1.

As the dying sun rose over the Surplus moon; a golden light brought just a little warmth to a cold and deserted Mitchell Street. Amongst the shadows a Surplus youth moved cautiously taking every care not to break the early morning silence. The hum of an oncoming cleaning machine caused him to duck into a dark doorway. He watched with fear as the automated vehicle made its way down the street sucking up all of the mess from the previous night's events. He knew that the cleaning machine was unmanned and had no detecting equipment encased within it, that was not his concern. It was the sound it made; the gentle humming was just loud enough to disguise the approach of a warrior. He watched the cleaner go by as his stomach rumbled. He cursed his own metabolism, knowing full well that such a noise could give him away. The warriors prayed on his nature. Having not eaten for two hours he had to get off the streets; unless he wanted to become someone else's breakfast. Why hadn’t he evacuated with the rest? Why had he listened to Jodin?

As the cleaning machine passed he moved out behind it and followed it down the street in the hope that the hum of the vacuum would disguise the sound of his hunger and heavy feet. At the end of Mitchell street the cleaner turned left so he made a quick right onto Abundance Avenue, one of the main thoroughfares in the city. He could not stay here long. He hugged the sidewalk and stayed close to the boarded up shops and restaurants, which only a few weeks ago were heaving with hundreds of heavy Surplus gorging themselves on all the delights of the galaxy. He paused in the doorway to an artisanal meat bakery and sighed upon the recognition of the place where he and his friends used to regularly meet and inhale multitudes of Zagorian liver muffins. The Zagorians were a race of people from the far end of the galaxy who had succumbed to heavy alcoholism after the Surplus occupation more than two centuries earlier. This meant that they had the most succulent fatty livers, which made the most wonderful muffins. Now on the verge of extinction, due to their over-consumption, any type of Zagorian product was an expensive luxury only available to the richest of Surplus. How he had loved devouring fifty of them in one sitting. Laughing and burping with his friends as they argued over which one of them would get to be the last being ever to eat Zagorian liver. His stomach rumbled loudly, followed by the sound of approaching feet. His heart panicked as the door behind him opened and he was dragged backwards into the bakery by a hugely fat yet frail hand.

“We have to go now.”

It was an elderly Surplus who spoke to him. He did not recognise the man who was at least seventy years his elder and hence significantly larger. Young Surplus never tended to mix with their elders out of a sense of awe and jealousy. It was in fact rare for them to converse with any elder who was not a parent or teacher. He looked up at the old man, so much bigger than him, and instinctively felt weak and small, submissive.

“We have to go now. That warrior heard you!”

He instinctively followed the old man who led him through the bakery and into the kitchen. There they both paused momentarily, the old man seemingly listening intently. He pointed at the door to a huge walk -in refrigerator and pointed.

“We’ll be safe in there.”

He followed the old man into the refrigerator and the thick metal door locked shut behind them.

The fridge was cold, set to only four degrees celsius, but it was at least well stocked. They both knew that they would have to stay there for a few hours to be certain that the warrior had given up on looking for the boy, and move onto new hunting grounds.

The old man introduced himself as Barben, he was one of the bakers, the only one not to leave on the transport ships. When asked why he simply explained that he couldn’t bring himself to leave this much food behind. It went against every instinct. He waved his fat old hand around in the air so as to show how full the fridge still was. The young Surplus looked three hundred and sixty degrees around the space that he now inhabited and was thrilled to see every shelf bursting with meaty produce. His stomach rumbled loudly and freely. He had really lucked out. The only problem was that he was bound to be expected to share it with the old man. His flabby sagging stomach rumbled once more like thunder.

“I need to eat,” he said. These were his first words to the old man.

The elder Surplus furrowed his brow. He knew it was his duty to save the young one but he really didn’t want to share his food.

“I need to eat,” he repeated. “I haven’t eaten in over two hours now and I need to keep my strength up due to the low temperature in here.”

“Then we shall both eat. What better way is there for two Surplus to pass the time and get to know each other?”

He didn’t respond as his mouth was already full of Tangerian steak. He had instinctively sought out the best cut and was ramming his mouth full of it before the old man had even finished his sentence. Not wanting to be shown up by a mere youth, the elder Surplus also reached out for the same type of steak. The ancient competitive Surplus ritual of sustaining had begun.

