Growth spurt
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 15
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Verosika stirred in the massive custom-reinforced bed, satin sheets tangled around her colossal thighs like tissue paper. She stretched—long, languid, wickedly indulgent—arms rising overhead until her knuckles brushed the high ceiling beams. A deep, throaty yawn escaped her, ending in a low, satisfied purr that vibrated through the warehouse walls. Another glorious day of being infinitely superior to every pathetic creature crawling the planet.
Something felt… off.
She cracked one eye open. The room looked normal—pink marble, velvet drapes, crystal chandelier glinting in morning light. But everything was tiny. The nightstand was dollhouse-sized. The armchair looked like patio furniture. Her own feet hung off the end of the bed, calves dangling over the edge, and half her torso—breasts like overinflated beach balls, abs like cobblestone paving—jutted out into open air.
It took several luxurious seconds for the realization to sink in.
Verosika sat up slowly. The bed groaned and splintered beneath her weight; wooden slats cracked like matchsticks. She looked down.
Ten feet tall. Maybe eleven. Cartoonishly, obscenely muscular—every muscle group hypertrophied to comic-book extremes yet somehow more feminine, more sensual than ever. Shoulders wider than doorframes, traps swallowing her neck, deltoids like cannonballs, biceps that peaked higher than her own ears when relaxed. Her breasts had ballooned into gravity-defying spheres the size of medicine balls, nipples thick and dark, areolas stretched taut. Abs carved so deeply they looked like armored plating. Thighs thicker than most men’s waists, yet still impossibly long and shapely, leading to calves that could crush concrete. Her platinum-pink hair now cascaded past her ass and pooled on the floor like a silken waterfall. Golden-orange skin glowed with supernatural perfection—no pores, no flaws, just radiant, sweat-kissed bronze stretched over impossible muscle.
A slow, wicked, triumphant laugh bubbled out of her—deep, resonant, echoing off the rafters.
“Oh my god,” she purred, voice richer, sultrier, dripping with unbearable snobbery, “I’m even more perfect.”
She raised one arm and flexed. The bicep erupted into a mountain range—veins like garden hoses snaking across the surface, peak splitting into twin heads so pronounced they cast shadows on her forearm. She turned her wrist, admiring the way the triceps horseshoe bulged, then squeezed harder until the muscle trembled with power. Another laugh—sharper, crueler.
“Darlings, look at me. I’m a fucking monument.”
The bed finally gave up—frame buckling, mattress sagging—as she swung her legs over the side. The floorboards creaked ominously under her weight. She stood—head nearly brushing the chandelier—and stretched again, lats flaring wide enough to block out half the room’s light. Sweat from the night’s lingering heat trickled between breasts the size of basketballs, ran in rivulets down abs deep enough to lose fingers in, dripped from the V of her hips.
The double doors burst open.
Lute strode in first—clipped military steps—followed by Loona, who froze mid-stride like she’d been electrocuted.
Both women stared up—way up—at the naked, towering goddess looming before them.
Verosika planted hands on hips, breasts thrusting forward, nipples hard as bullets. She tilted her head, looking down her nose at them with the kind of smug disdain usually reserved for insects.
“Well?” she drawled, voice syrupy with condescension. “Good morning, peasants. Like the upgrade?”
Lute’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Ma’am… what… happened?”
Verosika blinked slowly, feigning innocence so blatantly it was an insult. “Happened? Darling, nothing happened. I simply woke up more perfect than yesterday. Which, frankly, should be impossible—but here we are.” She flexed one pec; the breast bounced heavily, then settled, defying gravity. “Honestly, Lute, keep up.”
Loona’s knees buckled. A low, broken whine escaped her throat. Her eyes were glassy with worship; nipples diamond-hard through her crop top, thighs slick already. She dropped to one knee without being told.
Verosika laughed—cruel, delighted. “Aww, look at my little Mutt. Already leaking for her goddess.” She sauntered forward—each step shaking the floor slightly—towering over Loona like a skyscraper over a doghouse. “Who’s my good puppy? Hmm? Who’s going to worship every inch of this divine body?”
Loona whimpered, nodding frantically, crawling closer until her face pressed against Verosika’s massive calf. She kissed it reverently, tongue tracing a vein, moaning like she was tasting heaven.
Lute cleared her throat, voice cracking. “Ma’am, this is… unprecedented. We need Odette. Immediately.”
Verosika rolled her eyes—dramatic, theatrical. “Fine. Fetch the lab rat if it’ll stop your yapping. But hurry. I’m already bored of your tiny problems.”
Lute bolted.
Verosika crouched—still towering over Loona even on one knee—and scooped the bodybuilder bodyguard up like she weighed nothing. Cradled her against one massive breast, Loona’s head nestling between them like a kitten. Verosika stroked her silver hair with long crimson talons, cooing in the most patronizing baby-talk imaginable.
“Who’s my widdle attack doggy? Hmm? Who’s the cutest little murder-puppy in the whole wide world? Yes you are! Yes you aaaare~”
Loona melted. A high, needy whine escaped her; her hips bucked involuntarily. She came untouched—thick release soaking her shorts—then buried her face deeper between Verosika’s breasts, making soft puppy yips and whimpers of pure bliss.
Verosika laughed again—low, smug, victorious. “That’s right. Worship your goddess. You always knew I was divine. Now the whole world will see it too.”
The doors opened once more. Lute returned, Odette in tow.
Odette stopped dead. Clipboard slipped from numb fingers. Glasses slid down her nose.
Verosika straightened to her full height—eleven feet of cartoonish, sensual, hypertrophied perfection—and smiled down at them, unbearably smug.
“Well?” she purred. “Speak, peasants. Your deity is waiting.”
