The grand city of Nabelle dominates much of the Escathi plains. It is one of the biggest cities in all of the fae kingdom of the Setting Sun, the most powerful Elven nation in the continent. Nabelle also hosts the famous imperial academy of arcane crafts, its most famous institution. A hundred thousand elves find their home here, plus a few thousands inhabitants of other races such as humans and dwarves. Its beautiful architecture is dominated by slender tall buildings and spires, white as the popular local marble. Two rings of walls surround the city: The outer walls, fifty feet tall, running a circle around the city until they meet the bay where the docks are located; and the inner walls, eighty feet tall, protecting the academy, the city council, and a few more crucial buildings, as well as the main citadel.

The land around the city is filled with prosperous farms and small satellite communities and villages. Wide roads cross the country side, connecting Nabelle to the rest of the empire and the neighboring nations, merchant caravans constantly passing through them at virtually every hour of the day.

That particular day is a fairly special one for Edraele, the arch-magister of the academy and one of the most important political figures in the kingdom of the Setting Sun. The tall mature woman is walking down the luxurious hallways of the academy, towards the city council, where an important diplomatic meeting is about to take place. Animosity with the Atlassean empire, the neighboring human nation, is rising once again: The Elf nobles are eager to humble their human rivals after the last war ended in a shameful white peace, and now they found an excuse after a minor skirmish at the borders. And as usual it is up to Edraele to cool the hotheads.

The blonde elf walks quickly, her blue eyes so cold and determined they freeze the blood of any elf unfortunate enough to cross her path. Wearing a regal flowing white dress and a silver tiara, she is a stunning sight, but anyone that knows anything about her steers clear: Her magical power is matched only by her temper, and she really does not like to deal with nobles.

The upper city is built on top of a hill, allowing a full and unobstructed view of the whole city. Edraele takes one last long gaze into the horizon before having to leave for the hours long meeting, when she spots something peculiar: A group of five scouts rushing towards the gates. Using her arcane gaze, she sees the proud warriors are battered, bruised, and exhausted, their horses foaming at the mouth from the extended ride, ready to collapse. They are coming from the west, but to her knowledge there is nothing in that direction but a bunch of small goblin tribes, surely no threat dangerous enough to warrant such a response.

She looks behind her, the majestic building of the city council towering over her, while elf and human nobles mingle outside its beautifully carved doors. They will have to wait. The Elven mage whispers an incantation, and a disc of blue light appears under her sandals, lifting her into the air and floating her towards the main gate.

In merely a minute she crosses most of the city and gets to her goal. There, the exhausted scouts finally arrive, the horses collapsing to the ground almost immediately, followed by the scouts themselves. A few mages rush in to heal them, while the captain of the guard, a tall muscular male elf in full armor, stomps his way towards them, demanding answers. It is only when he notices the arch-magister that he slows down and bows.

“Sir! Lady!” One of the scouts says, a short young female elf, “a monster is coming to the city, from the west, from the Lost Valley.”
“The Lost valley?” Edraele says, raising an eyebrow, “You mean that black dragon we chased away a few weeks ago? He was spotted going in that direction.”
“No, my lady! I… I’m not sure how to say this without sounding insane, but it’s a troll, a greater troll, or whatever is above a greater troll.”

“A troll? All this fuss for a stinking troll? What is it going to do? Throw feces at the walls?” The captain says, laughing in the scout’s face.
“You don’t understand, sir. This is no ordinary troll! She’s as big as a mountain! A dragon would look puny compared to her!”
“Her? How do you know it is female?” Edraele asks, suddenly very intrigued.
“Well, she is…”

Her words are interrupted by a low rumbling in the distance, like a thunder without a storm. Then another right after. And another, at a very steady rhythm.
“What in Alia’s tits is this?” The captain says, looking at the horizon.
“S-She’s here!” The scout screams, somehow finding the strength to stand up and run away, in the opposite direction.

Edraele rolls her eyes, watching the cowardly scout run away, then her gaze goes back to the horizon too. The thunder is coming from somewhere behind the twin hills to the west of the city. There she appears: A colossal being walking through the two hills, far taller than the trees around her. Edraele finally understands why the scouts called her a she, it is clear this creature is not a full bloodied troll. How could such an abomination even exists escapes the magister’s mind, refusing to entertain the idea of such filth living in the same world as the noble Elven people.

