Rest was due to both of them. Andy slept on the floorboards by a crackling hearth, and Leveesa in a small room behind the bar. At dusk, they made down the cliff upon which the inn was perched, then descended down a slope where there was still gloom and cricketing. A temple whose monks worshiped a biped dragon demigod lay a couple hours north—for your normal pedestrian, though neither Leveesa nor the giant vulpine moved at a normal pace—and Leveesa was to take him there.

Take him she did, but he brought no pack nor items with him. Forgotten was the Occult Figurine. Now that he was a monster, he could undergo orgasmic growth spurts without any silly dependency upon the old relic.

Conifer trees of elephantine trunks stood taller than any watchtowers, spreading aged verdant fingers across the forest floor. The two of them crossed it, Andy crossing ground quickly with his enormous scale, Leveesa matching his gait with a speed as fine as her balletic grace. Mist added to the dark obscurity of the early morning, and so the two of them almost slipped a couple of times when they were climbing and skipping across the wet and slippery roots whose moss covered them like fleece carpeting. The travellers' soles and claws helped them stick their landings. No purchase with their feet could have helped them fight on such tangled ground, though.

A snarl broke the silence, paired with the footsteps of a quadruped. The largeness of these sounds said to Andy that a monster even greater than him had tracked them.

"Hmph, and we've only crossed a few miles," Leveesa said, balancing on a fallen branch a few feet above a small trickling stream, leering around. "In the blood of the local monsters flows the blood of the demigod Magismillian. It is said that Magismillian was forgotten, except by the most devout followers, because the routes to his temple are reached by only one in five travellers, for his feral descendants are always hungering, just like their father."

She spoke to see if the lore would chill Andy, but the werefox did naught but lick his lips. He feared no monster⁠. On the contrary, he would welcome one to jump from the shadows, to test his strength, to become subject to his own damned hunger.

They continued crossing the tree roots, their ears twitching guardedly. Suddenly, Andy heard the snapping of a branch. A weight launched through the air: He could feel its swift heaviness, the same way one can feel a lump go down their throat. Through the murk of morning fog, he saw for a blink of time a feral face enlarge⁠—that of a predatory cat. Sabertooth fangs gleamed. Its fur—no, its scales—scintillated with all the blues and greens and purples of nebulae, the hues subtly changing as light hit them in different places.

Andy swatted the scaly shadowcat out of its pounce⁠—leaped after it into the muck, wrangled it down. He fastened around its throat a death grip. He lay hunched over this elephantine beast⁠—over 12' tall⁠—choking it out, feeling his dopamine rush as he realized its size compared with the size of the innkeep; as he realized it was huge, but he was even huger.

"Yes ... YES."

Andy flipped the cat onto its belly, forced it onto its hindquarters in place, then drove his cock into it, blushing, groaning with degeneracy. His morning wood swelled in the feral feline's arse as he backed against the upraised roots of a tree, yanking the creature into his groin. The primal force of his blissful growls trembled the forest floor, the shuddering ground enough to shake needles from the canopy and hurl Leveesa from a root onto her rump. He steadied his pace, slicking the innards of the beast until he suddenly he blew a load whose volume surpassed the amount of fluids in all the ale reserves of Reverent Rook.

The shadowcat—the fearsome focal point of tales oft told in Reverent Rook by Leveesa herself, of adventurous souls being wiped from their bodies by its claws and/or mercilessly eaten—now cried out as it writhed like one of its kind after having fallen into ocean waters. It dragged hook-shaped talons through the muck, tried virulently to flee. Squelches resounded as the cat of seeming dragon size became laughably a cat of seeming tiger size, for Andy grew with all the zest of a dark mage who has obtained some precious relic to enrich their dark powers. Knotted muscles burgeoned out of his back. He dwarfed one-storey buildings in height. Like a balloon the cat's belly swelled pregnantly with the splooge of the cumming werefox. His foot-paws grew goliath, could have made monster feet look like baby feet! Now the vulpine clodhoppers could smash anvils into compressed sheets of metal with their bare soles.

