The sky cracked.
Not from thunder. Not from war.
From her.
She rose from the sea like the birth of a new continent—curves coated in a sheen of glistening saltwater, black hair plastered to her impossible form.
A single step caused a tidal shift; her foot crashed into the coastline, flattening homes like they were made of sugar. People screamed. Ran. Prayed. Died.
But she did not come for the many.
She came for him.
Milo stood frozen amid the chaos. Sirens howled. Helicopters circled, too afraid to get close. The woman — no, the goddess — towered hundreds of stories tall, body rippling with impossible muscle and softness in equal measure.
Her skin was flushed, like her blood ran hot with hunger. Her eyes locked onto Milo, and she smiled with a calmness that unsettled something primal in him.
Below her navel, where anatomy should have yielded only curves, there hung something else entirely — a throbbing, living appendage unlike anything human.
Thick, dark, and gleaming wet, it pulsed with a mind of its own. Behind it, beneath it, between thighs wide enough to crush mountains, something opened.
A heat radiated from her. A scent — fertile, invasive, laced with honey and death. She knelt, hands like cranes tearing into the Earth, scooping him up gently.
“You were made for me,” her voice echoed through the clouds, soft and layered with thunder. “I’ve waited long enough.”
He tried to scream as she lowered him between her legs. Flesh yawned open for him—thick, wet walls, ribbed and twitching with anticipation.