Others weren't nearly as lucky.

One Cultist, having crawled splat in the middle of enemy territory, was about to give her life away for the ruinous forces. She'd already given away a lot for Chaos, including:

-her belongings, save for some black scraps protecting her modesty and limbs, held by rummaged-together crimson belts;

-her fear;

-her hygiene;

-her name;

-several fragments of her teeth;

-her throbbing, passionate heart; and

-most of her other organs, at least once.

Yet, far rarer where the opportunities the cannon-fodder cultist could *claim* something for Chaos. Maybe a waffle. Maybe a backfiring laspistol a loyalist threw out. Maybe some toilet paper. After all: her loose, untrained squad mainly served to swarm together and clog enemy tank treads. Despite that, her zeal burned with flamer-like intensity. So in her final moments, she was proud to just barely plant a flagpole in a strategic point. She bore her heretical, toothy grimace to the Guardsmen ambush surrounding her, screeching in jubilation their aimed weapons.

"Hwee cap-toored eet--!"

And thus, the cycle began.

The Four Dark Gods, summoned by her waving Chaos Star-marked flag, convened to bestow a consolation prize to their doomed underling. A small boost in her strength, for a quick joke. They focused their unnatural powers on her, warbling echoes of their maddening chants flowing through bloody veins and sinews under the universe's skin, peeking out in whispers on the solar flares...

Thus spake Khorne: "I FUCKING SWEAR IF YOU GIGGLE LIKE LAST GODDAMN TIME YOU RAZORBLADE-SPEEDO-WEARING GOBSHITE"

Thus spake Slaanesh: "ufufu, wouldn't you like that, big boi~? scream louder for me daddy OwO"

Thus spake Tzeentch: "You fools - your pieces are in place, exactly as I plann- wait, I changed my mind, that plan's even better- Or is, now-? Hmhmhmhmm-"

Thus spake Nurgle: "Relaaaax... Let's just take our tiiiime... We ooooughta get together more ooooften... I got new carbuuuuuncles..."

And in a burst of Warp energy, the cultist sprouted upwards. Her too-wide eyes bulged out, pupils shrinking from the sudden pressure surging through her, gifting her joints with massive amounts of pressure. "Aaauugh-?" The masses of brittle bone, olive flesh, pulsing organs, and leathery clothes all stretched out beyond their natural shape. It sent waves of growing pains across Cultist's shuddering frame, tingling at her multiple scrapes and scars. To the pace of her rapidly-beating heart, she stretched higher and higher, and yelped louder and louder, her shadow and her presence blocking out the mass of enemies. Like a daemonette's embrace, it had agony and pleasure in harmony; an addictive sting that numbed her senses to the battlefield around.

"Eet... Ah! Eet eetches zo mahch..." Her black-gloved fingers clawed at her exposed neck and shoulders. "Baht hwee need more...!" They flung out, fists squeezed tighter and tighter - scraping a nearby cliff side.

At her ghastly squealing, the forces stepped back. One of the jumpy Guarsdmen fired at her in fear. His commissar summarily executed him for breaking formation; then ordered the rest of the squad, "Attack!"

A thousand pinprick flashes from their lasrifles and pistols lit up the bottom portion of the rapidly-growing cultist. Blasts ricocheted off the scapulas and boot sole, held to her stockings by thickening strings. The gunfire eventually snapped these holds, and ripped holes into the night-black material itself. The makeshift footwear gave way, quickly crumbling to disconnected platforms beneath her newly-exposed feet, right sole bearing the mark of Khorne.

Yet, few shots reached far above the cultist's ascending ankles; and none pierced the dirty stretches of skin that presently stretched outwards. Her toes burrowed through the paved road and dirt below, which were unable to support the fleshy boulders' girth. With every writhing wiggle of discomfort, ruptures like those from the Adeptus Mechanicus' Termites formed beneath their quaking boots, sending their gunfire off-target.

Soon, the toes' disoriented squirming became stretches outwards, pleased at the relief of the open soil, trekking into unfamiliar territory. "Hhhh... hwy... Hwhy deedn't hwee die? Hwee were all ready to be purged-!" Every second, every shot was more ticklish, every devoted war cry below less audible. Gazing at her body as it scaled outwards, she waved her hand ahead, trying to balance her new scale - and to make sure this wasn't a Shadowseer's illusion.

To her surprise, as the long arm swung, it sliced through the wing of a Lightning aircraft. The pilot had been a safe distance away, overhead even, ready to unload; but now, barely had time to open his parachute, as this goliath, prying hand twisted through cold steel behind him. The monster rattled it in confusion, alarmed that the ship got stuck in her hand's wraps. A little, subtle pinch from their chaotic opponent was enough to compress the rocket launchers right into the fuel tank - and make the aircraft into a little explosive *POOF* in her face.

Cultist blew the ashes off, and rubbed her face. That "boom" was real. About the same firepower as a party popper, but enough to convince the colossus that she was, in fact, a colossus - and not delirious.

"Hwe've... huge-ened?"

At slightly over 45 meters, or 159 feet, the single jolt of growth had transcended the Cultist past multiple classes of Titans - she would now be able to comfortably rest her elbow upon a Warmaster-class mechs. She looked at her body with discomforted taps and touches, like it was completely foreign to her. A glistening aura had surrounded her; as if her body temperature was passively generating a musty mist. The glow extended from her confused, wide-eyed face, high above; to her torso, flesh peeking and poking from under shredded garments, tattooed marks of decay and scheming stretched out to new scales; to her thighs, one now proudly revealing the sigil of indulgence over the soldiers firing at her; and, finally, the icon of fury on the base of her sole's ball. One digit extended above the troops, experimentally drawing a trench. Everyone below either fell amid the fissures in an attempt to retreat; or elected to spend precious ammunition lighting up the reddened flesh, granting a better view of the various dirt flakes that had grown with her, the new bits of wreckage she'd gained, and the excited smile between her toes.

"Hwee... can't feehl eet. At all!" As the sole lowered, her toes wiggled teasingly, making the blasts ricochet about. "Don’t hyu have behtohr than those flashlights?"

At that command, a single shot burst out from the well-oiled Volcano Cannon below. It collided with her heel right as she pressed down on the hard material, its explosion traveling into its fully-charged capacitors; shattering it apart. The force of its impact, mixed with the surprise, sent the colossal Cultist wobbling. "Hwoah -!" Still unsteady with her body's new dimensions and weight, she collapsed backwards.

*POMF!*

Imperials had barely any time to run from the oncoming, lumbering backside, dark rags flexing around the rotund curves. It created a thundering, quaking impact with the ground, instantly shattering any materials and weaponry unlucky enough to be in the shadow of the chaotic posterior. Even those who remained standing and sturdy during the earlier carnage fell limp, helpless. The commissar from earlier, bravely providing an example of discipline and skill for his men, ended up screaming directly into her crack. Two of the surrounding guardsmen were pancaked into the soft folds of butt cheeks, flaking him in perfect defensive positions. The full weight of the Cultist's warp-fueled body upon them, they were preserved in the spongy flesh and well-loved fabrics; but had barely any room to move their limbs, and could barely breathe in anything but the very odor of chaos that permeated in her. That meant, for the most diligent servant of the Golden Throne, an absolutely foul, humid stench; for the less loyal who had already given his mind and body to the Old Gods, an intoxicating and pacifying fragrance; for the undecided, an aroma faintly resembling bacon.

- Art by MostlyFunStuff

When she stood back on her wobbling, destructive feet - causing more retreats - the tonnes of backside had left 80 square meters of devastation beneath. Two round craters sinking into the earth. In a single flick, she casually brushed off the wiggling soldiers, along with the soot that she'd scrunched underneath it. Looking upon the width of the destruction she'd caused, her red eyes glowed slightly. "Hwee really deedn't mean to - unless - thees ees the will of Kay-oss?" She held her posterior over the surrounding forces, hands clutching at her thighs, feeling it shake. To nobody in particular, she asked: "Eeez thees... zhe gods blessing us weeth a new abilitee? Hwee... Mahstohrs, hwee are zo greatful!" She bounced down in jubilation, soles flinging out in celebration, hands pumping up in joy -

- as anarchy reigned below, trying to dodge the wide-spanning reach of her celebratory kicks and incoming butt. Among lesser men, the sight of an enemy they thought destroyed, now reigning over them simply by taking a seat, was humiliating - and a multitude of hushed prayers for protection spread through the ranks. Among the more observant, instead, a question:

"Is her ass... getting bigger!? Oh, throne..."

And yes; right beneath the plump rump, the absolute territory between her ragged skirt and high legwear began glistening harder, itching, twitching, expanding. The conditions within the warp activated a chain reaction, far beyond the power that the bickering gods had granted her. It absorbed more and more of the harsh ground in its sweltering grasp. Their only hope was to, as usual, hold the line until reinforcements arrived; a task made more difficult still by the repeated splits, waving, and swinging her lengthy limbs did, redefining the aforementioned line. Guardsmen rushed to reclaim territory and buildings that had been smeared beneath her thighs; only for another happy swing of the Cultist to reclaim that land again, burying their hopes (and occasionally bits of their machinery).

It was nearly impossible to measure the scope of her growth or her celebratory dance’s destination. While perhaps not unprecedented, this type of chaotic attack had absolutely no counter in official Imperial military doctrine, and the Guardsman primers absolutely did not cover combat against such an unpredictable and massive foe. They could only look up and fire useless blasts, as her purple-haired head grew nearer and nearer to the clouds, those below wondering what manner of insidious schemes had been whispered in her ears and brewing in her colossal cranium...

She squealed. "Hwee! They loohk like leetle toys!"

At just barely under 299 feet, and a smidgen over 91 meters, the Cultist's scale compared to everyone else on the battlefield was about 1:56. Indeed, they were like figurines, spread out on a playset; and unable to resist her palms as they stretched out to pick them up and place them about.

She lay on her back, the Chaos Star flat on the soil. Taking a Guardsman in one hand, she began walking him along her stomach, into the tattoos - navigating around her expansive torso. He struggled to break free from her grasp; the sickening squelch of his flailing boots in her skin below driving him mad. Another hand, next, grabbed a fellow Guard - who she made frolic about with him. She started (poorly) mimicking lasgun noises, while peeking them out from between her boobs - as if they were sniping each other. After many rounds of exchanging fire, she pressed them close together, their helmets crashing; proudly declaring, "lahv *can* bloom on thees battlefield!"

One kept thrashing. "You maniac! You'll pay for this - this - heresy!"

The other quaked in place, even as her hands left his armor. "Forgive me... forgive me, Emperor... for my acts and thoughts… my most grievous thoughts..."

The hard grasp of her fingers, each almost twice the size of a Primarch, was like an oppressive stranglehold. Every time they began fleeing, or firing back up, she stuck them deeper in place - burying their soles in the sinking ground. "Loyaleests should maytayn their posts!" It occasionally took a small lick, or a dab of saliva, to keep them stuck in their spot. Nobody could flee the long reach of her gloves, capturing all the foes of Chaos in a sickening diorama. It was practically a mockery of their own formations, with people facing each other, lying on top of one another, privates in obscene gestures towards their commanders At first, she only moved infantry. But as her size kept pulsing out - towards a 1:64 scale - she began grasping Leman Russes, making them spin like tops with her fingers.

As her growth continued to jolt, one of those majestic tanks crumbled to dust beneath her hold. She looked at the scraps, and giggled. "Eet was worthless anyhwey. Zhe paint wahs too theek!" It took no effort for her toss it in a scrap pile of other wreckage, like a tinfoil wrapper. With a flick, she had the next escaping tank do a sick wheelie, and jump over its companions remains in a somersault.