In a handful of minutes, Andy grew from 14' tall to 25' tall—from 25' tall to 36' tall. First, big enough to empty all of the kegs in Leveesa's tavern in one sitting ... then, big enough to have to crouch a little to look into a two-storey building ... now, big enough to make this dread of urban legend look like no more than a bawling kitten. He laughed as the sound of fleshy ropes being tightened came with the bulging and swelling of his trapezius muscles, abs and quadriceps, the lush fur of his groin spilling out to drape the beast's hinds. He spewed the last of his load and shaped the paunch of the cat-slit into a great, gravid ovoid of sloshing seed. He had emptied into the pathetic feline more balls-batter than the relatively barren male monster could hope to produce in its lifetime.

He dismounted, then lifted the cat by the gullet and hurled it into a conifer. CRACKKK, groaned the softwood. The shadowcat slumped over its gnarled roots, defeated. Andy flexed his paws, awed by the strength he could call now his own. He regarded his striated biceps similarly. Not a match for me, he thought, his body restless, his exhales coming in great, quickening snorts. Who is worthy of challenging me? He fell onto all fours and rode over the battlefield of roots, forgetting about moving at a pace the innkeep could match.

Rearing its curved tiled, multi-tiered roofs of crimson over the conifer canvas, the temple of Magismillian stood only about a hundred yards away in a major circular grove (or clearing) encircled by groomed hedges and cherry blossoms. Andy was dashing on a well-kempt dirt path towards the double doored entrance when four pairs of magenta eyes appeared on the edges of the grove, amongst the conifers. Two monsters stalked towards Andy, one of them a three-headed hydra and the other a bluegreen-scaled jackal with a gold-plated juggernaut forechest, tufts of shaggy white fur coursing down the nape of its neck, like that of some great tundra bear.

Each measuring about 30' tall, both of them trampled hedges and bulldozed grand cherry blossom branches to the previously unblemished lawn to intercept him. While they might have intimidated Andy before his most recent growth spurt, these mythical beasts now appeared dollish and laughable in size.

The hydra inhaled to breathe its elemental breath. Andy loped forward, wrung one of its throats down and buried one of its heads and one of its necks deep in the ground, as casually as a teacher might take a mischievous student aside for time out. With apex speed, he repeated the maneuver with the other heads and necks. The great verdant quadruped snake convulsed in the earth, suffocating, unable to unearth its heads, what with how deeply Andy had rooted them.

The juggernaut jackal bounded towards Andy. It reared to attack with its foreclaws, but Andy caught them and outmatched its leg strength with the strength of his own biceps and forearms. He hurled it onto its back, pounced, then grinded his cock against the belly of the creature. Quickly the groinal stimulation bothered his body and mind into throes of pre-orgasm ecstasy. He blew profusely. Seed blanketed the juggernaut jackal, and his musk claimed the entire temple grounds, the sticky carpet of his seed (sprawling to cover more surface area than the average flower bed) defiling the beauty of the peach blossom detritus.

Rubbing his tapered shaft against the plated forechest of the creature evoked a sublime feeling of pleasure which carried him all the way from 36' tall to 48' tall. New juggernaut bulk ripped over his shaggy-furred frame, corded his forearms, glutes and back. His shoulders grew to span nearly as broad as those of the strapped jackal. Ahh, and his erect cock throbbed between his pecs and flowed with a bounteous offering of pre. How good it felt to wear and flex the figure of a premature colossus, to have foot-paws that could flatten heroes and monsters alike: paws that could mark the earth with some macro legacy! And he had not even experienced the sort of orgasm a demigod could give him yet, let alone a god!

He watched the hydra quit moving, watched the earth finish its suffocation. He thought of taking its heads as prize ... Now that the hydra had perished, they wouldn't grow back—so the tales went. But the notion of taking a price seemed earthly to Andy, beneath him compared with the power and size he longed for. How could the gold of sold treasures possibly evolve his body?

The foul smell of monster death proliferated throughout the premises of the seven-storey temple, and an ominous shudder came to the disturbed holy grounds. "Where is this deity of which the wolfess spoke?" he demanded, his megalith paws thundering toward toward the double-doored patio. Even his waist now loomed high over the roof of the temple's first tier. Roaring, he mauled the front facade. Dust and debris gushed into a sepia-floored interior. The ground floor had an air of serenity and delicateness that definitely contrasted the overgrown gladiator of a werefox; here lay a small, well-kempt indoor garden and pond; burning incense candles; and monks sitting criss-cross in prayer. At least, that's how things had looked until he desecrated over forty feet of the front wall. A massive vertical gape replaced the crushed area of the facade to give view of this interior. Only a single floor there was, aside from a second floor just below the roof of the tower—which was accessible by a flight of steps racing up all four walls—around one hundred feet upwards.

