.

I ran. I ran because I was scared of my past. I ran because I was scared of what lay ahead. I ran because it was all I knew how to do.

But this time, I mostly ran because I was terrified of getting eaten.

I had never been a fighter. Even as a young boy, when others might stand up to their parents, I would obey. When confronted with a new situation, I would hide. When my classmates teased me, they knew they could get away with it, because I was small and didn't know how to fight back.

Although to be fair, I doubt many people would have been able to fight off that horrible beast chasing me through the night. Still, I could have attempted to defend myself with the small multi-tool I carried. Instead, I bolted toward safety, despite knowing in my bones it was impossible to make it in time.

I raced over the unpaved trail, stumbling over rocks and roots and somehow managing to stay upright. Up ahead, I knew safety awaited me, i just didn't know how far. It's almost magical, how different everything seems at night. The same peaceful forest, full of wildlife and serenity, perfect for a vacation, can become a nightmarish scene, where every tree seems like something out of a nightmare, every sound seems like something trying to eat you and every turn seems like the wrong one.

As I careened around a bend in the path, I once again felt like I was going in circles. The illogical side of my brain considered stopping to orient myself, but the thought of my pursuer, who eerily made too little noise for me to tell if he was far behind, kept me moving in a hurried frenzy. Or the best frenzy that my disappointing lack of athleticism could manage, anyway.

I reached the top of a small hill, and caught a glimpse of the porch light - signifying that my destination was still within reach. I cried out in exertion and pushed myself even harder, motivated by the promise of safety. I leaped over the last bit of dirt and landed in the gravel driveway, before continuing without pause. The sickening crunch of paws sinking into gravel, far too soon after my own landing, notified me of my imminent doom. Heart sinking further, I dashed for the front steps, hoping that by some miracle the gravel would slow him down just enough for me to make my escape, but as I slammed into the door, he soared up the steps in one leap and landed menacingly at the edge of the porch. I scrambled for my keys, whimpering in fear as he approached, auburn eyes far too human, too malicious. The thing was far too large to be a wolf, but too lithe to be a bear. His fur rippled with power, hinting at the muscular figure underneath. His ears were sharp and focused, twitching at the slightest sound. His tail swished behind him calmly, he knew he was in control of the situation. But those eyes drew me in. They had something about them...

I ripped the door open just as he pounced, falling flat on my ass into the cabin and kicking with all my might. He rolled backwards, returning to the edge of the deck, but recovering with superhuman speed and launching himself at me again when WHAM! I shut the door in the nick of time, latch barely holding it shut as his massive frame cannonballed against the wood. It felt like an earthquake struck as he tore into the wood, trying to break through to the inside, to me. Then, all fell quiet. I was alone again. Finally. My heart beat aggressively in my ears, struggling to recover from the most intense exercise I had ever experienced. With the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, I was acutely aware of every detail, every slight draft, every grain in the hardwood floor, every miniscule sound from outside. Even my breathing seemed like a thunderous avalanche of air, cascading in and out in quick cadence. I paused and took a few deep breaths, still slouched against the door, and attempted to reorient myself.

The cabin looked just like it had when I last visited, years ago. Perhaps a bit dustier. It was my uncle's place - he built it himself in his youth - and was small, but homey. It had gone mostly unused lately, ever since my uncle died, but I was welcomed to use it after expressing my desire to get away from the bustle of everyday life for a time. And look at how fucking "relaxing" it has been.

The dark hallway beckoned ominously ahead, sending chills down my spine. Still wary, I stood, and the light flickered to life as I hit the switch. I hesitantly crept into motion, turning on lights, shutting blinds, locking windows, just trying anything to dispell the darkness of night and the horrors that lay within. I lit the fire as a final touch and crouched near it, appreciating the solace of its warmth. As I slowly calmed down, my panic dimming to a faint paranoia, I felt a throbbing pain suddenly emerge into my awareness. I looked down to find my foot coated in blood, and still seeping fluid out onto the carpet. "Shit" I muttered, regretting using my foot as a weapon against the animal. I carefully got to my feet and stepped toward the bathroom, futility attempting not to get blood on the floor while testing my weight on the injured foot. Oddly, it seemed to be completely numb despite the gruesome wound. I favored it anyway, hobbling to the bathroom and opening up the medicine cabinet and patching myself up.

I stared at the mirror as my haggard form came into view on the closing cabinet door. "Holy fuck," I said, remarking on my sunken eyes and wild hair. I had even developed a shade of unruly stubble, surprisingly. Usually I couldn't grow facial hair for the life of me. I tore my attention away from the mirror and hurriedly undressed, eagerly getting ready for much-anticipated rest. After a quick shower I hopped into bed, lights still illuminating the whole cabin in the dim way that old lights do, providing a soothing glow to ease me into a restless sleep.

The next morning I awoke with a jolt - cold sweats tormenting me as my nightmares from the night before separated into reality and imagination, the latter swiftly fading into distant memory while the former remained all too sharp.

I threw on the first suitable clothes I could find and stalked out into the hallway in search of a weapon. "Somewhere here.. " I muttered, scouring old memories of things people had said that my uncle had said to them about the cabin for any mention of a gun. I threw open another door, letting that closets contents spill put onto the hallway and quickly rifling through them. "Aha!" I exclaimed, coming across a dusty old gun box and dragging it over to the kitchen table. I coughed as the case opened, likely for the first time in at least a decade, and released a pale cloud. I hefted its weight in my hand and immediately felt safer. I leveled it at the wall, testing out the feeling when suddenly - BAM - it fired through the wall, leaving behind a small new window and a shower of woodchips. "I guess it's loaded" I chuckled to myself, breathing heavily as the last of the woodchips clattered to the floor.

'It's fine,' I thought, 'I'm not coming back here anyway.' I had come to the decision that it was a huge fucking mistake staying at some rickety cabin in the woods, and I should probably find a place in town.

I flung the door open, wearing a tough pair of boots i borrowed, not wanting to put on my bloodied shoes, and holding the gun out, quivering with fear almost imperceptively. Once I was sure nothing had been waiting on the porch all night to eat me, I walked down the steps and out toward the long driveway between me and my car. "Fuck this cabin," I muttered, "Fuck this long-ass driveway, and FUCK MY DUMB CAR FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO DRIVE UP IT!" I screamed into the woods, and then immediately felt silly as a bird flew away above the treetops, startled. Then, immediately felt scared again and resumed cautiously trekking to my vehicle, gun held tightly within my hands.