For the next few hours both men set about emptying the fridge of every piece of sustenance contained within. Instincts on high alert, no thought was given to the idea of saving or preserving any of the food in case of a later drought. All Surplus had lived a life of endless excess and abundance for longer than anyone history could record. Saving for a rainy day was not in their genetic makeup. All they knew to do in order to survive was to consume. To grow bigger was to grow stronger. To eat was to conquer. Smallness was weakness. The most unattractive element in the universe.

Powered on by his raging hungry hormones the youth ate like a master elder. His infinitely stretchable stomach filled and bloated with luxurious ease as he rampaged his way through every meaty delicacy that the bakery had to offer. He watched with delight as his previously huge but empty sagging flabby belly inflated with the blood, fats, and proteins from a thousand different races. With every meat cake swallowed he felt his abdominal skin stretch as his belly ballooned further and further out. He sat on the cold floor, legs akimbo, with his belly splayed out in between them. The fat of his expanding underbelly lay exposed yet impervious to the cold surface due to the warmth coming from within. The Surplus digestive system had evolved to work at such a quick pace that the tens of miles of intestinal tract deep inside his massive ball of fat glowed from the heat, like a fire burning every calorie into warm luxurious fat. By contrast the elder was not consuming to anywhere near the levels that you would expect for a man of his age and stature. The youth took this as a sign of weakness. The man was too old to be of any use anymore. It was therefore his duty to start consuming his share as well.

After about four hours the fridge was almost empty; the youth having consumed over three quarters of its contents and the old man barely a quarter. A shameful showing. He sat blimped up on over two tons of meat based bakery products, panting and sweating profusely. Every part of his body now significantly fatter and more bloated than before. Each finger was surrounded by an extra inch of fat. His puffy palms, soft as thickly padded cushions. His arms and legs were thicker and rounder, at least a foot of extra fat loaded onto each one causing them to stick out and protrude from his massively enlarged body at an almost comical angle. His rounded out belly was now at least twice the size. The once sagging empty fat and skin was now bloated full of fresh new youthful fatty layers; so thick and full that he knew he wouldn’t be able to move for another few hours. He had eaten himself to temporary immobility and it felt awesome.

A sweet but pungent smell wafted into his ultrasensitive piggy nostrils. There was food left. He recognised the scent immediately but still asked anyway.

“What’s that you got there?” He said to the old man, who was holding a large muffin up to his lips.

“This my boy,” he said, “is a Zagorian liver muffin. Five thousand calories of the sweetest, fattiest liver in the galaxy. And the Zagorians, all dead. Every last one of them. Already on the brink of extinction due to our superior farming systems, the last hundred Zagorian souls were captured by one of our delivery vessels in a pathetic attempt to escape to Zagoria. Delivered here, I baked them myself, and now I and I alone will have the pleasure of consuming the last Zagorian liver in the universe.”

Every atom in the youth's gigantically fat body shook and vibrated with such violent force that he thought that he was going to die. The energy and anxiety of a million years of Surplus evolution, of constant life and death, flooded every cell in his body. His nerves on high alert he was ready for battle. He didn’t just need to eat that muffin, he would destroy the entire universe in order to do so if necessary.

With a level of strength and agility that he never knew existed within him, he launched his insanely full and bloated body up from the floor and straight at the bigger but weaker old man. He swung a single punch, with the weight of a light space shuttle behind it, and landed his fat laden hand straight in the old man’s flabby face, knocking him out cold. With the other hand he snatched the Zagorian liver muffin, jammed it into his mouth, and swallowed it whole.

The planet sized release of serotonin was immediate, as all of his atoms settled back down into a state of peaceful coexistence. A universal sense of peace and contentment washed over his normally single-minded brain. He felt like he was floating weightless through a nebula, eating each and every star as soon as it was born. Billions of thermonuclear reactions digesting in his stomach as his consciousness expanded exponentially across the cosmos. He let out, just about, the smallest but most satisfying fart that he had ever done and knew there and then what he needed to do. He needed to get that feeling back. He needed to consume another life form to extinction. But first he needed to escape.

2.

After dragging the unconscious old baker out into the street, he went to watch from the safety of an upstairs window. His only hope was that there was only one lone warrior out there. He sat on a chair, just out of sight, to the left of the window and waited.