With wordless turmoil, the monks scattered out of the temple, fleeing between or past his destroyer's feet. Candles had toppled, and flames zipped along the wooden floor. Presently a conflagration devoured the base of the tower, snaking its way voraciously up the ornamented crimson pillars and walled illustrations of some black winged figure warding off a fiery entity from a toothy maw of the earth in some esoteric painting style from an era unremembered by mortals.

Perhaps by itself, the destruction of the holy site wouldn't have warranted a retributive visit from its focal point demigod (for Andy was a feral beast—and what god can be offended by an animal, who knows nothing of spiritual insult?), but Leveesa moved on light feet from the edge of the clearing to the temple then jumped onto the roof of the first tier of the burning, crumbling structure. With vaulting leaps, she treated each consecutive roof like a step on a stairway, while Andy growled in distaste for the superb heat and stepped over the crushed patio onto the temple grounds, and saw the fleeing monks and felt a compulsion to chase after them.

Atop the temple stood a speartip on an ornamental dome. Leveesa landed on the tips of her toes there, then spread her arms and laughed. Her cloak flapped madly within a swirl of wind and flame.

"Behold, ye lavender-blooded one! You've lost your power over these acres, ye have; all it took for your devotees to leave you was a single monster! And smell the blood in the air; your children were just that, children to him. A greater god boons him than does your kin, the fire god. All hail! May all history of you burn to ash and soot like this glorified pipe you call a temple!"

And Leveesa laughed a giddy, frenetic, scraping laughter: one which sonically portrayed a crew of scallywags jumping ship from the vessel of Hell. Conifers on the clearing's edges swayed ominously, branches cracking, pine needles shooting toward the tower like bullets, tornadoing around the place. Before Andy, the curved edge of a twister of verdure and bark and detritus appeared, barricading his path to the monks, who scrambled to the side opposite in time. This goaded him to wheel around, to face the haunted visage of the tower.

Without enraging a demigod, one could only hope to witness such a bizarre scene of flame, wind and pulsating shadows while under the influence of some fungal psychotropic for the daring. At once, the flames exploded out of the mortal plane, vanishing as an illusion vanishes—in a blink. Charred remnants of the temple's skeleton remained, but not the culprit of the charring, as though the flames had been consumed by the fire god of which Leveesa had spoken. Actually, they had been used as an energy source for the demigod Magismillian to enter the mortal plane.

Suddenly, the blackened tower sucked toward itself the vicious winds, which—after a moment of silence—exploded outwards with a sonic boom, flaying trees on the outskirts of the clearing of their needles. With its skeleton charred and weakened, what remained of the temple crumbled ashily to the ground, belching a carpet of ash and heat across the grounds, engulfing peach blossoms and hedges in smog.

But Leveesa hadn't been standing atop the temple upon its collapse. Look—clutching the back of the werefox: There she was, with one paw raised and magenta energy crackling off her claw-tips to maintain a magic shield! When the sonic boom had buffeted all, she had been there to conjure around him and herself a translucent dome of magic, without which the two of them would have been consumed by the plasmic eruption of the god's entry into the world.

She waved this dome away—it fuzzily vanished. Ahead of them, before the pitch black ruins, stood a goliath draconic figure, magenta magic streaming from each of his eyes. Each of his scaly black foot-talons could crush someone, and each of his feet could squash a horse with disregard. A brilliant black varnished his scales, black which made ink look comparatively grey, black which could have belonged to the pit of some longing atheist's heart. A stave, headed with a gemstone that was circled by a vertical band of runes, he held. And he glowered down on the pair of travellers.

"You, Leveesa? You, after all these years, haven't been decommissioned by your Lord? And what sort of friend is this you've brought with you, who hath profaned my memory?"