_--_--_--

THE DAY WAS SPENT setting up in a motel in town. I sure as hell wasn't going back to that cabin. It was a small town, too small to even call it a 'town', really, but too modern to call a 'village'. The perfect place for escaping the grind of everyday life. Simple, with one store, one gas station, one sleepy motel, and a smattering of houses, with most people living in cabins like my Uncle's outside of town.

As the sun went down, I flopped over on the smoke-scented sheets of my motel bed. The room was paid for, the door was locked, food had been aquired; I was finally at ease. I sighed in relief and turned over, ready for the sweet release of unconsciousness to take hold, but it wouldn't come. I tossed myself back around to the other side, feeling strangely warm despite setting the thermostat at a comfortable 69°. I tossed my blanket to the side, annoyed, and hoped that would fix the problem. Despite finally feeling at rest for the first time in almost 24 hours, I couldn't seem to find actual rest. "Ughhhh" I groaned, venting a long and frustrated indication of my troubles at the ceiling.

I rolled out of bed and sulked over to the bathroom, freeing myself of my pajamas, which suddenly felt like they were smothering me. I turned on the faucet, hungry at the sound of the cold, clear water flowing at my command. I ran my hands under it, letting my blood spread the cold feeling throughout my body before splashing it over my face. I moaned, relishing the feeling as it dripped down my face, getting caught in the short beard that had apparently-

"-what the fuck??" I exclaimed, staring at my face in the mirror. My rugged stubble from the night before had somehow lengthened, despite my inability, or rather, former inability, to grow facial hair. The shocking discovery distracted me for a moment, as I got out my razor, unable to stand unkempt appearance. With that taken care of, I rushed back to bed, trying to get some rest before the relief of the cold water wore off. I slowly drifted off into a fitful sleep, trying not to think about how off-put I was by the sudden change in status quo.

--_--_

I opened my eyes. I couldn't move- wait, no - I was moving, but it wasn't me in control. I paced along a dirt path, low to the ground, moving with practiced deliberation. I could tell it was dark, but I wasn't sure how: everything was brightly lit. I... smelled something strong. Something... delicious, from up ahead. I quickened my pace and caught a glimpse of it - a lanky man, walking along, carrying a bright, almost blinding, light. I moved off the path into the bushes, and traversed in front of him, hidden off to the side. I prepared for the final strike when... I made eye contact. With myself.

In that moment I couldn't tell if I was looking into a vicious, surprised set of reflective honey-colored eyes, or my own eyes, which seemed small and scared.

He took off, running from me in fear, and it took me a moment to recover from the pre-attack endorphins and shift to a full-sprint chase. Those few seconds were crucial, earning him a huge head start, but his unathletic form was no match for my primal power, and I quickly gained ground. I felt a groan of disappointment in my head as a small cabin came into view, singular porch light glaring in my eyes until they adjusted. My catch was about to get away. Luckily, he stumbled like a fool into the door, allowing me to pause and taunt him, play with him, make him scared before I...

I screamed myself awake, sweating in bed for the second night in a row. This time they were not cold sweats however, oh god, they were not cold at all. I stumbled out of bed and fell to the floor, yelping in pain as I put weight on my injured foot - the one with the bite. It felt like it was on fire - sending jolts of pain throughout my body, but it was almost hard to feel considering the rest of my body was on fire as well. I arched my back, dripping sweat into the dirty carpet as another wave of pain flooded my senses.

As it subsided I tore off the gauze and looked at my foot, the source of the pulsing, and yelled, this time in shock as much as pain. Illuminated brightly by the full moon, my wound gyrated slowly, seeming to breathe. A single glistening bead of sweat seeped out of it and dripped down my foot, following the subtle curve of my veins and resting beneath my ankle before falling to the carpet below. I saw my toenails subtly lengthen and became sharper. The newly aquired hair around the open hole in my foot stood on end, and seemed to seed, releasing smaller hairs which anchored nearby. Small black hairs curled around my toes, empjasizing the creases and folds in my skin, which seemed to darken slightly. They pulsed with energy, responding to every movement, feeling every slight breeze, synchronizing with the grotesque hole that birthed them. The gaping wound widened in preparation, and contracted quickly, releasing another intense wave of heat. I couldn't look - i gritted my teeth against the pain, but yelled again, unable to help myself.

I clawed my way over to the console table on the other side of the room where I had left my phone, hoping to promote good sleep by eliminating distractions. I dragged myself along the carpet, feeling every itch, every bit of dirt, every fiber of the threat pressing against my bare body. Arriving at the table, I desperately reached toward the top, trying anything to contact help. Another wave of pain struck. My fingers dug into the fake wood top as I fell, catching on the lip before succumbing to the fire in my blood as I curled up on the floor. A dull thud near my head caught my attention - my phone - which had fallen off the table top. I reached for it, extatic, but was interrupted by excruciating pain in my side as the table fell on top of me. It felt like I was being stabbed and crushed at the same time. I roared in pain, and would have marveled at the fact that no one had heard me yet, if I had been able to focus on anything other than heaving the flimsy thing off of me. It was not difficult. The table seemed remarkably light, especially to have caused such pain, and I flung it forcefully at the wall. It broke into pieces, legs coming off and falling to the ground, one even breaking in half. Still nearby, I used it to brace myself against the next fiery tsunami that afflicted me. Suddenly, I remembered my phone, lying in the carpet. I reached for it in a panic, but it was no use. The violent destruction of the table had caused shrapnel to destroy the screen, leaving it unusable. I futily attempted to navigate through the broken glass anyway, relying on one remaining strip of screen at the far left to see. I only succeeded in breaking that too, and cutting myself with shards of cracked screen. I wept - a combination of despair over my hopeless situation and the fierce pain of the glass buried in my skin. I tenderly lifted myself off the floor, relying heavily on the wall and the broken table for support. As soon as I straightened out, or as close to 'straight' as I could get while in that much pain, another attack struck me. I fell back against the wall, wailing as I slammed into a mirror that hung there, and barely staying upright. The mirror broke as well, and a shower of glittering shards fell to the floor around me, luckily not large enough to do more than tickle, but the sheer impact of the wall was enough to elicit a yell anyway. I leaped away from it, stumbling on my hurt foot, again somehow maintaining my balance. I looked back at the wall, searching for what had so offended my shoulder: the mirror, whose cold touch i had felt just before. It now reflected my own face back at me, lit by the moon, coated in a stubble far too long for shaving just a couple of hours earlier. Hundreds of desperate images stared into my soul, mocking me. Hundreds of pinpricks of fireflies taunted my struggles. ...No, not fireflies...

