Sugar Squad

Chapter 1 - We Will Fix Him

Morrigan Angel’s birthday was less a party and more an annual coronation. The living room sparkled with webs draped over the furniture. A gentle breeze whooshed from the hidden speakers. Among everything else, eight bright candles flickered atop a delicious chocolate cake.

On the thirtieth of October, they considered it the opening act of Halloween.

Bel, her older brother, kept to the corner. Leaving would give Morrigan the victory of knowing she’d driven him out. Again.

Her friends crowded the living room like worshippers at an altar. All girls. Always girls. They moved through his house like they owned it, their nasty feet dirtying up the floor, their laughter grating against his ears.

They think they’re so special. Act sweet and innocent, but the second you’re not useful, they rip you apart. Just like those idiots at school. Just like Mom, who always takes her side.

She could talk to anyone, laugh with anyone and move through the world without looking over her shoulder. Girls had it so easy; they just existed, and people loved them for it.

He watched her tear wrapping paper from another gift—a new touchscreen phone. The squeal she let out earned applause. One of her friends threw her arms around her.

His fingers curled into fists.

He slipped into the kitchen. The candy bowl sat unprotected on the counter. A bitter smile formed. If he was going to be invisible, he might as well be a thief. He dove in, his pockets bulging with jawbreakers and chocolates.

He returned as Morrigan unveiled the grand prize: a crystalline music box from their mother. It caught the light, splitting into a hundred tiny rainbows.

“It’s so beautiful,” she giggled, holding it like a trophy.

That effortless giggle was the last straw. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked the box from her grasp. A sharp crack echoed. The corner shattered against the floor, a spiderweb of fractures ruining its perfection.

Morrigan’s face crumpled. “What is wrong with you?” Her voice broke.

“It’s crap,” he chuckled. “You’ll get a million more tomorrow.”

“Enough, Bel,” their mother Lilith warned. “Go to your room. Now.”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. But Morrigan stormed into the kitchen. Seconds passed. With a shriek, she charged back out and tackled him, knocking the wind from his lungs.

“You can’t stand it, can you?” she growled. “One day. Just one day where nobody has to worry about the weird, quiet kid in the corner.”

He shoved her off, breathing hard. She stumbled back. Her heel slipped, and suddenly she was standing with one bare foot showing, smudged grey from the dusty floor.

She noticed the way he recoiled.

“Oh, that’s right.” Her voice went cold. “My stupid brother’s scared of feet.”

“Morrigan!” Lilith’s warning came too late.

“Look at it, Bel.” She lifted the foot higher, her grey sole facing him directly. Every wrinkle was visible. She wiggled her toes deliberately slowly. “Here. Suck my big toe. Suck it ‘til it sparkles.”

His throat closed. He couldn’t breathe.

“Maybe you’ll finally grow up. Conquering your fear of the dreaded dusty feet.”

Her friends’ laughter hit him in waves.

His panic hardened into rage. He grabbed Morrigan’s wrist and flung her backwards. Her face smacked against the wall. She crumpled, gasping. He lunged again, but Lilith’s hands seized him.

“Bel! Upstairs, right now!”

“I hate you!” Morrigan sobbed, touching her face.

“Good!” He twisted free from his mother’s grasp and stuck his middle finger up at Morrigan. “I hope you close your eyes tonight and never open them again, retard!”

“Maybe I won’t!”

“Please don’t!” He stormed upstairs and slammed his door.

As the adrenaline left him, the satisfaction he felt at making Morrigan cry began to dissipate. He trembled. Every fight this year had ended the same: more distance, more silence and more weigh pressing down on him.

Atop his drawer lay an old photo. Him and his mother, before Morrigan existed, before girls started to confuse him, and before they twisted him into something he didn’t recognise. He traced his younger self’s face with a thumb. That boy had been smiling. Such an idiot…

The laughter downstairs began again, muffled through the floorboards. Each giggle pressed deeper into him until it became unbearable.

He started to sob.

If nobody would miss me, why would I miss them?

Wiping tears from his face, he opened the top drawer. Inside, beneath a folded hoodie, the pistol waited. He stared at it, taking shallow half-breaths. The idea of pure silence filled his head so completely that it felt like peace. Just one pull of the trigger…

It’s not like I make anyone happy anyways. I’m doing everyone a favour… But I… If I’m going out, then I’m doing it with something to try and smile at.

Halloween was tomorrow. And if the city wanted to scream into the night, this time it would scream for him.

---

Far from New York, beneath the aurora, a city of gingerbread and sugared glass glittered in the endless night. At its heart stood the mighty workshop, its chimney breathing white smoke into the sky.