And yet, her thundering steps give the mage pause. Filth or not, she poses an immense threat to the city.
“This must be a trick! The humans conjured some kind of illusion!” The captain says, taking a step back, his jaw hanging open.
“I am afraid there is no magical explanation for this, captain” Edraele says. Taking a deep breath, she whispers an arcane word and an elegant tall staff appears in her hands, white with a blue stone at the top. She stabs the staff into the earth and begins chanting. Powerful arcane leylines awaken all around her, blue light flooding the streets of the city as a massive and old spell is activated to protect the city.

“Brothers and sisters, I call to you” the arch-magisters says telepathically to all the mages of the city, “join your might with mine, let Aegis protect us from this foul threat.” Merely moments later, she can feel the spell’s power growing tenfold, as more and more mages offer their mana.
The central plaza is bathed in blue light, the very air vibrating with arcane power. From the very center of it, a pillar of blue light rises up into the sky, forming a mushroom top that slowly expands to create a dome over the entire city.

With the spell active, the arch-magister removes her staff from the ground. “Prepare your men, captain. We will stop her before she reaches the city. Use your knights to delay and bait her, buy yourself enough time to set up our ballistas.”

The captain looks at her with his eyes wide open, but the intense gaze of the supreme sorceress knocks back some fight into him. He takes a deep breath and nods. “It will be done, arch-magister” he says, before starting to shout orders to his men, loudly enough that even the upper city could hear him.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Yesha cannot believe her eyes. When did the tinies build all of this? Just a few steps outside of her valley she already saw five villages and roads everywhere. How long has she remained in her little valley? They long years of peaceful life blur together in her mind, with little changing but her own size over time. She always thought she was still relatively young judging by her own appearance, but maybe it is not quite the case. None knows how long troll live after all, or if they even age, and for Yesha it very much seems like they do not; her human blood may put a limit to her own lifespan, eventually, but if she does have such a limit, she does not feel anywhere close to it just yet.

Her wide powerful feet stomp forward, crushing virgin lands under her soles. Outside of her valley, the vegetation seems different, more colorful compared to the almost uniform green of her home, making the landscape around her now seem almost painted. Patches of beautiful pink and orange trees in particular attract her gaze. She even bends down to pick one up, and seeing some fruits on it decides to throw the whole thing into her mouth. The palm sized tree is reduced to mulch in moments under her teeth, and disappears a second later into her throat. “Oh! That is very sweet!” Yesha says, surprised that wood could even have such a flavor.

As soon as she crosses between two big hills, she finally sees the big city. Yesha stops in her tracks, amazed by the sight. It is huge! It would take her a full minute to walk from one side to the other! So many pretty little buildings, looking so delicate and fragile. Why would they build them so tall and thin? It is as if the are asking for something to happen to them.

It is not the first time Yesha sees a big city: In her time with the halfings, she visited a big human one, but it was a brief stop, and her perspective was very different, barely taller than a human, if even that. But this one is a far cry from those few scattered images in her memory! Yesha quickens her pace, excited to be able to play with such a big toy that day. It has been so long since she has tasted elven flesh too, the arrogant little things have an amazing taste!

Her feet step forward, crushing a wide road under her heels, cracking the stone surface and turning it into something resembling swiss cheese. With feet deep craters, the road is completely unusable after her passage, but the towering half troll does not even notice the destruction happening below her, her eyes firmly on the city.

As she gets closer, a dome of blue energy grows from above the city to encapsulate it all. Yesha stops to admire it, amazed that those tiny little things could create something taller than her. The apex of the dome is probably twice as tall as she is, and wide enough to cover the whole metropolis. Any other invader would be intimidated by such a grand display of arcane mastery, but Yesha is not, her only thought is wondering how long it can resist her, waging bets with herself on the results.

Before she can reach the city, the gates open and a hundred knights pour out, encased in shining white steel armor, gleaming under the sun, their long lances bearing down towards her, their powerful war horses making the very earth tremble under their four hundred hooves.
Raising an eyebrow, Yesha continues her approach, eyeing the army with curiosity. What do they think they can do with those toothpicks? Poke her to death? No, these little toys are probably meant to delay her before they can set up the big toys. Surely, this is not everything they have, Yesha has not exactly been subtle in her approach, they had plenty of time to prepare.

A couple of steps away from her, the cavalry splits into two groups, diverging from her direct path to attack her flanks in a pincer maneuver. Yesha continues straight, not really interested in the display of martial prowess. Still, the little knights manage to surprise her and gather her attention, when the two formations suddenly yell in unison, and their lances burst into white flames. The knights pick up their pace, their weapons trained against her ankles, the flames stretching far behind them.

