Eyes of the Storms (Chapter 1) (Patreon)

The moment her communicator flashed the distress beacon, Marigold scrambled to grab it and decipher its emergent message. As the colossal young officer picked up her device, while casually massaging her peachy toes and bare soles through the mossy texture of the densely forested mileage far below her mountainous perch, she couldn’t help but half-heartedly hope for something interesting to happen. The golden-blonde knew it was wrong to “hope” for an eventful catastrophe to solve, as a real challenge for her would also by extension involve great risk to innocent human life, which was of course the last thing she wanted. Still, she guiltily couldn’t help but hold her breath when she pulled up the message.

TRIPLET CATEGORY 7 HURRICANES, PACIFIC SECTOR, HEADED DUE WEST FOR PROVINCES J-81 THRU 98. IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUESTED.

The exact GPS coordinates for the storm were listed below. Squinting at the map, Marigold could already see the three concurrent and utterly massive storms were barreling fast across the ocean toward three different seaside regions, two of which consisted entirely of small interconnected islands. Under these types of storm conditions, all seventeen provinces would be literally washed clean off the globe and into the sea, and probably another thirty or so surrounding those lands would suffer severe flooding.

Marigold’s heart fluttered. She balled her fists until her knuckles popped, and straightened her uniform’s cap atop her crown of flowing yellow locks. Still, she could only partially suppress a smile. Yes, it was terrible to feel a twinge of excitement amidst her focus and desire to help, but she felt it anyway. It was too hard not to feel thrilled at the prospect of actually having to push herself a little bit for once on a Unifica security mission. The types of daily cataclysms that troubled entire armies with thoughts of armageddon, Marigold could solve with one finger before lunchtime. This, however, was a geo-system of not one or two, but three category-7 hurricane storms, the second-highest degree of measurable intensity for storms, after the former peak category-5 was deemed insufficient a century ago.

“HELP EN ROUTE,” Marigold responded within a minute of receiving the distress call. She was tempted to add a “FEAR NOT,” but stopped herself, not wanting to appear too wordy and possibly unprofessional. Closing out of the message, she gazed to the distant rounded horizon. The provinces where the hurricanes would land weren’t far, not more than a few minutes’ stroll for Marigold, but in order to prevent any collateral damage, the tenacious officer knew she’d have to head the storms off in the ocean. She marked the positions on her GPS, setting her device to inform her by alarm when she’d arrived at each ever-moving site, then prepared herself to leave.

Aware of the ticking clock, but also vigilant as usual of her appearance and decorum, Marigold took a moment to pat her uniform for wrinkles or dust. Starting from her shoulders, she smoothed down the path of her slender hourglass figure, miles at a time, checking the buttons and flaring out the ends of her skirt. Then, anticipating at least a moderate challenge to quell the storms in time, she thought it only best to keep limber. Thus, the giantess performed several lunges, thrusting one monolithic foot out at a time and planting it in an entirely different province beyond, albeit still in unoccupied wilderness, in order to stretch out her earth-crunching leg muscles.

She swayed forward and backward, alternately working both quads while keeping herself anchored against the opposite foot, arched up to its highest degree with her splayed-back toes dammed in a river. Huffing and puffing while counting the reps, Marigold switched legs, stretching out her shoulders and crossing both arms to and fro across her bosom, though once she’d finished, again had to double-check she hadn’t accidentally dislodged her lapels or knocked any rock lint between the hills of her chest. This was important, Marigold decided, and it wouldn’t do for any civilians witnessing the naturally-occurring carnage from land to see an officer in a less-than spotless uniform or making improper tactical moves just because she’d failed to stretch first.