I selected one of the larger pieces and stared carefully at my face, struggling to focus through the intense heat. Indeed, deep within, my eyes seemed to be glowing a pale yellow. Or, perhaps, reflecting the moonlight.

Suddenly, I heard a knock at the door. Someone was outside the room. "Not now-" I complained through shut teeth. I turned toward the door, wanting to go over and see who it was but another pulse sent fiery vengeance flowing through my blood. But this time felt... different. I became numb to the pain of the pulse, enough to maintain focus, at least, and felt how it heightened my senses as it washed over me - filled me with adrenaline. It was powerful, sure, but that power was mine. I embraced the change, let it come, and it embraced me back. I immediately felt more alive, and saw the little light in my eyes grow just a little bit brighter. The surges became more frequent, letting me see, letting me smell, letting me feel my body being torn apart and reformed.

For the first time, I became acutely aware of the changes ravaging my body. In moments, I forgot my fear of death, my confusion at the intense process. The transformation gleefully accepted my openness, accelerating further, rapid pulses blending together to form a pure, harmonious frequency. I reveled in its power, feeling it break me down in order to build me back up. Every muscle in my body was on fire with hypertrophy. Every joint ached. Every bone was sore with growing pains.

It radiated from my foot, spreading from there up my leg and to my heart, which pumped pure power out to every inch of my vessels. I felt it take hold of my musculature first. I would need every ounce of strength to endure the grueling process. My muscles contracted instinctually, and I had to slouch against the wall to avoid falling down. They rippled and churned under my skin, preparing themselves for drastic alteration. Another knock sounded out from the door, but I ignored it. I looked down and saw my arms suddenly begin to swell, veins popping out as they delivered development straight to the muscle. My once delicate hands became grisled and manly, as if from years of hard labor. Fine blond hairs popped into existence where before there had been none, speading from my fingers across the back of my hand, thickening the patchy dusting across my arm and shoulder where they landed on my chest. That, I could feel developing as well as my thin pecs, once so small that my ribs were nearly visible underneath, grew into thick slabs of meat. Even my neck thickened and bulged as the transformation continued. My traps surged upward, pushing against my neck with such strength that a moan was squeezed out of my trachea. I continued the sound as my throat adapted to the increased pressure, beginning to grunt with effort.

My stomach, once flat and smooth, burst with hills and valleys as a rock hard set of abs materialized from nothing. I ran my hands over them, tracing the now-distinct lines that separated each of the muscles of my torso. The cliff where my pec dropped off to become my torso. The hard line deliniating the center of my body. Each of the lines connecting one side of my torso to the other. Such things I had never experienced before this moment, always having been skinny, lacking any sort of muscular definition. "With a physique like this, I could be anything" I thought slowly, finding it difficult to draw my attention away from caressing my new muscles. My focus was quickly drawn away from caressing and daydreaming as the transformation took hold of my legs. My thighs swelled to the size of my head, then larger, and my calves tensed, expanding two, threefold. Even my feet became larger and more rugged, much like my hands, but telling tales of running for hours through the forest rather than hard labor.

The hair took hold there as well, chasing the muscular transformation down my spine, leaving seeds of a great forest behind as it went. It washed over the great hills of my once flat ass and down the back of my legs, wrapping around them in a fuzzy embrace. My leg hair thickened from a wispy fuzz to a proper coating, and darkened to a warm brown. It moved up and circled my belly button, settling into complex, swirling grain patterns as it danced across my skin. It bounced over my newfound abs, prompting a short but thick coat of hair to appear, and landed firmly on my chest, spreading out in a stardust pattern from my solar plexus. I moaned ecstatically at it's grasp, voice deeper than before, feeling its warmth as a coating appeared there as well. The pelt of short hair was completed, stretching from my shoulders to my toes, leaving only one area untouched. My face.

The knocking at the door continued to no avail. I was far too preoccupied to care, or hardly even notice as the hair growth hopped over my neck, leaving only a peppering as it reached for my jaw. The stubble there exploded into motion, growing more of a beard than I had ever even dreamed of having. It thickened, and blended into my sideburns, forming a thick cushion on my chin. The hair on my upper lip twitched as the growth reached toward it as well. It pickled and burst out, completely covering my lip with a magnificent stache. I hesitantly reached out and pet the furry beast that had laid to rest on my face. At an inch, inch and a half long maybe it wasn't finished yet, but already was a rich, luscious beard, more than I thought was possible. I ran my hand through it, feeling the long hairs between my fingers. It stretched high on my face, thinning out just below my cheekbones and right above my Adam's apple, which had grown much more prominent. I couldn't help but release another groan of pleasure, reveling in a level of manliness I had only dreamed of, amplified by the deep, rumbling sound of my new voice.

I instinctively reached down and tore off my underwear, incredibly turned on. As my hand grasped myself, the transformation grasped on as well, sensing my intentions. With every stroke I seemed to grow longer and thicker. My wrist rubbed against my new forest, arm hair wrapping around it and tangling together. I reached 7 inches as i continued to pump, feeling my muscles tense and release in perfect synchronization. I became thicker, almost unable to wrap my fingers all the way around, despite my new large, powerful hands. The ecstasy only enhanced the transformation. I could feel everything. Sense everything. I moved my hand back to my face, my beard, wrapping my thick paw around the entirety of my lower face. I brought my splayed fingers together, feeling how the hairs flowed around my fingertips. I twisted them between my pointer finger and thumb, feeling how they played of each other, coming together, wrapping around each other, and then gracefully coming apart. 8, 9 inches as I moved my hand down the length of my thick neck, feeling the spike of my Adam's apple, and coming to rest on the forested plateaus of my chest. I moved my hand in a circular motion, admiring how the soft pelt laid down at my command, then sprung back into position once my hand passed by. 10, 11 inches as I passed over my abs again, enjoying how the hair contoured the deep grooves of my six pack. The feeling of the furry cluster brought me closer and closer, and my fingers were apart, forcing my other hand to help contain the 12-inch monster. I arched my back as I finished the ritual off, digging my toes into the carpet and feeling every poweful muscle in my back contract, and then release. Power burst from me in strong pulses. I howled, dropping my arms and pushing hard against the wall above me, cracking the drywall. I dropped to the floor, spent, feeling the pulses slow down again. My muscles felt incredible, like they were about to burst with power, and my skin stuggled to contain them.