Inside the master’s study, logs crackled. Behind an enormous desk carved from pine sat a figure whose shadow consumed half the room. Even seated, he towered. The elves before him barely reached his knee.

“Belial Angel.”

His voice rolled through the room like thunder. The name bled crimson across the parchment before him. He touched the ink with one enormous finger.

“A long record of cruelty. Not mere mischief but malice.” He lifted his gaze. “And yet, of all the children crying out for redemption, it is he whom you present before me.”

He turned. His heavy gaze fell upon the four young elves. Pepper’s usual composure cracked. Marshmallow’s hands twisted together. Ginger’s foot stopped tapping.

Only Cinnamon stepped forward, her tail uncurling from her waist. “Sir, this isn’t just bad behaviour. We’re looking at a countdown.”

“A countdown? To what end?”

“Violence. The latest report suggests he wants to hurt people on Halloween night.” Her tail coiled tightly. “Mainly girls.”

“Child.” He leaned forward. “Some paths wind too deep for elven feet to follow. We mend damaged hearts, not minds wholly consumed by hatred. And this boy speaks of ending lives, perhaps his own. That is not our domain.”

“Why can’t it be?” Cinnamon’s voice didn’t waver. “We need to try. Once someone builds that wall, you can’t pull them back. You just lose them.” She looked down. “I’ve seen it happen.”

Ginger leaned against the massive desk. “C’mon. We flip this nutcase, and our squad’s reputation goes through the roof.”

“A high-risk case yields a high reward,” Pepper added, her tone flat.

“He needs love!” Marshmallow stepped forward, her hands clasped. “Heavy love. Those quick-fix elves just scare kids long enough for them to receive presents. We could change him forever.”

Cinnamon’s tail flicked back and forth. “Please, sir. Let us try.”

“You are still on probation.” His finger pointed at them. “Let us not forget the last calamity you brought upon us. And now you ask to breach the oldest law: no human child crosses into our realm. You would bring him here, into a world that could place his spirit in grave danger.”

“With all due respect—”

“The matter is closed.” He turned back to the fire, ending the discussion.

The four elves filed out in silence.

Their shared apartment was small but warm. Cinnamon paced, her tail whipping behind her with each turn.

“It’s not fair! He didn’t even listen!” She stomped her sneakered foot. “He decided before we opened our mouths!”

“He listened.” Pepper sat on a chair. “He simply disagreed. Verbally.”

“Please, he’s just scared we’ll outshine the other elves.” Ginger hopped onto the counter. “This Angel brat’s got a screw loose. If we tighten it, he’ll live up to his name, and we’ll become legends with the ultimate bragging rights. Everyone wins! Well, we win more, which is what matters.”

“But if we fail,” Marshmallow murmured, “we’ll never get another chance. Aren’t we walking on thin ice right now?”

Cinnamon’s eyes opened wide. Her frown twisted into a sly smile. “He said the matter was closed. Didn’t say it couldn’t be reopened.”

Ginger raised a brow. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

“Are you in?”

“Hell yeah!” Ginger stretched her legs. “Y’know, if we’re gonna fix this kid, we might as well have fun with it. I’m thinking humiliation therapy. Make him face his fears directly.”

“You mean using our feet to torment him,” Pepper said.

“Chill. They’re gonna heal him.” Ginger’s grin widened. “Besides, the little bastard’s got a foot phobia and girl problems, last time I checked. We’re basically the perfect storm.”

“Empirical evidence suggests prolonged exposure could work.” Pepper put a finger to her lip. “It would be intriguing to study human behaviour up close as well… I’m in.”

“I could never say no to this!” Marshmallow spread her arms. “He’s getting all the love he can swallow! We’ll show Santa we can do this!”

“Unanimous, then!” Cinnamon hopped onto the counter, her tail coiling in excitement. She planted her hands on her hips, standing tall. “We’ll make an improved boy out of him yet!”

She kicked off her sneakers.

Ginger gagged. Pepper’s nose wrinkled. Even Marshmallow’s smile faltered.

Cinnamon’s bare feet sank onto the counter with a damp squeak. Faint imprints formed where her soles kissed the surface. Her toes flexed, and somehow the smell intensified, as if the movement released trapped funk from between them.

“Cinnamon!” Ginger scrambled back, waving a hand in front of your face. “Jeez, what were you doing today?”

“Emotional stress increases odour production,” Pepper stated, moving towards the window. “But this exceeds the usual ten percent increase.”

“They smell ten times smelly today,” Marshmallow giggled, also backing away. “Like the cheese really started cooking!”

