Asabella from Legend of Blake 8

We are very late with this post, since the story is long published.... but here we go! ^^ Asabella with and without Mask... stomping out lots of tiny knights beneath her huge sandals ^^;

Hope you like one of those versions .... if so... let us know which one ^^

Here is the story:

LEGEND OF BLAKE 08 - THE GOLDEN MASK

Telsor grinned darkly, admiring his newest creation with wicked satisfaction. A gleaming golden mask adorned with shimmering amethyst stones lay before him. Its design was sinister yet elegant, terrifying and beautiful in equal measure. Just as it was meant to be.

"A truly magnificent design. I dare say I have outdone myself this time," he muttered to himself, his voice echoing through the damp, shadow-laced catacombs.

Leaving behind the fiery glow of the furnace, the steam, and the stifling heat, he ascended the winding stone staircase that led to the library above. Peering through a hidden peephole, he ensured the room was empty before sliding aside the bookcase that doubled as a secret door and stepping into the quiet chamber.

From there, he passed into the secluded courtyard garden, where Asabella reclined on a cushioned chaise, sipping tea and absorbed in a book.

When she heard his footsteps, she looked up and smiled warmly.

“Oh, there you are! I'm so glad you’re back. I must say, you’ve chosen a splendid profession. Running a library like this gives you access to so much knowledge!”

He couldn’t help but smile in return. “But surely the royal palace has a far greater library than mine?”

She nodded. “Oh, it does. Ten times the size, at least. But here... here, it’s different. I feel free. Free to read what I wish, to follow my curiosity without judgment. In the palace, servants are everywhere. Eyes and ears in every corner. If you read the wrong book, rumors spread like wildfire. And if you're truly unlucky… those whispers reach the king himself.”

Telsor sat beside her, leaning in. “That sounds... suffocating.”

Asabella sighed and nodded. “You can’t imagine. But here? No servants. No watchful eyes. Just peace. Here I can truly explore whatever I want. Take this book, for instance. It’s about economics—how all nations could benefit if we cooperated rather than clashed.”

“But competition spurs innovation and progress,” Telsor countered with a playful tone.

“You’re right, of course,” she replied thoughtfully. “But this book focuses on entire peoples. Each nation holds unique traits, rich cultures, hidden potential. There’s so much we could learn from one another. If we continue warring, we destroy what could be shared. But if we trade, build trust, and cultivate collaboration—our entire world could thrive in prosperity.”

Telsor was impressed. “You have a remarkably open mind. Our people would be far better off if you…”

She fixed him with a sharp gaze. “If I what?”

He hesitated, swallowing hard. “Well... if you were queen. I hope that’s not offensive to say, but your brother is... he’s...”

“A complete fool,” she finished for him. “I know. He’s selfish and short-sighted, obsessed with his own pleasures. He understands nothing of politics.”

Relieved she wasn’t offended, Telsor continued earnestly, “That’s exactly why you should be queen. Not just for the good of our people—perhaps for the good of the entire world. I truly believe that.”

“You really think so?” she asked, clearly moved. “Most of the administrative work already falls to me. But I’ve always been forced to act in his interest. Now, as I read these texts... I see a better path. A future of peace, cultural exchange, and shared prosperity.”

Telsor nodded thoughtfully. “But sadly, the world we live in isn’t so kind. Your brother is king. And we’re already at war with two nations. I wouldn’t be surprised if it escalates further.”

Asabella’s expression darkened. “Yes… We must act. But with caution. My brother already suspects I may be less than loyal. I must be careful about what I say or do within the palace walls.”

Telsor reached into his satchel and produced the new mask. “Then perhaps it’s time you began to use... your other skills. This might help you bring about change through different means.”

She took the mask with growing excitement, her eyes lighting up as she studied the design.

“Oh, it’s perfect! Just as I envisioned. It’s truly beautiful!”

She slipped it onto her face. “How do I look?”

“Mysterious. Powerful… Enigmatic. But I know the face behind the mask—far more beautiful than any work of art. Compared to divine design, even the finest artist is but an amateur.”

Laughing she removed the mask and leaned in to kiss him. “You flatter me. And that’s exactly what I love.”

Telsor chuckled softly. “Now then… perhaps it’s time you returned the other mask. The one I lent you before. That one is… dark in some sense, and I must be very careful that no one ever sees it in our hands.”

Asabella’s curiosity was piqued. “Oh really? And what purpose does it serve?”

Telsor hesitated. He trusted her deeply… yet there were things even she shouldn’t know.

“It’s a symbol,” he said carefully. “A symbol of a secret society. I can’t tell you too much… only that I’m attempting to infiltrate them.”

Asabella grew serious. “A secret society? Does it serve the king? Because I’ve never heard of it.”

Telsor cursed inwardly—he already had said too much.

“No… it doesn’t belong to the crown. I’m sure there are rumors, but even the king likely knows nothing concrete. I myself barely understand it… that’s why I need to learn more.”

Slowly, Asabella rose and fetched the mysterious mask she had worn during her missions as a giantess. She turned it over in her hands, visibly uneasy.

“Telsor… that sounds incredibly dangerous. Who are these people?”

Telsor swallowed hard. He hadn’t wanted to tell her… but he could no longer hide the truth.

“They’re alchemists. More precisely... followers of the Dragonlord Viscerna.”

Asabella’s eyes widened in shock.

“Viscerna? That has to be a joke. Viscerna was our people's most terrifying enemy. Don’t tell me he’s still alive!?”

Telsor shook his head.

“No… He’s truly dead. Buried near a lake in the lands of Zaya. And I do not condone his actions—he was a monster. But… there’s something else. He had a daughter, you see.”

Asabella stood up and paced back and forth.

