Chapter 9: Deception
The sirens were closer now, a pulsing wall of sound wrapping around the building. In the bathroom, Lia’s silent sobs had hardened into a simmering resolve. She could hear them talking out there, their whispers like poison darts through the broken door.
“She just… changed, Lee,” Yeji was saying, her voice a masterpiece of shaky trauma. “It was so fast. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe. The cops are almost here.”
Lia pushed herself up from the cracked tiles. The giantess in the mirror was a mess—face streaked with green-tinged tears, powerful body trembling not with might, but with helpless fury. This is what she wanted, Lia thought. To be the victim. To make me the monster.
A cold clarity washed over her. If she was already the monster in this story, perhaps she should play the part.
She shoved the remnants of the door aside and stepped back into the living room. Lewis and Yeji were by the front door, half-dressed, ready to flee. They froze at the sight of her.
“Stay back, Lia!” Lewis brandished a stupid, small umbrella like a sword.
Lia ignored him. Her glowing eyes locked onto Yeji. “You like performing?” Lia’s voice was a low, dangerous grind. “Let’s give them a real show.”
She crossed the room in two strides. Lewis swung the umbrella; it snapped against her bicep like a twig. She brushed him aside with a backhand that was careful in its force—enough to send him sprawling into the kitchenette, not enough to break bones. He hit the floor with a grunt, dishes rattling in the cabinets.
Yeji tried to run. Lia’s hand, big and impossibly fast, closed around Yeji’s forearm, yanking her back. Yeji squealed, a genuine note of surprise beneath the act.
“You wanted power?” Lia hissed, pulling Yeji close. The scent of her, of Lewis, was infuriating. “You wanted to take everything? Let’s see you take this.”
With her other hand, she hooked a finger into the waistband of Yeji’s discarded pants, which she’d hurriedly pulled on, and tore them away. Yeji gasped, struggling in her grip. “Lee! Help me!”
Lewis was struggling to his feet, dazed. “Get off her!”
Lia forced Yeji to her knees on the carpet. She applied pressure to the back of Yeji’s neck, not asking, not requesting. Dominating. “You made your point,” Lia growled. “Now taste your victory.”
The intimacy of it was violent, a perverse inversion of everything that had happened on the couch. It was not about pleasure. It was about ownership, about contamination, about forcing Yeji to acknowledge the raw, brutal power she claimed to fear. Lia’s body trembled, not with passion, but with a rage so deep it had forged a terrible, unwanted arousal. Every stroke of Yeji’s resistant tongue was a rebellion, a punishment, a claim staked in flesh.
Lewis was yelling, scrambling, throwing a textbook that bounced off Lia’s shoulder. His words were white noise. Lia’s world had narrowed to the heat building against her will, to the confusing cocktail of fury and shame and a dark, gathering release. Her moan, when it broke through her clenched teeth, was one of anguished triumph.
It crested, a wave of violent sensation that made her dig her fingers into Yeji’s scalp. She held Yeji there, forcing her to consume every last shuddering pulse.
When she finally released her, shoving her away, Yeji collapsed onto the carpet, coughing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes were wide, truly shocked for the first time. Then they flickered. A faint, cellular light pulsed deep within the brown.
“What…” Yeji stammered, looking at her own hands. “What did you do to me?”
A genuine tremor shook her voice. The green light in her eyes grew, no longer a phantom smirk but a rising tide of panic. “It burns. Lia, what did you do?” She began to convulse, curling inward on the floor.
“Stop lying!” Lia roared, her voice cracking. “You’ve done this before!”
But Yeji’s performance was ascending to new heights. Her back arched. A scream tore from her throat, raw and piercing. Her bones began to crackle, a sickening series of pops that made Lewis cry out in horror.
“Yeji! No!”
It was a brutal, messy transformation. It looked painful. Sinews stretched. Skin flushed, then darkened to a bruised, mossy green. She grew, but it seemed uncontrolled—awkward, lurching, her limbs lengthening at jagged angles until she matched Lia’s height. Her form was powerful, but less sculpted, wilder. Her hair turned a streaked emerald, and when she opened her eyes, they shone with a feral, brilliant light. She looked down at her own new hands, her expression one of perfect, horrified wonder.
“What… what am I?” Her new voice was a husky alto, layered with fake confusion.
Lewis stared, jaw slack, from his crumpled position by the fridge. His gaze moved from the weeping, ‘new’ green woman to Lia, the glowering, original giantess. The narrative crystallized in his mind, perfect and unshakeable.
“You did this,” he whispered to Lia, his voice thick with betrayal. “You infected her.”
Yeji—now a she-hulk in her own right—turned her glowing eyes on Lia. The fear was gone, replaced by a blazing, fraudulent righteousness. “You monster,” she snarled, and it was so convincing. “You did this to me!”
She launched herself at Lia.
The impact sent them crashing through the coffee table. Yeji’s fists were clumsy, wild, selling the story of a novice. But her strength was real. They grappled, a tangle of emerald limbs and tearing fabric, rolling across the ruined living room. Yeji’s blows were meant to look savage, but Lia felt the calculation in them, the precision of someone holding back.
“He’s mine now,” Yeji grunted into Lia’s ear, her breath hot, as they struggled. “You’re just the crazy ex. The villain.”
Lia slammed a fist into Yeji’s ribs, hearing a satisfying oof. “You deceitful bitch!”
Their fight was a chaotic, destructive ballet. A bookshelf splintered. The TV screen imploded. Through it all, Lewis watched, mesmerized and broken, believing every second of Yeji’s damsel-in-distress-turned-avenger act.
Yeji gained the upper hand, pinning Lia to the floor. She leaned close, her body pressing down, and for a horrifying moment, the violence twisted. Yeji’s movements slowed. Her hips ground against Lia’s. The struggle morphed into something else—a cruel, possessive mimicry of sex, a display for their audience of one.
“See how strong you made me?” Yeji whispered, her voice a parody of a lover’s sigh. She was everywhere, her new strength inescapable, her performance a cage. Lia thrashed, but Yeji’s grip was like steel.
“Get off me!” Lia screamed, her voice raw.
“Or what?” Yeji purred, loud enough for Lewis to hear. “You’ll hurt me again? You’ve done enough.”
Then, the deafening knock at the door. “Police! Open up!”
The moment shattered. Yeji’s predatory smirk vanished, replaced in an instant by a look of vulnerable relief. She rolled off Lia, scrambling toward the sound of authority, toward Lewis, shrinking her posture to seem smaller, newer, more afraid.
Lia lay on the wrecked floor, surrounded by the ruins of her home and her life. She saw Lewis wrap a protective arm around the trembling green woman who had just violated her. She saw the door splinter open.
She saw the stunned faces of the officers, their guns drawn, taking in the scene: two giant green women, one cowering and ‘rescued,’ the other prone and furious amidst the destruction.
The story was written. Lia was the author of all this chaos. Yeji was its beautiful, tragic victim.
One officer, his weapon trained squarely on Lia’s chest, shouted the only line that could possibly follow.
“Nobody move!”