By the time she'd settled at a 1:72 scale - over 115 meters - the display was complete; a small Chaos star, arranged with figure-scale people, and machinery, squirming in place. A few finally managed to crawl out from the muddy ground, and swore upwards; or prayed in the distance, to Terra, that being in such a shape hadn't corrupted them.

But, even glancing among the Imperials, the Cultist paid them little mind. She looked left and right, smile slowly giving way to worry, finally speaking: "Hwhere deed our brothers and seesters go? Hwee want them to see the glory of thees art! Eet's hard to keep track hweeth all theese leetle green theengs..."

Like a dog trying to dig up a bone, she began clawing through chunks of the landscape. The black palms sifted through assorted loyalists, brushing them aside like toys in a bin. One brave Guardsman, seeing his life flash before his eyes, threw a frag grenade at her approaching face. It landed right in her nose, and detonated; triggering a sneezing fit that sent many of them flying. And she only seemed to become more towering, still, with each sneeze...

***

Unknown to her, at the camp, hobbling cultists gathered around their boss, who'd commanded the attack - sitting in his ornate World Bearer armor. The smoke of a good cigar floating about them, they gave assorted reports on the situation:

"We were broken, but-"

"She's huge! A miracle, a miracle upon us!"

"Whaht do we-"

The boss' voice was a muted, groaning boom, but made them all silent. "Leave her to it. We're getting off this shithole."

They stared at his face, which bore no signs of humor.

"She can take them all on?"

"Do you trust the cultist that much?"

His red fist crushed the burning embers. "No, I don't trust her. I don't fucking trust her with anything, damn it. The shit I've gone through already with that extra-heretical squeak toy - and they're making her even *louder* and *more annoying*? What kind of a fucking prank is Tzeentch trying to pull with this?" Dranon's ancient veins pulsed, hands tensing. "I've already given up too much of my cigar budget on her. I am *NOT* paying for an extra-large room, extra-large food, or extra-large janitors to mop up her drool!"

One raised a spindly arm. "But - the rehinforcements?! The loyalheests?"

"Good point." Dranon already began sending orders for takeoff, his swinging arms making the rest run for shelter. "All forces, clear a space for the Imperial landing! Roll out a welcome mat! Fuck it, wire that Cultist's coordinates to Cato! We'll be in the next quadrant by the time his smurfs are done with her shit!" Seeing her massive eyes on a monitor, glowing with the same curiosity as when they first met, the Chaos Marine added on: "And for Khorne's sake, turn on the fucking cloaking device!... Yes, you fucking heard me, we're retreating for Khorne's sake!"

***

The Cultist's fangs trembled. "Sep--" She shouted out in a deafening, desperate roar to the cosmos, her voice instantly shattering communication equipment nearby. Her palms wrapped around the immobile, corpse-like, rotten shape. "Sepsis! Seester, hwat have hwee done?! In our search for powhor, hwee... hyu..."

Within her gentle hold, the green girl yawned. She rubbed her single yellow eye, brushed her hair, and scratched her stomach. "Haaah... Hey. Cultist, my gal. You grew."

The change in her massive friend's jagged, clenching jaws was audible. She nearly spat out an ocean while panting: "Hyoo leev! Hwee thought - hwee thought hyuu had - been squeeshed in that!" With thin purple eyebrows lowering, she suddenly gave a skeptic look. "Hyoo were... sleeping?"

Sepsis shrugged a horned, spotted arm. "Eh. Papa Nurgle's gifts. Ability to endure, cheat death, sleep anywhere, y'know." She half-waved an arm. "I'd found this nice sunny spot among some ships, but they all left. Some kinda hurry. I would've tagged along with them again, if it wasn't so comfy here."

After taking time to absorb the facts, Cultist audibly gasped. She shook her decaying ally back and forth, grasping fingers knocking back fire from the last few ground forces still below. "Hyuu mean eet? They really, really hwant us to fight all on our hown? Oh, Mahstohr, hyu've geeven us an eemportant duty! Hyu even went against Khohrn and retreehted fohr us!" She stared up longingly to the stars, hands clasped together in a twisted prayer - and the much-smaller woman squeezed inside. "Hwee will captoor eet all for hyuu!"

With bits of her rot flinging back and forth from the wild motions, the servant of the plague god sighed, and flopped her exhausted arms down around the huge thumb. "Yeah, I'm sure. Something like that." Allowing a yawn to leave her, she peeked down at the remains of sweat and dirt below. "Looks like you're already spreading enough filth for the both of us. Nice work. I can tag along, but... mind if I get back to lounging and loitering?"

Excitedly looking down, her massive companion nodded. "Oh, sure. Hwee have zhee perfect place!" She slipped Sepsis into the small crevice of her navel. Now that the Cultist was at a looming 181 meters, the minuscule gal had plenty of place to rest - sprawling out with a hand on her own tummy, and looking to the nearby sign of Nurgle with a relaxed sigh. Thanks to her unique, dripping physiology, she remained snug in place amid bits of belly button lint; even as the massive woman leaned over the landscape. It looked more and more like a map... No, an easel for which she'd etch the message of the true gods, for all the stars to see.

Though they started small, the black pillar of a pointer finger ended up ripping wider trenches, deeper into the Death World's core. She only paid slight attention to the existing bunkers and burrows of stationed Imperials, cloaked nails ripping away at their covering shrubbery; and sending massive fauna they once struggled against screeching and scattering to the winds in retreat. Most humans still standing rushed to escape the ever-extending reach of their gleeful foe, chased by her fingers - barely aware of the centimeter-and-a-half shapes affected by her artistic tracks. Even behind her, forces beyond her knowledge struggled to hold back and flee from every slow outward stretch of her expanding legs, resting soles-up on the ground. A few managed to duck in the wide spaces she'd already dragged the digit through; until she decided to brush over them again to give the lines a bolder definition, burying them in muddy canyons to get the thickness *just* right.

However, some soldiers who called the planet home - or something like home - remained standing, firing at the digits to the very end, cursing at the toothy grin in the sky. They were granted neither a heroic victory against the earth-rending phalanges, or a glorious demise in the name of their Emperor. Rather, they were either partly pressed into the same muck that formed spiraling mazes and designs, or clutching and screaming in the small wraps around the Cultist's fingers. These brave men had front-row seats to each of their companions' retreats (sometimes gaining a chance to shout at them); the multiple ships taking the skies nearby; the fleshy lips and chin of their colossal captor whenever she tapped her face idly; the slacking Nurgle daemonette nestled in her tum (giving occasional yawns and half-hearted waves); and, to their horror, a landscape view of the devastated, grotesque shape her fingers drew below.

It made them shout, sputter. Yet, like a trainwreck, they couldn't stop staring, even as the warp energy made her fingers and straps grow larger, and give them space to slip out. Rising Devourer Dropships, too, kept images of the maddening carving on their way back...

***

"M-PRER DUM <3"

The message on the monitor was clear - a taunting message that tainted the landscape. Freshly dug by prying fingers that sought to rip galactic order apart. It sent the higher-ups watching from light-years away in a furor.

"This world isn't worth it! Deploy Land Crawlers to erase it before any more pure eyes are tainted by this treachery!"

"We've already ordered mass evacuations for any habitations that can see the message, but they'll need to keep moving to account for Brore S05's orbit."

"Sir, this is the same location where the Khornate's signal arrived from - and, I only know that from proxy, his exact impure words never reached my skull. This is likely a sinister trap dreamed up by the most conniving, deceiving minds of our enemies."

"That's also the place where the guard requested backup - unless they succumbed to the corruption of that - creature!"

"My liege, we've already wasted too many resources, and their forces - that monster - aren't even trying. Can we not just wipe this entire incident from the records? What kind of a name is Brore, anyway, my liege?"

"Your righteousness, talking is soooo boring, and it's been almost two Ultramar weeks since our last Exterminatus..."

Stepping towards an Ultramarine with a blonde top-fade, who sat in contemplation, a pale-haired, pale faced Sororita whispered softly: "I, uhm... these words, they're frightfully heretical, but if you, ah, look at these images... that is to say, with your most, Emperor-gifted judgement, I shouldn't presume, and yet... I think I recognize her, the one behind the actions, who could..."

The man looked down from his majestic armor. "Out with it, Sister Ringarde."

Rearranging various photographs and drawings of the blasphemous carvings, the sister's sweating palms brought bits of the monster's skin together. She collaged the various angles to make out a huge torso, black-and-red bikini top still in place on its darkish skin; purple strands of hair, flying from her excited movements; and wild, curious eyes, looking up to escaping dropships before reaching up.

He gasped. "Her. How did - it's her. Years of false leads, and you're back..." Slowly reaching out a blue palm towards the monitors and papers, he soon balled it up and slammed the table. Every face, helmet, and paldron pointed to him.

With a cough, and a moment to carefully consider his words, he looked out to the vast stars. "Yes, I... authorize any weapons and soldiers, to..." Staring at the shaking Ringarde, he gulped. "...*subdue* this cultist. As a trusted... and noble... and absolutely chaste servant of Mankind, I will command this operation myself. I'm not going to lose her again... I mean, after we lost this last skirmish."

His next commands, routing various assault forces, were a touch louder than usual - even for someone as zealous as him. Between this, the sister approached. "I, I too, do greatly - approve, and offer all tools necessary to... Make sure we keep a close eye on her every movement."

With a long, uncomfortable headpat, the commander in azure armor nodded. "Good. With your diligence and pure heart, mixed with advancements of the Magos Biologis, I trust you - more than any man - to carry the battle in close quarters with her, should the need arise."

Ringarde stammered. "Oh, I - I believe that duty - I'm still, er, not skilled at tactics or leadership, compared to many in the Adepta Sororitas, or to your most excellent..."

"You won't command anyone. You'll be our weapon."

***

It grew harder and harder for Cultist to keep the foliage in hand without grinding it to a smear. Against the extent of her growing stomach and hips - creating a pit that was only a fraction of her 230-meter-tall body’s width - the ground itself was beginning to sink. Barren lands were inundated with moisture; trees gathered and tossed aside as she examined them for hidden outposts, or hidden fruits; and skies above her shaking rear, full of ships in retreat...

...Just as another set, guided out of the warp by the Emperor's light, arrived in the planet's atmosphere. From flashing Avengers and Lightings, to whirring Thunderhawks and Stormhawks, a much larger fleet of craft arrived; poised a distance above the 100 meters of black-clothed backside; still unnoticed amid heretical hums and laughs. The air force barely awaited the army's retreat before unloading their arsenal towards all visible targets. Marauders dropped bombs that landed perfectly in the crevices of her wiggling toes. Thunderbolt soared up the ramp of her foot to unleash the fiery wrath of autocannons upon the red tattoo on her sole. The roaring rumble of Heavy Bolters echoed up and down the extent of her legs, barely making an impact in the fabric. Chiropteran Scouts mapped out the dimensions of her ever-growing body, floating between a crevice leading up to her spine. Twin Lightning Strike Fighters flanked around to deliver a payload of scorching missiles onto her plush buttocks.

It made no marks in the pitch-black fabric.

The colossus of a cultist was not unlike an Imperetor-class Titan - and watching her shift slightly to see what was bugging her back was not unlike seeing one of their cathedrals' spires shift in the middle of the battlefield. To give her red eyes a less obstructed view, she temporarily unhooked her Chaos Star from the piercings on her back, and rolled it to the side - where it expanded at the same rate. Its static growth, on its own, generated ruptures against the mound it rested on; which paled in comparison to the trembling, destructive energy of its owner's excited movements.

"Zees plahnet has beeg bugs..."

As the purple strands of her hair swung back over her shoulders, it generated strong enough air currents to knock the Imperial crafts' flight paths asunder. Their continuous fire kept fizzling to nothing but minor itches in her olive skin. Orderly formations sent waves of fire to any bit of the gargantuan target, which just kept getting bigger. Even traces of gunpowder in the Khornate mark vanished, shrinking away as the chaos-powered growth made her skin cells beneath vaster.