Andy watched—with the look of crumbling curiosity that comes to one who lacks context and likely won't get any—Leveesa climb onto his shoulder. He realized—as the innkeep responded with length and grandeur—that she was distracting the god, who dismissed Andy as an imbecile, one who wasn't worthy of even being included in talks with their like. At the same time, Andy could see her weaving bracelets of magic behind her back in a ritualistic way, and could feel a stream of energy flowing from the innkeep into him. As her ritual rode on, he felt an intangible chain link her with him, channel some blessing of hers into his body; and the torch of his sex drive flared with light and swelled, burned more feverishly and insatiably. In him seeded a yearning to force the biped dragon demigod to submit to him.

Magismillian had been responding to some riddle of Leveesa's when Andy fell onto all fours and arrowed forward. Clumps of the innkeep's hellish magic trailed his form. Although he only measured about half the height of the demigod, his gait shook the clearing much like the god's entrance into the clearing had. Magismillian could not raise his staff quick enough. Down he went, floored by the weight of the werefox. And down fell his staff, like some great svelte tower, echoing the THUD of his landing. Andy jumped, rolled onto him. They wrestled and writhed in a tangle of limbs, the world booming and lurching round them, two groaning forces of nature. Magis tugged free a paw to blast Andy with powers whose effects any living mortal can scarcely surmise. A supernova of energy banged around his enemy docilely; its plasmic smoke plumed over a magic shield which coated Andy's front briefly.

Realizing the werefox had been empowered by the hell-wolf, Magis felt a visceral weakness gnaw from his core outwards, and felt obliged for his own sake to retrieve his staff. But when he lifted his back to lunge for the stave, the shaft of the beast half his size docked in his throat and punched his head back. Andy moaned to his wet, slimy, throbbing entry, feeling a pleasure no material luxury could buy, and he deepened himself and then began to hammer into that lovely, werefox-suffering chasm of hot, reluctantly-milking fuckflesh.

Despite being dwarfish in comparative size, Andy bragged a cock which would have still been of above-average size when measured against people of the demigod's height range—if ever such people existed. The god gagged on the shaft, scenting the werefox's musk as the groin fur shoved and withdrew from his face during the fox's quick bucks. The demigod seized Andy's torso and installed a deathly grip. He might have crushed the werefox in his grasp a moment sooner, but as Andy rode the deity, he gained a tremendous rush of ecstasy from feeling round him the earth gallop and shudder beneath his draconic saddle. All the strength to move the world itself coursed through him. Soon he would obtain enough to move more than mere forests ... Soon, he would move mountains! He just ... needed ... to make the demigod his bitch!!

Forward he thrust, more wildly than he had before, pounding the god's throat in the objectifying way with which one would pound a fleshlight, an invention created by depraved sex addicts in the capital. It snuck up delightfully on him, an eruption of almost volcanic scale. His splooge—as thick and as plentiful as magma—exploded from his flesh pipe, rocking his body with raw euphoria, for he had done what no mortal had done before; he had claimed a demigod. And he gasped, and a note of laughter entered his following gasps, for the god tried to bite into his malehood, only for the magic of the innkeep to protect him, so that he was unharmed while the teeth merely thrummed with pain for the attempt.

During that precious cathartic release, Andy outgrew the one the monks called their god. Magismillian felt a tremor of inferiority—the first ever felt by his kind (divinity) towards a mortal—as the fluff of the groin grew in shaggier clumps, as Andy forced him to suckle on that knot servilely. The musk of the perpetrator overwhelmed the musk of the one whose magic had once made monsters and deported wolf-demons to Hell, for their surface area increased as Andy pulsated huger to sizes that so starkly contrasted his previous ones, it were as though he were being magnified by a starseeing scope.

Leveesa grinned devilishly to the harmony of the shoulder musculature expanding with abandon beneath her, her cloak lashing and beating over her head as they ascended into the heavens. She watched with a sort of matriarchal pride as Andy loomed higher, the werefox crushing the air of confidence of the demigod. Thousands of years ago, Magismillian branded her people as rejects, exiling them to the infernal pits of the world. Now, she knew with the bliss of spite, the demigod would suffer the consequences, for Andy grew from 48' tall to 72' tall.