Yesha stops, feeling her body freeze for a moment. One of the few weaknesses given to her by her troll blood. Fires slows down her regeneration, making it a lot more effective than common weapons, but the real trouble is the psychological effect. Trolls’ fear of fire is within their very blood, and that same ancestral fear makes even the towering half troll stops in her track for a moment.
Fortunately, she is not a full troll. Her human side quickly overcomes that fear, replacing it with anger, anger at herself for letting those tiny little things scare her even for a moment.

“You should not play with fire, little things” she says, raising her fifty foot long left foot, “you’ll get hurt.” her voice thunders in the skies, overpowering the cacophony of the cavalry charge, but her tone is cold and controlled, almost too rational for such a huge monster.

Her foot comes down before the left group. Two dozen knights immediately disappears under her sole, turned into a red paste and metallic scraps. The force of her stomp makes her foot sink into the ground, creating a deep imprint, with wide cracks creeping out of it, swallowing a few more horses in the dark chasms. But the ones not directly into her foot’s way are far from safe: The shockwave sends everyone around her foot flying, some going as far as thirty feet into the air, armored horse and knight both. With that single stomp, the entire left group’s charge is effectively nullified. The twenty or so knights still unharmed scatter and retreat.

The other group, however, manages to reach her. Their lances impact against her foot and ankle, penetrating her skin and searing her flesh. Still, her foot does not move an inch, her immense weight far to great for them to even budge, causing the full force of their own charge to bounce back against them. Lances break, knights are unsaddled and sent dozens of feet back, hitting their own comrades and even ending up impaled on their lances. Their force is broken by their own doomed charge, bodies piling against her foot in a mass of metal and broken bones, while the towering half-troll is still busy looking the other way.

The pain does get her attention, however. Even if the lances are barely the size of a splinter to her, the fire engulfing them hurts. She looks down, seeing the mess that the knights have become, and without even thinking lifts up her injured foot and stomps down. The might of her foot erases almost the entire company from existence, those that manage to survive do so only because they avoided her foot entirely to begin with, skirting around the edges of the formation.

The sensation of those tiny bodies breaking under her is almost enough to make her forget the stinging sensations of those fire lances piercing her thick skin. She rubs her foot with her hand, putting out the tiny fires in one motion. With the flames out, her body quickly regenerates, the lances are pushed out of her flesh and fall harmlessly to the ground, while her skin returns to her immaculate purple color. In but a few seconds, all that remains of the elves’ assault is a few scorch marks, little more than scar tissue that will disappear in a day or two.

Yesha sighs, amused and a little impressed that the little knights managed to get such a reaction from her. This might turn out to be a fun challenge after all! It has been a while since she had a proper fight. Not that she dislikes her strength and power, far from it, but every once in a while she does miss the adrenaline of fighting for her life when she was smaller.

Looking in front of her again, she sees another formation coming out of the city. Another cavalry unit, bigger in numbers, maybe two hundred strong, with smaller and less armored horses, the riders wearing leather armor and wielding bows that look far too big for the slender delicate elves.
Yesha smiles. Surely, they do not expect arrows to win where lances have failed.

The riders seem to think differently. They move forward at surprising speed, seemingly not intimidated by the fate of their comrades or the thundering steps of the giant, confident that their agility will keep them out of harm’s way. With another shout, their arrows are aflame much like the knights’ lances, and the horse arches release their deadly volley. Yesha is prepared this time, however, and the wall of fire coming her way is not nearly as effective as the first surprise attack. She brings her right arm towards her left hip and quickly moves it upward, as if to slap the whole flock of arrows away like gnats.

The wind created by her movement scatters most of the arrows, sending them all over the forest behind her, and snuffing out the flames of pretty much all of them. A few dozens still ht her arm and legs, but they bounce off harmlessly, not even piercing her skin.
“My turn!” Yesha says, a grin creeping up her lips. She lowers herself down and starts running.

If her steps before could be heard all over the plains, now they are akin to an earthquake. Her feet ding into the ground, leaving craters behind big enough to nest several houses in them, the earth scarred by her sprint so deeply that it may never fully heal.

The formation simply panics, their confidence broken and buried in merely a minute. Any semblance of discipline is thrown away, every elf for themselves. But it is far too late. Yesha reaches them far sooner than anyone could have predicted, appalled that something that large could move so quickly. The once tight formation now covers a wide area, fleeing in almost every direction but the half-troll own.