However, the transformation was only just beginning. I heard another round of knocking and lept up, admiring my powerful new body with pride and excitement. I strode toward the door, ignorant of my state of nakedness, simply excited to embody my new form. However, I was interrupted by another wave of pain, pulsing through my bones instead of my muscles. This time, it was even worse, but my powerful body was better equipped to handle the pain so it didn't incapacitate me nearly as much. Still, I fell to the floor in pain, catching myself on my thick arms. Pinned helplessly by the abrupt pain, a crushing stretch seized me from within. My spine bowed violently, vertebrae cracking in a slow, thunderous sequence, each break reverberating through my chest and into the ground beneath me. I cried out as my legs extended, heels scraping uselessly across the floor while femurs ground longer, joints tearing apart and reforming with sickening precision. Muscle surged further to fill the new length—calves swelling, thighs thickening—dragging my body outward inch by inch. Heat flooded every fiber as dense strength knitted itself together, muscles sliding and bunching with heavy, intoxicating weight.

My ribcage spread next, ribs prying themselves wider as my chest lifted off the floor in ragged gasps, lungs expanding to match my growing frame. The world seemed to shrink around me as I grew against it. When the stretching finally ceased, I lay there longer, broader, unmistakably taller, still suspended in the air by my muscular arms. I stared at my hands and, much like my infected foot, the nails lengthened, but this time the transformation was taken even further. I cried out as the bones in my hand broke, all at once, and began to move. I fell to my side, arms no longer able to support my weight, and tried to grasp my wrist in shock, but was unable. I watched as muscle and bone writhed beneath the skin, shifting and reforming. The short, pale hair that had grown on the back of my hand suddenly thickened and grew darker, connecting with the hair on my fingers to form a continuous pelt. This effect then shifted to my arms, hair growing even thicker and longer before, transforming from a coat of light fuzz to a thick jungle of fur in just a few short moments. I turned my eyes away from the gruesome sight, no longer as sure about my decision to embrace the change, and noticed a similar transition affecting my feet and legs. As I watched, a thick pelt burst into existence across my feet, curling over my toes, now topped with sharp nails, and beginning to climb up my legs. Then, every bone in my legs broke at once. I howled in pain, even my heightened constitution and physical strength couldn't protect me from the feeling. I writhed, but the reaction only made the pain worse so I desperately tried to stay still, watching in horror as the transformation continued. The pain slowly dulled as I started to go into shock, nerves and endorphins highly overworked.

A rap at the door. Again. "Not a good time.." I growled, staring at my mangled legs, unable to move.

Bone grated against bone as my body reshaped itself, each brutal shift sending sharp lightning through my nerves. I howled again, the sound raw and feral—until the surge finally crested. Heat flooded my veins, endorphins dulling the agony, turning pain into something distant, almost indulgent. What moments ago had been unbearable now felt right. The strange crawl of fur along my skin no longer alarmed me. The change wasn’t an enemy anymore. It was an invitation.

My cry softened, warping from anguish into pleasure as the transformation deepened. I watched in breathless fascination as my joints rolled and re-seated themselves, legs bending backward into a powerful new geometry. Muscle bunched and stretched beneath my skin, re-engineered for speed and strength. Coarse hair burst through my flesh, racing upward—over calves, past knees—until my thighs vanished beneath a thickening pelt.

A tight, unfamiliar pressure gathered between my hips as the transformation reached lower. My nethers prickled as coarse fur pushed through, spreading outward in a dense, protective growth that crept across my inner thighs and slowly climbed up my limb. As the growth spread down the length of it, I grew, extending its journey by almost 6 inches. The fur thickened until every movement brushed against it, a constant reminder of the change. What had once been exposed and delicate now felt shielded, insulated, and undeniably bestial, fully claimed by the same blanket of fur that had wrapped the rest of my body.

Then came a new, aching pressure at the base of my spine. Something pulled there, deep and insistent, vertebrae loosening as if unbuttoning themselves. I gasped as bone after bone slid outward, extending me inch by inch. Nerves flared as the new limb emerged, hypersensitive, alive. When it finally cleared my body, a heavy, furred tail spilled free, swaying experimentally behind me. I felt it move—not as something attached, but as something wholly mine. Each slow flick sent shivers through my back, through my hips, grounding me in this new balance, this new shape.

The fur continued its relentless ascent, swallowing my torso in warmth. Defined abs disappeared beneath a dense, insulating coat; my chest broadened, pecs thickening and vanishing into a forest of dark hair. It flowed up my arms, tracing every contour of my strength—over bulging biceps, across rounded shoulders—until it met at my neck in a seamless mantle of fur.

My face burned next. My nose dampened, stretching forward as the bones beneath it cracked and reformed. I yelped at the sharpness of it, then laughed—low and breathy—as sensation exploded outward. My skull pushed forward into a powerful muzzle, quickly cloaked in soft, sensitive fur. Whiskers twitched as the world came into sharper focus. My beard surged, crawling higher, threading over my cheekbones and curling around my eyes like a living crown. Last were my ears. They slid upward with a wet, unsettling sensation, sharpening as they rose to the top of my head. Sound rushed in all at once—the whisper of air, the thrum of my own heartbeat, distant scents unfolding into rich, intoxicating layers.

I heard another patient knock at the door. "Who the fuck is that" I tried to say, wanting to admire the recently deepened sound of my voice, but all that came out was a low growl, which i enjoyed nonetheless. I stood up, slowly, watching my body the whole time. If I could even call it my body, with such drastic changes. But it felt familiar, natural, even. Like it was always part of me and I had just never known it. I admired the glistening fur as I moved, rippling like waves, rich, deep color faded, but beautiful in the moonlight. I gazed at my muscles, so large they were still visible and defined under the thick fur. I hesitantly turned back to the broken mirror, flexing a massive bicep.