The god wheezed and panicking as the tapered end of the shaft fixed itself deep in him, deluging his airways with viscid virile splooge. Andy thought he was finished emptying the thick batter of his virile knee-thick orbs into the celestial being until he felt the god's robed stomach rise beneath his werefox thighs into a dome shape, which sloshed and churned like a sack full of liquids. Andy tingled all over and groaned as a punitive heat geysered up from his groin into his chest, a feeling he suppressed, the way a homosexual chastised by some church might suppress their yearnings—only to intensify the inevitable, which in this case wasn't a cathartic coming-out but a cathartic orgasm, which preceded a mountainous roar.

A second series of splooge-firing resulted. The werefox battered the demigod's throat with his relentless firing cock, stretching the god's throat in unnatural ways. The god hacked and whimpered and trying to push off his mortal aggressor, only for the werefox hunk to transform BIGGER!

To tell it true, Andy was not so mortal anymore. He grew from 72' tall to 96' tall, matching the size of the god, almost matching the height of the tower of worship before it had been razed. Yet, Andy could not stop cumming and could feel another orgasm building up even as his second rode out after a long run of his marathon stamina. His body began juddering and creaking like some iron machine wrought by the eastern wolves on the verge of malfunctioning, but then he came and he only transformed to become more built, more perfect! A hose of seed bulged his shaft as the god's stomach lifted him, the stomach swelling into a great, sloshing barrel as the torrent of werefoxseed intruded with powerful rich gouts.

And Andy felt the drumming thunder of his body growing for—he could not remember how many times he had pulsed bigger. But this was the third growth spurt for his demigod-claiming. It overlapped the second growth spurt and made dizzy him with its delectable machismo rhythm. Higher and higher his body climbed per jolt of mind-numbing orgasmic saboteur of his entirety, his pecs overshadowing the tops of the closeby peach blossoms and the farther conifers. He reached a stage of demi-godhood that Magismillian had never experienced and could not fathom. Gainly brute muscles pushed his pecs into massive ovular domes! The "Y"-shape the canyon between them deepened. His girth multiplied and—the rate of his growth surprised even Leveesa—he grew to 144' tall, becoming what folk of old times (when colossal monsters of fur or scale walked the earth) would have called a leviathan.

From there he continued to grow. His realization of how big he had become only exacerbated his growth, to the demigod's grave dismay! He grew huge, until his groin engulfed all of the god's vision, the werefox rumbling with the quakes of a mountain avalanche to 450' tall, at which point his cock outgrew the demigod's throat and jetted out with spurts of seed, covering the clearing with ropes of splooge that buffeted and uprooted the conifers, drowning the area in an unshovelable wintry layer of voluptuous foxseed. Andy—archer no longer by title, but rather 600' tall behemoth-sized god—raised one of his foot-paws over Magismillian. He crushed the outgrown divinity with one mere stomp, whose echo reverberated for miles and miles, sending a seismic warning to any divinities who should cross paths with him.

Andy's tongue hung from his mouth as he rubbed his paw into the earth, entrenching—in the cold, hard dirt where he belonged—the worthless demigod, one whose life essence Andy absorbed via squishing him with his mighty toes. This was thanks to Leveesa, who had cast upon Andy an attunement to the divine which made him able to pilfer the life force of the demigod, so that he could live thousands of years longer, and would, and reign terribly over realms of mortals and gods alike.

Over him this magenta outline of throbbing power coursed. He could feel vitality course through his claws and limbs and flow out of his breath, while he inhaled and exhaled lustfully, feeling his mere breathing shake the earth with his vast, husky chest that spanned nearly 200' wide. Over the world that colossal pillar of cock continued to cum, to dispatch a fondue of jizz which pooled over the clearing and steeped his toes in the thick tar-like custard.

A god by the name of Arthas had been watching from a trans-planar pocket in the sky with concern, for no one of this world had dared to challenge Magismillian before, and certainly no one had triumphed over him and stolen his immortality. A quadruped dragon of crimson scales, he presented himself with a manifestation of thunder clouds that swirled in a maelstrom over the clearing, before a crackle of lightning revealed his black form sweeping down from the heavens. This is precisely what Leveesa had been anticipating: Andy attracting the attention of some god by meddling with a demigod. Arthas could grant the werefox heaps of visceral bliss to undergo his most rewarding metamorphosis.

