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."