felt as if she was getting close to something, but she didn’t know what. All she knew is, she wanted to be closer. She wanted more. And she’d find it at the town chapel, where the last remaining survivors of her massacre had fled, seeking divine protection. Without any thoughts to the blasphemy she was about to commit, the now hundred-foot tall Marcella straddled in front of the small spire, clutching her mountainous breasts with lusty anticipation.

The godlike warrior fell to her knees, practically demolishing the small building with the impact, alone.

But that wasn’t her plan. No, Marcella had decided to finally embrace her generous endowments in the most destructive fashion possible. She leaned forward, allowing those trapped inside the church to fully comprehend their fate.

Their screams of terror and mindless pleading only brought the enormous woman closer to her elusive goal, a goal she finally reached when she allowed the tonnage of titflesh to land on the church spire, crushing it and its occupants into an unrecognizable pile of debris.

In this final act of seductive destruction, Marcella climaxed for the first time in her life, spasms of pleasure wracking her gigantic body and flattening any remaining outposts of human settlement let undisturbed in Starling. Her cries of absolute joy and pleasure reverberated throughout the region, continuing until, physically and emotionally drained by the exertion, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

§

Marcella would sleep through the entire next day, the warm sun incredibly pleasant on her naked body. It wasn’t until the sun began setting, and the cool evening began to set in, that she would awake, first to confusion. As fragmented memories of the prior night fell into place, however, that confusion turned to complete horror.

“No…” she whispered, eyes wide and skin pale with terror. At some point during her hibernation, she’d returned to normal size, and now awoke to a scene of absolute desolation. Nothing lived, anymore. Between the loss of its citizens and the ridiculously thorough flattening of its structures, the small town of Starling had completely ceased to exist. Because of Marcella.

She was a monster, a deviant, hideous thing, exactly as horrible as Ranavalona. She couldn’t ever return to the Order, after this. She couldn’t…

“I shouldn’t be alive,” she whispered, shaking in horror and shame. Looking about, she found a large sliver of broken glass on the ground. She lifted it, catching its reflection in the setting sun. Closing her eyes, she lifted it to her throat. She didn’t bother asking forgiveness. She didn’t deserve it…

“Oh, and what nonsense is this?”

By this time, Marcella knew Ranavalona’s voice all too well. She lowered the glass shard, as well as her own head. She didn’t even want her enemy to see her in this state.

Rana strolled up behind the shamed woman, her demeanor entirely pleasant. She was absently using her magic to peel an apple as she surveyed the damage left in Marcella’s wake.

She whistled approvingly. “You know, I had high hopes for you, Marcy, but even I didn’t expect you capable of all this. It’s a pleasant surprise.”

Marcella shivered. “…just shut up,” she muttered. “You won, all right? You tricked me into destroying this place, for you. You made me a monster.”

Rana took a bite of her apple, only to find it had lost its flavor while being stored in the Prince’s kitchen. Irritated, she tossed it aside before kneeling next to Marcella. She placed her hand on the paladin’s shoulder, in a surprisingly comforting gesture.

“Marcella, my dear,” Rana said calmly. “I didn’t make you do anything. I set up the obstacles. You chose how to deal with them. Every step of the way, you were in control. All I did was provide you the opportunity to act. Everything you did, you wanted to do.”

“…and you don’t see how that’s worse?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Rana insisted. “And there’s nothing wrong with you. Do you think you were the only one who had a choice in this game? The citizens of Starling did, as well. And they constantly acted like the grubby little animals I already told you they were. You need to understand: they’re not the exception. They’re the rule. But people like you and me, we’re the exceptional ones. We can do as we like. Your problem is, you’ve allowed yourself to be fooled by false, hypocritical definitions of ‘good’ and ‘evil’.”

Marcella cautiously raised her eyes to meet the other woman. “I still don’t understand…why you did all of this.”

Rana sighed slightly. “Oh, dear Marcy. I already told you: I like you. You’re an extraordinarily interesting woman, and it was so terribly depressing to see you trapped in a slave morality that held back your full potential. I’ve always been entirely honest with you. Who else can say that?”

Marcella was still terribly shaken. “I…I don’t know…”

“As I see it, you have two options. You can either carry out your first plan, and kill yourself. But in that case, you’d best prepare to die alone, because I won’t stand around and watch such a tragedy. It would be far too upsetting. Or, you can admit that you’ve been misguided for far too long, and you require someone to educate you in the true paths of power, and darkness.”

Rana gave a small, but genuine, smile as she stood up. “I think I might know someone interested in doing so. If that’s your decision.”

Still in a crouched position, Marcella looked up at Ranavalona. The mage stood tall, proud and powerful, exuding confidence in herself and the teachings she offered. Marcella felt insignificant at her feet.

And she was completely at peace with that.

Rather than answer verbally, Marcella began to slowly unlace the mage’s extravagant boots, slipping each one off with the utmost care. She kneeled again, tenderly kissing Rana’s feet in a sign of submission that earned a purr of approval. Encouraged, Marcella’s displays of prostration moved higher up her new mistress’s legs, until moans of approval were all that could be heard in what remained of Starling.