Another Stroll, Another Juicing - Part 2 (Patreon Commission+ for Ehanu)

TAGS: Inflation/Juice Inflation, Hyper/Hyper Growth

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Granted, he was getting a bit unwieldy, to the point where he genuinely had no idea where he was going anymore. Or rather, he knew where he wanted to go, but after his torso began filling, not just his belly, being able to tell just where he was stepping became… slightly difficult. He could still see directly in front of him, but as the curvature of his body rose to create a semi-flat area around his head, and every step he tried to take created enough rippling that he felt and looked more like an overinflated water balloon, the urge to just sit down and stay there became harder to ignore.

Why was he going anywhere? He wasn’t required to do anything, least of all make an attempt at passing for normal; he just needed to let some time pass between his last teleport and the new one, and even then only to prevent having to do more work down the line. Nothing was stopping him from quite literally just sitting his fat ass down and letting himself fill, since clearly the suit had already reached its maximum capacity; either that, or it lacked the ability to absorb everything he produced.

Whatever the case, the universe obviously wanted him stuffed and full, and for once, he was in no position to complain about it. It was what he wanted to do, ultimately, so as long as he had an excuse to do so, he wouldn’t say no; besides, moving had become such a chore that he was happy to be freed of the burden of even trying, especially once part of him began spilling onto the road and cars had to start taking sharp swerves to avoid crashing into him.

With a contented sigh, Mitsuri plopped down. What followed was something akin to a glorp, the same sound one would expect from dropping a bag full of thick, dense liquid on the ground, immediately proceeded by a series of overlapping slorshes as the currents of juice inside of him crashed against one another. This then led to his body being criss-crossed by multiple, very visible shockwaves, lines stretching him out and thinning him down in sequences, defying explanation and conventional biology. He was a juice balloon; he just happened to look like a dragon.

But even then, there were limits to how much he could allow himself to be turned spherical… though not for the reasons one might presume. He had no issues with turning into colossal blueberry, but it was so much more fun when he could sculpt himself into a form best befitting that of a god of self-indulgence such as himself… only to then let his body fill up again into an even bigger juice balloon!

Some might ask why even bother to go through the motions when he could just let himself grow and be done with it; some would simply never understand the divine, sublime pleasure that came with willing one’s body into becoming what one most desired, nevermind the “best” or “most efficient” path. Some would never know what it was like to have full dominion over material reality, to the point where one could afford to do ridiculous things such as what Mitsuri fully intended to do. Some would be stuck in their daily, humdrum monotony, forever trying to remove themselves from the cycle of mediocrity they had found themselves stuck in.

And, ultimately, this was why Mit did what he did. Not just to indulge in his own fantasies (though there was a very large component of it, if he was going to be honest), but to show others that there was another way, that they could become better if they just wanted it. By becoming bigger, by growing himself out, by sculpting and moulding his body such that it became his dream form, he showed his little ones that it was possible: they just had to work for it.

Thus, he snapped his fingers. Before he did so, the divine dragon’s hands were practically sunk into a near-spherical “torso” which had fused with his lower body to eliminate a waistline entirely, his body having turned into a literal ball, wobbling and sloshing loudly enough to attract eyes and ears for a mile around. After he did so, and his mass was redistributed, it was the old Mitsuri back: fifteen feet tall on account of all the extra pudge, a mountainous rump that oozed over a good half of the street in addition to the side of the pavement the dragon was on, a pair of tits large enough to fit a car inside… and his belly.

It was less of a gut and more of an avalanche of fat, in that it slid outwards and created a vast, rounded area where it threatened to spill out further and further, almost like a sluggish lava flow. It was easily as long as Mitsuri himself was tall, its multilayered fat folds rolling atop one another in a seemingly endless cascade that invited any who watched to put their arm into it and never have it back. Trying to reach into his bellybutton would be naught but disaster: assuming one could even find it, the odds of actually pulling themselves out were… low. And not just because all the layered fat made it near-impossible to physically do so.

As Mitsuri wobbled over the pavement, as his colossal body was made to take up as much space as possible while still adhering to the law of conservation of mass, so too did his magical aura flare out. He couldn’t help it: there was just too much of him for his power not to start seeping through the cracks, his physical avatar no longer capable of holding back the raw might of the soul it was made to contain. Occasional bursts of light, the white tinged with odd shades of purple, lightning crackling through his body, even outright shockwaves were all possibilities, though each one had one commonality: they made him bigger still.