In fact, from the sheer speed of the growth, the lowest-flying Avengers had a view of the Cultist's resting stomach at its sides; spreading further out, cracks forming from the slightly-raised belly as it applied greater pressure to the planet's crust, perspiration from sweltering stars continuing to irrigate the ruptures.

With Cultist's head turned back, the scale of her smile increased. "Naht bugs - loyalheests!" With a finger rising to her lips, she jolted a leg up on reflex - and found the Aeronautica Imperialis forces, large and small, scattering to escape the swing. Even those Sky Talons still incoming from a distance away experience turbulence; their wings swaying to adjust to the incredible windpower, kicking small clumps of dust up on their windshields.

Their engines buzzing around like insects around a Nurglite, she watched their flight patterns with twisted fascination. "Do hyuu really neehd ahll those flying theengs to puhrge wahn culteest? Eet feehls a leetle lopsided." She rolled over to swat at a ticklish Lightning Fighter blasting her left thigh; whose panting pilot only barely navigated through the multi-meter-spanning gaps between her fingers. The Imperial looked to the rear view with horror to see that her fingers were still chasing him; and a palm rose ahead of him to block his path. It took a harsh nosedive to escape the walls on either side; and even then, the rest of her body was slowly rolling about, to and fro, more and more of his comrades struggling to keep their aim steady.

"Hwee always wanted to catch a bug weeth chopsteeks!" At that, a few uprooted trees ended up in her hands; snapping and pinching towards scattering, rushing aircraft.

While she occupied herself chasing the fighters and bombers behind her back, trying to catch one, it gave the gunships the time they needed for their backup strategy. Huge masses of wire rope, enforced and blessed in a nearby forge world, dropped from their hatches; soldiers skydiving down to wrap the manifold strands around her. Many steel tendrils jutted out from the aircraft, spreading across fabric on her legs, flesh on her back, and hooking around the back of her bra. Either leaping down of their own accord, or scattered off by the wiggling movement, the guardsmen grouped at the ground below; risking being crushed by the looming stomach and knees, so they could bury the ends of the threads beneath the already-loosened soil, and wrap them together beneath the looming canopies of olive flesh.

Like a lost myth of the old world, they hoped to tie the raging beast down, halting her wild movement in a thousand knots. The ones around her ever-agile arms had the most trouble, trying to avoid getting sent off with a swoop before completing their mission; while soldiers gathered near her hips or knees had to match the motion of her idle twisting and rolling, lest they risk her squashing their squad altogether. More powerful Thunderhawk Transporters arrived, connecting to the ropes, so their mighty engines could work in tandem to transport the mass of moving heresy wherever their leader pleased. Some glared at comrades with the far-safer job of abducting her Chaos star by its eight points, only their sense of duty preventing them from giving in to envy.

It was just as they made the finishing twists that an explosion rang out in the air. Cultist had snatched a Marauder Bomber between the hard bark; and grabbed it for a closer look, the nose crumpling like tinfoil in the tip of her index and thumb. Eyes following the crew as they parachuted out, her 800-million-joule giggles blew them into distant shrubbery. "Hwee deed it! Hahah, veectoree! Hwee cap-toored thees fly for Kay-oss!"

She got up.

Nobody could believe it.

Those who'd tied her down and rushed for shelter. Those still in the vehicles, held by rope from her wrists and ankles. Those who were ready to intercept and carry her.

Defying kilometers of wire bounding her to the soil, defying a fleet of the finest airborne machines designed by man pushing back, defying the tactical minds trusted with serving the Emperor's will, Cultist got to her feet, and performed a joyous victory dance.

Art by Hank88

Instantly, the precisely-calculated flight patterns, memorized from tactical guides, were replaced with uncivilized swinging, off waving arms and gyrating hips. Her body lifted higher than ever, muscles in her limbs and abdomen curling and uncurling; each untamed sinew outpowering their thrusters, and nearly awakening Sepsis from her third afternoon nap. It wasn't just dangerous for those around her upper body; the unpredictable, jubilant dance made her leap left and right, causing calamitous quakes all around the ground-bound Guardsmen. Thanks to the earlier pressure of the now 300-kiloton body, and their own efforts to dig the wires underground, new layers of soil eroded with every step; splashing them with mud in parts of their uniforms they didn't know existed until now.

It had taken much horsepower and manpower, many sputtering engines, but dropships were lifting her hefty chaos star decoration from the ground. Their unsteady sailing led it right into Cultist's clutches; where she eagerly grabbed it in one deft swipe, along with the rest of the crew. "Thank hyu!" With only one hand, she lifted the hovering decoration higher; and hooked it to the appropriate spots on her shoulder blades, wiggling it into place without even losing a beat. Those ships, once a safe distance away, now also joined in the quaking, wobbling display of success. Meanwhile, all the remaining members of the fleet, still unbound from her body, fired at it; hoping to break apart one of the very cables their forces designed to resist the strongest blows.

A few of the smaller Thunderbolts had the privilege of slamming into her sides, against her armpits, or into her legs' crevices; escaping the smoldering wreckage just as it disappeared into her skin, falling limply with crackling sensors and twisted tail wings. Others were tossed this way and that as the wire loosened or snapped against the continuously outstretching flesh; making crash-landings that stranded the crews on the planet's surface. Less fortunate machines were subject to sickening bopping and revolutions; witnessing firsthand, from windows and radars, groovy shimmying outright banned in most parts of their civilization; and between useless attempts at ripping free, their pilots prayed forgiveness for having their Emperor-given arms involved in such a heretical dance.

With each part of her waving, cheerful dance, she only appeared more frighteningly huge; and the ground only trembled more under her every strut and leap. As if, by waving the signal to the heavens and the regiments of tiny borrower-like soldiers below, the power of the warp channeled through her more intensely.

Or, as if all the stomping, burrowing, gunfire, and crashes into the ground were awakening dormant volcanic lines, shifting tectonic plates like a sliding puzzle.

By the time Cultist had stopped to realize the shaking, it was too late for her to stop. More and more magma bubbled beneath, making her look down in curiosity and worry. In a single spurt, the earth opened - and a geyser of gushing, violent lava erupted from beneath her, right at her tush.

"H-yaaaaargh!"

Such was the force of the eruption, and her leap of pain from the searing motion, it launched her out of the bounds of Brore S05's stratosphere. The remains of her rampage were left behind, barely controlled by innumerable dazed loyalists - struggling to make sense of the situation. They watched all around the de-captured base as their 460-meter tall foe took flight, ascending to a small flicker in the ashen sky.

***

"Thank the throne!"

"Oh, glorious day, the evil has destroyed itself!"

"Finally, I don't think I could've taken another moment of that assault-drill screeching!"

"Surely, the vacuum of space will consume her as punishment for the pure minds she's consumed."

"I still say Exterminatus. Just to be sure its presence is all gone, like, 100%."

Onlookers were taken with a mix of pride and suspicion, seeing the colossal threat blast off to parts unknown. Yet, their leader stood staring at the remaining images, and the prints her extremities made in the ground as they filled with searing magma. To be so close, and yet, this distant from seeing her right before him. He'd have to cancel the work with Ringarde, if it wasn't already-

"Pray, what’s going on in --- by the Emperor."

Mixed shouting took his attention as the commanders glared with growing bewilderment upon sensors, and responding in exasperation to incoming reports from their subordinates.

"What unholy magick plot armor can survive the heat of a volcano - AND the frost of space?"

"No, no, keep them evacuated! The *THING* is right there, in the middle of it!"

"How do we even mobilize our forces there?"

"That level of collateral damage, already - the beast!"

"At the very heart of Imperial safety and order... My liege, may I recommend Exterminatus."

He parted their pauldrons to look at the reports himself. With a slow nod of forced, barely-maintained somberness, he called for one of the Servo-skulls. "Tell Ringarde that the battlefield has changed. Brore S03. Yes, the Hive World."

***

Cultist's landing could be described as bottom-first; and that set the grounds for the first few minutes of her interactions with the emptied Hive City's rockrete streets. She carelessly dragged her toasted buns through scores of aeon-old architecture, hoping for something to cool off the stinging magma burns. With the surface heavily industrialized, many of the rivers had been coated with acid, clean water sources diverted towards the noble houses in higher levels of the spire. These classes had been moved to safety first; only the last few underhive members in the systemic mass exodus got a rare chance to see monuments and statues that towered far out of their reach ripped asunder by ass cheeks.

Finally, after rubbing a few centers of industry to minuscule nubs, she gained a moment of relief to stop and smell the ashes. Her eyes were wide, disoriented, blinking left and right; scanning the infrastructure as if it were completely alien. An experimental flick of domino-like smoke spires jutting from the soil transferred the equivalent of 2.25 tonnes of TNT in a precise point from her fingertip; toppling the set of them over, and condensing the contents into rare minerals.

Leaning over the wreckage, the Chaos-worshipper nudged at her immense navel, poking Sepsis awake. "Exchuze us, seestohr..." Able to hear her yawns through the will of the warp, she pointed out to the vast spread of urban growth. "...Baht hwat ees thees place?"

The daemonette looked around, and promptly rested. "Hive world. I wouldn’t have minded staying on the Death World, but eh." Taking a long whiff of the poisonous cloud separating the city levels, and looking upon the broken septic pipes carved out of the streets by ass cheek, she sighed in comfort. "Some loyalists really know how to bring out the best in a planet."

Shaking her purple head wildly, Cultist pounded a palm to the ground for emphasis - shattering more of the surrounding terrain. "Hwee were just een spess! That should purge us, or leave us floating for lightyears! Eet doesn't make sense!"

"Warp rift, maybe? Could be someone looking out for you there."

"NNNGH!-DSBFLGH!-NAARGH!"

Perched upon a high skyscraper, three slobbering maws in magenta, red, and blue barked excitedly. They connected to the same quadrupedal body, overlooking some of the new fingerprint canyons, with scorpion-like tail wagging.

Sepsis sunk back in her spot, beginning her rest anew. "Yeah, I'll go with that."

"Kay-Oss! Hyu came for us!"

A form twisted by the Changer of Ways into a beast few dared name; and only one dared jump towards and take in her lengthy arms. The overwhelmingly huge body of the Cultist led to the building beneath trembling as she leaped forward, practically sending him shaking off. His scaley form was soon engulfed in the long-stretching shadow of her bosom - along with much of the neighborhood below. She hugged the whole towering structure to rubble, barely noticing the shards of shattered adamantium breaking off into her bra in the process. Kay-Oss had nowhere to stand, with his platform quickly joining the ashes below. Even when she was leaning down, knee-guards plowing through abandoned sections of Imperial territory, it was a long drop to the ground - and as she kept growing, her shoulders and hips knocked apart more and more of the sky-scraping structures. The happy slurping of her loyal companion, nestled in her arms, led to her giggling from slight tickling.

Cultist kept carefully petting her creature with one pinky finger, or nuzzling her voluminous nose over him. Most looking upon Kay-Oss would call it mindless - and yet, it remained in place. Despite being dangerously high in the air, and risking crushing force from a beast nearly 300 times its size, it showed no resistance; simply yapping and nibbling with excitement at the familiar voice and touch. "Hwee meesed hyu! Have hyu been a good boy? Hwee aren't used to looking at hyu from uhp heer! Hyu have very nice scales, yes hyu do!"

Scurrying and crawling about, with long stretches and scratches, the beast hopped across her scars; and at last, ended up perched on her shoulder's spikes, panting. With a final rub of her humongous cheek against his whole body, swaying him up and down, her voice's high volume nearly sent him hurtling off: "Hwee are most grateful for hyuu! Do hyuu desire any rewahrd? Hwee weel cap-toor something sweet for thahnks! Maybe waffles, eef the gods weel eet!"