"How do you know all this…? Oh, right, from that secret order, I assume… and now you're telling me this order is secretly working with Viscerna’s daughter? And what is their plan? Do they want to seize power? Does she want to take over?"

Telsor shook his head.

"No, it’s not quite like that. Adira, that’s the name of Viscerna’s daughter, turned her back on her father… and the order is trying to locate her in order to make use of her power. But so far, no one’s been able to find her. Still… the situation is dire. The king isn't the only threat in our time… The order is far more dangerous than you can probably imagine… If you knew what I’ve seen… it’s…"

At that moment, a small bell mounted to the wall rang.

Telsor took a deep breath.

"Speak of the devil…" he muttered, resigned, and took the golden mask of the alchemist from Asabella’s hand.

"The new mask suits you much better. This one actually has such a dark twisted history… But anyway… I have to go. Something important I need to take care of. But I’ll be in touch soon."

He was just about to leave when Asabella grabbed his arm.

"But Telsor… I can count on you, right? We are on the same side… Aren’t we?"

Telsor nodded.

"I love you, Asabella. I won’t hide anything from you. I’m on your side. Always have been, always will be. I promise."

She gave him a warm smile and watched him disappear into the library again.

Then she picked up her new mask—admittedly a very beautiful one—and tucked it into her leather satchel. Pulling her hood up over her head, she left the building and blended into the crowd outside… No one was to know that she, the king’s sister, was out here wandering the streets alone…

+++

Meanwhile, Telsor descended once more into the catacombs via the hidden spiral staircase.

At the bottom, in the flickering torchlight, a shadowy figure in a mysterious cloak awaited him.

A cold golden mask stared at him with piercing eyes.

“We’ve found Adira.”

Telsor tried to smile. "Oh, that’s good news."

"No. It’s not," the masked figure replied. "Because Adira is dead."

"She’s what?!"

The alchemist nodded.

"She was killed by that king’s toy… that absurdly oversized noblewoman who thinks she’s something special. She just crushed Adira underfoot. Poor Adira, dead just like her father… what a shame. We never even got the chance to persuade her… or manipulate her… Such a waste of power. She was one of the last demi-dragons, you know? Now it could take years to find another… Maybe there are none left. Who knows? We should have dealt with that Lyra and her stupid students earlier. Now everything is more complicated."

Telsor looked nervous. "Well… couldn’t we still take her out? A strong enough poison should do the trick."

The alchemist shook his head, his voice metallic behind the mask.

"No. The king may be a fool, but even he wants to get rid of the demi-humans. At least in that goal, we are united. I think we’ll have to let these bunglers do their thing… for now. Besides… the giants might still be useful for our cause."

Telsor grew more and more skeptical.

"I see… So this is the part where you want me to do something for you?"

The man behind the mask nodded.

"You’re right, my son. I do need you to do something. I want you to somehow manipulate the giants and bring them over to our side… Use deception, a curse—I don’t care how. But I need to be able to count on the giants to act the way we need them to when the time comes. Understood?"

Telsor nodded.

"I think I can manage that. I… just need to come up with something."

The alchemist laughed behind his mask.

"Good boy. But think fast. Things are moving quickly now… We likely don’t have much time. But I’m sure you’ll manage. You’ve always done good work. No surprise—after all, you are my own flesh and blood. Now go! Get to work."

The man laughed behind his mask and disappeared into a dark hallway.

A stone door closed behind him.

Telsor remained behind, trembling.

Everything was getting more complicated…

How was he supposed to pull all of this off?

+++

Adira collapsed into Floni’s arms. The massive goblin giantess barely managed to catch her, even though Adira’s new body was quite a bit heavier than her own. Floni slowly lowered herself to the ground, settled into the rubble, and held Adira tightly in her arms. Adira wept. Not quietly, not with dignity—she sobbed uncontrollably, shaking and trembling.

Every movement hurt. Her entire body felt broken and crushed—which, only minutes ago, it had been. Her skin was still torn in places, her muscles strained painfully beneath the fresh, scaly growths, and even her hands... those once so human hands... now bore sharp claws. She stared at them in disbelief.

“I... I’m turning more and more into a monster…” she stammered. “Now I’m even huge... AND... I can feel this dark rage. This destructive power inside me... That’s what I’ve always feared the most…”

Floni gently placed a massive hand on her shoulder. Her gaze was serious, but understanding. “Don’t worry. I understand you better than you think. I have the same urge... the craving to crush everything under my feet. But...” she pointed at the tiny figure on the ground, “Blake helped me learn to control it.”

She slowly lowered her open hand to the earth, beside the little queen who looked almost invisible amidst the dust and debris. Blake stepped without hesitation onto the green palm, waited a moment for Floni to raise her again—and then stood atop the hand like it was a mobile platform.

Adira saw her and gasped in shock—then bowed as deeply as her size allowed. The image was grotesque: this titanic being, with a body large enough to cover whole city districts, bending down in the dust before a creature smaller than her toe.

“You... you are the queen?” Adira whispered reverently. “I... I deserve to die. For the crimes of my father. I will not resist if you decide I should be executed by the goblin giantess...”

“My name is Floni,” said the greenish giantess simply. The moment seemed fitting for a proper introduction.

Blake, standing calmly in her hand, looked down at Adira. Her voice was clear. Firm. Yet filled with compassion. “Children should never pay for the sins of their parents. That’s not how I see things. You tried to protect people here—despite your origin. That speaks well of you.”

She made a small gesture with her hand. “I don’t want to have you executed. No, I want to work with you. I want you to come with us to the capital—and join my staff. Just like Floni. In return, you’ll get everything you need. Supplies. A place at court. A title.”