His body, or at least what others perceived as being his body, was nothing more than a construct, created specifically for the purpose of housing a fraction of his true self. He couldn’t just show up in the mortal realms, that would destabilise reality to such an extent that it would simply cease to exist, thus creating work that Mit had to occupy himself with. The safest solution was to only send part of himself, while maintaining a link to his “true” body out in his pocket dimension; the only downside to this was that he still had to maintain a connection, which meant that anything that threatened his avatar was… hard to deal with, to put it lightly.

It didn’t help that he also wanted it to happen. Godly duties aside, Mitsuri was still Mitsuri, and after being bathed in his own magnificence for so long, the idea of just growing, of bloating and filling and glorping all over everything, was too good for him to pass up. It was what he did in his new home dimension: the mini-reality he created exclusively to house himself had nothing but himself at that point, and its boundaries were merely expanded the more he grew; it had gotten to the point where, if he wanted to interact with anything at all, he had to use an avatar as an intermediary, ‘lest he risk breaking causality.

Alas, the corollary to all this was quite simple: if he lost control, he spilled out. In truth, his constructed body wasn’t actually growing, per se; rather, his true self was shining through, oozing through the gaping wound in reality that was his soul, the font of all magical power on the planet he was on. His real body was asserting itself, desperate for any outlet through which to vent the pressure, eager to find new pastures to cover; and Mitsuri himself, despite knowing how dangerous it was to allow this, did nothing to stop it, seeing as he knew he could just put an end to it at any point.

The time to return home had probably come and gone. Keeping track of how many seconds had ticked away had turned into one of those insignificant tasks one did whenever one had nothing else to do, and for someone like Mit, who very much did not have to care about the flying of the arrow, one minute might as well be an hour, or an epoch, or several multiversal lifespans. He was eternal, and everything else was secondary; thus, he might very well have been able to return home by the time his read rose to twenty feet above the ground and the disaster zone that was his belly crawled outwards to fifty feet in front of him, his entire body becoming the epicenter for an oozing ocean of flab that was already hard at work climbing up the sides of buildings and collapsing the ground beneath it.

Soon enough, he would become a living blob, an immense, somewhat dragon-shaped mound of juice-filled fat, rising like dough with the city around him serving as a mould to shape his new self. Soon enough, he would be spilling over the rooftops, outright covering the selfsame buildings that were “meant” to contain him, and sooner still, his hands and feet, his arms and legs, would be entirely consumed by the mountainous pile of blueberry that was the rest of him.

Even vehicles weren’t safe; those who weren’t lucky enough to be driven away before the avalanche arrived were left to be crushed underneath it, Mitsuri’s weight being such that he could effortlessly crush steel into thin, pancake-like slabs, slabs that were once cars, trucks, whatever else was in the way. With some effort, he could do the same to the buildings he was growing over, but he chose not to; he was still in control of his powers, and while he gave himself some allowance to run wild with them, he wasn’t about to completely destroy an entire city just because he was horny.

Cars? Sure. The road itself? Absolutely. But these were ultimately replaceable, and as long as the little ones had a place to sleep and be sheltered from the elements, then Mitsuri could rationalise away his decision as actually being a good one; even if he had to twist and turn his definition of “good” in such a way that it no longer resembled whatever was in the dictionary, he could justify it by just remembering he was still a god. Not only could he just put everything back if he needed to, but he was a god, and thus whatever he did was, by definition, perfectly reasonable. He didn’t intend to hurt anyone, nor would he; what was a road or a vehicle compared to the opportunity to be glomped by his glorious form?

In fact, what was anything when placed next to him? He was a living mountain of fat and juice, filling and bloating at such a quick pace that the only way anyone could stop him was if they, too, were possessed of divine powers. Within minutes, he would consume the entire city, turning into a wide, thick, wobbling carpet of blue and purple, one that would invite any who dared to come and touch, to come and sink, to come and commune with an entity far greater than even the most powerful of mortal magicians.

For, when push came to shove, this was what they all wanted. Mitsuri knew, even if he couldn’t be certain: his emergence as the draconic overgod was enough to imprint parts of his psyche into the very magic he unleashed upon reality, and one of the fortunate circumstances of this was that his predilection for larger sizes went along with it as well. He knew that in the heart of even the most prudish of his little ones resided a small nugget, a tiny little spark, a need for more that waited only to be fed the smallest droplet so it could rage outwards like a wildfire, consuming every other urge to further fuel itself.