And with a "GNNRLLLSHBRR" of approval from the Chaos Spawn, thus began her next quest: seeking nourishment. She had no problem moving from one end of the city to the next; since even at a crawling pace, her arm span reached 150m. But rather, being at a scale at which people may have described as "Epic" (or perhaps "Titanicus" in older tongues), with the average guardsman being about 6mm in comparison (and burly Astartes at around 7), searching the structures for anything salvageable was a serious ordeal.

Art by Alef-GP

Factories devoted to providing the Imperium with weaponry had their windows shattered by curious fingers; and soon, their walls caved in through grabbing hands. Multiple production lines ended up crumpled in her fist by accident as she pulled them out, observing the shattered and twisted contents without really understanding them. Trying to detect traces of food for her noble pet, she sniffed inside some of the sprawling mess, sucking in a mix of gunpowder, smoke, and toxins; just as quickly sending it firing out in explosive sneezes, the ticklish projectiles flying off from her sinuses and into the winds in a shrieking "Hyaa-tchoo!"

And yet deeper she pierced into the civilization; spreading chaos in her wake, amid the few distant onlookers too rebellious or poor to have left the Hive City immediately.

In the forgotten history of Terra dozens of millenia back, or on distant Feudal and Frontier world, buildings coming close to the Cultist's current size would be major landmarks, if not symbols of a culture, overlooking the land from above. Centuries of ambitious urges to rise ever higher, and simple problems of overcrowding, meant long streets of 100-floor structures weren't a rarity. Spartan living quarters packed densely to maximize storage, and facilitate commutes to workplaces, meant that navigating through ever-narrowing alleyways and down roads was a harder and harder ordeal for the growing heretic.

At first, whole storeys of evacuated structures came crashing down seconds after her red eyes filled their stained-glass windows. But as she climbed to see higher levels of the proud monoliths, they quickly sank beneath her weight, leaving her leaning over to scavenge uselessly for resources inside their hollowed steel carcasses on the ground. Even squatting soon became an impediment; with her hip size increasing into the hundreds of meters, she ended up accidentally flattening some adjacent buildings's lower floors, causing the upper ones to crumble and cascade upon her back.

Still, amid all of them, no luck.

Wiping her armbands clean of the dust-like rubble, the rampaging devotee sighed. "Has thees planet eenvented waffles yet?" She sniffed about, unable to detect any traces of sugary indulgences having entered the hive worlders' recycled resources or Imperial dietary restrictions. "Hnn, Kay-Oss eez zo good at finding fuud. How do hyu do eet?"

Looking at her snapping, shoulder-bound monster, and listening carefully to his bellowing "SHNNRCHBLLRGH", she watched the smiling spawn of the Warp make lapping motions.

"Haahah, hyuu are zo smart!" With an eager nod of understanding, she once again fell on all fours. The colossus started dragging her tongue around the rubble she'd generated, and across the lower-reaching structures. Like a slick, moist bulldozer, it pulled in much of the remaining vehicles, loose items, and the smallest remnants of plant life. Each bit added to the contents of her bubbling stomach, churning the meager contents into further fuel. And behind, there remained only a soaking trail, deeper and wider than those left behind by a Valdor Tank Hunter.

This practical wasteland of rockrete would have made a normal palate choke, spitting everything out. Cultist had no ordinary palate. She was used to scrounging up whatever she could to survive; and even the worst parts of Hive Worlder diets (or waste sites) were something she could bear, to follow the trace of a reward for her close companion.

Eventually, the tastes - with only the slightest hints of food refinery, snaking across multiple specialized chefs - led her higher and higher. She slithered up some of the magnificent structures that made up the center spire, its reinforced roofs and windows forming perfect hand-holds and footholds. The further into the skies she ascended, as the already-small structures became a memory on the ground, the more it felt like it was swaying beneath her; and the more mysterious crunches she heard beneath her. But still, holding tight to the cathedral-like towers, she let her senses carry her past the layer of floating musk, upon the most overbuilt and twisting of the world's skyscrapers.

A nearly-impossible display of architectural devotion, tower built upon tower upon tower. It was a wonder that stood for centuries: defying the clouds; defying the capacity of human minds; defying several health and safety restrictions; defying lost concepts of the old world such as "maximum weight capacity"...

With a more solid plan, or better knowledge transfer among previous builders, the tower may, hypothetically, not have snapped under the 6600 kilotonnes of Chaos climbing it. And yet, it snapped; supports torn and ripped within her flailing grip, ignoring her whining screeching "Hyelp us, gods!" Cultist's body made a high-pitched whistle as she fell, crashing through high walls and barricades keeping peasants out. With the dizzying speed the descent gave her, she pierced through several layers of ancient structures built on top of each other in spirals; leaving behind her silhouette in various destructive, desperate poses where citizens once lived and worked, many times over, all the way to the basest levels of the Underhive.

*SLAM*

Urban growth slipping off her curves in waterfalls, she rubbed her head in pain; and tapped Sepsis and Kay-Oss' respective spots, double-checking that they were uninjured. It took a moment for her to regain her breath, thanks to the deteriorating air quality. With dark, dreary buildup hanging overhead like a ceiling, she could barely identify the structures she was wading through - besides a vague slushiness, as if wood were rotting and metals rusting beneath her very steps. It seemed that even in this nigh-lawless area, forgotten by the administration, rival clans were still able to (mostly) clear out the very core of the metropolis; there was barely a noise about, all buried under the gathering breaths and footsteps from Cultist.

Though still, there was an unsteady whisper: "A morte perpetua... hah... Domine, libra nos."

Following the faint noise, stumbling through the darkened stretches of tubes and roads, Cultist went forward.

"From the blasphemy of the Fallen... Our Emperor... deliver us."

Even at low volumes, the noise had an echo - making it hard to determine where it came from. And yet, there was something about it. "Hwee theenk... hwee recognize thaht sound. Are hyu-?"

She was cut off by a screaming war cry, at a volume that sent her aback. The flare from a bolter lit up a face with red cheeks, eyes turned away. Another quick shot showed off the gold fleur-de-lys upon dark pauldrons. And, as the dome of buildings broke apart from fire, rays of light shone upon the white hair of a Daughter of the Emperor, one kilometer tall.

Ringarde looked down slightly, teeth clenched. "You have had... every chance to repent... and yet, you continue to spread that - filth..." Her arms lifted up. "I have been chosen to guide you to the next world!"

"Ringarde!"

Instantly upon hearing those words, the 815-meter Cultist - 500 times bigger than her standard companions - flung herself at the sister's armor plates. Her steps kicking up masses of sludge, she slipped and slid forward; sweat only adding to the existing dampness, as massive mudslides of torn settlements were launched by her unsteady scurrying. Before Ringarde could react, or even let out another prayer, the olive arms wrapped around her; and the speed of the fall knocked her back.

She whimpered in embarrassment as the thundering POUND rattled the underhive, buildings and roads shaking and falling from above. The black and gold across her rear made a perfectly smooth, levelled to featureless craters beneath the expansive rump. The squirming sister carefully plucked minuscule structures off the cushioned posterior, placing them down gently, before even addressing the incredible closeness of the slightly-smaller heretic. Their warmth joining together led to air temperatures rising within the heart of the civilization.

"Hwee are zo vehry soree - baht eet's zo good to see hyuu, too!" She rose slightly, and gave the woman below her a pat on the shoulders. Her legs kicking up and down led to more pounding pressure on the ground, and further sways and shivers from Ringarde.

Even turning her head away led to an uncomfortable number of crunches and pops from the residences below. "D-do not tempt me to your ways... Cultist..." A sharp inhale led to her breathing in huge swaths of the surrounding toxins - and immediately coughing, choking on the fumes let off from smoldering ruins of scraped-together factories and homes.

At the sounds, the Chaos-worshipper quickly rose off her heavily-protected chest, and began pushing it with cupped palms. "Seester Ringarde! Hyu need fresh air for that!" Helping the wobbling, unsteadily colossus back to her feet - and petting her back to keep her breaths steady - she reached up to the holes bore through the layer of landscape above. It was out of her grasp, even as she jumped up and down; but the massive tremors generated by each leap, each with enough kinetic energy to sustain the continent for a day, made the looser foundations crumble, caving in and widening the openings in the sky.

"S-stop that! Woooah..." Practically bouncing herself, boots plowing through and toppling over blocks of quickly-diminishing land, the Sororita held tighter to her slightly-smaller companion's arm, with its bands in her palms. Her heart sounding like a drum, she didn't dare look down to the devastation below, only ahead to the red eyes before her. "The... the greatest minds of the Imperium have forged me this new body to end your carnage!... B-but they really didn't tell me how... weird it would feel..." Her chest closed in, crushing small portions of land that were scattered across Cultist's torso. "It's as if my very existence is - woahwoah - going against the s-sacred laws of gravity..."

With her toothy smile spreading, the colossus before her took a step back. "Hwee are beegening for our mahstors, too! Eet takes a leetle practice! Hwee'll help hyuu, heef hyuu desire." She lowered the bolter-bearing arm up to her own torso, aiming right at the mark of Nurgle; and spread her arms up, waving them up and down. "Hwee broke a lot of the loyaleest theengs, so hyuu can take your tuhrn and puhrge us now!"

Ringarde bit her 70-square-meter lips, lowered the firearm, and shut her eyes. "I-I don't want your pity! My aim is true, guided by the sacred light of The Emperor!"

*BLAM* - a shot rang out, echoing through the cave. More shots followed, each glowing bright in the makeshift arena as more supporting walls crumbled down.

It completely missed, not even grazing the skin of the Cultist. She blinked, feeling over for damage - and finding nothing. "Hwee theenk the Ehmprah requiyors a new lighbahlb."

"B-but... How? That was point-blank! It couldn't-shouldn't-unless-I-oh-no-please-mercy..."

She was taller. A considerable margin taller, too. As her limbs stretched outwards, consuming more presence and crowding the narrowing realm, they grew out of the way - shots that were once aimed at her upper legs now flew through the space between them, making her ragged skirt flutter. As Ringarde grew, too, from time with the Magos Biologis, her tightening fingers on the grip made the bolter crumple. But Cultist's growth rate was faster - now at 1 kilometer and 304 meters, beating her by a full 100m.

Trodding backwards, Ringarde grasped to walls of the Underhive for support; ceiling lowering as they descended under the impressive weight. "But - how? Th-the data they sent to us was scrambled, but - we had your growth rate on record... ch-charts, and everything... it shouldn't have been this quick...!" She whispered: "Th-they told me I'd match your size..."

In response, she got a long, comforting headpat - which continued as their scalps broke through the rapidly-thinning walls closing the basest part of the city off from their surroundings. "Eet's okay. Hwee know hyou're trying. Hwee don't even understahnd Kay-Oss most of the time!" Hailing blocks of durasteel rained to the streets around their purple and white hair; even as the sister crouched, and Cultist lowered her head to meet hers, more and more of the orderly ceiling gave way to the smoggy sky, revealing cloud layers.

***

It was unlike anything they'd ever seen. The few members of the populace still packed in the Underhive, out of stubborness or sloth, had seen unclear shapes moving in the background, new monoliths in black and gold hidden in the shadows. But bit by bit, as gargantuan tremors shot through their cities, they saw more - felt more - smelled more.

Olive-tinted boulders, slick with moisture, shot through their streets and bulldozed landmarks they'd walked from - homes of rival clans, dangerous spots they'd lost companions. Ranging from ten to fifteen meters, they were connected to a massive slab of fleshy wall - longer from end to end than the greatest Titans, and wider than the entire height of a Warmaster-class one. That colossus, which navigated the danger with shocking ease and grace, sliding around; that was just a foot.