What happens next?
1. Odette performs a series of tests on Verosika and discovers that she has suddenly grown.
2. Odette performs a series of tests on Verosika but cannot understand what caused her to suddenly grow.
Something felt… off.
She cracked one eye open. The room looked normal—pink marble, velvet drapes, crystal chandelier glinting in morning light. But everything was tiny. The nightstand was dollhouse-sized. The armchair looked like patio furniture. Her own feet hung off the end of the bed, calves dangling over the edge, and half her torso—breasts like overinflated beach balls, abs like cobblestone paving—jutted out into open air.
It took several luxurious seconds for the realization to sink in.
Verosika sat up slowly. The bed groaned and splintered beneath her weight; wooden slats cracked like matchsticks. She looked down.
Ten feet tall. Maybe eleven. Cartoonishly, obscenely muscular—every muscle group hypertrophied to comic-book extremes yet somehow more feminine, more sensual than ever. Shoulders wider than doorframes, traps swallowing her neck, deltoids like cannonballs, biceps that peaked higher than her own ears when relaxed. Her breasts had ballooned into gravity-defying spheres the size of medicine balls, nipples thick and dark, areolas stretched taut. Abs carved so deeply they looked like armored plating. Thighs thicker than most men’s waists, yet still impossibly long and shapely, leading to calves that could crush concrete. Her platinum-pink hair now cascaded past her ass and pooled on the floor like a silken waterfall. Golden-orange skin glowed with supernatural perfection—no pores, no flaws, just radiant, sweat-kissed bronze stretched over impossible muscle.
A slow, wicked, triumphant laugh bubbled out of her—deep, resonant, echoing off the rafters.
“Oh my god,” she purred, voice richer, sultrier, dripping with unbearable snobbery, “I’m even more perfect.”
She raised one arm and flexed. The bicep erupted into a mountain range—veins like garden hoses snaking across the surface, peak splitting into twin heads so pronounced they cast shadows on her forearm. She turned her wrist, admiring the way the triceps horseshoe bulged, then squeezed harder until the muscle trembled with power. Another laugh—sharper, crueler.
“Darlings, look at me. I’m a fucking monument.”
The bed finally gave up—frame buckling, mattress sagging—as she swung her legs over the side. The floorboards creaked ominously under her weight. She stood—head nearly brushing the chandelier—and stretched again, lats flaring wide enough to block out half the room’s light. Sweat from the night’s lingering heat trickled between breasts the size of basketballs, ran in rivulets down abs deep enough to lose fingers in, dripped from the V of her hips.
The double doors burst open.
Lute strode in first—clipped military steps—followed by Loona, who froze mid-stride like she’d been electrocuted.
Both women stared up—way up—at the naked, towering goddess looming before them.
Verosika planted hands on hips, breasts thrusting forward, nipples hard as bullets. She tilted her head, looking down her nose at them with the kind of smug disdain usually reserved for insects.
“Well?” she drawled, voice syrupy with condescension. “Good morning, peasants. Like the upgrade?”
Lute’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Ma’am… what… happened?”
Verosika blinked slowly, feigning innocence so blatantly it was an insult. “Happened? Darling, nothing happened. I simply woke up more perfect than yesterday. Which, frankly, should be impossible—but here we are.” She flexed one pec; the breast bounced heavily, then settled, defying gravity. “Honestly, Lute, keep up.”
Loona’s knees buckled. A low, broken whine escaped her throat. Her eyes were glassy with worship; nipples diamond-hard through her crop top, thighs slick already. She dropped to one knee without being told.
Verosika laughed—cruel, delighted. “Aww, look at my little Mutt. Already leaking for her goddess.” She sauntered forward—each step shaking the floor slightly—towering over Loona like a skyscraper over a doghouse. “Who’s my good puppy? Hmm? Who’s going to worship every inch of this divine body?”
Loona whimpered, nodding frantically, crawling closer until her face pressed against Verosika’s massive calf. She kissed it reverently, tongue tracing a vein, moaning like she was tasting heaven.
Lute cleared her throat, voice cracking. “Ma’am, this is… unprecedented. We need Odette. Immediately.”
Verosika rolled her eyes—dramatic, theatrical. “Fine. Fetch the lab rat if it’ll stop your yapping. But hurry. I’m already bored of your tiny problems.”
Lute bolted.
Verosika crouched—still towering over Loona even on one knee—and scooped the bodybuilder bodyguard up like she weighed nothing. Cradled her against one massive breast, Loona’s head nestling between them like a kitten. Verosika stroked her silver hair with long crimson talons, cooing in the most patronizing baby-talk imaginable.
“Who’s my widdle attack doggy? Hmm? Who’s the cutest little murder-puppy in the whole wide world? Yes you are! Yes you aaaare~”
Loona melted. A high, needy whine escaped her; her hips bucked involuntarily. She came untouched—thick release soaking her shorts—then buried her face deeper between Verosika’s breasts, making soft puppy yips and whimpers of pure bliss.
Verosika laughed again—low, smug, victorious. “That’s right. Worship your goddess. You always knew I was divine. Now the whole world will see it too.”
The doors opened once more. Lute returned, Odette in tow.
Odette stopped dead. Clipboard slipped from numb fingers. Glasses slid down her nose.
Verosika straightened to her full height—eleven feet of cartoonish, sensual, hypertrophied perfection—and smiled down at them, unbearably smug.
“Well?” she purred. “Speak, peasants. Your deity is waiting.”
What happens next?
1. Odette performs a series of tests on Verosika and discovers that she has suddenly grown.
2. Odette performs a series of tests on Verosika but cannot understand what caused her to suddenly grow.
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June 13
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