Adira raised her head slowly. Her eyes were red from crying, full of doubt. “Why... are you being so kind to me? I... I don’t understand. I… I’m a monster…”

Blake sighed softly. “I’ll be honest, Adira: I don’t fully trust you. But Floni does. And I trust Floni. That’s why I’m giving you a chance. Show me who you really are: only a bringer of death—or a protector?”

Adira couldn’t respond. Once again, tears welled up in her eyes. The thought of all the lives she had tried to protect... now buried under rubble or crushed in the massive footprints of the Tulan giantesses... It clenched at her heart. The city had fallen. Families erased. Crushed for fun. Those people were the first who ever accepted her as who she really was. And now they are all gone…

Her tears silently streamed down her enormous cheeks, splashing to the ground like small rainstorms.

“I want to protect... I want to serve my country...” she whispered. “I want to atone for my father’s sins... as best I can. I am at your disposal... Your Majesty.”

Blake nodded. She looked satisfied—and deeply tired. Her voice was quiet. “That’s good. I believe you. Let’s get moving. We need to heal your wounds and get you taken care of. And… there’s much to discuss… the war has taken a dark turn, as you’ve seen yourself. And our odds are poor.”

Floni straightened up. The ground vibrated beneath her movement. “Maybe... not quite so poor anymore, now that we have you, Adira.”

She offered her free hand. Adira tried to stand, but her body gave in to the pain.

“Forgive me... walking is hard. Everything hurts.”

“Understandable... after everything you’ve been through.” Floni knelt again and wrapped an arm under Adira’s shoulders. “But don’t worry. I’ll support you.”

And so, slowly and heavily, the two colossal women began their journey to the capitol. Step by step. While Blake, although comfortable in Floni's huge hand, looked to the future with worry and uncertainty.

+++

Several hours later…

In the capital of Zaya, an eerie murmur hung in the air. Conversations grew quieter, eyes nervously turned to the horizon, as a deep, rumbling, rhythmic tremor spread through the ground. They were unmistakably heavy footsteps.

"She’s coming!" someone shouted from the marketplace. "Our protector!"

People flooded into the streets, gazing curiously toward the western gate. In the distance, towering above the city walls, rose a mighty silhouette—Floni, the green-skinned goblin giantess, protector of Zaya.

But she wasn’t alone.

Beside Floni moved a second figure—larger, more intimidating, with bluish, scaly skin. Even before they drew near, the first rumors began to spread like wildfire.

“Is that… Adira? The daughter of Viscerna?” someone whispered, and the name spread rapidly.

“Impossible…”

“She’s alive?”

“But she’s so huge…! Way bigger than her father! Even bigger than Floni! How can that even be?”

The people’s curiosity mingled with an ancient terror. Viscerna, the legendary dragon lord, had once scorched the land with fire and cruelty. Merely mentioning his name had been enough to strike fear into the hearts of many… and now, his daughter appeared here, in monstrous size, at Floni’s side… It chilled the blood of many onlookers.

But Adira looked wounded. Her scaly skin was torn in places, and Floni supported her gently. Still, every step she took shook the earth with might and power.

“Make way! Clear the path!” Floni called out loudly, as she carefully stepped over the city wall with one of her long, greenish legs. Her massive barefoot landed only a few meters from the nearest rooftop.

Guards pushed the crowd aside. “Step back! Give them space!”

Floni continued, her voice firm: “Adira is injured and struggling to keep her balance. If you don’t want to get stepped on by accident, do yourselves a favor—stay back!”

Luckily, most people listened. Still, in the chaos, a few minor accidents occurred. As the two giantesses moved through the narrow alleys, Adira stumbled several times. Her clawed feet tore off rooftops, shattered walls—wood splintered, stones flew through the air. People ran screaming from their homes, panicked and terrified.

“Forgive me!” Adira cried hoarsely, clearly overwhelmed. “I didn’t mean to… I… I’ve only been this size for a short time!”

Blake sat on Floni’s open palm, holding on to one of her big fingers and raised her voice, making sure she could be heard everywhere: “Do not be afraid! Adira is on our side. She has already proven her loyalty in battle, which is why she is wounded now. From this day on, she will fight alongside Floni to protect Zaya and drive our enemies back! Don’t be foolish—welcome her as our ally!”

A man in the crowd was desperate to get a better look at Adira. He stepped a few paces too far forward—just as Adira, unmindful, took another step. Her towering leg swung forward unexpectedly—much faster than the man had anticipated.

He realized the danger too late… when her huge sole came down on him.

With a sickening crunch and snap, he was crushed beneath Adira’s foot. A brief, loud scream—then silence.

Adira flinched. “Oh no… did I just step on someone?” She lifted her foot slightly and looked down in horror at the remains sticking to her sole. “I… I’m so sorry. Truly!”

Blake slapped her forehead in frustration. “Can’t you be careful for a few minutes?” she scolded Floni, whose cheeks turned slightly red from embarrassment.

“I’m sorry… I… I tried! But Adira is pretty heavy and i can’t control her movements.” Floni mumbled quietly.

Blake sighed and turned to the people below: “Once again—keep your distance! You’ve seen what can happen otherwise!”

After a few more minutes, the two giantesses finally reached the castle courtyard—there was enough space to sit down and rest there. Adira lowered herself heavily, while servants rushed over to tend to her wounds.

Some brought salves and bandages, others carried buckets of water and other supplies—doing their best to assist a half-dragon giantess.

Adira lowered her gaze, her clawed hands resting on her knees. Never before had she felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and so watched.

But she was here now. Again in the midst of humans who had once suffered under her father’s rule. And none of them knew who she truly was. Once again, she had to prove herself…

But at least, they seemed to be welcoming her. She looked at the many small servants tending to her wounds, gently cleaning them with water and wrapping large bandages around her.

Maybe… just maybe… there was a future for her after all.

