(Warning: Contains vore [endo, graphic digestion], terra-scale size content, absorption and alien stomachs)

The green humanoid sat at the head of a table flanked by others of his kind. Sharply dressed with an ornate square hat, he was seemingly the most important of the bunch. Indeed, he was their leader, the “High Chancellor”. He rested his chin on interlocked hands as he stared at the monitors. It had taken his people, the Zirtenians, awhile to adjust to their recent situation.

“What do you mean you haven’t found anything in there?”

The raw thought beamed itself simultaneously to every lifeform on their planet. It bypassed their hearing, yet had a certain pronounced ‘boom’ to it nonetheless as it reverberated in their minds. They replied aloud, knowing by now her senses could pick it up.

The first to speak was another of the people, some sort of scientist based on the coat. He spoke with a furor.

“We lost all communication with the exploratory fleet. As we predicted, your insides were far too hazardous. There was a team of 10,000 of our finest biologists and doctor’s on there! Digested or otherwise killed trying...”

The leader was still taking in the sights of the monitors as his flustered adviser ranted on. Zirtenian satellites and patrolling star ships had set their sensors on the massive being as soon as she arrived via a sudden blink near their planet: their system’s only one. She was far too massive to take in with one camera. However, by combining the individual recordings into a collection, they could add the footage to this array of versatile screens for a plethora of perspectives. The screens also let them keep an eye on the various cities of their world as they dealt with the consequences of her ‘visit’.

The High Chancellor recalls how it began.

Floating naked in the void was this veritable deity. Aside from some curious features, she looked much like an adult female “human”: an uncivilized race of brutes from the sol system that were nevertheless considered a standard for beauty. As such, they referred to her simply as the “Woman”.

Her skin was a paled turquoise hue and the irises of her eyes were a soft purple. The latter trait could be seen by anyone on the western hemisphere by simply looking to the sky, of course. Another strange feature was her hair. Gently draped over her shoulders, it was a dark blue in color and emitted a soft gentle glow.

During the Woman’s surprise entrance, a single 45 mile wide strand of hair brushed against a scouting vessel. Rather than being dusted to atoms as it should’ve been, it actually sank into the filament: absorbed most likely. The biology department of the Science Bureau conjectured it was an adaption to collect and digest space debris. Communications cut off with the vessel shortly after, but needless to say the audio transmission wasn’t exactly pleasant up till then.

The monolithic female was almost half as wide as their system’s star, and to her, their planet wasn’t even the size of a marble. The Woman claimed to be searching for advanced civilizations, and was lured here by the energy signatures from the sun-orbiting satellites that powered their empire: a Dyson bubble. The Zirtenians had recently completed the grand construction. Now that monumental achievement, and their future plans to explore the stars, were suddenly in jeopardy once she showed up.

The Woman’s appearance prompted panic. Markets crashed and fleets were scrambled soon as her existence was known. All attacks harmlessly fizzled against her and, if she noticed them, she certainly didn’t care. All causalities seemed to be from minor, indifferent movements of her megalithic form more than any attempt at self-defense. She had nothing to defend from really; the gargantuan being was far above them in every sense of the word: that much was clear.

They had a use to her though. Her first message to them was the curious demand to assist with a stomach ache. Their first contact with alien life (sans frequency spam from lesser species) was regarding tummy troubles; of all things...

The High Chancellor snaps out of his memory-trance to the sound of screams and a wetness on his suit. Seems his chief of science managed to anger the ‘guest’ with his tirade and now his insides were splattered across the room. The Woman had shown great psionic capabilities in wrapping their planet with a protective shield, one that could withstand the occasional, drawn-out bat of her eyelashes when she leaned in too close. It wasn’t too out-there to presume she could gib someone with a thought, and that theory was just confirmed.

He takes a moment to compose himself and clean his suit best he can with his handkerchief. He then speaks up.

“With all due respect, I feel as though our space force does not have the resources for this problem. Please, leave my people in peace.”

Silence hangs for a few moments.

She responds, telepathically as usual, “I agree. I have decided to allocate your entire planet’s resources to the matter.”

Hearts sink in unison at the proclamation. Despite not knowing exactly what she meant, the Zirtenians assume it’s not good. Intentions are made all too clear as the purple iris in the sky slinks away to be replaced, ever so slowly, by the turquoise skin of her face and then the darker, blue tint of her lips.

Those lips part and chaos ensues. Panic strikes the globe as people run to the nearest buildings and hide--as though that’d help with anything. The Woman’s world-sized fingertips come down on either side to pinch up their entire planet now. Even with her psionic barrier “protecting” them, it still gives the planet a worldwide shake. Nothing is damaged, but it stokes fear none-the-less.

The planet is brought to the salivating light-purple insides of the Woman’s mouth. Though the telekinetic forcefield saves them from the planet-long ribbons of spittle that plop about, it does nothing for the sweltering temperature of her unfathomably enormous body. The heat and humidity make it feel like the warmest of days recorded, back before Zirtenian-kind seized control of their climate via terraforming. The sky becomes foggy as her viscous saliva pools atop the barrier and coats it, their view of the ‘outside’ partially occluded now.