Cinnamon’s face went red. “Always overexaggerating… My feet don’t smell that bad…”

“I shouldn’t be able to taste them from this distance!” Ginger pinched her nose. “We cook in the kitchen, Cinnamon. Come on.”

“Well let’s just hope that Belial Angel can handle this so-called awful stench better than you girls can.” Her tail grabbed one of the sneakers and flung it towards the door. “Now how do we smuggle a human past the Voie?”

She pointed to a half-eaten cookie on the edge of the counter. With a snap of her fingers, the cookie shrank, becoming no bigger than a coin.

“My size-bending skills haven’t gotten rusty. Think they’d detect a tiny human hiding in one of our shoes?”

---

Mrs Holland’s sixth-grade science class had given up pretending to care about worksheets. Being the last period on Halloween, even the teacher had checked out, sitting at her desk and scrolling through her computer while thirty kids buzzed around energetically.

Paper bats fluttered under the A/C. Someone had already stolen the candy from the plastic pumpkin on her desk.

Bel sat in the back row, pencil moving across paper in slow strokes. He was drawing something basic: himself, curled up and staring at the endless ocean. A shining gun was fixed in his mouth.

His mind remained fixed on the real waiting at home.

Maybe it doesn’t have to happen, he thought. Maybe if just one person…

His eyes drifted to Lisa again.

She sat three rows ahead with Nora and Chase, laughing at something on Chase’s phone. Her long, ebony hair was always an unkempt mess.

Yet he’d noticed her all semester. The way she smiled at everyone, even the weird kids. The way she’d lent him a pencil once without complaining. She was nice. Actually nice.

If I can just talk to her like a normal person, if she smiles at me like she does Chase, then maybe I don’t have to do this.

His hands were sweating.

Just say hi. If it’s your last day anyway, what difference does it make if you fail?

He grabbed his folder and walked to their table. His legs were stiff, and his arms didn’t know where to hang.

“Hey.” His voice cracked on the single syllable.

Lisa looked up first. Then Nora. Then Chase.

“Hey, Bel.” Nora’s smile was immediate. “Finally decided to join the living?”

The friendliness hit him like a flashbang. Girls not named Lisa didn’t smile at him. They looked through him or merely laughed.

She’s mocking you. They’re all mocking you.

“I… Um…” His brain ceased to function. What was he supposed to say? What did normal people talk about?

Lisa’s smile was gentle. “You doing anything for Halloween?”

She looked him in his eyes. Immediately his folder slipped.

Everything spilt and scattered across the floor.

“I got it.” Lisa bent down. Her flip-flop trapped one of his drawings.

Bel’s eyes locked onto her foot. Everything else blurred.

Her big toe twisted grotesquely, the nail’s paint chipped with purple. He discerned the roughness of her skin—a rough, callused texture illuminated by a sheen of sweat.

His chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe.

It’s gonna touch me. It’s gonna touch my paper, then I’ll have to touch the paper and…

“Here you go.” She lifted the paper with her toes.

The way her toes gripped and left faint prints on his drawing sent a jolt of terror through him. Her foot was monstrous. Those five worms were alive, writhing independently, and they were contaminating his drawing. His body shook violently.

“Whoa. You okay?” Lisa’s smile faded. Her eyes widened as she held the drawing. “Bel—”

“It’s fine.” He snatched the drawing, crumpling it and shoving it in his pocket. He scrambled backwards and grabbed papers frantically. One tore in half, and he didn’t care. He just needed to escape.

Chase laughed. “Dude, are you scared of feet?”

The classroom went quiet. Bel knew everyone was listening now.

“Did her foot just short-circuit his brain?” Nora giggled from confusion.

Lisa looked concerned. “Bel, seriously, are you okay?” She wiggled her greasy toes. “I can talk after class.”

Bel’s breathing hitched. What was an innocent gesture to Lisa felt like a thousand insects crawling under his skin.

Someone in the back shouted, “Yo, it’s Halloween! Make him smell them!”

A sea of laughter occurred. “Smell her feet! Smell her feet!” the kids chanted.

“Guys, stop,” Lisa said, still moving her toes. A giggle left her, only from the awkwardness. “My feet are sweaty; he doesn’t need to smell them.”

But Bel wasn’t seeing Lisa anymore. He saw feet and mocking laughter. He snatched Lisa’s soda bottle and shook it violently. A distant part of his brain pleaded for him to stop, but his hands weren’t listening. He twisted the cap.

Black liquid sprayed directly into Lisa’s face. It soaked her shirt, and her phone went dark as soda poured across the screen.