While the god possessed far more power than Magsmillian—the same way a master archer has a greater aim than one who has for the first time handled a longbow—Andy could have cared less about the supposed hierarchical differences between himself and the gods, for he had already turned one god into no more than mere life energy for himself and a mashed fertilizer for the planet. Thus he didn't hesitate when he saw Arthas; he supercharged a spring into the heavens, grappled the dragon god in mid-air. A roar shrieked and echoed as far as lands foreign. Andy came down with the red like some sort of heterogeneous comet, and BOOM, what was bored into the woods was this massive smoking trench in which he rose behind the red and gripped his underbelly and bucked his cock into the sweet otherworldly tailhole, feeling it start to grip on pull already. Andy measured as tall as the god from the toes to the top of the head.

The red dragon spread his wings, hacking conifers in half in a fit of spasms, fearing for his divinity. He roared time and again, and each roar spoke of his resignation to doom Andy, should he free himself. But rather than to get free, the red only ended up being dominated more; Andy pumped his knot into the dragon and bore him down against the woodlands, moaning, feeling his breath reverberate over the surrounds as he panted, feeling the lifeblood and the prolific sex-energy of a demigod ricocheting through his limbs, enriching him with strength to usurp this dragon whom he knew intuitively to be a pure god. He bucked and bucked until he scored awaited utopian pleasure. He cummed and cummed a prodigious load that he couldn't stop if he wanted to, his nethers unloading all that testosteronal breeder batter, refurbishing the god's midriff into a cumdumpster quagmire, flagging him as no more than Andy's fuck-implement. He moaned as the dragon hissed defeatedly, and the god's belly began swelled with so much seed, more seed than twelve dragon gods could hope to produce with simultaneous climaxes, unless they were gods of fertility. Arthas dwindled in relative size as Andy rocketed into his sweetest tantrum of a growth spurt to date.

In just a few body-pulses, the conifers went from being able to almost reach his knees to being no more than flower-sized smashables; he surged from 450' tall to 2000' tall. The dragon became naught but a mutt-sized inferior compared with him. Doggedly crooning, groaning and reaming into the reptilian tankard for his jizz (who had dwindled to the relative size of a creature not so threatening as they were adorable), the foxgod thumped the hindquarters against the plebeian immortal's groin until his knot popped inside then dispensed his hot liquid lust with no reservation. Then, he grew from 2000' tall to 4000' tall, and the dragon shrunk to the size of a mere cocksleeve—a ridiculously small cocksleeve when taking into account the size of Andy's pec-hugging member.

"Gods ... GODS!! YESS!!!" Andy roared, head roiling with phantasmic thoughts of ecstasy. "RUUOOWWRR!!!!"

Andy bowed his head to his dragon-wrecking hyper dick, feeling the convulsions of his orgasms surge with accruing strength. Gradually, the overflow of his jetting splooge slid the dragon's arse up his length until the dragon popped off of the tapered head into the weregod's mouth. Andy widened his eyes when the carnivore in him seized control, when his throat began to claim the god with peristaltic bursts of motion. His esophageal walls slimed over wings, claws, fire-crying snout; nothing could hurt the lubricated tract of flesh now, not even the crimson. A sphincter tossed Arthas into the abysmal pit of his replacement's gut, where he very promptly found himself prone to having his scales and flesh immolated, his body digested with masterful gurgles and sloshes. Then the god was no more but a delicious acidic aftertaste in Andy's mouth, erupting forth in a rowdy belch. Arthas reacted with the internal furnace as a valuable fuel source, and flooded Andy with physical and magical strength, an ecclesiastical rapture which reignited his orgasm, so he came HARDER, basting the faraway mountains with his reproductive batter, mountains he dawdled not to outgrow.

