growth A new kind of power source: Part 3

[goremeridian]

A new kind of power source
Part 3

 

Reality itself seemed to shudder with terror as Tim’s mass began to expand. Before, in the cramped space of the basement, I had experienced this from a disappointingly confined point of view. Now, even in the comparative dimness of the street lights, I could watch Tim’s ascension to godhood in all its glory.

 

I had suspected that Tim’s height grew at the same velocity as his mass. Now, however, I could see that his skeletal structure only expanded to be able to contain more and more muscle, and only when each limb was filled to the brim with straining brawn, would his frame expand once again. In essence, his height was taking its orders from his muscle. So it was that, while he had only become a mere four or five metres taller in the last clutch of seconds, Tim’s swollen calves were already smashing through the walls of the houses on either side of the street. Bigger than cars now, the striated beasts, bursting with impossible strength, demolished living rooms, smashing effortlessly through brickwork, even as his thighs, tensed to monster width, crushed in the roofs and chimneys, causing the houses to collapse in on themselves in a deafening cascade of rubble and glass.

 

“SO FUCKING SMALL!” He roared into the night, his twitching balls swinging and taking out another lamp-post, sending it crashing to the ground before me in a shower of sparks. “NEED TO GROW FASTER!”

 

Some sliver of panic registered within my mind that he wasn’t growing quick enough, but there was nothing more I could do. My entire being was devoted to growing Tim. I could barely think for myself now. My hand, slick with cum, was working my cock automatically now; I had no control over myself physically. I think I was gurgling something; a prayer, perhaps, to my new god.

 

Desperate to add as much mass onto his frame in as quick a time as possible, Tim reached down, a mountain of MAN descending through the night. Knuckles bigger than me swept dangerously close on either side. For a moment, Tim’s now train-carriage-sized fingers scraped along the street, smashing cars out of the way in screeches of agonised metal and glass, and ploughing great furrows in the ground. Then his hands crashed down, down through the concrete of the street, the quake nearly throwing me off my feet and blowing out windows and dislodging roof tiles for half a kilometre around. Seconds later, fingers curled around clusters of crumbling, pathetic houses, his hands tore free from the ground.

 

Clutching his impromptu dumb-bells, Tim began curling the debris in each hand, pumping his grotesquely-swelling biceps even further.

 

“MORE!” He yelled. His voice alone could surely be heard for miles. “MUST GET BIGGER!”

 

Furniture and other debris rained down from between his fingers as he curled the staggering weights with a single-minded intensity. Bits of rooftop, whole sections of bedrooms, still with flapping, ragged carpets attached, fireplaces, bicycles, window panes and furniture, endless furniture, slipped down through the night and smashed to splinters and brick dust on the ground below.

 

A chaise-longue that somehow survived the fall bounced for nearly fifty metres down the street, spinning end over end, before colliding with a telegraph pole. Like an animal caught in a trap, its frantic speed only ensured that it got more and more tangled in the telegraph wires until it finally came to stop swinging wildly, energy spent, ten feet up in the air.  

 

I didn’t care about the danger I was in. My only thought was about Tim’s size – and about how much bigger he needed to be. I was determined that all the other growing he had done so far would be pathetic compared to this.

 

Somewhere beyond Tim a plume of fire shot out into the sky, and seconds later the sound of an explosion filled my ears. Almost as though they had been waiting for their cue, a number of other small detonations and flames flared up amid the brickwork skeletons of the ruined buildings up and down the street, filling the scene with flickering red-gold light and casting the apocalyptical landscape about me into ghastly silhouette.

 

Wreathed in smoke and fire, Tim’s physique was magnificent. I couldn’t see his head beyond his mountainous pectorals, and the deep striations between his abdominals were plunged into a darkness more impenetrable that that at the dawn of creation, before God declared, “Let there be light.” But the flesh I could see, straining pitifully against the sheer mass and strength of the impossible muscles growing bigger and bigger beneath its pale surface, was tantalisingly worship-able. Every metre of his skin glinted wetly with sweat in a heat more staggering than that of the surrounding fires: the incomparable heat of muscle growth. His cock, nearly as long now as the ruined street upon which I was trying to keep my footing, and certainly wider, pointed east across Swindon, towards the direction of London.

 

I would happily ride on that thing all of the way there. Hell, soon half of Swindon would be able to ride on that god-cock.

 

I ignored the BOOM of a gas main several streets away. It was merely another trumpet-call to herald the rise of Earth’s muscle god.

 

Out and out he grew, up and up, muscle thickening and swelling, his whole physique filling with more and more super strong mass, his hunger for size only increasing the bigger he became. Rooftops became knee-height, then calf-height, then ankle-height, then toe-height as his hyper-muscled physique ascended heavenwards.