The classroom went silent.

Lisa sat frozen, soda dripping from her hair. Her lip trembled.

“What the hell?” Chase was on his feet. “What’s wrong with you, dude?”

Mrs Holland was finally looking up from her computer. “Bel! Principal’s office—”

The bell rang, and Bel was gone.

He shoved past kids streaming towards the exits. Someone shouted his name—Lisa. He neither stopped nor looked back, merely running until the school was far behind him. He could hear nothing but his own gasping breath as he pounded the pavement.

Idiot! She was being nice to you! She was trying to help! But you had to…

He shook his head, growling.

No! She was laughing! They were all laughing! Nobody’s your friend, and nobody will ever be your friend. The only thing they’ll be friends with is the barrel of your gun, Bel. Be happy your gunslinger costume won’t be just for show.

“Happy Halloween,” he choked out under his breath.

He burst into his apartment. But he had to pause.

The familiar chaos of the house was gone. The mess that would normally remain after Morrigan’s birthday had been cleaned up, except for the Halloween decorations. Yet there was a heavy silence.

Maybe Mom just came back to clean things up and get her mind off what happened last night, he reasoned.

But when he reached his room, he found it ransacked. His closet was open, clothes strewn about. The stolen sweets under his pillow had vanished. He yanked open his dresser drawers; they were mostly empty. Most importantly, the gun was missing.

Who was here? And how did they know to look through my room specifically?

He rounded the corner leading back to the living room and froze.

There were four girls standing in the centre of the room. They stood in a diamond formation, their bodies so still they seemed to have been mannequins. A second passed. Then two. Then three.

Their eyes moved first, clicking in their sockets to lock onto him. Then their heads rotated in unison, revealing four identical smiles.

“Belial Angel,” the one at the front said. Her breath drifted across the room, laced with burning cinnamon. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Bel’s legs wouldn’t move. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

One of the girls on the side suddenly disappeared. Before Bel could turn, a hand clamped around his wrist. He saw bits of red hair dangling from the right.

“Your mom and sister are fine,” the redhead cooed in his ear. “But they’ll be even safer with you on vacation.”

“Get away from me, you freaks!” Bel screamed. As the apparent leader approached, he gathered every ounce of saliva in his mouth and launched a spit onto her cheek.

Her smile didn’t falter. She simply focused deeper on Bel and snapped her fingers.

Bel felt a drop in his stomach, like an elevator cable snapping. The ceiling shot upward, the walls expanded outward, and the carpet fibres now came up to his legs.

He looked up and shrieked as the girls swelled into titans, their heads piercing the atmosphere. A hand the size of a vehicle descended. He scrambled backwards, tripping over a thread of the carpet, and the fingers closed around him.

“No, no, no!” He was hoisted into the air, dangling over a dark, circular opening—the intimidating mouth of a boot.

The fingers opened.

He plummeted, tumbling into the dark. The leather walls rushed past him until he hit the spongy, damp insole.

The smell immediately burnt his throat. He gagged, scrambling to find purchase, but the walls were slick and far too tall.

Then the dim light began to be eclipsed. His heart stopped.

A foot was descending. Covered in a white, dirtied sock, this falling sky filled his vision. He could see the individual loops of the thread and the darker patches where the sweat had soaked through.

“Please don’t!” he wailed, pressing himself against the heel of the boot.

But the foot continued. The sock finally touched his face, pressing him into the sole. His world went completely dark.

For the second time that day, Bel couldn’t breathe.

---

Time lost all meaning in the dark. It could have been minutes or hours. Bel lay pinned, his limbs splayed awkwardly under the crushing weight of the giantess’ heel. Each subtle shift of her weight caused the fabric to grind against his skin, forcing the stale air into his nostrils.

Just as he felt his sanity teetering on the brink, the pressure suddenly lifted.

The foot ascended, taking the heat with it. Blinding light flooded in. The boot was inverted, and he tumbled out, landing on a rug.

“Be grateful it was my boot that confined you,” a booming voice echoed. “Unlike our leader, I utilise socks.”

He gasped, trying to purge the taste of the sock from his mouth. When he looked up, a wave of despair washed over him.

The room was colossal, built for beings capable of effortlessly crushing trucks beneath their feet. Everything sparkled, from the gleaming walls to the distant wooden floorboards.

Then he saw it. A foot. Not just any foot. A bare foot, mere metres away.

It extended like an elongated van and was as broad as two metres. The sight of the toes flexing sent a shiver down his spine. He instinctively scuttled back.

“Where am I?” he shouted.