First dwarfed were mountains, then an entire cordillera. The godfox's giant clawed toes outgrew all conifer trees in mere height, the expanding claws raking the trees down as his foot-paws single-pawedly—or, in this case, double-pawedly—demolished the biosphere. Resurgent growth-pulses boomed and boomed. Suddenly, grand walls of orange fur ploughed down villages, made huts and domes and entire village populations ornaments for his toes. His ascension belched the shadow of his form as far as the ocean, resounding over sundry different biome-types at once. His shape loomed, a tower seen by peoples of all creeds and colors, while his groin whipped away the cute crown of thunder clouds that Arthas had summoned, ascending higher than them. Each of his toned thighs alone dwarfed mountains! Soon his feet barged into the mountain range, assailing wildlife all within range with flashes and spasms of their vision of the world the split-second before the force of impact snuffed them. Frequently-hiked meanders, slopes of trees, canyons, lakes—all scattered to bits like a rock crunched between a crocodile's jaws. Into the troposphere his chest plunged. Fog enshrouded the world below. Mountains looked like board game pieces to Andy, hah! And the ocean ahead, it seemed to be approaching him but shrinking at the same time. Soon his paws plunged greedily into the sea; and with a god's sensitivity, he could feel all the marine fish and kelp beds and corals and rocks and spiny organisms splatting against his paws. Soon he could see the curvature of the planet. He realized, the planet was becoming globe-shaped in his eyes: a chilling prod to his pride; a rekindling flare for his member, whose splooge now blasted not unto the earth but into the dark space beyond the planet. Despite the chilling cold of the void outside of the atmosphere, Andy felt so sweaty and horny from continuously cumming that he responded obliviously to the biting zero-below temperatures.

And then he saw the planet in half of its entirety; he looked down upon the marble of green and blue being cracked by the mere weight of his paws, and in him was flared the mother of desires. Now rivalling the diameter of the planet with his height, he leapt off of the world, whirled to face it, swam through space. He gripped the globe, then docked it with his dick—which is to say, he fucked it mercilessly, drilling straight through its crust, rupturing its surface. He barked in feral fox as any creatures that managed to survive thus far perished from the mere ripples of force of his cock breeding the mantle of the world. With the lust available only for a god who has yet to play with his godhood, he moaned and hiked his shaft deep in the outer core of the world. Dense minerals and gouts of hot magma erupted from spreading fissures in the planet: fissures which in seconds widened asunder to breadths of hundreds of feet. The planet's core, penetrated through one side and out the other by the gigantic vulpine shaft, ejaculated plasmic energy into space as he groaned and mashed the relatively shrivelling ball against his groin. Suddenly, the other side of the planet cracked; and following a whimper of stone within the dissipating atmosphere, his cock with one last growth spurt lanced its bulging tapered head out the other side of the world. Continental chunks of the planet clung to his goliath glans for the brief moment before they disintegrated from regular fires of his galactic cum hydrants.

Although this is a tale that can be told at no tavern of the fox's homeworld now (for you know the fate of it), it's the most factual version you'll find in the galaxy. It's the tale of how the foxgod Andy ascended to godhood, with the aid of a god's forgotten relic and a wolf from hell who believed in all gods with the same faith as a clergy's members, sure enough—just, unlike the clergy, wanted to see the gods and their world burn. What remains of Magismillian and Arthas is an unholy power transiting through Andy's blood vessels. What remains of the planet is a scattered cloud of cream-painted debris, its units occasionally pelting the other planets, whose gods—it is said—Andy will eventually breed and devour when it pleases him.

To which plane or solar system or galaxy Andy has gone, who in this dust bowl boondocks knows? I'm no more than a cosmic adventurer and tale collector like yourself. Some drunkards have said she (Leveesa) ended up wifing Andy and turning deity herself. Others say Andy stays amongst us, shapeshifting into mortal forms, tampering with mortal affairs for his enjoyment. To tell it true, adventurer, I don't believe any of that. I don't believe it because I knew Leveesa for a time and knew Andy for a time. It's that knowing for which she saved me—sent me to the home of her hellish kin in a neighboring galaxy—when the world was finally fucked. It's that knowing for which I have the truth of the matter. I doubt he'd waste his time politicking with us, though. It's more likely than not he's too busy seeking out new gods on whose heads he can claim bounty—ever the hunter at heart—while she spurs on his wild megalomaniac outgrowing and conquering of the worlds to gratify her own self. She'll live to see galaxies fall by the handful; he'll live to see galaxies—quietly and unsuspectingly awaiting their fates—between his fingertips. And you know what? I would like to live to see that too.

Care to hear another one?

^^all infinite xsinis creatures^^

https://www.furaffinity.net/user/xsini