As more and more light shot through the openings, the few unevacuated inhabitants saw her. Towering up to the very highest levels, her every movement tore asunder the cage that they'd spent their years sludging through. Rivers dried up for centuries now were irrigated by heavy volumes of perspiration - each droplet with a diameter that could swallow a Custodes whole, and still have room for more, as it sloshed down and drew trails of wetness through dead roads.

Many minuscule inhabitants took it as a sign of punishment, or an invasion; and fled. It was impossible to fully outrun: each clumsy, lumbering step from the nameless behemoth spanned a city block. Yet, as more fell beneath the crimson Mark of Khorne or the bare expanse of wrinkles, miracle upon miracle happened: they were simply too small to be crushed. They ended up caught between minuscule folds in the criss-crossing pattern of her skin, barely nudged by finely-crunched debris; or briefly caught in the hold of the skin, stuck by its dampness, and carried above to vistas higher than they'd ever reached in their life. 

It started small, with citizens already half-familiar with the ways of the dark gods. More and more joined in, blinded in gratitude and exaltation. And as the towering silhouette, now 1000 times the height of a human, ripped apart the darkened steel clouds to show a trace of the exterior's light, even some deeply loyal to the Emperor fell to their knees.

Not everyone was kissing and sipping from the ground that Cultist trod on. Some of them stayed far away from prostrating themselves before the wriggling masses of skin, offering their belongings as a carpet. There was a considerable portion of the populace who were not cheering her on as she broke apart the Underhive. But there didn't need to be. As light came in; as communication devices carried the effects of her actions; as she inspired more furious rage, gratitude, or even lust from those miles and miles away; the people paying her attention grew in number. Even a small populace of stragglers had more eyes and hearts than the Death World could provide.

And with more eyes and hearts on her, with more Chaos, came faster growth.

"C-Cultist!" She struggled to hide her bright blush. "Th-that type of v-vulgarity has no effect on me!"

"No, hwee mean - down heer!" She lifted a foot to display what lay beneath, with the height of a cheerleader kick - clumsily knocking away small chunks of the remaining ceiling over the exposed realm of industrial overgrowth, as it continued to extend out. "Like lahts of leetle butterfly keeses! Hwee still feel eet now!" 

Ringarde gazed briefly upon the base of her heel, almost gaining a glimpse of the perspiration-glued portions of the underhive carried out to the open with her footsteps. She struggled to push it down, trying with all her strength to stuff the bigger and bigger leg back into the realm that no longer fit it. Her voice, even booming across the landscape, was dissolving to meek squeaking, betraying her attempts to assert herself. "You... don't dare - break any more of this - city - planet... Uuuh, so many people... can see us...!"

In confusion, her taller opponent padded and prodded the layers of steel below with one toe - stripping the city back and revealing portions of the soil that hadn't seen light for ages. She leaned down, further, scraping small portions of the strange mix of brassy and grey colours with her digit - streets she may have still been able to walk through not long ago, now toppled over easily and had trouble ascending to her knuckle's height. "People? Hwee can't see any..." Suddenly, she shouted out, the force of her breath knocking down several of the proudest and best-polished structures: "Heeey! Do hyu people haff any good food? Hwee were searching for sahm for Kay-oss!"

Though once empty from the evacuation, following Imperial orders, the streets now had a lively, flashing mix of heads - which were lucky if they poked up higher than a millimeter or two from the ground, relative to the womens' lines of vision. The sudden burst of motion made Ringarde's eyes diminish, gasping mighty winds in realization: "They... they're disobeying the regulations... N-no, don't help her! You're - you're focusing your worship and emotional energy on her -- it's just going to make her bigger - and it'll be faster and faster - and soon, I won't be able to-!" Desperately, she tried to make roadblocks with her palms, finding the scurrying crowds simply passing through the narrow gaps in her clutching, dangling fingers. Then, in desperation, she resorted to breaking apart portions of the tallest structures to lay them down as barricades. Nothing stopped the ever-growing flood of worshippers, climbing and clawing over wreckage; and as the Loyalist leaned over, the shadow of her gigantic opponent only stretched further over her, over them, over the wondrous mass of ingenuity and perseverance through architecture that made up Brore S03.

And soon, that behemoth shadow moved, skipping forward happily. Cultist left massive footprints that greatly outmatched the Sororita's own boot prints, as she walked forward to happily accept the measly rations provided. From what little the hive worlders could scrounge up; and from pieces of sweets the more rebellious had stolen for themselves during the initial confusion of their exodus; all manners of manufactured, baked, and recycled goods ended up in a circular tower. Plucking it up in her glove between a couple of digits, reaching over the massive Sororita, Cultist checked its consistency and smell; before giving it to the Chaos Spawn resting on her shoulder, who happily "GNSRNNNFGRH"ed at her in appreciation. She shook the building like a saltshaker, watching him jump up to snap at the oncoming chunks of foodstuff.

Art by Braxia

With a little dribble of it going down to the napping Sepsis in her navel, Cultist smiled. "Hyu're the best!... Oh, Ringarde, do hyu want some? Eet's too sweet for us."

Pushing it out of her hands, the Imperial shook her head rapidly, the white hair fluttering across her face. "Th-that's all you're thinking of? These men are all - worshipping you as if you're - the incarnation of a deity!" She panted heavily, jumping up on crumbling buildings to try and remain at something close to eye-level. "And all you can think about... is your - your pet’s waffles?!"

The question mark over Cultist’s olive head was almost visible from orbit, now that she stretched past the goalpost of her second kilometer. "Do hyu want some of these worsheepers, then? Hwee really don't know how to use them."

"That question - that's... uuhh... I... I only want... their hearts... to be devoted towards..." Shutting her eyes as she spoke, she suddenly screamed, lunging towards her opponent: "The Will of the Emperor---!"

A last-ditch attempt to push back the colossal invader. She only barely reached her friend's bosom; and struggled to keep her hold as it swayed and bounced from the impact. As soon as her hands taped onto the skimpy midnight-black top, the growth hit a new speed - bursting into overdrive. The toes' static growth plowed new trenches and overtook the width of roads as she stepped back - a few citizens harmlessly enveloped in the warm canopy of her arch. The dark-armored maiden soon felt her own feet lifting from the ground; her grip was so strong, her hold so tight to the ever-growing icon of Chaos, she was practically clinging on to the skin. The distance from a suitable foothold for herself became further and further away as she was lifted up by Cultist’s expanding tits. The city that already spread out like a map to her was tinier and tinier - overtaken by larger portions of the bare olive-coloured soles, if not flooded from her sweat drops. When the once-narrow torso grew beyond the width of her arm span, she found herself tightly wrapping her hands around the bikini's hook. Even the bikini, which had been sagging under her weight, kept growing proportionally to her speed; soon sustaining the tinier woman's mass like it was nothing.

Those events, which seemed like an eternity for the quickly-reddening Ringarde, passed by in a split second for the woman herself; barely able to keep track of the new gains. She stumbled backwards, allowing her ass to plow through one of the few as-of-yet untouched portions of the city; easily bulldozing it into a mass of tightly-compacted pebbles. Falling on the Chaos Star on her back, her shoulders stretched to new suburbs, sweaty purple hair reaching out and coating the buildings like tendrils. Even now perpendicular to the ground, her feet were each standing five times taller than the largest of Warmonger-class Titans - disregarding the dozen-meter imprints the heels caved into the cityscape with each kick, pretending to struggle beneath the woman lying atop her chest. "Oh, noo! Zo strong...!"

Ringarde, absolutely ashamed at the "victory", burrowed her face in the growing mass of dark, humid flesh, uselessly pounding her fists into the easily-receding, marshmallowy skin - thick enough to absorb her blows without any resistance. She was like a plush toy in the woman's hold now. "D-don't make fun of me... Please..."

She felt a relatively soft patting on her back - enough restrained strength to easily peel her armor back, but with a special level of care. "Eet's only fair hwee make eet look like you're weening, eef hyour mahstohrs are watching! And, as long as hyou're here, can hwee ask a kwestion?"

She peeked up to the horizons between the chest, where the tattoos of arrows on the Cultist's face seemed to point right at her. Slowly, she nodded.

Almost purring now - or at least controlling the volume of her screeching - the behemoth that took up larger and larger portions of satellite images smiled right at her. "Hwee feel a laht of eemotions helping us grow. All theese people down there, Sepsees' sleeping, Kay-oss' plans, eeven mahstor Dranon's anger... baht hwee are getting sometheeng else. Sahm emotion from higher above us. Very beeg and strong." She cupped her hands in a whisper, hoping that as few people as possible would hear her echoing voice. "Sahmtheeng Slaaneshi. Do hyu know what eet could be?"

Ringarde's red face went to white, then blue, as her eyes practically burst out from their sockets. "Y-you're saying… you’re accusing me, that I... you..." She looked over the glistening, comfortable body ahead of her, and behind her, and to her sides, growing out into a landscape in their own right. "It's because... It's because... my feelings... the urges, the temptations, the whispers - that I tried so hard to control... it's because of that, what I feel, for you, that you... That you're like this?!"

"Oh, mayhbee! Good theenking!" She folded her titanic arms in, and lowered them - drifting down to the rapidly-diminishing fleck of Sister occupying a spot on her bosom. They folded in, extinguishing the sunlight in refreshing, thick layers of darkness. "Hwee should say thanks! Hwee lahv hyuu zo much!"

Squirming at the marshmallowy surfaces engulfing her, pushing in, Ringarde sputtered, stammered, shook her head... and finally relaxed, stretching her arms out, and allowing the caress to envelop her. "As I do... Cultist! I... I tried my hardest, but the more I fight, the more it's impossible... You've defeated meeee...!"

The distant sloshing echo of durasteel against skin became a memory; as she allowed herself to fall into the endless, echoing heartbeats below. She happily breathed in the growing fragrance, lulled into a state of serenity; mind and body finally in accord in the center of a compressing hug.

***

"Haaah, I love you..."

Ringarde snapped awake, panting heavily, in a cold sweat. She rubbed her eyes, dragging her arm on the blanket below her. "Haaah, I... I was just dreaming... D-did any of the others - hear me...?"

"Goohd morneeng, Ringade!" A peppy voice answered back from a bit above her. Cultist - she was already awake. Maybe preparing breakfast.

The comfortable warmth made her want to just close her eyes and go back to bed. That dream - whatever had stirred her subconscious into it - had left her still exhausted. She nuzzled in the cover, rubbing her nose in it. "Mmmh, I wanna... stay here a bit, just a moment longer..."

"Eef hyu desire. Baht..." With a sheepish groan that seemed to rumble the whole soft, squishy surface beneath, Cultist exhaled. "Tell us if hwee hurt hyuu, okay? Hyuu were only out for a while, but hwee thought eet might've been serious!"

"Wait... B-by the Throne…"

Eyes reopening, pulse quickening, head coiling back, Ringarde realized that her "blanket" was a small part of Cultist's top; and the voice came from all directions, shaking her. She was still on Cultist. And Cultist grew still - now having hit the mark of 8,160 meters.

She swallowed hard, and allowed her reddening face to hide once again in the web of expanding fabrics, shivering in a mix of deeply-ingrained shame and insurmountable happiness. "Th-th-thank... you... too kind..."

From this high-up perspective, if she looked closely, the place where the two of them burst from the underhive was visible. Though not long ago at all, it seemed like a distant, blurry memory in the haze from the increased altitude upon 700-meter breasts. That towering scale they had both been before, like colossi over the rest of the planet's population... Now, Cultist's foot alone outsized the holes, if placed completely straight from heel to big toe.