“Welcome, traveller, to the North Pole!” Marshmallow cheered. Her joyful bounce sent Bel toppling over.

He looked up at her. Her blonde hair was styled into two playful pigtails, and the buttons of her sweater threatened to burst from the strain. She wore a grin so wide it seemed capable of splitting her face in half.

“Oh my gosh,” she squealed under her breath. “We actually brought a human here! You’re such a little cutie!”

“Cute but naughty.” Ginger adjusted the tight knot of her fiery bun. “You’ve landed yourself on the naughtiest of lists, little boy. But that’s why we’re here. ‘Cause we’re…”

“The Sugar Squad!” Cinamon finished, flopping onto her stomach with her chin cradled in her hands. “And you, Belial Angel, are our new rescue mission.”

Bel’s head throbbed as his eyes darted around, searching for a means of escape. All he found were Ginger’s approaching feet.

Each toe was thick enough to crush him. Shiny beads of moisture clung to her skin, reflecting the light. He envisioned the slick pressure of the toes closing in on him, the musky warmth filling his lungs.

His stomach clenched painfully.

Ginger smirked. Her flip-flops slapped against the floor as she moved. Then she twisted, exposing soles lined with faint creases. With deliberate grace, she gave him an unobstructed view of the glistening surface of her sandal. He whimpered at the sight, noting the darkened edges where her foot rested, stained with accumulated sweat and grime.

“So the file doesn’t lie,” Ginger snickered.

“Get away from me!” He scrambled backwards.

Marshmallow crouched, pacing her giant foot gently in front of his path. “Hey, don’t be scared. We’re here to fix you up.” Her voice was soft, but she just motivated him to run faster.

Pepper folded her arms. “You’ll adapt.”

“Like hell I will! You freaks kidnap me, deck yourselves out in some elf-ear cosplay and mess with my head?”

“Cosplay?” Marshmallow asked. Cinnamon and Pepper shrugged, with Cinnamon pulling out a small book and flipping rapidly through the pages.

“This book has no answers,” she groaned.

“Hey, bug boy, does this look like cosplay to you?” Ginger asked as a flame sparked from her index finger. It came and went like magic. She then directed her finger downward. To Bel’s utter terror, ten toes burst into flames. They weren’t being consumed by the fire; instead, the fire only made the toes glow brighter and sweat more profusely.

Bel blinked slowly. This isn’t real. It can’t be real…

But no matter how often he shut his eyes, he was not back in his bed.

“This is real,” Ginger said. “The shrinking? Real. The North Pole? Real. This magic?” She extinguished the flames with a clap. “We’re elves, dumbbell. All of this is as real as your little gun back home.”

“So you’re really elves?” he screamed. “And you kidnapped me?”

“Yes.” Cinnamon backed away from him. “She’s not the only one with magic, either.”

With a snap of Cinnamon’s fingers, Bel felt as if he were being stretched from head to toe. Suddenly a flash of light appeared, and he returned to his normal size. However, his clothes shimmered, the light clinging to the fabric before it settled. Looking down, he saw that his blue hoodie and jeans had been replaced by a predominantly red elven uniform with a maroon skirt that swished around his knees.

“What the fuck?” He jerked at the skirt, his cheeks puffing up.

“It’s your uniform,” Cinnamon said. “What I wore when I was smaller, to be exact.”

“Get this off! I’m not a stupid elf, and I’m not wearing this girl—!”

“Ooh, how scary! A skirt,” Ginger drawled, kicking her flip-flops towards the door. “How brave of you to resist the genderless fabric.”

The chime of an alert echoed through the room, cutting him off.

“Patrol,” Cinnamon gasped, removing her hoodie. “We’ve got to move. You’re coming with us, Belial.”

He crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you psycho bitches!”

Cinnamon’s tail flicked. She pointed at Pepper. “You can either follow me, or you can spend the rest of the night back in her boot. Does being crushed under her heel for five hours, breathing nothing but sweat-drenched sock fuzz, sound lovely to you?”

That imagery made his stomach lurch. “You wouldn’t…”

“We don’t have much time,” Pepper said.

He pouted. “Fine. But after this, you’re taking me home.”

Ginger snickered. “Sure thing, kid. Just tell your folks you won an all-expense-paid trip to the North Pole. A special Halloween promotion.”

“Halloween?”

“Surprised?” Cinnamon stretched out her hand. “Don’t hold us up.”

He stared at them. Four girls who’d kidnapped him, shrunk him, trapped him in a boot and were now dragging him to Heaven-knew-where.

This night was going to be very, very long.