Mother's Mercy? Your One and Only Chance (Mantis World) chapter 12 by Froakie

Thinking it over, you decide to go to your mother. Her hesitancy could prove that she wouldn't crush you if she knew it was you. The decision costs you precious seconds. The dance floor is a battlefield of slick surfaces and obstacles. Your bare feet slap against the polished wood, each impact sending a jolt of pain through your legs as you navigate a maze of discarded clothing, spilled champagne that makes the floor as treacherous as ice, and the twitching, broken remains of those who came before you.

The scale of the world betrays your effort. As you sprint toward the familiar silhouette of your mother, you fail to notice a massive, discarded cocktail napkin that has become soaked in sticky syrup. Your foot catches on the sodden fabric, sending you sprawling face first across the unforgiving wood. You skid several inches, the sting of floor burn igniting across your chest and palms.

The world around you becomes a nightmare of motion and sound. Above you, the club's bass pulses like the heartbeat of a dying god, each beat making the floorboards shudder beneath your prone body. You scramble to get back up, but your progress is stalled. A shadow looms not your mother's, but something far more predatory.

A pair of colossal, manicured toes, painted a deep, blood red crimson, descends from the sky like twin monuments of flesh. The woman approaching isn't your mother; it's a younger girl, perhaps nineteen or twenty, whose eyes burn with the frantic, hungry energy of a predator who has just spotted movement in the grass. She moves with an aggressive confidence, her hips swaying as she scans the floor for entertainment.

"Oh! Look at that little buggie wiggling!" she giggles, her voice a melodic thunder that drowns out the music. She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't care about mercy. To her, you are a fascinating little insect that just stumbled into her path.

She lifts one foot a massive, warm expanse of soft skin and lethal nails and begins to lower it directly toward your prone form. The air pressure shifts as her sole descends, bringing with it the overwhelming scent of expensive floral perfume mixed with the sharp, salty tang of her skin.

Adrenaline floods your system as the shadow engulfs you. The younger girl a predator whose very existence is a death sentence descends with terrifying speed. But your instincts scream before her flesh makes contact. At the last possible microsecond, you throw yourself sideways with desperate strength.

The impact is catastrophic for everything in your immediate vicinity. Her foot connects with the floor where you lay moments before with the force of a falling building. A thunderous **BOOM** reverberates through your bones as the polished wood cracks slightly under her weight. The sound is a shockwave that tosses your body across the floor like a ragdoll. You tumble through a puddle of spilled gin, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"Awwww! So fast!" the girl shrieks with delighted malice. Her voice drips with the manic excitement of a child who has just seen a bug perform a trick before it dies.

As you roll to a stop, gasping for air, your eyes dart frantically across the strobing landscape, scanning for the familiar silhouette of your mother. Through the haze of laser lights and the chaos of fleeing bodies, you spot her. She is positioned approximately thirty yards away, near the edge of the VIP barrier. She stands taller than most of the other women, her posture rigid and unnatural, her hands gripping the velvet rope with white knuckled intensity. She looks lost, her eyes scanning the carnage with a conflicted horror that makes her seem fragile despite her titanic scale.

The girl who nearly crushed you stands over her prize, oblivious to your escape. She is a vision of lethal, youthful excess. Her skin is tanned to a perfect golden hue, slick with a fine sheen of sweat that catches the strobing neon lights. She wears a microscopic silver halter top that strains against her generous, bouncing breasts, leaving her entire midriff bare and exposed. Her thighs are thick, powerful columns of muscle that ripple with every predatory step, ending in feet that seem engineered for destruction. Her toenails are filed into lethal points and painted a glossy, wet looking crimson that mirrors the blood spattered across the floor. Her hair is a wild mane of platinum blonde curls that bounce hypnotically as she giggles, her lips painted a dark, pouty mauve. She looks less like a club goer and more like a goddess of ruin.

"Come back here, little buggie! Don't be shy!" she calls out, already lifting her other foot to begin another hunt.