The tongue beneath the morsel of a world begins to stir. Tastebuds that rival the size of islands mash against the world, making the people feel all the more claustrophobic and insignificant as the bumps press against the barrier. The leviathan of an organ tilts them towards the chasm of her throat and past a looming uvula. The Woman swallows with a loud gulp.

The trip down her throat is the grisliest sight yet. Though hard to see through the fluids that coat the forcefield, the surroundings are illuminated by blue light emanating from the purple walls. The academics are quick to confirm that her inner flesh is bioluminescent. As such, every undulating, constricting ripple of her esophagus is sickeningly conspicuous as it clamps down on their planet.

It’s a bit of a bumpy trip getting tugged down, loud too with all the guttural, gulping noises. Soon, they come to a fleshy valve: the gateway to her stomach. Loved ones held each other tightly; a schlicking, glorping sound rattles the planet as it crosses through the valve. No Zirtenian soul could have known what to expect once the planet passed through.

Rather than plopping down into the stomach, their world floated gently towards the center area. This wasn’t just due to the Woman’s phenomenal powers gently levitating them towards the center, but also because there was nothing to ‘plop’ into. No pools of fluids lined the floor of the planet-dwarfing, undulating, fleshy chamber. There was, instead, a pervasive muted-yellow mist that permeated the gut.

Soon, the residual saliva and throat slime slid off the barrier, allowing a clearer view of the Woman’s insides. Scouting drones of the Science Bureau were already hugging the force-field, allowing the Zirtenians to see outside in great detail.

The sight was as alien as it was humbling. The glowing walls of her stomach were lined with moon-scale villi. Between each set of purple nubby villi were shorter protrusions that ended in a round surface lined with small vent-like slits; it was from there the digestive gas emerged.

The cameras then found the disturbing sights: those of her past meals. Millions of rusted ships lay by the villi, the acidic mist having eroded their flight capabilities. Many seem to have crashed based on how their pieces are distributed. Still, some seem as though they were abandoned as their pilots made the curious choice to land. Among the dissolving vessels were cruisers, pirate vessels, and even entire moon-sized mega-ships.

Still, the most macabre morsels by far were the planets and other celestial snacks. There were moons, gas giants, but also the clear rocky remnants of once vibrant words. The omnipresent, corrosive fog deformed them over time from spheres to malformed lumps. They were strewn about the villi and ‘vents’, dissolving ever so slowly into the mottled mishmash of space debris and astronomical objects. Entire worlds, billions of years old, slowly converted into an easily absorbed liquid which streams about myriad villi like rivers in a canyon.

The sightseeing is interrupted by a rumbling groan from the organ and the sound of... battle? The scouting drones move to point their cams to the source of the disturbance. Two artificial planets are hovering by a corner of the stomach with fleets of spaceships fighting between them. Unlike the organic variety, these worlds didn’t naturally fall to the villi; they each had a built in magnetic propulsion system, which was the only thing saving them from crashing down to the lining of the digestive organ.

The mist was still getting to them though. The metallic spheres were rusted and slightly deformed, but the digestive processes were slow enough, and their exterior resilient enough, that they still had plenty of time to fight it’d seem. Every once in awhile a powerful missile would blow up a cluster of ships, or miss the mark and hit one of the towering fleshy protrusions that surrounded all the meals here. Though the Woman wasn’t harmed by it, it did elicit a rumble and an occasional annoyed utterance from their ‘host’ as she adjusted to the disconcerting sensation.

As the Zirtenian drones scan the battlefield from behind the safety of the psionic barrier with their high tech, high range sensors, it becomes apparent that the fighting armadas don’t seem to notice them. None of the ships ever turned to face their planet, and there’s no signs of intelligent communication being picked up from either the ships or the spheres. It’s almost as if this planet, even this environment, doesn’t exist to the ships. Every time one of the vessels were shot down, the imposing artificial planets would have another to replace it as they constantly churned out the war machines.

The Zirtenians had a theory now: the stomach disturbances weren’t artificial planets in the sense that they were occupied by sentient life, organic or no, but were in fact ship factories: war machines of their own. Given the evidence, the board reached the conclusion that they were the only remnants of two warring civilizations that shared a star system together.

The Woman must’ve devoured the whole system, sans the star, as her most recent meal. The actual dueling empires were gone, though their planets are certainly among the misshapen worlds currently melting against her fields of villi.

Thanks to the Zirtenians, the psychic entity notices the disturbance as well. She immediately gets to work taking care of it. Sparks fly from the solenoidal generators keeping the spheres afloat as an invisible, psionic force rips them right off. Without its levitation system functioning, the planet-sized drone factories sputter out and plummet into the villi below.

