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A Helping Hand - Part 2 (Patreon Commission for VDO)
🕑 Added 2022-07-14 16:02:56 +0000 UTCTAGS: Growth/Expansion, Macro, Macro Growth, Pokémon, RPG Rules (Kinda)
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Things didn’t get much better after that… or they did massively improve, depending on how one saw Blake’s ascension. There were certainly a few who dared to ask whether or not they should be concerned about the gargantuan, landscape-shaking Houndoom plodding through the land, supposedly taking in quests and growing bigger by the day; they were a minority, sure, but they were still there, wondering what everyone else was thinking and why they weren’t fighting back against what was clearly some form of continuous incursion by some wrathful god.
Not that Blake saw himself as one, but past a certain point, it was hard to argue with people when they treated him like one; several thousand feet tall and growing bigger by the day, his greatest challenge came not from whatever mundane task he was set up to do, but merely from existing among other, much tinier folk, who he simply couldn’t interact with normally on account of how much of him there was.
He could try and speak, but his booming voice would rip shingles from roofing and uproot trees unless he spoke in a whisper… and if he did that, then no one would be able to hear him over the cacophonous gurgling of his multiple sets of orbs off back, which produced at such an accelerated rate that the Houndoom had given up trying to hold them in check. He used to be able to just cum his brains out and at least keep those things from filling, but nowadays it felt more like whenever he did so, they just bloated quicker, leaving him in something of a conundrum that even magic wasn’t able to fix.
Worse yet was that he gave up trying to fix it at all; past a certain point, whatever concern Blake had for his (literally) growing size problem was shunted to the back of his head, when his brain unilaterally decided that it wasn’t important enough to waste resources on. What was important was helping people and doing his best to make the world a better place, because that was what adventurers did, and size aside, he was still an adventurer, wasn’t he? He was still walking around the land, taking up quests, fixing problems, aiding those in need; he was just doing it while insurmountably huge.
For everyone else, it was a dilemma that couldn’t be solved. On the one hand, the Houndoom existed, and by existing, he was a problem: with the level of growth he exhibited, it didn’t take long before his mere presence was enough to start warping the landscape by virtue of sheer mass, with every step taken reshaping the local geography. Plus, the ridiculous quantities of spunk produced within the ever-swelling, ever-multiplying sack he dragged around were clearly enchanted in some way, given how much they affected anyone who got in touch with the stuff.
It used to be that one had to at least be filled with seed for it to do anything at all, but it would appear that nature had different plans entirely for the Houndoom giant and those blessed with close proximity to the blankets of thick spunk coating a significant portion of wherever the titan walked. Dense, viscous enough that it rivalled the thickest of syrups, and so hot that even getting near it was enough of a challenge… not that this stopped any of the hundreds of people who all gleefully threw themselves at it, having their bodies reconfigured as a result.
To be gravid was certainly a descriptor, though not one likely to encapsulate the full severity of just what happened. Being gravid was understandable, mundane, perfectly natural; what those people had were litters, dozens upon dozens of new lives forming within them as their forms were bloated and stuffed, thickened and remodelled to become half-equine hybrids, that they may grow further space to hold their young in… and to maintain their arrays of breasts with which to feed said young.
And the Houndoom itself, leaving behind a trail of fertile destruction wherever he went, would soon “suffer” the same fate, his own body transforming into a shape better suited to handle the demands of his swelling, bulking form. Not that he had trouble carrying himself anymore; indeed, somehow, it felt as if he had circled back around to being so powerful that he could carry his gargantuan self with very little difficulty. But there came a certain size beyond which he wasn’t able to properly handle himself anymore in terms of raw numbers, because those became a problem as well.
Blake remembered the days where he didn’t have to worry about literally dozens of cumtanks attached to him, the days where he had a number of dicks that could be counted on two hands without having to go over them several times in a row. He remembered them, because they’d been just a couple of weeks prior, before his explosive growth kicked into overdrive and it seemed like every little thing he did just turned him even bigger, even more multiple, until he was handling numbers that he couldn’t quite fathom or comprehend.
Perhaps fittingly, the one aspect of him that remained countable were his sheaths. Those he knew how many he had: four, and never more. Blake had expected them to just keep multiplying as well, but instead, they “merely” grew bigger with each new cock that sprouted; had to make room for them after all, even if this meant stretching out so much that there was barely any room at all. Yet, at the same time, there was a surfeit of empty space, folding into itself in a way that made it hard to look at the Houndoom giant without crossing one’s eyes and growing incredibly confused.
The rest of his form followed suit, especially as soon as the tauric shift was complete and Blake ended up on four paws rather than two. Now gifted with even more empty space underneath his equine half, his many rods had plenty of room to grow into… even though they were, technically, still sheathed. This was a slight issue for him, given that he knew those things were in their resting state even though he could see their tips poking out from underneath him, between his front legs; he could only imagine how they would look like when fully erect, or how impossible it would be for him to hold onto what precious little remained of his sanity.
From there, it was… not merely a matter of scale. It would’ve already been incomprehensibly hard to handle if he were merely growing larger, but every aspect of him seemed to magnify with every action. He wasn’t just getting bigger as much as he was folding geometry in on himself in order to at once occupy more and less spacetime, leaving him as an incredibly dense, incredibly titanic, yet incredibly mobile colossus whose weight was quite literally incalculable.
At the same time, he was developing new shafts with pretty much everything he did, enough so that he had to start wondering just what he would do with all of them. In between the constant release coating the land around him in an ocean of spunk deep enough to swim him, and the unending rubbing of knots against one another, the multiplication itself rapidly became the least of his problems compared to the sheer girth and size of what was sprouting from within. Add to that a sack that grew only fuller, more productive, and more numerous, and was it at all surprising that his very presence induced fertility on scale as-yet unseen by mortal kind?