+++

Floni was just about to set Blake down in the castle courtyard when suddenly a call rang out from the inner castle wall.

“Oh, Queen Blake!” one of the guards shouted. “Messengers from Tulania are waiting for you at the south gate!”

Blake raised her head in irritation, while Floni sighed quietly. Without asking any further questions, the giant goblin woman turned around and once again stomped through the narrow streets of the capital, this time heading south with the queen in her hand. The ground trembled with each of her steps, and once again the people had to clear a path. Some who didn’t move out of the way quickly enough were gently but firmly nudged aside by Floni’s enormous toes to avoid injuries.

“Shall I put you down, my Queen?” Floni asked after a few minutes, her voice noticeably heavy. “I mean… I’m visibly exhausted, and I’m afraid I might step on someone too.”

But Blake shook her head firmly. “No. The people know you. They know they have to step aside. And… I need you right now.”

Eventually, they reached the south gate. The wall barely reached Floni’s knees. She positioned herself in front of it, took a deep breath, and slowly crouched down to get a better look at what had gathered outside.

She held her hand over the wall so that Blake could see the messengers clearly from her palm.

Three Tulanian envoys were waiting down below on sleek, high-bred mounts. Their clothes were fine, richly adorned, and their posture upright and stiff. They eyed Floni with open disgust, as if she were a beast – and Blake as though she were a bothersome lower class.

The blonde messenger in the center began:

“Greetings, Queen of lowly Zaya. Your land is… well, pleasing to the eye. But aside from the lovely landscape and jesters like this repulsive demi-human here, you unfortunately have little to offer.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed instantly. Rage rose in her face from the very first sentence. “Who are you, and what do you want?” she asked sharply.

“Oh, did you hear that?” the envoy sneered. “So informal. So… proletarian. We bring a message. A peace offer that might interest you.”

Blake raised her eyebrows with a spark of hope. “A peace offer?”

“Yes, indeed,” he replied with a condescending smile. “Despite your obviously inferior status, King Kazar would be willing to make peace with your kingdom – provided you meet his conditions.”

Blake fell silent for a moment. Something deep inside warned her that something incredibly stupid was about to be said. “And… what would those conditions be?”

“He wishes to take you as his wife.”

“WHAT?!” she burst out. 

Blake stared at the envoy as if he had lost his mind. She had expected many things – but THAT?

Even Floni, who had been calmly crouching just moments ago, suddenly turned pale. Her eyes widened, and she lost her balance for a moment. Instinctively, she grabbed the wall with her free hand to steady herself.

Her breathing became quick and heavy as a wave of intense rage surged within her. How could these idiots even say such a thing?

Blake’s face turned pale for a moment. A mental image of King Kazar appeared in her head – holding her in his arms, looking down on her with contempt, and trying to kiss her.

Ugh! No way in hell!

+++ 

In the meantime Asabella had returned to the palace and changed quickly into formal attire, for the king had summoned an extraordinary council—and she was expected to attend.

Still slightly out of breath, she entered the grand throne hall where long tables had been arranged for the ministers and advisors. She took her place close to the king, her posture straight, her expression unreadable, as she waited to hear what foolish plan her arrogant brother had devised this time...

“Well then, now that we are finally all present,” the king announced, with a proud and condescending tone, “I bring you splendid news, my loyal subjects. The defenses of Zaya have at last been broken—and the mystery behind them unveiled. It was a demi-dragon who had turned our campaign into a living nightmare... but that matter has been taken care of. The beast is dead. And now, all must recognize my true power!”

“Hear, hear! Long live the King!” cried a minister, his voice syrupy with flattery.

Lord Maedric, Calista’s father and a minister himself, cleared his throat. The king glanced at him briefly before continuing with a smirk.

“Ah yes... and our dear Lord Maedric of House Faelorian deserves special recognition this day. His daughter, Calista, played no small part in securing this victory. In fact—she crushed the wretched creature beneath her heel like an insect. A fitting end for such a lowly beast who dared defy my command.”

A wave of murmurs swept through the hall, followed by thunderous applause.

The king nodded with satisfaction. “Yes, see to it that Lord Maedric is awarded a medal of honor—and that a ceremony is arranged to celebrate the glory of his house… And of course his beautiful giant daughter.”

More applause followed. Lord Maedric’s expression showed restrained pride, as though savoring every bit of the attention.

The king raised a hand, calling for silence. “But now, let us move to a matter of even greater importance—namely, myself. Ha! I intend to take another wife. Not just any woman, no—my sights are set on the Queen of Zaya.”

“What?!” Asabella blurted out in shock, gasping. “But brother, you already have over a hundred Tulanian wives... Why—why would you wish to marry Blake? Surely... she will resist!”

The king cast her a cold, disapproving glare. “Tell me, sister, how dare you speak to me in such a manner?”

Asabella bowed her head at once. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was merely taken aback by the boldness of your vision.”

The king raised an eyebrow but seemed content with her apology. “Indeed, it is bold. For all know how headstrong and defiant Queen Blake can be. But now that her defenses lie in ruins, she will have no choice but to accept. And she knows it. Ahh... she is so beautiful. She must belong to me. She must become part of my collection. I want it—I demand it! And so, it shall be!”

This time it was Seraphina of House Delvaren who spoke. Ever composed, ever courteous in her new station—elevated by Lyra to the highest rank of nobility—she spoke with smooth grace:

“Long live the king, and may all his dreams come true,” she began. Then, with a small tilt of her head, she added, “Would Your Majesty be so kind as to share the strategy you intend to employ? And might we offer our aid, should you require it?”

The king smiled. The young noblewoman pleased him greatly—a refreshing presence in this otherwise dull chamber.