The warp-energized soles, however, did anything but stay straight. It was bad enough that more and more of the city below was losing ground to the rubble and landslides generated by outstretching heels. But she entertained herself by moving her legs and arms to chase down escort ships passing overhead; waving happily to the many passengers as they passed in the cloud layers above. The few Valkyries, Vendettas, and Vultures in the atmosphere, sent in for support, easily fit in her palm. The straps around her fingers displayed no damage, even after they released shot after shot from heavy bolters. It took just a flick to send them soaring away from harsh winds, catching in their spread-out wings. Marauder Vigilants trying to track her movement, too, released explosive payloads at her lifting soles; which did little but add to their growing heat and sweat. They scattered as her long toes wiggled in glee, fleeing and dispersing - occasionally leaving chunks caught among the gaps between the lengthy digits.

Art by Annahketsuno

Art by JZStudios

The Cultist grinned, her smile large enough to cover the fleet. "Eet's very toasty, even up here!" With the spiralling red wraps around the dark legs reaching four kilometers high into the sky, waving rapidly towards the incoming craft, downpours began from above. "Hwee know our mas-tohr has geeven us a meeshion. Baht getting zo mahch energy frahm the people beelow... eet eetched us a lot, and these loyalheests are helping! Zho we might jahst stay een place here!"

Looking upon the ever-changing map of the cityscape, from the growing shoulder spikes, Kay-Oss yapped and "BBLRGHRG"ed eagerly, still enjoying the waffles provided earlier.

Far down, in the navel's ever-increasing walls, Sepsis yawned. She remained awake for long enough to let out a contented: "Eh, if it's comfy, I say stay there. Moving's overrated."

"And... and I don't know if... we can even survive if you - ulp - stand up..." Ringarde's teeth chattered from the sensations around her, witnessing the borders of her former opponent’s body grow further and further. In distant, less-developed worlds, the span of Cultist's back alone may have been close to the width of a minor city. The concept of "minor city" did not exist in this hive world. It plowed through a significant portion of the surroundings; but there were always more and more Outskirts for her shoulders to bury, adding to those already caught in the mountainous amounts of dirt.

As the gunfire continued above, drop after drop of roasting sweat descended upon the still-surviving rooftops, flung from constantly-waving, monolithic orbs of flesh in the clouds. The downpour was strong enough to wash away members of the populace, even those in heavy armor directing the crowds. Eventually, it burst through doors and lower windows, flooding buildings all the way up to the Lower Hive. Foundations spiralling out of control, built on top of each other, held together by naught but faith in the Emperor and his architects, began sagging; rendering entire walls of the spire into steep waterslides, soon mudslides.

The humidity wafting off the immense Cultist's body, deeply imbued with the essence of Chaos, was now becoming part of the weather systems

One of the few nobles remaining planetside, desperate to grab more territory and influence the city as his rivals evacuated, only fully grasped now that there would be little territory remaining. Now, in a modified military craft made into a civilian airship, he began escaping - many of his servants and subordinates following along. They'd launched from the middle of the tall spire, lower on the structure than he'd been in his life - since the craft needed more horizontal momentum to reach escape velocity. Navigating the newly-generated, misty clouds hanging over the common areas proved difficult. The craft received turbulence from many sudden gusts drifting by. Yet, finally, the pilot managed to carry them into a clear space -

- right between two giant toes, which instantly clamped around them like vice grips. They were already too deep into the toe gap to navigate out; and the flurry of alarms and clanking around soon became silent, as she'd clenched her digits tightly enough to cave in the onboard computers, if not send them fritzing and overheating from the unique atmosphere.

"Cap-toor'd eet~!" She called out happily, putting her fingers to her red-painted cheeks. "Eet feels pokey."

Instantly, those left below received orders from the nobleman's allies: retrieve the captured vessel, and take them to safety. A task easier said than done. Soldiers still struggling to hold the ever-changing lines, and civilians eager for a reward, began climbing among the cells and pores around her waist and now-resting sole. Though the uneven surface wasn't wanting for footholds and spaces to rest, littered with compressed steely ruins (and a few comfortably-lodged worshippers), the sheer height made many give up before even reaching the top of the 650-meter ascent towards the Mark of Khorne, where her heel ended and arch began. And the already-dewey surface had boulder-sized sweat drops splashing down from every direction; completely capturing swaths of the brave climbers, and sending them splashing down speedy waterslides into the growing puddles below. Many of those who weathered those droplets, with minds distorted from the scale difference, perspective, and thankfulness at their survival, simply joined those venerating her very being - making her scale expand higher and higher. Others simply took shelter in cracked remains of offices and factories, hoping for the best. A brave few continued upwards, to be swept away by more 30-meter-wide dollops of liquid; or sent flying to the safety of mud below as she waved her legs more.

Cultist bit her lip in discomfort. "They stahped shooting, and eet eetches more... Hwee need something stronger!"

Clumsily rummaging through the city blocks, her fingers grabbed one of the taller apartment buildings, nearing the hundred-storey mark; and casually brought it to her soles, brushing the tip up and down across the ball of her foot. The gravity seemed to shift for the people around her as she sat up, chaos star in the sky, leaning over to get in deeper into her sole. Debris mixed with detritus and muck from her excursion on the Dearth World added to the existing rain, hailing down and smashing into more and more of the landscape. Flakes of dirt coated many blocks in thick sheets, only washed away by incoming tidal waves of perspiration. Soon, sheets of durasteel joined them; as the building's upper spike flattened to a rough, rectangular shape. With every blindingly-rapid scratch, the structure fell apart against the far-stronger wall of flesh, grabbing dirt with it, like an eraser rubbed across layers of lead-coated paper.

"C-Cultist, that's...!" Ringarde peeped nervously. "Uhm, it was evacuated, but... That skyscraper was a - uhm, pretty big landmark, I believe..."

The ever-growing gal blinked at it, and nodded. "Okay! Eet wasn't a vehry good toe-scraper, anywhey!" She placed it back in its spot, slightly off-kilter, halfway-grinded, and with wreckage, dazed people, and lingering wetness all over it. The civilian ship dangled on the "roof", a proud centerpiece, safely lodged between layers of toejam - which would've taken hours to dig out, even if part of the crew hadn't joined the cult.

"Baht whee steel feel really eetchy..."

Art by trayxx

With that simple reasoning, more and more of the industrial and residential area were upgraded to tools to scratch the Cultist's chaos-generated feet itch. Multiple blocks ended up with their skyline between each finger, running up and down the fleshy ridges; and soon, lodged between the toes. Sediments crumbled out with dazzling speed; and just as soon, her fingers brought more to replace them. As she clawed up metros and train stations, their cars snaked and spread along the curvature of her toes, windows and wheels slamming as each segment swayed in the breeze from rapid wiggles of satisfaction. Entire plumbing systems leaked, pipes ripped out and overflooded; and electrical wires, too, swung wildly, causing many lights to shut off and enter confusing darkness. Restaurants from the lowest shacks to most exquisite dining rooms; stores with simple necessities and boutiques for the few richer members; centers for managing the city blocks or liaison with the higher levels of the Empire... Each sole practically held enough structures for its own small town.

And it wasn't enough. She began running them up and down the expanse of the central spire, brushing around its spiked surface, causing even more of it to cave inwards; and reveal still new fresh pieces of closed-off urban growth for her to work her magic on. To get a better reach at it, she stood to her full height, ground sinking below her legs...

...And gasped in surprise. "Hwee - thees fast?"

The spire upon which the entire city had been built around, to the very tip, stretched about 10 miles in height - or 16 kilometers. Its roof was only barely above Cultist's purple head of hair. And from the constant action about its base, even that was beginning to sink. The highest levels of the spire, built atop one another to escape the packed bustle of commoners below, now found itself victim to a far more putrid and foul invader.

Cultist was 10000 times the height of a human.

BUMP.

In her surprise - and with the shifting, uneven ground beneath her weighty feet - Cultist fell forward. She collided with the spire, breaking her descent. Her breasts, complete with their passenger, knocked out a large portion of the upper levels; high-class materials unknown to the populaces below rained down from her ample chest with a helping of damp humidity from her cleavage.

"Nnngh- eet's steeking!"

As she tried to tug herself out, more massive parts of the frame began buckling, and falling out. The supports crumbled beneath the city's highest level, glueing to her skimpy black top and damp skin; which she dusted off with both hands.

A fair portion of the wealth coated Sister Ringarde, who blushed, hastily removing the buildings and rooms that rested on her silvery hair and neck like lavish jewellery. "I'm - I'm not worthy of this! Larceny is unforgivable! This isn't mine–-!"

2 kilometers and hundreds of meters below, the lavish belongings of the upper classes (at least, those that still remained bound to the tower) swayed above Sepsis. She barely stirred at the gold, silver, and platinum rains, only tossing a couple of them down from the navel tunnel (over 30 meters deep). Even from there, she lay at a height equivalent to Terra's greatest mountains.

And as it descended, the populace on the streets joyously grabbed for it. Climbing atop one another, they reached their hands up to the olive-colored skies, as cascading statues, coins, and jewellery rained down. But those riches, shattering on the pavement, meant little to a city whose stores majorly rested in pieces, if not buried deep within layers of flesh. Many found themselves jumping, instead, for the rich meals; confectionaries, base cooking ingredients; even fresh water was sweeter at the top. It was all up for grabs.

Some fell back, waiting for their companions to bring nourishment, or for it to trickle towards them. As Cultist shook herself loose, more bits and pieces of the tower broke apart, sliding for them. The boldest, instead, rushed right for the chaotic ground zero; braving the dangling expanse of her toes, each just about the height of an Emperor-class Titan, to get their hands on the riches of the upper levels. They went from rushing between the gaps, to ascending the feet themselves, rushing on top of ruins and each other; to lapping the overflowing bounties of fresh nourishment right from the skin. The savory flavors, mixed with bacon, were intoxicating enough that many kept their mouths pressed to the bottom even after the supply in that wrinkle had been drained. And more and more meters of it remained, continuing to fall...

...And with that many people, so close, with overflowing emotions, the growth continued to surge, fed by their admiration.

*Creeeeeeaaak...*

Following the Cultist’s collision, struggling wiggles, and continued increase in the nearby woman's already-horrific size, the sounds of snapping girders and sinking foundations soon echoed out of the spire, across the razed streets. The distant heights of the towering monolith began to fall over, crumbling from damage. In the stars’ light, shadows of its tilting and toppling traversed the city - accompanied by the shadow of a woman rushing around in a panic.

Pushing it upwards, until the tower's top was erect once more - right around her chest - Cultist wiped her forehead. "Whoops - hwee don't deesiyor that! Kay-oss can steel cap-toor thees spire.."

It began to bend in the other direction, scores of remaining furniture crashing from stained-glass windows; entire buildings themselves toppling from the mountainous heights of the stratosphere-scraping tip. Cultist hastily trod to the other side - pushing the toppling monolith back with her shoulders and backside to try and keep it evenly-balanced. "A laht could break eef thees fell!"

The speed of her steps at such a weight, she hasn't realized, were eight times more powerful than extinction-bringing meteors. Even in a realm of mighty rockcrete, the pounding tremors made the sturdy tower rumble at the base, trembling in terror. Even as she supported the top, pieces of the spire began to snap at the center; massive fractures as the strength of Cultist's firm hold fought against the forces of gravity. The outer layers collapsed on each other, causing the foundations and lower floors she'd been walking across to separate; not unlike a souflé deflating.

"Hyuu should stay standeeng! Be brave!" With the words of encouragement, Cultist constructed her own support for the tower. Or, rather, she scraped it up, prodding wreckage that she made into any new holes. Pushing in the edges with her toes, she found it continually crumbling. And, like a sandcastle, she used her gloves to de-earth massive chunks of ground, complete with city blocks - intact or otherwise - and pasted them over into the toppling tower. Every time a new crack formed, she patched it up with another spot of sand-like ashes; glued in place with massive drops of sweat, or five-meter-tall strands of saliva. Areas long since built over, shut down, and cut off from the outside were exposed by the rips and tears; only to be hastily covered again with new construction.