The vore warrior was a giant. Over five metres tall, it thundered down the street at one hell of a pace. He had been lucky that the old baker had pulled him inside when he did, he must have been seconds away from death. The vore warrior knelt down and sniffed at the lifeless old Surplus lying in the street. Please, don’t let him be dead. The warrior scratched at the old man’s ragged flabby face with his giant claws, drawing plenty of blood. The old man stirred. Thank Shawn. The youth sat unmoved and watched silently as he saw the terror on his elder’s face. A look he had seen many times in the preceding weeks. It wouldn’t take long. The giant lizard's face extended in the manner in which they do and the old Surplus was gone. He would only have to wait another ten minutes or so for the vore warrior to pleasure itself and fall asleep; then it would be safe to leave.

He walked past the snoozing creature of death with an incredible calmness, even pausing to look down at its massively extended scaly belly. He shook his head in sorrow. Being eaten alive was the most shameful end that any Surplus could meet. A conqueror of the galaxy, consumed whole as if he was nothing better than a stupid chicken. Pathetic, he thought. He was glad the old man was dead. Now, it would be up to him and his generation to rid the Surplus of the warriors once and for all.

As the dying sun started to set he waddled off down Abundance Avenue back in the direction from which he had shamefully ran that morning. He had to get back to the factory, where Jodin was surely waiting for him.

3.

He tried to explain the sensation that he had felt when consuming the final Zagorian liver muffin to Jodin, but he couldn’t find the right words. His friend wore only an expression of anger and jealousy that served to sooth and satisfy his ego. He gave up trying to explain so Jodin changed the subject to how to get off the moon.

“We have to leave within the next two hours. We have served our purpose. There is nothing left to eat. Now is the time for you to join up with the fleet with honour.”

“You’re right, there is nothing left to do now but join the others and hope that the situation is turning in our favour.”

“I’m sure it is. Balance must be restored.”

“We will return with our bellies fuller than ever.”

“Follow me, I’ll show you the way to the delivery vessel.”

“Delivery vessel? Do we not have a transport ship?”

“Sadly not.”

Jodin explained to him that transport ships were too easily detected and that there were plenty of warrior ships still in the vicinity of the moon despite its apparent defeat. Their only chance to leave unnoticed was onboard an automated delivery ship travelling at below lightspeed for at least the first three sectors of the journey. Once they were far enough away from the Surplus moon they could jump to lightspeed without raising any suspicion. This first part of the journey would take a minimum of two months. This meant that they had to do a detailed inventory to check that they had enough food. They didn’t.

The delivery vessel contained; thirty eight Algrarian cows, lightly toasted. One thousand three hundred and ninety seven pounds of Martian cheese, twenty four genetically reinvented wildebeest, nine hundred and ninety nine chocolate covered Grozorian mice, two five ton vats of Coca Cola, a fondue set, and six hundred and forty six chickens. Barely enough to sustain one of them. Jodin suggested that if they were strict enough that they could just about make do and share the food so long as there was an ample supply upon arrival. The youth, having only recently experienced how Surplus really behave when faced with a limited amount of food, knew that this was beyond naive and that one of them would certainly be dead before the end of the first week. Stasis was hence the only option.

Neither boy wanted to go into stasis as it meant not eating for the duration of the trip. Both of them knew that they would feel neither time nor hunger while in suspended animation, but, the thought of being weeks older and having grown no bigger was so repugnant to them that the very thought of it made them sick. Jodin protested and protested but in the end it came down to rank. Under the promise that the youth would sustain a minimal growth in him through breeding, he finally relented. The stasis fluid was injected deep into his hugely fat right arm and he fell into an immediate and peaceful dark sleep upon his bed.

Alone and with nothing else to do the youth set about mutilating the provisions. The lightly toasted Algrarian cows were demolished in the first sitting. After every feast the highly stuffed and satisfied youth would climb on top of his friend and with his hugely distended and constantly growing belly resting upon his back, would breed his huge soft ass. Pumping it so full of young healthy and thick caloric Surplus cum that it would seep into the walls of his anus - adding pounds of fat to his already insanely huge globular cheeks. This process would be repeated every two hours for the next nine days, until the youth ran out of food.

At the end of the last meal the youth dropped the final chocolate covered mouse into his wide open mouth. It slid down his hungry throat without him even needing to swallow. He admired the new extent of his belly, and three hundred pounds heavier than when he had first started the journey, heaved himself up and into Jodin’s rotund ass. He fucked his unconscious but willing friend harder than he ever had before, knowing full well that he was also going to have to join him in stasis. After injecting a barrel load of cum into Jodin’s barrel shaped ass, he injected himself with stasis fluid and fell peacefully asleep, naked as the day he was born, next to his massively fat naked friend. Like that the two Surplus boys slept lovingly together for the next six and a half years; the ship having never achieved lightspeed.