This was his ultimate gift to reality: himself, and his urges, his needs, his desires. He made himself into a reflection of everything else, and everything else a recursive reflection of himself, in an endless cycle that made it impossible to tell where it began or ended. In the end, once everything was said and done, once all magic was mastered, once all the little ones had become the undisputed rulers of existence itself, they would all be like him: fat, bloated, gargantuan, and perfectly capable of living in this state of perpetual growth.

So why stop? He could put an end to it at any point, so Mitsuri figured there was no real reason for him to put an end to it at all; if it was so easy to take care of, then clearly he should be worrying about other things, such as how to maximise the pleasure he was experience, or how to improve his juice filling rates. He’d already forgotten he had a suit on; to be perfectly frank, he wasn’t even sure the suit was on at all, it being perfectly possible that the damned thing had simply been torn apart at some point in the near-past and he just hadn’t noticed.

Whatever the case, it wouldn’t be doing much anyway. The good suit might stand a chance at shrinking him down, but the stopgap one was likely to collapse on itself far before Mit reached the state he was in. He could do a lot of things, even perform miracles to some extent, but even he had his limits, and something he banged up in an afternoon with no care put into it could only go so far. Plus, now that his body was effectively out there in the open, fully revealed for all to see, he didn’t have to worry about hiding his true form anymore; granted, he couldn’t hide it, but that was beside the point.

The city became his bed, his throne, and his lounging chair all wrapped into one. While the ground itself served as the base on which he “sat”, for a given definition of that word, he still felt himself more as using the foundations themselves rather than the collection of roads and sidewalks. This was, of course, mostly down to his ass having expanded to a size that was best comparable to a large football stadium for each cheek, making it exceedingly difficult for him to even know where any part of himself was anymore; his tits being even bigger didn’t exactly help, and the whole thing was just made worse by the sheer degree of size his belly was blessed with.

To a certain extent, he was nothing but belly. Sure, he might have the rest of him, but for Mitsuri, his body was nothing but an extension of his gut, which by that point had encompassed most of the city and its outlying suburbs. It spread outwards in every direction, a veritable ocean of deep blues and purple, one that wobbled and swayed like the surface of an immense body of water, disturbed by currents far stronger than any known to mortal kind. It was a blanket of himself, stretched over everything the eye could see, and looked far less like a person, or at least part of one, than it did a new form of geography.

Even Mitsuri could hardly comprehend the scale of what he was looking at. His true self might be so incomprehensibly larger than it strained the imagination, but that was just it: it was incomprehensibly larger. The dragon “knew”, factually speaking, that he was significantly bigger than this avatar of his, but he’d long-since transcended the boundaries of physicality; to put a distance or scale on his true self was literally impossible, as he existed in such a convoluted, multi-dimensional manner that he could hardly be said to occupy any space at all.

So to see himself like that, wobbling and slorshing, a literal sea of fat and juice spilling over an entire urban jungle, was something beyond sublime. It was him, in his purest form, were he to be translated into a physical form; if he were ever to be, in the sense that other things were, then this was what he would look like: an insurmountably gargantuan collection of fat rolls, rounded edges, and so much pudge that it took a considerable amount of effort on his part not to collapse into some form of exotic, juice-based black hole, which itself served as further fuel to the fire.

Mitsuri could tell just how full he was, and though he didn’t want to think about it too much, he knew full well that he was too full. Not that he couldn’t take any more (far from it, in fact), but he couldn’t be that full if he was a simple creature with a simple and comprehensible biology; were he like his little ones, he would’ve been quite a bit larger at his current filling rate, his body being the one thing keeping him from expanding in every direction even faster than he already was.

But the corollary to this was that Mit was forced to compact his juice into an increasingly denser package. He was growing, absolutely, but he was filling far quicker than he was allowing his form to expand, even with help from his true self seeping through from his pocket dimension; were anyone to try and touch him, they would find that the apparently soft and wobbly surface was, in fact, rock solid, lacking any and all pliability. Indeed, anyone caught trying to ride the waves perfectly visible on the top of Mitsuri’s city-sized stomach would be less rocked to sleep as they would instead have every bone in their body broken from the turbulence.