The sight instantly made me excited. My 12 inches, now covered in fur, stood straight out. I desperately wanted to reach down, but as I grasped onto the thick extra limb I was reminded of its residual sensitivity, and had to restrain myself.

Anpther knock reminded me of the guest at the door, and I turned and walked over, power coursing through my veins, feeling as though I could face anything. I hesitated, imagining how intimidating I might now be to a normal person, but I sensed something from whoever was out there - encouraging me, luring me in - so I continued. I reached the door and threw it open, still getting used to my own strength and was greeted by a familiar pair of eyes. They struck fear into my heart at first, as I recognized them and my residual instincts took over, but they were quickly banished by my intrigue. Those auburn eyes... No longer frightening, still just as enchanting. They drew me in. Welcomed me. I knew it even before the transformation: there was something different about him. He was just as i had seen him the night before, but now my mind was unloaded by fear. He stood on two legs now, even taller than me. His muscles, like mine, bulged beneath a gorgeous coat of black fur. His bulge - almost obscured by rich fur - soft, but likely even larger than mine when fully extended. The strange wolf, expression playful and proud, stared back for a moment before turning silently, nodding his head and beckoning me to follow. My heart pounded at the thought of him. I imagined where he might be taking me, what we might do. He bounded off into the night and I gladly followed, not bothering to hide my excitement.

That night, still restless from the mirror’s cruel honesty, Mark sat hunched over the glow of his laptop, scrolling through obscure forums until his eyes burned. Among the noise of miracle diets and shady workout plans, one thread kept catching his attention: whispers of a serum known only as “Aeternis.” The posters spoke of it like a secret spell—an ancient blend, part science and part sorcery—that reshaped the body from within, sculpting strength and muscle in ways no gym could. Most people dismissed it as a scam, but the few who swore by it described transformations too vivid to ignore. Mark’s heart pounded as he read, the thought sinking deeper: this could be the answer. For once, he didn’t want to wait, to hope, or to endure. He wanted change, and as he bookmarked the page, a reckless certainty settled over him—he would find Aeternis, and he would take it.

Mark’s hands trembled as he typed in his debit card number on the half-broken website, its design looking like something from the early 2000s, littered with flashing banners and barely translated promises of “instant transformation.” The checkout page warned him three times that all sales were final, but he clicked through without hesitation, pulse racing with a mix of fear and anticipation. Days later, a plain brown package arrived at his doorstep, smaller than he expected, its corners dented as if it had been handled roughly. Inside, cushioned by crumpled newspaper, lay a narrow glass vial filled with liquid that shimmered unnaturally between silver and deep violet, catching the light in a way that seemed alive and a sinister syringe, with a sharp needle that glinted in the light. A single scrap of paper was tucked beside it, ink smudged, the words scrawled in jagged handwriting: One dose. Midnight. Alone.

Mark sat on the edge of his bed, the vial trembling between his fingers. His shirt lay crumpled on the floor—he wanted nothing between his eyes and the proof that this was real. The liquid burned as it flowed into his veins, metallic and sharp, and before he could even set the syringe aside, his skin flushed with heat. He gasped, clutching his stomach as a deep vibration seemed to hum through his bones. His reflection in the darkened window began to shift—his ribs no longer jutted so sharply, his chest swelling with definition as if sculpted from within. Thin cords of muscle thickened along his arms, veins rising faintly beneath the surface as though announcing new strength. His collarbones softened under layers of hardening tissue, shoulders broadening until they cast stronger shadows against the wall. Mark ran a trembling hand down his torso, fingers tracing ridges of a forming six-pack where, only minutes before, there had been hollowness. The boyish frame he had despised melted away before his eyes, replaced by a lean, powerful body that felt both alien and intoxicatingly his. He stood, breathless, staring at the mirror—not in disappointment this time, but in awe.

The heat didn’t fade—it deepened, spreading through Mark’s veins like wildfire. He staggered closer to the mirror, his breath coming in ragged bursts, as if every heartbeat was pumping something new into his body. His chest tightened, not with pain but with pressure, and as he leaned in, he caught sight of dark stubble beginning to pepper the flat plain of his cheeks and jawline. At first it was faint, like the shadow of dirt, but within moments it thickened, curling into coarse strands that roughened his once-boyish face. His hand flew to his chin, feeling the prickling texture where smooth skin had been just minutes ago.

Then his eyes dropped. Across his chest, a dusting of hair emerged between his pecs, spreading downward in a faint trail that arrowed toward his tightening abs. His arms, once pale and bare, began to sprout fine hairs that grew denser, darker, until his forearms looked rugged, his hands no longer delicate but masculine and strong. Even his legs, still trembling from the surge of transformation, carried the same sign—the smoothness gone, replaced by a natural coarseness that made him look older, rawer, undeniably manly.

Mark grappled with the reality of his situation, staring at his reflection in disbelief. His frame was not only powerful now but mature, his features roughened by the rapid bloom of facial hair, his body no longer fragile but undeniably that of a man. The sensation was overwhelming—half ecstasy, half terror—as though the drug was rewriting him cell by cell, sculpting him into someone he had always wished to be, yet hardly recognized.

Mark barely had time to catch his breath before another wave of energy pulsed through him, sharper and heavier than the last. His thighs tightened, cords of muscle thickening so quickly that the seams of his shorts groaned under the strain. He staggered, clutching the dresser as his quads swelled outward, the fabric stretching to its limit—until, with a violent rip, the shorts split open, tatters falling away from his expanding frame. His calves lengthened too, bulging with new power, the proportions of his legs shifting into something taller, stronger, undeniably masculine.

Then the heat pooled low in his core, a pressure that made him gasp aloud. His hips widened slightly, and he felt an unmistakable heaviness stirring, his manhood swelling with the same unnatural force that was sculpting the rest of him. He looked down in shock as the last traces of boyish frailty were erased, replaced by sheer physical presence—broad, muscular legs rooted firmly beneath him, and a new weight and confidence that left him reeling. His body was no longer just lean; it was commanding, every part of him reshaped to radiate virility.