“Well, since you ask with such charming curiosity: I have already dispatched an army to seize the next city within Zaya. After all, we must continue expanding the border and claiming more territory. Additionally, I have sent envoys to deliver my marriage proposal to Queen Blake—along with an offer of peace, should she accept. They have probably already arrived and delivered the message. By tomorrow we should know her answer. But I’m sure she will accept. She will have no room to refuse. And how might you assist me? Through your loyalty and resources, of course. The army requires supplies—food, metals for armor and weapons… My sister can elaborate later. She is an expert for such matters. See her after the session.”

Seraphina bowed gracefully. “As you command, my king. I shall ensure that my house increases its support to your noble cause.”

Asabella listened in silence, her heart racing. The situation was spiraling out of control, and she knew Blake far too well to believe that the queen would surrender so easily. If this war were to be stopped from descending into even darker chaos, someone would have to intervene. But how?

The troops were already on the move… but armies moved slowly… 

Much slower than a giantess… right?

Should she...?

Her heart pounded even heavier at the thought. But it made sense. And strangely, the idea thrilled her. A lot!

She leaned back in her chair, her mind slipping away from the chatter of the hall… drawn instead to the possibilities that lay ahead.

+++

Floni stared down at the little envoys in front of the city’s southern gate, her expression a mix of surprise and anger. They sat on their horses, smug and unaware.

“HOW DARE YOU MOCK BLAKE LIKE THAT? I SHOULD JUST...!” she bellowed, her voice so loud it sent birds flying from the trees in panic.

But Blake calmly raised her hand. “Floni. Please. Let them finish.”

The blond envoy, momentarily intimidated, gathered himself again. “This is no mockery. Quite the opposite. You should feel honored that King Kazar is even considering this offer. Additionally, he demands your full surrender and the submission of your people. You are to pay tribute and adopt our laws.”

“DENIED!” Blake shouted, her voice full of resolve. “I reject both demands without hesitation!”

The envoy shook his head, now smirking. “Do you truly want this war to continue? You don’t stand a chance. You’re sacrificing your – admittedly worthless – people.”

Blake clenched her fists. “How dare you speak with such… unbearable arrogance? And speak so condescendingly about my people?” She turned her head slightly toward Floni, who was already bracing for what would come next.

“Hey, Floni,” Blake said, her voice now ice cold. “Would you do me a favor… and stomp out that arrogant little idiot?”

A joyful grin crept onto Floni’s face. She slowly straightened up, lifted one leg, and stepped over the city wall. Her dirty, slightly sweaty sole hovered above the blond envoy, who looked up in panic – far too late.

With a dull THUMP, her enormous foot landed squarely on him and his horse. She pressed down just enough to pin him to the ground, but didn’t yet put her full weight on him – just as she knew Blake intended. The envoy wasn’t crushed, only completely immobilized beneath her gigantic sole.

“Remember this,” Blake called out to the two remaining envoys, who were struggling to calm their panicked horses. “Anyone who speaks to us with such arrogance gets crushed! Now ride back to your king and tell him exactly where we stand!”

Beneath Floni’s foot, the blond man began to scream and beg. All his arrogance had vanished, replaced by raw, helpless fear.

Blake and Floni exchanged a silent glance. No words were needed.

Floni slowly shifted her weight forward.

The envoy let out one last, high-pitched scream – then a wet CRRRNSHHH echoed through the air, bones shattering as he was mashed into a messy pulp.

The two remaining envoys fled in panic, spurring their horses to top speed. Blake watched them go, while Floni looked down with satisfaction at the sticky remains under her foot.

“Mmmh… that felt so good. So satisfying!” Then she glanced at the fleeing envoys. Blake caught the look and smirked. “Go on… take out another one. I can see you want to squish one more…”

Floni blushed, looking down at the queen in her hand. “Really?”

Blake nodded. “We only need one envoy to carry the message. Just go.”

Grinning cheerfully, Floni gently set Blake down on the city wall, her face full of gratitude. “Okay. Be right back!”

Then she stepped with her other leg over the wall – deliberately letting her massive foot hover just inches above Blake as she passed.

For the queen, it felt like time slowed to a crawl… watching that gorgeous greenish sole glide overhead. First the adorable toes… then the ball of her foot, the arch, all those rich folds and skin lines on full display…

Then came the heel, and finally the foot touched down just beyond the wall. Blake looked up, watching those long legs rise above her and catching the mischievous grin on Floni’s face as the giant goblin looked down – fully aware how much Blake was enjoying the moment.

The queen’s heart pounded faster – as always. She watched Floni take off in a sprint. The ground trembled violently with every step as she chased the fleeing envoy.

Blake was so grateful to have found such a wonderful friend in Floni! She felt such a deep love towards her!

As Floni ran, the whole region shook. The fleeing rider glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened in shock as he saw the towering goblin giantess thundering closer. It looked like she was growing larger – though she was only closing the distance rapidly!

“Oh crap!” he rasped and kicked his horse harder, trying to gain speed… but of course, there was no escaping a 120-meter-tall giantess. That realization sent him into full-blown panic.

Just seconds later, Floni’s enormous greenish foot came crashing down in front of him, cutting off his path.

The horse stopped and reared in panic. The rider tried to turn, but it was hopeless. Flonis' huge hand was already descending, and her fingers wrapped around him before he could even process it.

His horse screamed and bucked wildly. His vision blurred – and a heartbeat later, he was lifted high into the air, staring straight into Floni’s enormous green eyes.

“Hmmm… I have to admit, you and your horse look delicious,” she said playfully.

“No… no… wait! Please don’t eat me, you horrible monster!”

Floni placed her other hand on her chest in mock offense. “Me? A monster? Now that’s just rude. Not a very smart negotiation tactic. Don’t you learn manners in Tulanian diplomacy school? I’m a goblin woman and my name is Floni. What’s yours – and your horse’s?”