And the problem only grew more uncontrollable the longer the fill-up continued. Mitsuri could technically let his body explode with renewed size, equalise the pressure the way it was supposed to be and call it a day; alas, his current state, where the matter in his body rapidly approached a transition point into unknown and exotic forms, was the way he was used to being: his real self couldn’t even be expressed through his little ones’ understanding of physics, so maybe having him there like that would help them along to develop the correct equations needed to understand divinity.

Not that Mitsuri particularly cared about what said little ones were doing, mostly on account of having become so huge that he couldn’t even see any of them. Not only was his head buried underneath so much neck fat that it was lower down than the neck was in some spots, but he was so huge that, from his perspective, even the bigger mortals would barely qualify as a tiny blip down below. He did wonder where they had all gone to; with himself taking care not to wreck the buildings underneath him, he could only assume that the city’s denizens had taken refuge indoors, where at least they wouldn’t be crushed by the weight of the giant outside.

They wouldn’t be, but Mit couldn’t blame them for thinking otherwise. Massive blob that he was, of course he would turn anything underneath him into a thin wafer; the little ones weren’t to blame for not knowing he had full control over himself, and that what they were seeing was very much a deliberate move on the dragon’s part. They could be excused for not knowing they were looking at a god, with all the power that this entailed; plus, he did keep the buildings away from the devastation he was wreaking, precisely because he expected such a reaction.

Eventually though, they’d come to understand. Once the carpet of dragon rose high enough to completely block the sun, once the city was buried underneath so much of Mitsuri that it would be enough to fit several more skylines stacked atop one another, and yet the buildings that were there refused to budge, they would know. Even the slowest of mortals would be able to tell something was up, and from there it was a short step to understanding that, for all that it appeared otherwise, that colossus of juice outside was actually in full control of himself… so why not leave through the nearest door and join in?

By that point, Mitsuri’s avatar had reverted back to what his original body had been: a portal. A gateway, an open faucet, a fountain of magic spilling into the outside world; this much he chose not to control, seeing as the only way things could go from there was up: he was still the god of all magic, so whether or not more of it was pumped into reality was entirely his purview. If he decided that things needed a little more spice, then he could just open the floodgates and inundate the universe with some more raw magical energy, then let the chips fall as they may when the currents became stable again.

Would this lead to a significant increase of the number of people who could use high-level magical manipulation? Well, yes, but that was the point, was it not? To uplift his little ones such that even the weakest among them could take the first steps towards becoming like their god, even if it was just putting on a few pounds’ worth of filling; in due time, everyone would be like him, and with enough magic thrown into the mix, time was something everyone would have plenty of.

Mitsuri assumed that his body had to be on the news by then, and not just national ones. With him having grown so much so quickly, and his magical emanations being what they were, orbital satellites were likely picking up on him and the disturbances he created. He was sure that multiple streams had already been booted up, dedicated exclusively to keeping track of him and his growth; he was even more certain that he would be on every single headline that day and going forward, at least for as long as there were still news outlets to create outlines at all. All of it according to plan, of course… or, whatever passed for a plan in that mind of his.

By revealing himself to the world in such a manner, Mitsuri was issuing an invitation: join him, and become better. Not a better person, not a better lover or worker, or whatever else their mortal minds might think of, just… better. Join him, and exalt in the dragon’s power, bask in his glory, absorb of his bounty and become better. Wield the powers of creation itself and turn into whatever was most desired, indulge in the deepest, darkest of self-indulgent fantasies, create whole pocket dimensions to be used as a playground, ascend and be freed from the shackles of mortality and planet-based living.

By revealing himself, Mitsuri was forcing the issue. There, in front of the whole world, the dragon was issuing a statement: this was power, and this was what everyone could do if they put their minds to it. This, or anything else; Mit blobbing all over the state was nothing more than one potential manifestation of a level of power that was open to anyone who so desired it. Maybe they’d want something more restrained; maybe they’d want even more than what Mitsuri did, and would decide to fly off to some remote corner of the universe to encompass its totality.

Whatever the case, the power was there for them to take and use at their discretion. With one simple rule: no harming anyone else. Fun was fun, but the line was drawn at bringing harm upon others. Apart from that though? Absolutely nothing else.

Mitsuri figured that was fair. It was what he did, after all.