The rush finally eased, leaving Mark standing in the wreckage of his shredded shorts, chest still heaving. His skin prickled all over, a strange, electric itch. When he glanced down, he realized why: his once-smooth torso was now covered in a mat of dark hair. It started as a dense patch between his pecs, curling and spreading outward across the hardened slopes of his chest, then running in a thick line down his ridged abdomen. The trail led lower, merging into the coarse growth around his hips and thighs, which looked raw and powerful under the new layer of hair.

Curious, almost disbelieving, Mark pressed his palm flat against his chest. The sensation startled him—it wasn’t the softness he was used to, but a rugged bristle that tickled his skin as he pushed his hand upward. Slowly, he dragged his palm through the forest of hair, feeling the coarse strands bend under his touch, rough and masculine in a way he had never imagined for himself.

He traced higher, over the powerful curve of his collarbone, along his thickening neck, and finally up to his jaw. There, his fingers brushed the rough stubble that had already darkened into a shadowy beard, the hairs stiff beneath his fingertips. He tilted his head closer to the mirror, staring at the unfamiliar man staring back—his face sharpened, his jawline masked with scruff, his eyes wide with awe at the wild, untamed masculinity he now radiated.

Mark stepped back from the mirror, eyes wide, and a slow grin spread across his face. He flexed his biceps experimentally, and the muscles bulged beneath his skin with a power he had never known. Each curve and ridge of his arms was clearly defined, veins running like braided ropes over thick, dark hair that covered his forearms and biceps, making them look raw, alive, unstoppable. He ran his hands over his shoulders, feeling the dense fur that dusted his chest and trailed down the slope of his torso, brushing against the hardened ridges of his abs.

He twisted, watching the rippling movement of his lats, feeling the solid strength in his back as if his skeleton itself had thickened to support the new mass. His thighs, thick and corded with muscle, rippled under the light hair that ran down his legs, knees and calves flexing with every tiny movement. He raised his arms, watched the shadows cast by the hair and muscle shifting, and laughed in disbelief at the man he had become—powerful, hairy, and impossibly strong, a walking statement of masculinity. Even the fine stubble on his jaw and the thick hairs on his chest seemed to vibrate with vitality, a tactile confirmation that every inch of him had been remade. He clenched his fists, watched his forearms swell with raw energy, and could feel the unrestrained potential of this body—everywhere he touched it, it answered back with power, strength, and untamed life.

Mark sank onto the edge of his bed, chest still heaving, and let his hands drift over his body, tracing the dense hair, the ridged muscles, the broad shoulders that now seemed to fill the room. He stared down at his reflection, really looked at himself for the first time in years, and a strange mix of disbelief and pride flooded him. Just hours ago, he had been a wiry, boyish man, self-conscious and small, hiding behind baggy clothes and avoiding the mirror. Now, every line, every strand of dark hair, every vein and cord of muscle screamed strength and maturity.

Maybe it was a wolf… Asher thought, but quickly brushed off the idea, not wanting to consider what sorts of diseases he might contract from a wild animal.

By evening, the wound itched and burned. Asher stood shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror, a cool towel draped over his neck, worried that his fears may be coming to fruition as he developed a minor fever. He wiped the sweat from his chest, but paused, frowning.

He had grown hair.

It was subtle at first—a fine dusting across his pecs, the kind of thing he’d occasionally spotted before, written off as hormones and shaven off. But now, it looked… different. Denser. Darker. More uniform, spreading across the center of his chest in a narrow path, then out along his pecs and collarbones in wiry, curling strands.

He touched it. Coarse. Thicker than any hair he’d had before.

He leaned closer to the mirror. “What the hell…?” He stared in confusion for a moment before coming to a conclusion. He was probably just having a growth spurt. Asher went to bed without bothering to shave it off.

He awoke to a burning pain on his leg from the bite, and limped over to the mirror to inspect the wound, suspecting the worst. However when he stepped into the bathroom and looked at the mirror, he gasped.

The hair had exploded across his upper torso overnight. It now blanketed his chest in uneven waves of wiry black, creeping down across his stomach in a trail that thickened with every inch. His nipples peeked through the mass like islands in a forest. When he pulled up his tank top, he found the hair crawling down the sides of his ribs and enveloping his abs. Even his back felt warmer, itchier, like something was growing there too.

And then there was his face. A beard had appeared overnight—not a scruffy shadow, but a full-grown, coarse growth along his jaw and cheeks. It framed his face in wild black bristles that curled slightly under his chin. His sideburns had thickened and now blended into the rest of the beard, almost like they wanted to connect with the hair on his neck.

Asher staggered closer to the mirror, breathless. “This… this isn’t normal.”

But just as the fear began to rise in his chest, a deep, rolling pressure dropped into his body like a wave of heat. His fever intensified. Hot chills ran up and down his body, making his limbs tremble. He grabbed the sink to steady himself.

Asher gripped the cold edge of the sink, knuckles white. His breathing was ragged, shallow, but something deeper stirred inside—

The first surge hit his chest. It wasn’t just pain—it was pressure, like his sternum was expanding from the inside out. His pecs swelled beneath his skin with growing heat, the fibers tightening, multiplying. It was like flexing the hardest he ever had—but constant. A deep, rhythmic throbbing accompanied the growth, almost pleasurable in its intensity. He cried out in pain.

Each pulse brought a fresh wave of strength.

His chest grew heavy with new mass, not sluggish but dense, powerful. He could feel every new fiber as it knit together—stretching skin, swelling his frame, creating something beyond human. The sensation was intoxicating. He let out a breathless moan, half in pain, half in awe.

His traps swelled like cords of steel, neck thickening to support the growing mass above. His lats flared outward, his torso taking on the shape of a beast—wide, v-shaped, monstrous..

His thighs grew next—exploding with size, pulsing as thick cords of muscle formed beneath the surface, wrapped in veins and hair. His calves grew to match, tearing at the seams of his pants.

Then came the fur.

Starting at his sternum, his hair suddenly became denser—coarse and wiry—tickling his oversensitized skin. He gasped as it spread, threading across his rapidly expanding pecs. It felt alien at first: a crawling, tingling sensation, like a swarm of ants—until his body adjusted. Then, it felt right. Comforting. Like warmth after cold.

