Jackob froze.
He turned.
Terror.
Four glowing black eyes stared at him.
Hair dancing around her divine face.
Liz.
Her lips curled into a smile — small and terrifying.
"How'd you get so fat and yellow?" she said, tilting her head.
"Did you evolve or something?"
She reached out — slowly — and grabbed him.
But carefully.
She didn't crush him.
She wanted to look.
"You're kind of cute this way. Way more fun to squish."
Jackob stared.
"Squish? Cute? WHAT THE—"
"Please, giant wife— I mean, beautiful goddess— don't kill me!" he squealed.
"I'm just a pitiful bug slave who wants to see the galaxy, eat, and mate!"
Liz blinked.
"...Where did you hide?"
His face turned pale.
Green, even.
His mind spun faster than ever.
He extended a finger toward the closet.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Impossible. That far? You'd need a day to reach the top.
And I would've seen you climb."
Jackob winced.
Her hand lifted again.
A finger, raised like a mountain.
"Tell the truth... or die."
He snapped.
Pointed toward her.
She narrowed her eyes further.
"Yes, I know I'm pretty— but your sweet little tongue won't save you."
"I mean finger. Whatever."
Jackob placed a hand on his chest, then pointed again.
Once. Twice. Three times.
She tilted her head.
"Do you... have a death wish?"
Then he yelled:
"I HID IN YOUR BRA!"
Silence.
She froze.
Still holding him.
Still pointing with her massive finger.
Four eyes blinking.
No words.
Her entire divine face was paralyzed.
And Jackob?
He was praying.
Hard.
Chapter 28: The Giant Game
Jackob thought he was dead.
He'd shouted it.
He'd confessed.
"I hid in your bra."
And now he waited for death. A finger the size of a starship hovered over him.
She blinked.
Once. Twice.
Then her face—her divine, terrifying, four-eyed face—twisted into something he didn't expect.
A smirk.
"You… what?"
Jackob stayed silent.
Her finger retracted.
Then, slowly… she laughed.
A low, amused, almost musical sound. Not cruel. Not kind. Just... entertained.
"You little shit."
Jackob blinked.
"Did you enjoy it?" she asked.
"I—uh… it was warm?"
Another laugh.
She dropped him gently onto her desk. He landed like a pebble on a table. Her shadow loomed over him.
"You're brave, I'll give you that. Or really, really dumb."
"Probably both."
Her finger poked him once in the belly. Not hard. But enough to make him bounce.
"Why didn't you run?"
Jackob shrugged. "I was full. And also… I'm not gonna lie, I kinda accepted death."
She raised a brow. "That fast?"
He smirked. "Better than being turned into paste."
She stared at him for a long moment, then stood. Her massive body moved like a mountain rearranging.
"Well then. Let's see how long your luck lasts, little pig."
Jackob gulped. "…what?"
She turned toward her bed, then looked over her shoulder.
"I'm going to take a shower. You have until I get back… to hide."
Jackob blinked.
"No—wait—what?"
"If I find you," she said, her eyes gleaming, "I'm putting you somewhere far worse than my bra."
She walked away.
Boom
Boom
Boom
Each step echoed like an earthquake.
The door closed.
Jackob stood frozen.
Then
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
He started running.
He had five minutes. Maybe less.
She was fast. She was angry. And most importantly: she was clearly enjoying this.
He ran past her books, over her pillows, behind her table legs. Nothing felt safe. Nowhere was truly hidden. The whole room was a death trap.
His thoughts raced.
Under the bed? Too obvious.
Behind the mug? Too small.
Inside the ceiling lamp?
…Tempting.
Then he saw it.
A cracked drawer in her closet. Slightly ajar.
He darted for it, sprinting like a madman, and squeezed between the opening.
It smelled like clothes and perfume and dust.
Perfect.
He burrowed under a shirt the size of a building and stayed quiet.
His heart thundered.
Then…
The door opened.
Thump.
Thump.
She returned.
Wet hair. Damp skin. Wearing something loose and lethal.
She looked radiant and terrifying.
She sniffed the air.
"Oh piggy… where aaaare you…"
Jackob almost screamed.
This wasn't a game.
This was psychological warfare.
She walked slow. Deliberate. Opening drawers. Peeking behind shelves. Throwing pillows aside.
Every second was a countdown.
"Two minutes…" she called.
He clenched his teeth.
"Last chance…"
And then—
The drawer above him opened.
She rummaged.
Paused.
Sniffed again.
Then slammed it closed.
Jackob didn't breathe.
Silence.
Then a low whisper: "One day, I'm gonna find where you came from, little rat."
Jackob smiled in the dark.
Challenge accepted.