The man hesitated. “I… I’m Künther. And my horse is just called Number Nine. We don’t really name our horses.”

“Oh, that’s a shame… I like to get to know living beings before I eat them. But I guess your name will have to do, Künther.”

She opened her mouth wide and held the rider threateningly above it.

He cried out again, “No, wait! Please, please! I was only following orders and delivering a message!”

Floni closed her mouth again and looked at the Tulanian man. “I know. And normally, I’d let you go… but… you guys weren’t exactly respectful. And that, I really don’t understand. How can you look down on our entire country? On the people of Zaya… on demi-humans, on the Queen? While I’m standing right there? I mean, did you not see how big I am? Were you not afraid? How arrogant do you have to be to ignore a giantess?”

“Okay, okay! You’re right, Goblin!” the man cried in desperation as he dangled above Floni’s massive, pretty face. “We should have been more respectful. But… I can learn from this! I can go back and tell the others what I’ve seen here! So wouldn’t it make sense to let me go?”

Floni glanced to the side and pointed toward the third rider, who was galloping as fast as he could back toward Tulania. “Your buddy’s already doing that. He gets to go… but you... sorry, your fate is a different one.”

Then she opened her mouth wide again, stuck out her massive tongue, and lowered her hand… slowly parting her fingers, letting the rider and his horse drop onto her wet tongue, which she then drew back into her maw.

“Aaahh! No! Please don’t do this!” the man screamed one last time, but Floni had already made up her mind. She closed her huge lips and rolled the two small creatures around on her tongue, savoring the flavor for a moment, before chewing them up and swallowing them down.

“Mhh… not bad at all!” Floni said, rubbing her belly playfully as she slowly walked back toward the city wall. “Perfectly fine for a snack.”

Blake had watched the entire scene from afar, dreamily observing Floni. It was strange… but somehow, she felt a hint of jealousy toward the messenger who had just been eaten by her Goblin friend. Dying in Floni’s mouth must be such an indescribable experience!

She remembered when she first was in her mouth and the incredible fear she felt back then. It was such a thrilling experience she would never forget!

That bastard didn’t even deserve such a beautiful death!

But now, more important matters had to be dealt with. Because rejecting Kazar’s peace offer obviously meant the war would continue — and even though they had Adira on their side now, it was still going to be a hard fight… and they needed to prepare carefully.

And they wouldn’t have much time! King Kazar would surely be beside himself with rage once he found out that they had rejected his insane marriage proposal.

When Floni reached the wall and bent down, Blake climbed back into her enormous hand. Even though she had done this countless times before, she knew she would never get used to it. It was breathtaking each and every time to be nestled in the giant hand of her beautiful friend, feeling the soft skin, the warmth… it was simply wonderful.

Floni lifted her up and held her before her huge face. “What now, my Queen?”

“Take me back to the castle. I have to make sure the best healers in the land are summoned. We need to ensure that Adira is completely fit as soon as possible. Because I’m sure Kazar will strike back with full force now.

We probably don’t have much time.”

Floni nodded seriously and carefully began walking back through the city toward the castle…

+++

The tulanian general Hagbert La’Sturmhain sat astride his splendid mount — a sleek, jet-black beast — and let his bored gaze drift lazily over the open plains. Behind him stretched the might of his comparatively small army he commanded: twenty thousand heavily armed men, arrayed in strict formation. Banners snapped in the wind, lances rose toward the sky, and the rhythmic clatter of the marching soldiers rang out in the air, a cold, mechanical symphony devoid of compassion or mercy.

Before him, two cities awaited their fate. The first — hardly more than an oversized village — bore the name Zollyngen. According to his scouts, it counted no more than forty thousand souls, lacking any significant defenses, no protective walls, no organized militia. Just common folk. Farmers. Artisans. Children.

“What a child’s game this will be…” La’Sturmhain murmured, a tired smile curling across his lips. “These people have no idea just how meaningless their lives truly are.”

With a dismissive flick of his gauntlet-clad hand, he beckoned one of his officers to approach. “Lieutenant. I want half of the men to descend upon Zollyngen and erase its population completely. But they are not to burn everything — we need their treasures and supplies. Especially food. I expect a feast tonight… something fitting to wring some use out of this wretched corner of the world.”

The Lieutenant gave a sharp, dutiful nod. “Yes, General.”

“The other half is to establish camp. I want grand fire pits. Have the cooks prepare the meat — something exquisite, something worthy of the spoils of conquest.”

At the same time, in Zollyngen…

The town was in chaos. Women rushed through narrow streets, dragging wide-eyed children in tow, while men carried improvised weapons and desperately tried to erect makeshift barricades from old carts and broken furniture. Everyone knew the truth: it was hopeless. The word of the approaching army had struck like a blade through the heart of the town, spreading fear and a suffocating sense of doom.

Yet amid the turmoil, a man climbed atop a wooden crate in the town square — the mayor himself: Ainuf Blockon, a stout figure with a proud belly, an even prouder mustache, and a voice that rose above the clamor like a clarion call.

“Hear me, people of Zollyngen! I know what you’re thinking. That this is the end. And… perhaps it is. But we must not abandon our Queen Blake, nor the rest of our homeland. We must do our part and fight… even if we are to fall!”

Some of those gathered paused in their panicked movements. A few nodded, others wept silently. Ainuf knew it would take a miracle to save them now.

Leont La’Dreiken was barely eighteen years old. His armor still gleamed from its first polish, unscarred by combat; the edge of his blade had yet to taste blood. And although he marched beneath the banner of Tulania, a gnawing unease burrowed deep within his chest, a silent whisper of guilt he couldn’t ignore.