4.

They awoke to the face of a withered and dying Surplus soldier. A colonel in the 52nd brigade, he looked down at them in amazement, just as they looked up at him.

Excess skin hung loosely from his cheeks and jowls. It hung ashamedly from his arms. At least three metres worth of once proudly stretched belly skin hung low below his armour. If the youth hadn’t needed to talk to him, he would have killed him on the spot.

The colonel explained the terrible fate that had befallen the entire Surplus army.

“Somehow they knew our plan. Someone must have sold us out. They knew about the fifth brigade waiting on the edge of the system waiting to retake the moon once you left. And there are so many more of them than we ever could have believed. I don’t understand how they bred that fast. Our best chance was here, taking the fight to them on their own planet, but they already knew. They were waiting for us. Hundreds of thousands of them. Your father is dead. Eaten on the second day. We have been fighting on and off for years. Retreating, refeeding, and returning, but every time we come back there are more of them and now there is not enough food left in the sector to sustain us. Look at me. I’m sinfully thin. We have awaited your arrival for so long, where have you been?”

The youth and Jodin rose from their bed, without speaking. This dishonourable man deserved no reply. Jodin pushed him to the ground whereupon they both proceeded to sit on him, squashing him and farting until he was ceremoniously dead.

“Let’s go see for ourselves,” the youth said.

It was every bit as bad as the colonel had said. They looked down on Valgarth, the home of the vore warriors, and all they saw was death. The last few hundred Surplus soldiers were malnourished beyond all recognition and slowly being hunted down and consumed. They both agreed that the soldiers deserved their fate. No rescue plan was forthcoming.

“How do you think they did it? How did they reproduce so fast?” Jodin asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s true. Maybe they did find it?”

“That can’t be right? Can it?”

“Who knows? But it doesn’t matter now. They have only doomed themselves.”

“What do you think he will do?”

“He will do what he always does when we are threatened.”

“Have you ever seen him?”

“No, but he will be here soon. We need to retreat. Balance will be restored.”

5.

Down on the planet the last Surplus soldier alive tripped over a mangled piece of machinery. It was the burnt out remains of an anti-gravity pack that they used to increase manoeuvrability. Not that it mattered what it was. Nothing happening on Valgarth mattered anymore. The vore warrior leaned over him, its snake like tongue rasping in anticipation. The Surplus soldier screamed in dread and was devoured quicker than a Belusian beatle. The vore warrior grabbed hold of itself and began to pull while its bloated belly kicked and screamed. But it would never see completion. High above the planet a dark mysterious force was gathering. Space and time distorted, a booming voice rang out across the cosmos; “Seven, eight, nine, six, four, eight, twelve, two, seven, eight, three, five.” The youth and Jodin programmed the coordinates into the navicomp. An impossible gust of wind rushed across the solar system, and as gravity and space itself conceded to the almighty power, Valgarth, its moons, its neighbouring planets, and even its sun, fell into a vast nothingness bigger than creation itself. Devoured by God. A large burp rang out across the void and the entire vore solar system was gone.

6.

The youth and Jodin were starving by the time they reached the twin micro-planets of Xenia and Xania. It had taken a whole twenty minutes to get there since they had witnessed the fall of Valgarth and almost an hour since they had woken up! Their massive bellies rumbled in anticipation of their reward. They opened the cargo bay doors and just kind of reversed up to the two hot air balloon sized planets, scooping them up and into the cargo bay.

They entered holding giant knives and forks and immediately started carving the planets up and scooping large chunks into their mouths. They tasted like Charnarian fruit, sweet and soft as sugar at the core yet crispy and crunchy on the crust. Each planet contained over a billion souls, who ran around aimlessly, screaming for their God to save them. The micro-people looked up at their Gods and saw only giant tongues smothered in saliva and the ghostly remains of their compatriots. Balance was restored.

The youth and Jodin laughed and burped and farted as their bellies swole on the souls of a civilization. They were both so fat, so powerful. They felt like they were floating through a nebula. The fucked each other intensely and revelled in their glory. They needed to find the few remaining Surplus scattered around the galaxy and repopulate. Feeding and fucking was all that there was.