At last she felt satisfied with her appearance, and adequately warmed-up to tackle, perhaps literally, the task ahead. Departing from her post, Marigold started off on the nearest giantess-approved land clearing path through the world’s gridwork pattern of interlocking provinces. With her chin held high, her chest puffed up, and her arms pumping with every confident albeit cautious step along the oft-trodden trail decorated so thickly in the shape of her bare footprint, Marigold steeled herself for trouble. And, secretly, hoped it would be only just enough trouble to provide some much-needed entertainment without endangering the populace too gravely.

Reaching the coastline, Marigold daintily dipped her toes in the ocean to prepare to wade, not because she was antsy about the cold water, but to avoid accidentally splashing up her own miniature typhoon upon the nearby communities who lived just outside the designated geographic paths where her soles could safely trample. Then, sliding her feet the rest of the way into the crashing deep blue, she commenced shuffling along the ocean floor rather than lifting and breaching her peds above the surface with every step. There was due to be enough churning water today as it was, and Marigold didn’t want to empower the already-substantial hurricane effects. Her GPS started beeping, loud and repeatedly, when she came within range of the coordinates for the first storm.

Already Marigold could feel the swirling winds tickling her ankles, and a few licks of the breeze even tossing the hem of her uniform. High waves clapped all the way up to the girl’s lower calf. Dense, gray clouds partially shrouded the air, making it tricky for Marigold to see everything clearly from so high up. Indeed, these were the largest storms she’d ever encountered. Hiking up her skirt to keep it from getting wet, while also being careful to avoid letting her legs spread too far and risk an immodest appearance for the distant spectators, Marigold hunched down as far as she could, thus putting herself right above the center of the first storm.

Marigold sighed contentedly, despite herself. She couldn’t help but feel refreshed at such a powerful, cool blast of air continuously spinning and brushing past her rosy cheeks. Her hair whipped about as well, but once she’d tucked the golden strands over her shoulder, Marigold could finally take a closer look and get down to business. While she found the gentle breeze and splashing foam pleasant, those same elements would bring only devastating harm to beings such an infinitesimal fraction of the young officer’s size. Freezing in place to study the flow of the storm, she was able to identify its trajectory, slow but sure, toward the shoreline provinces.

Following a moment of consideration, Marigold shrugged, then inserted her fist directly through the cloudy ring of the hurricane like a bracelet made from wind and furious waters. Here, she felt but the briefest resistance, where her hand now actively blocked the high-velocity gale. However, steeling herself just that little extra, Marigold could hold her hand in place without even the risk of it being pushed back by the hurricane. Her balled fist touched down to the ocean floor between where her feet burrowed in rocky sand. Then, upon lifting up and spreading her fingers, Marigold entirely disrupted the spin-cycle of the hurricane, and watched it dissipate simply as an early springtime shower. She nodded to herself, resolute, and dramatically cracked her knuckles by splaying her fingers inward and outward, knowing a probably-large audience of breathless homesteads watched from the far shore; while the giant officer was humble, and wanted only serenity for the tiny denizens of the planet, she occasionally wasn’t above a hint of showmanship. There were still two hurricanes to hunt down, though, so Marigold didn’t dawdle.

The second storm cell was crawling along the ocean less than ten paces away for the giantess. Its ring of brutal winds was even more clearly defined than the last, in wisps of twirling white tendrils like sea creature limbs. Marigold again hunkered down and prepared to stick her fist through the center of the event, before halting herself. Where was the fun in that? What’s more, there was still plenty of time before the hurricanes made landfall. Marigold arched back to her full height, well-above the dark clouds, tapping her cheek and curiously pondering her options.

Making a choice, then, the golden-haired savior lowered herself back to the earth, past a mere crouch. Upon ensuring she wouldn’t unduly batter any landmasses by stretching herself out, Marigold went down on her knees, and ducked down until her chin hovered close enough to the water for the jumping waves to wet her skin. She ignored this, though, focusing intently on the comparatively miniature hurricane rolling toward an unfortunate set of islands. With a delighted giggle so loud that for a moment it outclassed the accompanying thunderclouds, Marigold puckered her lips as though about to blow a kiss.