 

How he didn’t pulverise me as those titanic toes stretched out across Swindon I do not know. My body seemed to be running on auto-pilot. At times I would snap briefly away from thoughts of growing my friend to find myself disorientated, in a different street, or in an open square, like I had been sleep-walking, always one step ahead of Tim’s mass. Once I was jolted out of my muscle-growth-lust when my elbow struck a brick wall behind me. I allowed myself a quick glance about; I was in an open area and the ground was filled with stars.

 

No, I shook my head; it was glass. Broken glass, from all the smashed shop windows. And the air was rife with screams, like shrill fireworks.

 

I didn’t see people, as such, just faces, frantic with fear, moving past me quickly.

 

The glass crunched underfoot. Their feet kicked shards of it skittering about.

 

Shooting stars whirling below me.

 

That was all the time I allowed myself. I then turned and – seeing Tim’s titanic, beautiful form looming up over the town, impossible muscles flexing into grotesque hugeness as he pumped them bigger and bigger – forgot about the world around me and threw my thoughts solely into growing him once again. 

 

“HA HA! WHAT DO YOU THINK OF ME NOW, SI?” My god’s voice roared. High above, Tim hit a double biceps pose, muscles bigger than factories thickening more and more massively on his arms. The split in the titanium peak alone would require days of tongue worship, and the muscle was only swelling vaster every second. “THIS AS BIG AS YOUR LITTLE MIND CAN HANDLE? FUCK, I CAN’T EVEN SEE YOU ANY MORE – YOU’RE TOO TINY!”

 

I wanted to reply, to shout something up. I couldn’t see his head – fuck, soon his pectorals would rival the hill upon which Swindon Old Town sat, so insanely huge had they become – so I didn’t know if he was even looking in my direction. But I was shaken with another orgasm and lost the ability to speak.

 

“ME?” He continued. “I’VE GOT A LOT MORE GROWING TO DO. IN FACT, I WANT GROW SO BIG I REDEFINE THE FUCKING WORD. YOU WITH ME?”

 

Far, far, below him, riding out my dozenth orgasm in the last few minutes, I could barely mutter the words, “Fuck yes…I’m gonna grow you HUGE, Tim!”

 

“And that’s exactly why you need to come with us,” said a voice from behind me as a firm grip settled on my shoulder.

*

 

There was something familiar about the big, frowning, uniformed man sat across the desk from me in the yellow-lit bunker, though I couldn’t work out what. I took in his massive form, straining beneath the army fatigues. Noted his grizzled, cleft chin and perma-grimace. His handsome, weathered features. I was sure I remembered him from somewhere.

 

What really nagged at my brain though were the parts I couldn’t remember. Such as my hasty flight to this bunker. Had I been blindfolded? Or drugged? The memory escaped me.

 

My memories of moving from street to street – of actually putting one foot in front of the other to avoid Tim’s swelling mass – were equally absent. It was like my night had been broken up into a series of paragraphs of lucidness, the breaks between them skipping over periods of time.

 

Perhaps I had just been too focused on Tim. Or the colander had messed with my perspective somehow.

 

It looked relatively harmless, sat as it was on the desk between us. You’d never know it was responsible for turning a man into a god.

 

Well, partially responsible, anyway. I surpressed a grin. I suppose I myself had some small part to play. 

 

“You want to explain the connection between yourself and that…that behemoth out there?” The man grunted in deep baritone.

 

“His name’s Tim.” I was going to add, “or you could call him god”, but decided against it. Army man hadn’t hit me yet, but occasionally his hands would clench in a threatening manner and I decided to err on the side of caution.

 

“And you’re growing him? With that?” He gestured at the colander. His voice remained level. His sentences didn’t even go up at the end, like he wasn’t asking questions at all, just grunting statements at me.

 

There was no point in lying. He had obviously heard something, which is what I was doing here in the bunker.

 

I glanced about me. The room was several times bigger than my entire flat. With my memories so fuzzy – or missing – I had no idea whether we were on an army base somewhere or deep underground. Did Swindon even have army bases? Occasionally there was a distant rumble. A giant footstep, perhaps. It was a testament to the architects of the bunker that the place didn’t shake too much, and only a modicum of concrete powder rained down from the ceiling each time.

 

Other than the two of us, there was a young guard standing by the door. I tried to recall what was behind that door, but failed. My memories just seemed to start here, in this room, in this chair.

 

I looked back at my interviewer. His frown was deepening.

 

“Well…we were sort of both growing him. Pooling our insane muscle growth desires. It wasn’t just me.” I began to note the miasma of dried cum radiating from me. If I had been self-conscious earlier on this evening, now I had the justification to be completely mortified. Yet I felt strangely calm.

 

Yes, I stank of ejaculate. Yes, I could tell that the man opposite me could smell it too. But as far as I was concerned, it was an offering to Tim. And there would be a lot more where that came from.