Yesha watches delighted how simply her running has sent the arrogant little things into complete disarray. A guttural laugh escapes her throat, as she jumps into the air and simply lets herself fall over the entire group.
The impact makes the very earth tremble. Every building in the city shivers, dust falling down onto the elves below as the shockwave travels through Nabelle. An explosion of untold power annihilates everything in the vicinity of the colossal half-troll, wiping out the two hundred elves in the blink of an eye. “Eheh, how clumsy of me” Yesha says, slowly standing up again, admiring the clear imprint of her body etched into the land, her breasts leaving two particularly large craters.

But the elves are far from done. Now that Yesha is merely a dozen steps away from the walls, a new weapon makes it appearance. Firing from behind the magical barrier, thirty mighty ballistas start firing bolts half the size of Yesha’s fingers at her. The bolts fire straight at her, hitting her legs, abdomen, and arm raised just in time to protect her face. The combined power of the bolts is enough to make the giant stop and take a step back.

A few of the bolts hit her at an odd angle, glancing off harmlessly, a few more only barely pierce her skin, falling off almost immediately, the wounds they caused closing up right behind them. A few however strike true, penetrating her flesh deeply. The bolts them shiver with arcane power, turning white hot in mere moments, hot enough to melt metal. Yesha grunts her teeth, feeling her flesh being seared and cooked. For the first time in a long while she feels genuine pain.

But what the elves on the walls do not expect, is to see her lower her arm and reveal the large smile she is wearing on her face. Her eyes glow with excitement, even while her teeth grind against each other to suppress the pain. “Oh, you should not have done that” she says, not as a threat but as a mere statement, because now the puny elves have piqued her interest, and that means there will be not much left of the city once she is done. Such a good toy must be enjoyed to the fullest.

“Ahahah!” The half troll laughs, as she pulls the bolts out of herself, the blackened wounds slowly closing, oozing a few drops of thick blood. For the first time in who knows how long, Yesha has spilled some blood, the metallic smell sending her into a feverish frenzy.
“Do your worst!” She shouts, her voice booming all over the plains. Then she charges forward, right for the main gate.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

“W-What is she doing?” The panicking captain of the guard says, watching as the giant half-troll charges the fortified gate where he is standing. “Your shield will stop her, right?” The big burly elf looks at Edraele who stands beside him, desperate for reassurance, but the arch-magister is a stone wall, not letting any emotion show on her face. “It will” she simply says, refusing to even acknowledge the possibility that the pinnacle of elven magic could submit to such a savage beast.

The ballista crews are desperately working around them to reload the mighty machines. Housed in the many towers along the defensive wall, each is nearly as big as a house, standing several times taller and longer than an elf. Each is equipped with two massive wheels that several men run in to crank the giant arms of the ballistas, one step at a time, while the massive bolts are loaded in and enchanted by mages before being fired. They are mighty war machines created to take down dragons, the pinnacle of elven martial engineering.

Another volley is ready just as the troll is a few steps away from the city walls. The war machines release their bolts with with loud cracks and clangs of wood and iron, filling the giant body of the monster with deadly hot metal. A good chunk strikes true and buries itself into the troll’s flesh, but despite the evident pain that causes her, she barely slows down, if anything growing more excited. Her front is peppered with a dozen bolts, half buried in her flesh, her mighty muscles bulging and straining around them. A few pop out of their own, shaken out by the immense weight of her muscles propelling her forward in her savage charge, others burn and sear her flesh, leaving blackened wounds all over her body.
Still, she does not slow down, and even the arch-magister’s collected and cold demeanor starts to crack.

Finally, Yesha’s body hits the barrier. Giant arcs of magical lightning whip her body, causing black smoke to rise from her skin, as a roar of pain erupts from the giantess’ mouth, forcing everyone on the walls to drop to the knees and press their hands against their ears.
The barrier flickers for a moment, barely able to contain the half-troll’s momentum, but it holds. Edraele grunts in pain as she feels her own mana being drained to recharge the barrier. Several mages in the city simply drop unconscious or even dead, drained to the last drop of their power.

But the troll is not done, if anything, her maddened eyes are more alive than ever. Her battered body seems to be barely slowed down by the wounds they have inflicted on her. Instead, she recovers from the impact and raises her fists, releasing them against the thin veil of arcane protection.
The blows are almost as loud as her initial charge, her hands hitting the barrier every few seconds, more lightning hitting her skin, her fingers black and trembling, her skin completely burnt to a crisp.