As the growth continued, she found herself needing to bend over lower, and the contents of her palm-and-sole-based patches grew larger, until the centuries-old spire was more a creation of the Cultist's muddy handiwork than that of the people. It bulged unevenly, a frenzied mishmash of every kind of commercial, industrial, and residential area at impossible angles, urban centers from below and massive rooms from above mixing in with eroding soil that slid apart at the slightest touch. 

Despite all her efforts, causing more damage than the tower falling ever would, it still risked collapsing on itself. Cultist sheepishly averted her eyes, and stepped on the spire. At her current scale of 32.4 kilometers, she had little problem trampling the whole ecosystem of warring clans and classes, which only slightly extended past her mid-thigh.

Sweeping Imperial history to nothingness with a few grinds, she held her hands behind her back, and whistled innocently. A quick whisper to Kay-oss rattled across the skies: "Eef any loyahleests ask, hwee nevor saw any beeg tweeg beeldings here. Hohkay?"

With an affirmative "SGGSNRRRGHNKKKLLLGBBLB," the Chaos Spawn nuzzled to a growing shoulder piercing.

Looking below, past the clouds, the still-growing Ringarde shook in place. "The entire battlefield... this urban center, I fought to protect... Throne, it's less impressive and majestic than this one leg, with crimson wraps across her bulging thighs and..." She swallowed, spotting the rosy mark of Slaanesh on the magnificent limb, and shook her puffed cheeks. "I-I mean, majestic, in terms of length, and... girth..."

And that was far from the end. Cultist's impact point had only been filled with ten-million odd people pre-landing; a good number of which had taken part in the exodus, and trekked across the ash wastes to surrounding, larger cities. With a relaxed stride of 26 km per second, covering half the length of a spire each step, Cultist made the long trails of trains seem as speedy as lines of ants moving from nest to nest.

"Oooh, what's that! Eet's flashy!"

Distracted by cargo vessels buzzing by her backside, she followed it - increasing her speed. Even with the power of Plasma Drives buzzing reliably and propelling them forward, the approaching masses of legs gained on them - and devastated the territory below. Whole cities found themselves covered in the darkness of approaching soles. Spires with hundreds of offices, shops, and housing for diplomats or clan leaders went toppling in seconds against the huge thighs. From an outside perspective, it seemed as if she were practically absorbing the cities - not just from the huge amounts of structures caught between the massive red wraps and buckles, following her stride, but from the massive gains in scale with each step.

Peeking left and right, Ringarde trembled. "S-so high... are we past the troposphere?... I shouldn't be able to breathe. Yet I can still..." She took a deep whiff in, and settled in place. "...it's as if she's generating her own aura of atmosphere... and it smells... like her..."

Sepsis stirred briefly below, looking to the spreading city-map-like panorama view with half-shut eyes. "Eh. Oxygen's overrated, anyway. I'm sure this warp energy stuff is healthy... enough."

33km. 35km. 38km... Cultist quickly passed the mark of 40 kilometers, only pausing briefly as she dove forward to catch ships passing by. Coated in the marks of Nurgle and Tzeentch, her olive-hued stomach pounded downwards with enough strength to generate cracks to surrounding hives in the cluster. A trail of destructive footprints leading up to this one outline of her gut. The fleet of ships were safe, as they exited the atmosphere... before dark, curious palms wrapped around them from either side, snapping their wings and hulls, as they and their crews joined the Cultist's collection. More and more similar, flashing lights were only a slight reach away. Those stuck to her soles, kicking up and down happily, received a strange view, never present in the centuries of dusky clouds and light pollution covering their skies: distant stars, twinkling gently, looking upon them from a dark sky... Before the next swing brought them down to earth, neighbours on the opposing foot witnessing the constellations in turn.

***

"One cultist... one nothing grunt from the middle of nowhere, and she did THIS."

Reports that once had trouble getting past red tape and across star systems to Imperial offices now flooded in at great deluges. Measures of changes in air temperature and quality from the aura of radiating heat - to the point of fogging up many of the visual sensors. Seers predicting the direction of her next step, based on the chaotic, confused meandering she'd put the world through. Eyewitness reports of the exact shape of her prints, texture of her skin, and the ear-splitting, rage-inducing sounds of her voice. In fact, many of the auditory signals were laced with a background of cheerful exclamations declaring each "cap-toor"; her excited, thumping pulse; her eager breaths; and nearly-untranslatable background noise of four unrecognisable voices overlapping each other.

"FUCK TOO BIG FUCK ANAL BALLS WHAT THE SHIT WHAT THE SHIT I’L KILL YOU ALL AAAAAAAAAAGRRGH"

"uuwu, vewy scawwy~ all those shinies getting broken T_T slaani-chan’s so sowwy orz orz"

"You fools, I still have a plan to - no, she stepped on that - nooooo -- she’s taken that from me - you bumbling - short-sighted - blithering - ruining all of my —"

"Maaaan… I think we kiiiiiinda messed up on thiiiis oooone… Juuuuuust saying… I miss the old Brooooore… I miss the smaller, cozier cultiiiiiist…"

All forms of signals took an effort to read; some moving across the map, as their broadcast centers were moved by her curious hands, caught inside the debris caking her body, or washed away in massive quakes and swampy mudslides. Councils poured over them while trying to formulate their next step.

"This must be... a trial from the Emperor. We shall have to resist the allu- the astounding strength she presents!"

"Ringarge fought with great honor, I will grant her that. Will you permit an exterminatus now?"

"Further prayer, and we shall persist! At the very least, we shall, even if the planet's orbit shifts from her weight."

"Sir, there's no reason we can't construct additional outposts inside those footprints. And... backside-imprints. Ten square kilometers should be plenty to start a new assault... Wait, no, that's her previous prints, she's making more with her chest now."

Somewhat separate from the rest of his men, the leader in blue Ultramarine armor mused over the images. He specifically spent a long time looking over the pictures of their own Sister of Battle, complete with her fleur-de-lys symbols and the size powers they'd granted her, splayed in defeat upon the warm bosom. He clenched his fist, and nodded. "We must be prepared for... every eventuality. Inform the Navy to surround the area with whatever Interceptors and Gunships they can provide, to contain her growth." Grabbing for his relic Power Sword, and placing on his Artificer Armor with its prominent Valour Crest, his once-neutral expression was now masked to the world. "We'll lead the charge right from this battleship."

The rest of the ship’s planning room turned to him in surprise.

"High Suzerain, you'll surely perish before- I mean, not that we have any doubt in your abilities, but-"

"It's curious. Her death count is actually... nil. As if she's willed that nobody dies from this attack."

"How devious! With their bodies intact, their minds will slowly turn from her presence, and thank her for her cruel mercy! What may have been a citywide devastation with souls passing to the Emperor... Is her gathering and torturing more followers to fuel her frivolous ascent to the heavens!"

"...With all due respect... is she really capable of that level of planning?"

"And besides, this ship would only about match her knee - based off readings from long ago - it isn't fully equipped - and even then, we cannot sacrifice any more Apocalypse-class ships, or your service, for--"

He shook his head. "I can't wait -- we can't wait any longer while our citizens suffer! We'll take the time we need to load - then, make haste. Have faith, men..." He grunted to himself. "...And may the Emperor not permit her to slip from my hands this time."

Her hands reached out to eagerly grab more and more of the planet that came towards her, barely a care in the world; scooping up states and subdivisions of the global civilization, and rearranging its borders with the same abandon and ease as if she were kicking about in a sandbox. "Hwe'll captoor thees, and thees, and thees..."

200 km. The mix of strong emotions on the crashing ship, as flesh expanded out before the crew, contributed to even further growth. It fed into the fury, despair, hope, and lust in every new city met with the Cultist's prying fingers. Even those who evacuated the ship found just an ever-widening field of skin on all sides, their slight wrinkles forming mountain chains that grew more intimidating. Surrounding those were four even larger pillars, making up the chaotic entity’s other toes.

250 km. The buildings that had once served to scratch her itches, those remaining spires were at the same scale as those makeshift picks now. More and more of her body pierced through the thick layers of smog covering the surface at 5 miles high, revealing large stretches of her legs and backside to those looking from below. It was even somewhat clear for those above, as if her body were passively generating its own, different atmospheric distortion. Whole swaths of those brave forces began to cover her in assorted masses, landing among her exposed stomach, across her limbs' wraps, or at Ringarde's buckling feet; Cultist tossing some of them on herself.

300 km. The approach of Orks alerted all nearby Imperials. Battlekroozas tied together and decked out with hundreds of half-thought-out "improvements''; Hammers with great torpedos that could be flagships of their own fleets; Ram Ships ploughing ahead through solar debris recklessly; even massive Hulks of assorted Imperial and Chaos ships recovered and powered by little but some tape, bolts, and a mix of impossible hope and colourful swears. They made no pretence of caution, yet in their solitary coordination, had no problem breaking through the Imperium’s meagre blockade, its walls already cracked by the loss of its strongest ship to Cultist's jaws and toe wiggles.

350 km. The Orks also made no pretence of interest in Imperial 'umies. They even lost a few ships to human forces’ stray gunfire, their decked-out crafts crashing down on the expanse of a soft knee, or into a huge armpit. That was their goal, anyway - right into the center of the biggest and strongest opponent they could find. The rapid assault directly brought them in close quarters with the Cultist. They fired with the strongest weapons possible; and when they ran out of fuel, simply evacuated out across the rapidly increasing range of flesh, smashing at the ground with all manner of melee weapons and ruins of their old ships.

420 km. Though Orks saw the remains of hive cities resting upon her, and humans watched the warriors descend from those shattered barriers, neither had time to make contact. The sheer mix of fury and tension led to every pore, every sinew, every single digit stretching further and further into the distance at alarming rates. At this point, her skin was supple enough that every blow sunk inwards. Even the sharpest weapons reacted like butter knives against fluffy cushions. Even if she wanted to stop, there was no way she could - the unbridled powers of chaos continued to fuel her from every angle, energy channelling through her at the basest level of her existence.

486 km - past the mark of 300,000 times her original height. And she didn't want to stop. When she paused her country-rearranging mud-flinging, the patterns of Imperial cities lay out beneath her. Now extended above toxic rivers, she could see the grid of carefully-planned, arranged structures, stretching out with clear barriers: trenches drawn by rivers or walls. Even with the buildings rearranged haphazardly, built on top of each other vertically, the ground layout of the areas was strict, straight, and rigid, in accordance with the Throne's will. Their squarish patches seemed to form a special pattern... and Cultist's red eyes flashed as soon as she understood it.

"Hopscotch!" She called out. A mountain chain in her hands, she instantly leaped up, rearranging landmasses decorating her body - and tossed the crumpled-up "rock" below her, watching it tumble among the sprawling regions of land.

"Whan, two, three..." Skipping on one foot, then two, and jumping on another, her voyage across the "board" sent quakes that made even those outside the radius of her 80-km soles crash to the ground... and get scrunched underneath with her earth-rattling return voyage, even when it seemed as if her hopping feet were an impossible length in the distance. And with each jump, that footprint scale only increased - along with the debris upon it…

Art by trayxx

As Ringarde stuck in place - now tall enough to match major cities’ size in her own right - she looked to the grey splotches spread across the Chaos marks below. "They're staying on... it's like they've been glued to - her sole! --W-woah-!" The hop jostled her in place, bosom bounding, even as she easily gripped to the fabric and the ring around the cleavage. And no matter how the torso curled, stretched out, lowered and folded inwards as Cultist was grabbing more "rocks" below for her game, the bikini-like wrap kept in place. Every jump ahead actually seemed to make Ringarde lighter in comparison.