Once broken apart a bit and in direct contact with the stomach wall, digestion becomes much easier for the Woman. The towering constructs crumble and melt into the digestive lining of the alien’s gut. All at once, the fighting ships are pulled towards the center of the battlefield, crashing into each other in a grand ball of scrap. Soon after, the telekinetic crunch ends and they all tumble down, bursting on impact with the walls of her stomach before getting absorbed.

Zirtenians around the world are pleased, but hold their breath. They aren’t idiots, and they are fully aware she could betray them. There wasn’t too much time to prepare however; gas masks are being passed around to the citizens fast possible, and anti-corrosive coatings were being applied to vital buildings via repurposed paint-drones. Still, there’s hardly enough time to supply everyone.

The council tried to contact the Woman. Knowing she could hear them and even read their thoughts, they started talking aloud as though she were in the room--as opposed to the room, and their world, being in her stomach.

The High Chancellor speaks, “We think the problem is resolved.”

There’s silence for a moment, then the Woman’s voice rings in everyone’s head: “Yes.”

“Can you get us out of here now? Our people have done what you’ve asked.”

In response, no voice enters their heads. Instead, a thunderous giggle rings out from the Woman. Muffled by flesh, it echoes about her body. Even dampened somewhat, the power of her utterance rocks their world with a thunderous rumble.

The monitor screens show it all. The barrier had vanished.

The digestive mist wafts over the planet immediately. Omnipresent and pervasive, the yellow haze slinks between the alleyways of cities and into every vent or crevice it can find. Though the gas masks stop some people from inhaling the vapor, it stills tingles and reddens their green skin, irritating it before the blisters and peeling set-in. Buildings without an anti-acid coating begin to crumble as their support beams lose stability under assault from the fog. Even the protected buildings show faint signs of corrosion from the persistent, acrid gas.

The planet begins to slowly sink as her mind moves it down. The Woman was taking her sweet time with its descent, perhaps enjoying this a bit much based on how personally involved she seemed. The Zirtenians know that once the planet lands on the villi, the digestion of their planet will be more or less unavoidable.

Suiting up in hazmat gear, the High Chancellor stares at the monitors showing their planet under siege. His citizens are searing in the horrid mist, dissolving into sludge. Those without gas masks are even less well off as the vapor seeps into their bodies and burns them from within. With the planet creeping towards the stomach walls, fierce quakes wrack every city. It’s the end of the world, and even the fairly rational Zirtenian people aren’t immune to hysterics. Rioting occurs for the first time in millennia of their history.

The High Chancellor has an idea though. Once more, to save his people, he speaks.

“What happens when you eat another synthetic planet or two?”

Their planet continues to sink towards the stomach walls. Furniture begins to fall over as the descent towards the fleshy lining of her gut hastens. She must be listening.

“You needed us because your ability to sense things extends only to organic life. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have known what the source of your stomach ache was, and you wouldn’t have been able to deal with it--at least until your digestive processes eventually corroded their propulsion systems to the point of malfunction. But how long would that take? Days? Days of discomfort?”

The boardroom shakes. The Zirtenian planet touches just barely against a villus now on the most southwestern-edge of the world. The fleshy protrusion brushes upon a city and the surrounding area. The people there are so small they are absorbed into the nub directly: melted down or no. A few buildings are the same, just sifting right into the flesh, taken into the Woman’s body as a trivial bit of sustenance.

The High Chancellor continues: “Let us stay here. If it ever happens again, you’ll be able to see through our eyes and take care of the problem. The body heat from your stomach is enough to power our planet with some thermal absorption facilities. Our drones can have more built in a few days at most.”

The planet-vibrating earthquakes cease as the world stops moving, then they resume, gentler, as the sphere begins to float back towards the woman’s center. The psionic forcefield returns over their planet.

Another giggle comes forth. She must’ve found the idea amusing.

A message rings in their minds: “Ok”.

The High Chancellor slumps into his chair. The other chancellors and advisors stare at him with mixed expressions. He had made a horrible bargain, though in the process kept their planet, their people alive into the future.

Once peace is restored, the Zirtenians get to work repairing damages and collecting the dead. It was the most catastrophic disaster to ever hit their kind. Billions had perished, and there wasn’t much left of them sans puddles or, at best, partially dissolved corpses. Trillions of Zirtenian dollars worth of damage was inflicted to their infrastructure as well. The transport systems would all need repair as crucial paths and junctions collapsed under the acidic mist which, as of now, was being sucked-up and taken away by hazmat drones.

Thanks to the climate of her stomach, scientists anticipate tropical-like levels of heat and humidity for the future. This was the natural climate for their species before they developed their terraforming tech; the irony isn’t lost on them.

As the plans for rebuilding are put into motion, more “food” enters the Woman’s stomach. Hardly a snack to her, it was the satellites orbiting their star. She must’ve levitated them into her gob or just sucked them up. As the monitors show what’s left of the Dyson bubble plummet into her villi and melt away, the collective Zirtenian dream of a glorious galactic empire are extinguished. Instead, they are traveling the stars as a glorified stomach sentry, prisoner to this galactic predator as she hunts and devours star systems across space.

At least the Zirtenians will survive.

Fin