The chaos around you intensifies. As she begins her next stride, several other tinies men who have been running blindly find themselves directly in her path. One man, his eyes wide with madness, attempts to dive under the curve of her arch. You watch in horror as her crimson nail catches him mid leap. There is no scream, only a wet, muffled **SQUELCH** as his body is instantly absorbed into the soft flesh of her sole, leaving behind nothing but a tiny, crimson smear between her toes. Another tiny attempts to climb the leather strap of her sandal, but her movement sends him flying into the air like a speck of dust, destined to be crushed by the next passing heel.

The girl's laughter rings out over the bass, a sound of pure, unearned joy as she prepares to close the distance between her and your retreating form.

Your mind races through the kaleidoscopic nightmare of the dance floor. The strobing lights create false shadows that play tricks on your eyes, but your enhanced perception allows you to map the terrain with desperate clarity. You realize that running blindly across the open floor is suicide; you are nothing more than a pebble to be kicked aside by the passing tidal wave of heels. The best course of action is to stick to the 'seams' the narrow passages between the slow moving clusters of women, where the floor remains momentarily clear before the next seismic footfall arrives. You identify a path that snakes between the legs of two towering women engaged in conversation, using their massive, pillar like calves as temporary shields against the more predatory hunters.

The opportunity presents itself as the blonde predator's attention wavers. A chorus of shrieks erupts several yards behind you a group of tinies has stumbled into a circle of giggling girls near the bar. The blonde girl whirls around, her hips swiveling with deadly grace as she pivots toward the new entertainment. "Oh my god, girls, look at them go!" she squeals, her interest completely abandoned. Her massive, crimson tipped toes pivot on the hardwood with a grinding sound that sends vibrations through your very teeth, leaving you momentarily unguarded.

Seizing the moment, you dive into the shadows. You navigate through the forest of ankles and towering stilettos, your heart hammering against your ribs as you weave through the chaos. The air is thick with the overwhelming sensory overload of the club: the cloying sweetness of spilled cocktails, the sharp musk of sweat slicked skin, and the thunderous, bone rattling bass that makes every step feel like an earthquake.

As you near the perimeter where your mother stands, the scale of her power becomes terrifyingly apparent. Up close, she isn't just a woman; she is a landscape of soft flesh and lethal intent. You glimpse her from below as she shifts her weight. Her thighs are like smooth, warm mountains of pale silk, each muscle twitching with restrained energy.

Then, you witness her 'mercy.'

A small cluster of tinies three men who seem to have lost all sense of direction scramble across the wood directly toward her position. They are terrified, their screams lost in the music, their legs pumping in a futile bid for survival. Your mother notices them. Her expression softens, a pained, almost mournful look crossing her features. "Oh... oh dear, you poor things," she murmurs, her voice a gentle rumble that vibrates through the floorboards.

But she doesn't stop. Her resolve has hardened. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispers.

One of the men trips, falling directly beneath the arch of her left foot. Your mother's foot descends. It isn't a violent stomp, but a slow, deliberate pressure, as if she is trying to comfort them even as she kills them. You watch in frozen horror as her soft sole envelops the screaming man. There is no sound of breaking bones, only a wet, muffled **THWIP SQUISH** as his body is pressed flat against the polished wood. The pressure sends his fluids spraying outward in a tiny, grotesque starburst. She holds the pressure for three seconds, her face twisted in a mask of tragic sympathy, before lifting her foot to reveal nothing but a thin, pinkish red smear on the floor.

The other two men freeze, their eyes locked on the crimson stain that was once their companion. They turn to flee, but your mother's right foot is already moving. "Don't run, please don't run," she coos, her voice thick with guilt as she brings her heel down in a swift, almost compassionate sweep. A wet **CRUNCH** echoes as she catches them both in a single motion, her foot grinding slightly as she exhales a shaky breath. "There now... it's over."

She stands there, breathing heavily, looking down at the two fresh stains on the floor with genuine regret, unaware that her own flesh and blood is watching from inches away, hidden in the darkness of the crowd. You have reached her position, but you are now standing in the shadow of a goddess who has just proven that even her mercy is absolute annihilation.