Not just through contact alone; eventually, given enough time to mature, the impossibly thick carpeting of spunk that Blake left behind wherever he treated would become more potent rather than dissolving, causing any who got near it to spontaneously develop the ability to become gravid, if they didn’t already possess it, along with the suitable, necessary changes to their body plans: more legs for their tauric selves, more breasts for nourishing milk, and a womb fit to bring about uncountable numbers of new souls into existence.
That is, assuming one could even get close to the cum rivers, lakes or streams, for it didn’t take long before the closest population center left their homes en masse to throw themselves at it; one could gauge the resistance they had to the seed’s transformative effects by how close they were to it before being forced into immobility, creating large fields of soon-to-be-mothers whose pregnancies would reach term in hours, then restart right afterwards, as they were still too close to the substance that brought about the first one.
And with each pregnancy that came about, the Houndoom grew larger still, more powerful yet, until he, too, was sporting an exotic tauric disposition; rather, instead of being covered in milk-stuffed udders from head to waist to hind quarters, what he had were overdeveloped pecs and abs, muscle groups swollen and hardened to the point where they barely left him any room to walk. He was a mountain of musculature, kept aloft only by itself, its own power the only thing stopping it from collapsing and pinning the Houndoom down… and with every moment that passed, it only became worse.
Blake was still, technically, operating under the guidelines of the Adventurer’s Guild. He wasn’t bringing harm upon others unless it was in defence of the innocent, he wasn’t pocketing money meant for the Guild, and he was most definitely helping those in need wherever they may be; granted, his definition of “help” was loose enough that it encompassed coating the world in his spunk while turning those around him into hyperfertile baby factories, but they were happier than they had been before, so that had to count for something, no?
No need for eating, no need for drinking; one could rest if one wanted, but exposure to his spunk was enough to elevate oneself to a level approaching that of divinity, which was far more than could be said for his previous efforts. Fixing up a village was nice and all, but treading across the continent as a several-mile-tall titan of bulk erupting with more cum than there was water in the oceans every half second was… definitely further up on the list. Yes, the world was going to need some repairs afterwards, as soon as this unfortunate transition was over, but he was taking care of his little ones in the meantime. And this, fortunately for him, meant that he was technically acquiring experience as per Guild guidelines, and being rewarded accordingly.
Except, of course, each level could no longer be measured in feet; hells below, after a point, they couldn’t even be measured in miles, but in tons of musculature, in dozens and then hundreds and thousands of shafts and balls, in the effect that his mere presence had on living creatures for countless miles in every direction around him. Even his bodily adornments grew to better fit his increasingly monstrously gigantic state, with Blake’s horns becoming longer, curving at just the perfect angle to keep from bundling up, while the body formations around his legs and torsos grew thicker, heavier, spikier in places.
All of him grew, in every sense both literal and metaphorical, until there came an epiphanic tipping point where the Houndoom realised something important: if he was going to keep helping people, he was going to need to leave. Paradoxical, perhaps, but him merely being on that world was enough to stress it, enough so that he had to stop walking just to keep earthquakes from raking the surface of the planet. He still moved, even if he didn’t know how; half the time he simply wanted to be somewhere, blinked, and was there.
But he couldn’t remain there for much longer, not when each of his loads was enough to make the world’s gravitational balance grow so lopsided that it was orbiting Blake’s cum, rather than the other way around. Unfortunately, both sides were in contact, creating tectonic upheaval on an immense scale as reality tried to make sense of what was supposed to be where and moving in what direction.
The solution? Go out. There was plenty of space out there in… well, space, assuming one wasn’t too picky in where one wanted to make their haunt. Blake certainly didn’t mind; if anything, him being somewhere with nothing but vacuum for him to fill was wonderful for the sort of immenseness that he had now become, the very embodiment of large spaces. And to those around him too: the amount of empty room on the planet had long-since dropped to zero, with those affected by his seed overtaking any inch of land there might be and forcing those who came late to the party to roost atop the topmost layer. Thus buried, it was hard to imagine what sort of torturous existence had befallen those at the bottom of the pile… but no more.
Blake didn’t know what sort of thoughspace he was in that hopping off his world was suddenly a perfectly reasonable thing to do, but that was what he did. He still had four legs, so he might as well use them to propel himself upwards, clearing the atmosphere and landing himself squarely in the great nothingness beyond, where, at long last, he could stretch his limbs and feel comfortable without risking anyone’s bodily integrity.
Granted, the utter destruction of the planet as its people outgrew it came soon after, but that was hardly important. It wasn’t as if he was leaving behind empty space as well; his seed, so generously given, clumped together nearly immediately as a result of its ludicrous density, each planet-sized sperm collapsing in on itself next to trillions of others into the rough volume of what had once been the Houndoom’s homeworld… only one far sturdier, and more likely to induce spontaneous pregnancy in the billions of souls orbiting it, growing ever more gravid in the process.
There would come a point where things calmed down, surely. That much was the only thing keeping Blake still attached to anything remotely resembling reality, the rest of him having long-since transcended the silliness of having to make sense to the universe at large. Maybe, he thought to himself, once everyone was satisfied, then he’d stop growing and could get back to fixing everything… presumably making it all worse, but, he figured he could handle it if given enough time.
Say, a few millennia or so. Shouldn’t take more than that for things to simmer down and everyone’s hotblooded arousal to be sated; either that, or he was going to have to work extra hard to put everything back in its place while everyone tried to stop him, and then who was going to be in breach of Guild guidelines? No, better that he wait and see how things turned out; besides, it wasn’t all that bad.
It was quite nice being solar-sized.