Zollyngen was no longer far — he could already see the rooftops of the outer buildings rising in the distance. All around him, hundreds of fellow soldiers marched in lockstep, laughing and jeering, their eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation for what they called “easy prey.”

“Well, Leont? Excited for your first massacre?” barked an older soldier, rough and weathered, with a deep scar cutting across his forehead. Laughter erupted among the ranks.

Leont didn’t answer immediately. Then, with quiet dread in his voice, he finally spoke: “But… those are civilians. Families. We shouldn’t be killing the defenseless. That’s… wrong.”

Another soldier, younger but with cold eyes, turned and glared at him. “Orders are to be followed, you idiot,” he hissed. “Disobedience means execution. Not just for you — for your parents, too. You want that? For a bunch of Zayan peasants you’ve never even met?”

Leont froze. His heart pounded, his breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he lowered his gaze and nodded. “…No.”

“Then shut your mouth.”

And so Leont marched on. With trembling hands. With a dry throat. And with a heart that grew heavier with every step he took.

Suddenly, there was a rustling sound. Loud and ominous rolling through the underbrush. The marching soldiers slowed, confusion rippling through the ranks as they instinctively gripped their weapons and turned toward the treeline.

“Hold formation! Stop panicking over some wild boars!” a nearby officer bellowed, his voice hoarse with command.

But then, the ground shook… Trees snapped like twigs. Birds erupted into the sky in a frenzied screech.

And she emerged…

Towering above the canopy, she rose like a force of nature incarnate. Nearly fifty meters tall, she stepped forward with graceful precision, clad in regal garments that hinted at noble origins, her face hidden behind a gleaming golden mask that shimmered beneath the sun. On her feet she wore intricately crafted sandals, reinforced with leather straps and gilded detail — and each of her steps sent tremors through the earth.

A scream tore through the ranks.

“A GIANTESS!!”

“SOUND THE ALARM!!”

“READY YOURSELVES!!”

The formation collapsed. Some soldiers fled in panic. Others raised their spears in hope that the giant woman might be on their side…

But she was not.

The unknown giantess stormed toward the army—then right through it. Soldiers screamed as countless men were stomped flat beneath her.

Leont stood frozen. His eyes wide. His legs weak.

CRASH. BOOM… CRUNCH...

An entire squad was simply trampled under Asabella’s sandals. Her leather sole swept through the air and came down with merciless force—leaving behind nothing but a wide, deep imprint in the earth, streaked with bloody pulp.

She kept walking. Her gaze was calm, determined—yet her heart pounded faster than ever before.

Asabella felt everything intensely.

Every movement. Every body crushed beneath her sandals. She heard the cracking of armor, the snapping of bones, the wet, squelching pop of human bodies. And although her conscience was torn—though she knew these were her countrymen—she couldn’t stop.

She mustn’t stop. Her idiot brother had ordered a massacre, and she couldn’t let it happen. Even if they were just Zayans, they had a right to live—just like anyone else… and she would protect them. She was the only one who could right now...

She was massive and powerful! With every step, she crushed at least five soldiers beneath her mighty sandals.

It felt cruelly right.

Two soldiers—maybe twenty meters ahead—screamed and desperately raised their spears at her. They looked like caricatures. Like insects wielding sharp twigs.

Asabella raised her right foot, letting it hover over them for a moment…

She looked at them. Saw the fear in their eyes, heard their screams. And then… slowly lowered her foot.

Really slowly. Deliberately.

She wanted to experience it fully. The end of those soldiers.

She felt the resistance of their bodies as she stepped down… then the satisfying crunch as they burst beneath her.

The last thing the men saw—and then felt—was the leathery pattern of her sandal’s sole.

Asabella took a deep breath. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. So much power… so many lives… erased with just a few steps. It felt so exalting, so overwhelmingly strong! It was unbelievable!

She bit her lower lip as she realized just how much she enjoyed this power—this sensation of ending lives beneath her soles.

And in that moment… she grew.

Suddenly, she was sixty meters tall… then seventy… and finally stopped at eighty meters.

Her heart raced. Sweat broke out on her brow. Why was she growing now? Back in the forest, she hadn’t been able to…

Or… could it be… that her pleasure in this feeling was the very reason for it?

At the outskirts of Zollyngen, where the first farmhouses clung together, dozens of villagers had gathered—men, women, the elderly, children—even the mayor himself—and watched in horror at the gruesome spectacle unfolding before them.

Panic was everywhere, while the tulanian troops—once marching in perfect discipline—now ran across the open fields like scattered insects, hunted, stomped out, annihilated by a giantess no one had ever seen before!

She stood nearly 80 meters tall, moving with an elegance—but also with a focused, unmatched force!

Was she fighting on their side? Was she the miracle they’d never dared to hope for?

The golden mask that concealed her face reflected the bright sunlight in dazzling beams, making her seem to glow like a goddess.

The villagers held their breath. Even the children had stopped crying. They could only watch in silence as the impossible happened: A single woman crushed countless of soldiers under her feet with ease, turning each step into a small massacre—as if death itself had taken human form.

+++

Leont was running. He had long since lost his sword in all the fear and confusion. He ran, stumbling, gasping, blind with panic.

All around him, the once-disciplined army had turned into a battlefield of horror. Shattered bodies and utterly flattened armor lay everywhere. He heard screams, the snapping of bones, as the next foot of the giantess came down and buried ten men like toys beneath it.

Her heavy sandals, adorned with gold and dripping with fresh, warm blood from the straps, moved with deadly elegance—not hastily, but with slow, firm intent, as if the giantess was taking her time.

Next to Leont, a comrade stumbled, barely older than Leont himself.

"Please! HELP ME!!" screamed the young man, clearly injured.

Leont, moving on instinct, grabbed the outstretched hand, gripped it tightly, pulled—panting, trembling, full of desperation.