But the barrier is failing. Large cracks start appearing where her fists hit. Each time, more mages collapse, each time fewer and fewer remain to supply the barrier with more power. The arch-magister watches as her masterpiece crumbles before her, overpowered by sheer physical might and utter brutality. A lone bead of cold seat goes down her forehead, as she finally pulls herself out of the spell, leaving the remaining mages to bear the burden by themselves, dooming them to go down with the barrier.

This close to the walls, the ballistas cannot shoot. Only two still fire, those in the main gate towers themselves, but their attempts seem so futile before the sheer destructive power of the barrier, which is falling apart before them.

And finally, it breaks. Cracks grow all over the thin surface, and then it simply explodes, releasing the remaining mana all over the city and beyond. Arcane arcs of lightning hammer Nabelle, setting buildings on fire, sinking ships in the harbor, and killing mages, soldiers and civilians alike.
Even Yesha is not immune, the power cursing through her body forces her to fall onto one of her knees, her blackened hands gripping her own thighs, her teeth creaking under the immense pressure as she grits her teeth to deal with the pain.

But a few moments later, she finally stands up again. Her insane regenerative abilities quickly get to work. The bolts still in her flesh are by now cold, and are being pushed out of her body by her healing flesh; and with no more lightning hitting her, even her hands can heal.
“Ahahah! her insane laugh breaks the silence that had fallen all over the city after the barrier’s collapse. The few brave hearts still remaining simply break hearing that deep, savage laugh. The monster has not been stopped, it has barely been slowed down.

“I must admit, that was impressive” She says, inspecting her bruised body, “it has been a long while since I felt this much pain.” She takes a drop of her blood with a fingers of hers and brings it to her mouth, licking it up. “Thank you, this was an an expected treat. But regenerating this much damage takes a lot of energy” she says, looking at the city, while a new noise spreads another wave of terror through the city: Her stomach grumbling.

“But d me a favor and keep fighting back, ok? I’m sure this is not the last of your tricks” she says, as she takes a step forward, finally standing in front of the main gates.
The fifty foot tall walls look absolutely pathetic in front of her enormous 380 foot tall body, barely reaching halfway up her shins, with the mighty towers standing guard beside the gate almost reaching her knees. It is not even an obstacle for the giantess. The giantess raises her foot and brings it down on top of the main gate.

“Gods protect your chosen” the captain says, looking up as the shadow of the giant foot covers everything in sight. “Magister, please stop her!” He shouts, turning around, only to see a faint blue glimmer beside him. He has barely the time to curse the sorceress, before the foot comes down and obliterates him together with the gate and a few houses beyond the walls too.

Yesha does not even put a lot of power in her stomp, simply stepping over the structure and letting her immense weight flatten it all. In mere moments, the proud gate is reduced to rubble, only fit to provide a pleasant massage to her sole. She grinds her foot a bit, just for good measure, making sure there is not a trace left.

Yesha looks before her satisfied. The streets of the city before her are filled with panicking elves, soldiers run away from their position, a few even throwing themselves off the walls in an attempt to escape the doomed city. Their will has been broken, their power crippled, and all they have accomplished is giving her a few scars that will disappear within a few weeks.
The half-troll bites her lips, feeling the wonderful sensation of sheer power washing over her, unconsciously grinding her foot some more, feeling the debris turning into a fine powder. Yesha takes a deep breath down, trying to calm herself, but her naked body tells another story: Now that the adrenaline of the fight is finally going down, her arousal is growing exponentially.

During the fight, she let her instincts act, a euphoric display power that she rarely gets to display or experience, but now she can no longer ignore her depraved and cruel thirst.
She takes another deep breath, a plan formulating in her mind. To give them a bit of hope, she will give the elves an offer: Peace for tribute. The arrogant little things will never accept, assuming there is anyone in charge left that could even negotiate with her, but snuffing out hope once given is so much sweeter than destroying a city already gripped with resignation.

“Now that you understand the situation, I have an offer for you all” the giantess says, putting her hand son her hips, “I do not ask much: Send me tribute each week, fifty elves plus a ton or two of food. Do that, and I will leave your city alone. If not, I will simply take my due right here and now. What do you say?”

The reply soon comes, in the form of a giant sphere of pure fire hitting her stomach.