The hair continued to grow, dark and wild, matching the rhythm of his muscle growth. It pushed through his skin in waves, following the contours of his chest, encircling his nipples, fanning out over his shoulders. He could feel it hugging his muscles, brushing against his swelling traps, sliding over the deepening ridges of his abs as they formed. The contrast of hard muscle under soft, bristling fur was euphoric.

The fur chased the muscle across Asher’s body—dark and coarse, spreading like wildfire across his expanding chest, thickening in texture and coverage until his once-smooth skin vanished beneath it. It marched down his stomach, now segmented with abs so hard and deep they looked carved from stone. Even they were coated with a light mat of fuzz that thickened as he watched. The fur was everywhere, now growing faster—crawling down his torso. Each patch brought a rush of sensation. It was like his nerves were reawakening, like every inch of skin was being plugged into something greater.

His back itched like mad. He twisted, gritting his teeth as he saw the hair creep up his spine, down his lower back, thick and unrelenting. Asher moaned at the sensation. It fanned out across his lats, reaching the crests of his glutes, while spreading across his legs like dark wildfire, finally forming an uninterrupted pelt of fur that covered him from chest to ankle

He panted hard, staring at his reflection, which now barely resembled the boy he’d been.

Asher moaned again, deeper now, guttural. The heat flooded his arms—biceps tearing bigger with each beat of his heart. His skin felt tight, stretched to its limit, but instead of tearing, it adapted, welcoming the growth. Veins rose to the surface, pulsing with power. His fingers twitched—thicker now, meatier—and even there, hair began to sprout.

Asher clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the mirror. His body was morphing before his very eyes—each second, more rugged. More powerful.

Asher stared at the hair spreading across his chest, heart hammering in his ribs like it was trying to escape. What’s happening to me? The logical part of his brain scrambled for explanations—hormones, infection, hallucination. But none of those could explain what he was seeing. Or feeling.

This can’t be real. Hair doesn’t grow this fast. Muscles don’t just—

His thoughts were broken by a sharp crack deep in his spine. He yelped, stumbling against the wall. Heat radiated down through his arms and chest, and something inside him—something ancient—stirred.

The panic came quick, but it didn’t last long.

Because beneath the fear, another voice was rising.

Not in words, not at first. More like instinct. Like the way wolves know how to hunt. How to run. How to lead.

And that voice didn’t sound afraid. It sounded excited.

And then came the changes to his face.

Asher cried out as his ears pushed upward, growing pointed, migrating toward the top of his skull. His nose cracked and reshaped, flattening, then stretching forward. His features distorted—but not randomly. They refined into a new form. A predator’s form.

His jaw expanded, teeth sharpening behind black lips. Golden irises shimmered in the mirror.

And somewhere deep in his mind, the panic faded.

Asher’s thoughts began to shift. The fear, the confusion, the human part of him dulled like a fading dream. It was replaced by something sharper, older, truer. He lifted one now-clawed hand to the mirror, touching the reflection of his new face.

What he saw no longer frightened him.

The fur was complete now—thick over his chest and arms, his legs, even the tops of his hands. The muscles beneath twitched with power. He looked… primal.

And he liked it.

He smiled, and it was a wolf’s smile—feral and sure.

This isn’t normal. This isn’t me. Something whispered inside him.

But the words felt weaker now. Hollow. Because this—this massive chest, these arms swelling with strength, the thick fur blanketing his torso—this felt more real than anything he’d known before.

Even the simple act of breathing felt different—deeper, heavier, resonant. His lungs had grown. His ribcage had expanded. He felt massive. Unstoppable.

He ran a trembling hand across his chest—over fur and muscle—and shivered. The sensation was almost erotic. Not sexual—visceral. Raw. Real. Like discovering his own body for the first time and realizing it was perfect.

He could feel everything. The raw heat of the transformation. The power building in every fiber. The fur—spreading like wildfire—didn’t disgust him anymore. It was like his skin had been cold all his life and only now, finally, was it warm.

He flexed instinctively, marveling at the size of his new biceps. The thick cords of muscle in his thighs, the deep ridges of his abs.

This is insane.

This is impossible.

This is… right.

The last tremors of transformation faded into silence.

Asher stood still, his massive chest rising and falling with deep, slow breaths. The bathroom mirror barely contained him now—his frame so wide, so impossibly built, that his shoulders spilled beyond the glass on either side. For a long moment, he just stared.

A new thought came to him, clear and deep and final:

You were never meant to stay small.

He reaches up, slowly, and rubs his face—cautiously at first, as if afraid of what he might feel. His fingertips brush the new contours of his muzzle, tracing along the bridge of his broader, flattened nose. The skin was tough, leathery in places, and the curve of his upper lip now hung subtly over the tips of his lengthened canines. He explores the jut of his jaw, now more angular, stronger, lined with dense black fur that flows up into his sideburns and wraps beneath his ears—which had migrated upward and now twitched slightly as his fingers brush them. His cheekbones were higher, his brow heavier. It wasn’t just a new face. It was the face of a beast.

The feeling was strange, like meeting a stranger and recognizing yourself in their eyes.

Then he brings one clawed hand to his chest, thick fingers grazing the coarse, black fur that now covered him like a pelt. He shivers

The sensation was electric.

His hand drags across the twin slabs of muscle on his pecs, now heaving and hard beneath the dense fur. The texture of it—warm, alive, like the fur of some powerful animal—was foreign but intoxicating. He slides his hands lower, exploring the deep grooves of his abs, each ridge bordered with the same bristling hair. Even there, the skin underneath was hot to the touch, tight with power.

Lower, even, and his eyes widen as he discovers a thick, furry monster between his legs. He groans ecstatically, stroking up and down the 12-inch-long, fur-covered member, reveling in the contrast between soft fur with hard flesh underneath.

“I’m… huge,” he mutters aloud, voice now a rich, low growl. It wasn’t just bigger. It was deeper, like it had weight behind it.

He takes a step back and admires his reflection fully. His arms look absurd—each bicep the size of his head, bulging under layers of fur and veins. His forearms ripple with striations, his hands powerful and clawed. His traps slope up to meet his neck, now so thick it barely existed. And his legs are carved and solid, covered in a thick forest of hair from hip to ankle, like tree trunks rooted in the ground.