Then suddenly, the sky above them darkened.

And before Leont could even understand what was happening, the gigantic foot of the giantess thundered down into the ground right in front of him—with such force that he could barely stay on his feet!

His entire body trembled as a cloud of dust swirled up around him, enveloping everything.

He blinked, coughed—and then he saw it…

Just inches from his face was the immense foot of the giantess. Framed by the large leather straps of her sandal, decorated with pure gold, stained with a deep, dark red.

He stared. Frozen.

The foot began to lift again. Slowly. Chunks of rock and clumps of earth fell from the sole, but several crushed body parts stuck to it.

He watched the sole rise… followed the mighty leg towering over him… then saw it swing forward with grace—and come down on more screaming soldiers.

Leont gasped… looked down at himself.

He was still holding the arm of the other soldier. Only… that soldier was no longer there.

Just a pulpy mess at the edge of the enormous footprint, its edges still seeming to steam slightly.

Leont dropped to his knees.

He could no longer scream. Could no longer cry.

He simply let go of the arm of his crushed comrade.

In front of him lay twenty soldiers—turned into a single chaotic mass of flesh, bone, fabric, and metal, deeply imprinted in a shape that was clearly the tread of a sandal sole. He could even make out an engraving he thought he had seen somewhere before.

Now that pattern had been pressed into the bodies of dozens of men.

It was a cruel, grotesque sight.

+++

In the makeshift command tent, its canvas flaps still snapping in the wind like restless banners, General La’Sturmhain stood over a crude field map.

Arms crossed, eyes sharp, he surveyed the layout of the encampment like a surgeon before a delicate operation.

“The dancers must be quartered separately,” he growled, tapping the parchment with a calloused finger. “Far enough from the men’s tents. If the troops drink too much and discipline fails… they’ll harass them. That sort of thing won’t be tolerated in my army.”

“But, General—”

The tent flap exploded inward before the sentence could finish. A panting officer stumbled through, soaked in sweat, his gestures frantic, his words failing him.

“What is it now?” La’Sturmhain barked, stepping forward. But the man could only gasp, eyes wide, hand trembling as it pointed outward.

“You… you have to see for yourself!”

With a furrowed brow, the general pulled the flap aside and stepped into the open air.

And what he saw froze his blood.

A towering woman, taller than any siege tower, moved across the battlefield like a divine executor.

Her golden mask shimmered in the sun, unyielding and cruel. Each of her steps crushed swathes of his army—soldiers, horses, weapons—flattened into nothingness beneath her enormous, sandaled feet.

“That… that’s not one of ours,” La’Sturmhain muttered, stunned. “She’s attacking our troops!”

And then he snapped.

“The catapults! Assemble them—NOW! ALL OF THEM!”

Shouts followed. The camp came alive with panic as soldiers rushed to follow the impossible order.

Asabella, the masked colossus, gazed across the ravaged battlefield.

Her massive frame cast long shadows over the chaos she had wrought. Already, more than half—perhaps even eighty percent—of the enemy army was dead. Flattened. Crushed beneath her feet like vermin.

She could hardly believe it herself.

Then came the deep, warbling note of a horn.

She turned.

In the distance, the enemy camp flared with activity. Ants—no, men—ran in every direction, dragging beams, hoisting pulleys, scrambling to erect catapults in a desperate bid to stop her.

“Oh no you don’t,” she murmured, her voice low, tingling with power. Every breath, every movement still felt electric. The strength coursing through her enormous limbs… it was intoxicating.

She pivoted—slowly, deliberately—and began marching toward the camp.

Each step was deliberate. Each stride made the earth shudder. Her breath came hot and heavy, her heart pounded like a drum of war. She no longer felt human. She felt elemental. A walking cataclysm. A true Titaness.

Leont, the young soldier, still lay among the corpses at the edge of the battlefield. Dust clung to his skin. The blood of his comrades stained his armor.

But when he saw her turn away—when he saw the colossal red-haired figure move toward the camp—he felt it.

Hope.

It was now or never!

But where to go?

He looked around. The camp would be flattened soon. There was no going back. Only one option remained: defection.

He pushed himself up, legs trembling, and ran. Toward the enemy town. Toward Zollyngen.

Others saw him. First in confusion… then in understanding. One followed. Then another. Soon, a whole cluster of deserters sprinted after him—hoping for survival, even if it meant betrayal.

Asabella didn’t notice. Not yet.

Her mind was singular. Focused. The catapults had to go first.

The camp now lay before her—a patchwork of tents, wagons, men, and weapons. It looked like a child’s playset from her height. Thousands of tiny figures scattered like frightened bugs. Some aimed crossbows. Others dropped to their knees, begging. None of it mattered.

She raised her foot.

With a simple swing, she crushed the first catapult.

Wood exploded. Iron bent. Men were flung like ragdolls. At least half a dozen soldiers disappeared under her sandal before they even realized they were being stepped on.

She took another step.

Another catapult was flattened. Men vanished beneath her heel, their screams cut short in wet, splintering crunches.

And she didn’t stop.

She moved with a kind of terrifying elegance—her movements fluid, almost regal. Every step she took erased a piece of the camp. Canvas was ripped from its stakes and sent flying like leaves. Supplies, weapons, livestock, men—everything was ground beneath her soles.

The screams grew thinner. Less frequent.

And then she laughed.

It wasn’t laughter from amusement. It was something darker. Something deeper. A laugh of dominance. Of terrible, unshakable superiority. It bordered on madness. And she knew it.

She hadn’t meant to kill so many.

But she knew it was necessary.

And still—she couldn’t help it.

This feeling… this freedom. This immensity. This power.

She felt beyond human… 

But she knew she had to fight back those dark feelings if she wanted to stay sane!

To be continued…