Revy had what she thought was a simple job. Take out the maid who caused all that chaos in Roanapur. Some people believed that things had ended amicably after that incident, but there were others who simply couldn’t let go of their grudges, and took their time preparing an enticing bounty to hunt her down.
Revy led a pack of ragtag mercenaries through the shadowed corridors. A dozen hardcases trailed her: grizzled ex-soldiers, trigger-happy thugs from Roanapur’s underbelly, all lured by the fat bounty on Roberta, the Lovelace family’s infamous “Bloodhound” maid. Dutch told her to pass on the job, it was too messy, too personal… But truthfully Revy still had a bit of a bone to pick with her.
“Corner her in the study.” Revy growled, kicking open the ornate door. The room was a relic of old money, polished oak shelves lined with leather-bound books, and in the center, Roberta herself, poised like a statue in her crisp maid uniform, glasses perched on her nose, hands folded demurely. No weapons visible, but Revy knew better; the woman’s eyes burned with that unhinged fire.
The Mercenaries fanned out, weapons trained on her. Revy sauntered forward, pistols cocked, a feral grin splitting her face.
“Well, well, if it ain’t the psycho maid… Still playing house while you got a big price on your head? Revy laughed, circling slowly. “Gonna beg for mercy? Or should I just put a bullet between those creepy glasses?”
The mercs chuckled, fingers twitching on triggers. Roberta didn’t flinch; her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Such bravado from insects,” she murmured, voice calm as a confessional.
Before Revy could retort, A pulse of something rolled through the room like an unseen wave. The mercenaries staggered. Revy’s cigarette fell from her mouth. The world lurched violently as it happened.
Revy’s watched as the study ballooned into an infinite cathedral. the wooden floor stretched like endless brown plains. The Mercenaries dwindled alongside her, their shouts thinning to mosquito whines.
A couple of them were able to shoot out a single shot or two, before their weaponry became useless. The only evidence of their attempt being a couple of ejected shell casings that hadn’t shrunk with them.
In seconds, they were specks, no larger than grains of dust, scattered across the vast expanse of floor that now felt like a cracked desert underfoot.
From Revy’s perspective, Roberta was apocalypse incarnate: a colossal figure eclipsing the heavens, her maid skirt a billowing black canopy, stockings rising like sheer obsidian pillars, boots polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the tiny group’s horrified faces back at them. The size difference was unreal, each grove of her boots alone dwarfed a city block, it’s leather threads weaving canyons deep enough to swallow armies.
The air down here was thicker, warmer, carrying the amplified scents of the mansion: aged wood polish, faint lavender from her uniform, and the deeper, intimate musk of her skin after a day of “duties”.
“What the shit?!” Revy yelled, her voice a pathetic peep. The Mercenaries panicked, firing wildly. bullets arcing upward like feeble fireworks, pattering harmlessly against the unyielding sole of Roberta’s boot, not even scuffing the leather. Sparks fizzled out in the dust, the shots as effective as rain on a mountain.
Roberta’s gaze drifted downward, unsurprised, as if this had all gone according to plan. She’d anticipated intruders; and prepared a very special trap for dealing with “pests.”
“Time to clean up~” she said softly, voice booming like distant artillery, each syllable displacing air in gusts that bowled the Tinies over.
Her boot lifted, slow, and deliberate; a shadow engulfing them like an eclipse. From below, it was a leviathan: the sole a vast, textured landscape of black leather grooves worn from countless chases, embedded grit from jungle paths like embedded boulders. The air rushed upward in its wake, carrying the heady, feminine musk of confined feet: salty sweat, faint vinegar from hours in boots, the deeper leather and skin musk that invaded lungs like fog.
Revy dove, but the mercs weren’t so lucky. The boot slammed down, a cataclysmic *THUD* that compressed air into shockwaves, pulverizing bodies in an instant. Bones shattered like glass under immense pressure, organs bursting in wet squelches, blood spraying in microscopic arcs that painted the grooves red. They didn’t stand a chance; one stomp erased them all, smears blending into the boot’s treads amid falling dust motes that swirled like apocalyptic ash.
All except Revy…
By sheer luck, she’d tumbled into a crevice between the boot’s threads a canyon of leather that was wide enough for her speck form. The heat suffocating as Roberta’s sole molded around the intrusion. She tasted dust and blood, the musk overwhelming, but she lived, trapped in the filthy groove as the boot lifted again.
Roberta didn’t bother checking; why would she? Pests were pests. She turned on her heel, each step a seismic quake that dislodged more dust and viscera from the treads, raining down like fallout. The mangled remains of the Mercenaries crushed limbs and smeared torsos, tumbled free, scattering across the marble in red-streaked debris clouds that billowed around Revy’s pinned form.
Revy gasped, coughing up grit, staring at the carnage: flattened bodies unrecognizable, blood pooling in microscopic lakes amid the settling dust. The air was thick with the coppery reek of death and the lingering warmth of Roberta’s boot-print, a vast imprint etched into the floor like a divine judgment.
Roberta walked away, her strides fading into distant booms, leaving Revy alone in the wreckage, alive, but utterly insignificant…
Timelapse available for 2nd tier subs