 

The man rubbed his chin. “Well, you’re in a lot of trouble now, son. The freak is pushing nine hundred feet tall, and nearly that in width. Our bullets aren’t able to penetrate his damn skin. And our tanks aren’t having much luck either.” Another rumble gently shook the bunker, as though in response. “We’re trying to scramble the local air force – it looks like we’re going to have to go nuclear on this big bastard.” He leaned closer. “Unless you can help us shrink him somehow.”

 

It was while I was digesting his words that it slowly dawned on me.

 

Something didn’t feel right about this.

 

Tanks? A local air force? In Swindon? That was surely pushing the boundaries of possibility.

 

And yet, at the same time, there was that sense of familiarity. As though I had seen and heard this all before.

 

I realised the officer was expecting a response.

 

“There’s no way I’m going to shrink him. I don’t even think I can, anyway. But I wouldn’t, even if I could. I want what he wants – to grow him endlessly bigger and bigger, no size ever being big enough. Muscles stretching across the world, the galaxy, the universe...”

 

“You’re MAD!” He snapped at me suddenly. “Why on Earth would you want that? Don’t you care about the destruction he has caused? The lives that have been lost?” He snatched up the colander. “Now, you’re going to tell me how to use this thing to reverse the process, or I’ll destroy this bloody machine for good!”

 

It was weird. Even before he had finished one sentence, I knew what the next would be. It was like he was reading from a script I’d already cast an eye over.

 

Which is what prompted me to say, “No." I gave him a calm, level gaze. "No, you won’t.”

 

*

 

He came to his feet in anger, just as a terrific rumble erupted over our heads. It was the biggest one yet. With a cra-a-a-a-ck the concrete of the ceiling split open and the room was flooded with dust.

 

My teeth rattled in my mouth. “You won’t destroy the colander,” I continued through the disorienting din, “because you can’t. I HAVE to wear it, and Tim HAS to become bigger. He’s got so much more growing to do. You’ll see!” The dust swirled into the bunker like a blinding snowstorm, setting the three of us coughing like crazy and ending any chance of further conversation for the next few seconds.

 

Yet even as my lungs and throat stung, this felt…right.

 

In a moment of clarity, I realised why it seemed as though I had been through all of this before.

 

Because I had.

 

Eyes straining through the concrete dust, I snatched the colander from the officer’s grip.

 

“No!” He gasped. “You have to stop!” He was struck by a bout of horrible coughing, but managed in a moment to get the words out, ragged though they sounded coming from a seething sore throat: “You’ll destroy us all!”

 

“I know,” I coughed in reply. “What Tim grows bigger than the Earth, we’ll probably be crushed between his pecs.” I spat out a globule of gritty concrete dust that had settled on my tongue. “Or his abs. Or maybe he’ll use the Earth as a dumb-bell and just rip us from orbit.” I swept my tongue around my teeth, collecting up any stray concrete, and hawked that out after the first globule. “Or he might just squash us between thumb and forefinger.” The fog of dust was beginning to settle, and I could make out the officer’s choking form in the swirling grey before me.

 

He fixed me with a bloodshot eye.

 

I continued, with more confidence: “Your men have failed, the tanks have failed, the nukes will fail. And Tim will become a god – because of this.” I held the colander up. The dust had nearly settled now. The vague shape of the young officer by the door, bent over double and coughing, rifle swinging from his shoulder, could now be made out through the haze.

 

“Because of your stupid muscle growth machine?” The big man before me wheezed.

 

“No.” I ran a finger over the colander, getting a small electric shock for my troubles. “It’s more than that, I see that now.” I couldn’t help letting out a small grin. “I mean, how have I survived Tim’s growth so far? Dumb luck? That’s impossible! I should have been crushed by rubble – or by Tim’s own muscle – a hundred times over. Hell, you or that young officer over by the door should be shooting me with guns even as I speak. After all, I’m about to be responsible for even more death and destruction. But the only time I have been injured was when this thing,” I tapped the metal rim, “was damaged the first time Tim grew, in his basement. You see, when it’s working, it does more than just grow Tim's muscles.”

 

“You want me to shoot you, boy?” The officer spat. He turned and snatched the rifle from the officer by the door. “If you don’t put that thing down I’ll be more than happy to oblige!”

 

But I had the measure of this man.

 

“No you won’t,” I replied calmly, “because you never do. I mean, not once when Tim and I have RPed have I ever been shot by one of the army guys. Or squashed by rubble, or anything.” I shrugged. “You see, I always get crushed towards the end - in the final destruction of the Earth.”

 

He frowned.

 

Though the answer would be well, well beyond him, he asked, for the first time, with a slight, but noticeable, inflection:

 

“RPed?”

[giantworshipper]

I really like the air of inevitability you've given to Tim's ascension. Wait until Tim finds out that he's totally unstoppable!