The shaking within the battleship generated greater turbulence than any warp storm. New passengers of the sole ended up stuck fast, scooped from the planet's surface indiscriminately.

Kay-Oss happily "GNNNGRRRGHFFLLLGH"ed at the incoming ships landing on her shoulders, or hair. Their last-ditch attacks barely registered, and they were blown about by simple giggles, eyelash motions, or breaths.

Sepsis snoozed as her pit grew deeper still, light practically not piercing the black hole of the sweaty navel.

And the Orks-

The Orks had landed a hit.

With the power of all their scrap, a single small opening formed near her stomach. Barely a flesh wound, so much as a minor scrape. This seemingly invincible monstrosity, embodying the destructive and recreative potential of the Chaos gods themselves, bled...

And the blood drop laughed uproariously.

A towering red drop, 3 meters tall and counting, morphed and warbled, filled with the will of Khorne - projected upon it by the wild, eager horde. It grew arms, legs, a torso, and a head. Slowly the plasma reshaped itself to a vaguely humanoid shape, before its facial elements filled out. Drawing on the energy of the blood god, the blob kept moving, steaming, boiling... forming the recognizable features of their owner, with small variations, and a noticeable crimson glow.

Cultist's blood cell had turned into a daemonette - one larger than most of the Orks, save the top leaders.

"Wargh?" Anzuz scratched his head. "'That ain't something natural. Wot kinda development's goin' on in her body?"

Klawstompa shook his arms. "Dis some kinda hidden Chaos power?"

The Cultist daemonette waved down to them. "Don't ask us, hwe jahst succed as mach raege as hwe could!" She cracked her knuckles, did some stretches, and approached one bit of scrap metal from their craft - eagerly kicking it into the distance. "DIDN’T HYU BOIZ COME FOR A FAIGHT?"

"WWWWARGH!" Earnestly in accord with her proposition, the burliest of the rowdy invaders began swinging at her - spores flying all over as they brawled eagerly, rolling on top of each other and around. Those who didn’t have a space in the crowding mob of shifting green, grey, and red soon found new blood cells to duke it out with - each of them growing into giantesses of their own right...

As sweaty beads dripped down from her wild exercise, cities found the kilometer-high droplets engulfing their streets... swishing them inside... and, forming eyes and hands, ascending from the influx of emotions to daemonettes in their own right. The hopes of the freed populace, and the plans of the nearly-escaped nobles, met together to change them in the ways of Tzeentch - cackling, giggling, joining and shifting with every motion.

"Fuufuu - hwee theenk theese people hweel move here –"

"Then hwee'll move these wans here – Eet's like a chessboard–!"

"Foolish - hyuu theenk hwee're playing chess - thees eez a game of Shogi!"

"Baht did hyuu know – hwee're actshually hyuu?" Two droplets joined into one, even bigger - as another split apart, glowing blue in the atmosphere and across the azure tattoo.

From above, Kay-Oss' eager yapping and running aided their directions, each of his heads pointing the personified sweat drops to a different move in the great game across her body, leading everywhere and nowhere.

And yet, not everywhere was marked by change. In the stomach's depths, amid the chaotic churn of waters, a strangely stagnant peace bubbled upwards. Daemonettes of Nurgle formed from the green surroundings, lazily swaying among the pulsating walls - and keeping those who yearned for some consistency and persistence safe in their long arms. Hearing the continual rumbling move to a silence as the waters calmed to a lazy slosh behind her, Sepsis rolled in the small navel spot, snoring.

"Ahh, yep. That makes sense." She gave a halfways thumbs-up to the sounds past the fleshy barrier. "Doing great, sisters."

A quiet, slow "thaaanks" resonated from the other end of the stomach walls. As the influence of Nurgle spread, their contact went from auditory to visual; the pieces of navel lint, too, lazily lumbering upwards their own green daemonettes.

While higher above, the wriggling from Ringarde - one of the only ones who had the perspective to see and understand everything happening - grew stronger. "Haah, my word, my word, how would that even be possible? It's like - the different feelings projected on her by every person, they end up manifesting in small ways... drawing from the endless pool of warp energy and fueling it? Does that mean, even my feelings could... could… Turn into one of those..."

The Sororita’s gaze moved away from the growing mass of green, from the shifting splotches of blue, from the huge explosions of red, across the surface below. Above, as Cultist gleefully cheered the numbers imagined in the ground she leaped across - "eight! sevehn!" - small, almost invisible traces of moisture flew from her lips, off her pink tongue -

trickling in streams down her chin and neck -

- pooling at her cleavage, building around the curve of her chest -

- and forming multiple teensy, smiling creatures that began crawling across the sister's open arms and dark armor, from her shaking shoes to her albino hair, and almost-as-pale face.

"Hyuu really have been holding thees feelings een for a while, hmm~?"

"Hwee are at hyour service, Ringarde~"

"Mahstohr... or whatever hyu desire us to cahl hyu~"

Ringarde’s pale face moved to a heavy blush, as she looked to the skies, away from the daemonette swarm. "She's... when I thought she broke my will already, she's started again... please, deliver me---"

Such were the events on Cultist's body, as the Chaos colossus transcended the size of some countries of the old world, easily passing 648 kilometers - over half a megameter. It qualified as its own biosphere at this point, holding such an overwhelming number of interacting organisms - mountains of skin folds, rivers of perspiration, forests of hair. And yet, she moved actively, consistently, her lively hops crossing the grid of seemingly-endless urban buildup left across the planet's surface.

"Fihve - foar-- threeeeee---" Every jump growing in power, height, and speed, she shaped mountains with every motion. In fact, her toes were mountains in their own right, easily outmatching any shadowy inclines the sprawling cities had been built around or on top of. They carved away gargantuan pieces of the landscape, and brought new wonders to the surface of her skin, as she kicked them up; the constant pace both destroying the ground, and collecting materials and people to "recycle" on her own landscape. More and more of the chaotic spirits popped up from her pores, cells, and bacteria. Even the smallest segments of her channelled a frenzied, confused, and obsessive dedication of chaotic emotions. These Daemonettes themselves grew their own small sub-areas of her body; yet remained undivided, part of the greater whole.

Not that she was aware of any of these goings-on. The leaps were simply part of a game of hopscotch, while her body was filled with odd mud and rocks. Higher, and higher, she sprung, until - in one large, vast bound, the woman who had become the very embodiment of chaos left low earth orbit.

She was presently the size of a moon. Not quite of Luna, and nowhere near the same orbital distance as most natural satellites; but nevertheless, her jumps drifted into low-orbiting flutters. Her palms reached out, first in confusion - then in curiosity, as they parted the thinning, stagnant air before them. "Huh? Hwee - hwee have been gifted weeth flight! Zhe gods haff been zo very generous to us!"

That voice should not have reached the fleet; there was nothing for sound to travel through but the void of space. And yet, the soundwaves not only crossed the face of the planet, but across other worlds in the Brore system. The echoes and whispers of the Warp, spreading their influence in subtle areas, stirred from the force of her joyful screech - one that surprised even the most devoted of the heretics.

Free from weight, and long freed from any trace of the polluted oxygen, Cultist drifted ahead in turbulence-filled paddles; backwards starfish-like strokes; wide breaststrokes; and rapid kicks that still hit the terrestrial surface. She seemed to suck in more and more of the available space at every instance, extremities stretching outwards to fill out the darkness with her olive flesh and tattered clothes - eclipsing every trace of the Emperor's worlds for those below still.

The Navy had been halfway towards retreating. Though strong, their machinations were slowed by internal struggles between commanders - over what their toe-stranded leader would've wanted, who inherited leadership now, and how to manage traffic jams with the ever-inbound Ork fleet. But finally, they'd established a tactical distance, to allow enough space to launch an Exterminatus. A proper, coordinated, solemn, good-old-fashioned extinction event. The only hope of saving the Brore system was severing its industrial heart - tearfully rendering millenia of their own development to ash, so that SHE may not seize it in her sinister, annoying tendrils.

And their target had the courtesy of approaching their attack. She fluttered in the mass of eagle-sigil ships, scattering them to the cosmic waves; and letting them collide with her arms. "Snow angehl! Snow angehl!" With only this warning, she started rapidly swinging her limbs up and down, right in the epicenter of their forces - creating huge waves that scattered would-be bombers even vaster distances. More and more fighters, with their full arsenals still loaded, crashed in the unavoidable valleys of gloves and red wraps, across her 250-kilometer arms and 250-mile legs.

Very few members of the Militarum, after all, were trained in the art of avoiding mountains. Those mountains were, for the foreseeable future, their homes.

As Cultist playfully kept pumping her arms, she looked back at the void she'd created in the sea of flake-sized attack fleets. A perfect outline of her profile, right down to her dangling purple locks; and what looked to be wings, spreading across continents. The winds from her “angel” creation had cleared away much of the smog planetside, leading to massive environmental changes. Among others, there lay a clear trace in the skies of the Cultist, from above and below. She locked her fingers in happiness, crushing a few stray armadas between the gloves. "Eet's zo preety! Hwee hope our friends can see eet, too!"

The toothy smile on her face, finally having a moment of stillness to admire her work, proved the perfect target. A single order of "fire!" echoed across the network of ships - from every scale, make, and origin. News had spread far beyond the reaches of this solar system, translated in languages far beyond Low and High Gothic. A sector focused on the volley of barely-controlled blasts breaking out across her - from terrified cultists, to hopeful Tau, to barely-woken Necrons, to drooling Tyranids, to exasperated Eldar, to Orks chanting fight songs.

Nuclear, cyclonic torpedoes, chemical arms, black boxes from orders only spoken of in whispers, even xeno tech - they collided in innumerable lights, blinding all the billions that resided on her and within her. She yelped in the single moment of impact, extreme heat making volcanic perspiration gush out - yet chills traversing her veins.

"Ngggh... too loud... need sleep..." Sepsis groaned, burying her face in the refreshing darkness and waiting for the blinding lights and blood-curdling screams to stop.

Above, Kay-Oss snarled, perked up in a defensive posture, and ran in circles as the once-active body froze up from the extreme rush of sensations.

By her curling toes, from the crumbling battleship, men panicked, attempting to send messages by radio: "no! NO! Halt! This wasn't part of the strategy! My liege, tell them to stop!"

Frosted tips lifting slowly from a bit of foot flesh, Ultramarine armor already painted with manifold debris and toejam, the commander’s hoarse voice rose slowly. "Can't... too late for us, now..."

Amid everything, the rush of manifold panic and squirming upon every inch, every micron of her, Cultist was detached from them. She smiled to herself. "Hah. Eet's blurry, baht... so clear now." The multiple conflicting sides of her were in unison - a silent farewell as she reached out below her, a goodbye to the mass of land she grew in below. "Hyess, hwee always suspected eet. Hwee deedn’t deserve thees power. Eet was just a long joke." Her fingers curled up, and reached to the stars she came from. "Hwee haff some fahn, hwee captoor a few theengs, hwee get purged. Eet ees laik thees. Eet hweel always be laik thees." The lights glowed between her narrow, black-clad fingers, each falling limp. "Hwee thought - hwee were zo foolish to theenk hwee could - be zho happy... Baht hwee are thankful, gods."

And, Cultist's hands rested towards her blue and green tattoos of change and constancy, feeling the sweat and dirt daemonettes rise to meet it. The reaction of the weapons spread throughout her in small bulges and bursts of light from within. "Zho, thees ees what a beeg purge feels. Eeet... Eet eetches zo mahch..." Her black-gloved fingers clawed at her stomach. "Baht... hwee need more...!"

They flung out in a sudden burst of radiant energy, fists squeezed tighter and tighter - jostling the nearby constellations.