He raises one arm and flexes it slowly.

The bicep surges upward like a beast rearing its head, peaked and enormous, a vein snaking over the top like lightning. He grins, baring sharp canines. Damn, he thinks. I could break steel with these.

He twists at the waist, admiring the broad flare of his lats, the way his shoulders roll like boulders. The fur only made him look more massive—accentuating every bulge, every ridge, giving his whole body a primal, untamed symmetry.

Another flex—this time both arms. He curls them upward into a brutal double biceps pose, his claws curled into fists. His chest juts forward, thick with fur and power. He turns slightly to the side and hits a side chest pose, pecs pressing together like slabs of stone. The sight of his powerful body in the mirror makes him grin gleefully. He hits a lat spread next, shoulders exploding outward, fur bristling with the motion.

He is still posing, still flexing, still admiring when a thought crosses his mind—not in fear, not in shock, but in total certainty:

I was never meant to be human.

He stares into his golden eyes in the mirror, his towering, fur-covered form flexed into a final, triumphant, muscular pose—arms bulging, traps rising like cliffs, chest flared, fangs bared in a feral grin.

He looks like a monster.

He looks like a god.

And he had never felt so alive.

Daniel was a lanky 22-year-old, standing at 5’10” with a frame that seemed to dodge every ounce of muscle. His arms were wiry, his chest concave, and his legs resembled stilts. Sparse, patchy stubble was the extent of his body hair, earning him playful jabs from friends who called him “Smooth Dan.” He didn’t mind much, but deep down, he envied the burly, rugged guys at the gym who seemed to command attention effortlessly.

One humid evening, while rummaging through a dusty antique shop to kill time, Daniel stumbled upon a small, ornate bottle tucked behind a stack of old books. Its glass was a deep emerald, etched with faint runes that shimmered under the shop’s dim light. A faded label read, “Elixir of Vigor – One Sip, One Shift.” The shopkeeper, a wiry old man with eyes like polished marbles, grinned knowingly. “That’s no trinket, lad. It’s old magic. Drink it, and you’ll become what you’re meant to be. But only one sip—more, and you’ll regret it.” Daniel, skeptical but intrigued, handed over ten bucks and left with the bottle.

At home, Daniel examined the elixir under his desk lamp. The liquid inside swirled like liquid smoke, glinting with flecks of gold. “Probably just fancy juice,” he muttered, but curiosity gnawed at him. He uncorked it, releasing a scent like pine and iron, and took a single, cautious sip. It burned going down, not painfully, but like a spark igniting kindling. He waited. Nothing. Shrugging, he went to bed, dismissing it as a gimmick.

The next morning, Daniel woke feeling… heavier. His usual grogginess was gone, replaced by a strange energy buzzing through him. In the mirror, he noticed subtle differences. His shoulders seemed a touch broader, his biceps slightly rounder, like someone had inflated them just a bit. Running a hand across his chest, he froze—fine, dark hairs dusted his pecs where none had been before. His jawline, too, sported a faint shadow, thicker than his usual peach fuzz. “Weird,” he thought, chalking it up to a growth spurt, though at 22, that seemed unlikely.

At the gym that day, Daniel felt unstoppable. He lifted weights he’d never dared touch, his muscles swelling with each rep as if eager to grow. By evening, his t-shirt clung to his chest and arms, and a trail of hair now traced from his navel downward, darker and denser than anything he’d grown before.

A week later, the changes accelerated. Daniel’s reflection was unrecognizable. His chest had barreled out, pecs firm and defined, straining his old shirts to the point of tearing. His arms bulged with veins snaking across them, and his thighs, once twig-like, now filled his jeans to bursting. Hair sprouted relentlessly—his chest was a thick mat, curling over his collarbone, while his arms and legs grew fuzzy, dark strands coating them like a second skin. His beard, once a faint hope, was now full and rugged, framing a face that looked sharper, more commanding.

Friends noticed. At a bar, his buddy Mike gawked. “Dude, what’s with the lumberjack vibe? You on roids or something?” Daniel laughed it off, but he knew the truth. The elixir wasn’t done with him. He felt stronger daily, his body craving movement, his skin prickling as new hair pushed through. Even his voice seemed deeper, resonating when he spoke.

By the end of the month, Daniel was a colossus. He stood broader, taller somehow, his frame packed with muscle that rippled under his skin. His chest was a wall of strength, blanketed in thick, dark hair that spread across his shoulders and down his back. His arms, once scrawny, were now massive, each bicep a boulder, forearms corded and hairy. His legs could crush logs, and even his hands looked powerful, knuckles dusted with coarse hair. His beard was a mane, blending into a neckline of fur that made him look primal, unstoppable.

Daniel’s confidence soared. He walked differently, with a swagger born of strength. At the gym, he was a legend, tossing around weights like toys. Strangers stared, some with awe, others with envy. Yet, late at night, he’d catch his reflection and wonder if the elixir had taken him too far. He was no longer Smooth Dan—he was a force, a titan. But he loved it.

One evening, he returned to the antique shop to thank the old man, bottle in hand. The shop was empty, its windows boarded up, as if it had never existed. Daniel smiled, tucking the bottle into his pocket. One sip had been enough.

Kaden snapped another photo of his shirtless body in the mirror. He didn’t dare look - he already knew how he’d feel about his lackluster appearance. He whipped his phone around a clicked ‘post’ before he could see it… but that hesitance didn’t last long - he stole a glance at the image on the post and gasped. “Come on! There’s no way I’ve gotten skinnier..” he said, shocked by what he saw. Kaden turned his phone off resignedly and sighed.

Sure, he’d come a long way since two years ago, when he started weightlifting. And granted, he wasn’t quite bad-looking. Lately, however, he was certain that he was stuck on a plateau. Kaden had tried everything, switching up his workout schedule, his split, doing more cardio, even changing his diet, but nothing had shown results for months. He’d begun attributing it to genetics, but that didn’t make him feel any better about it. He looked down and poked his flaccid musculature, face full of disappointment, grumbling to himself. “If only…” he whispered, and began to grab his things off the bench to leave.

Suddenly, as he was grabbing his keys, the lights cut out, causing Kaden to stumble. His feet flew out from under him, losing traction on a small puddle hidden in the darkness. He hit the back of his head on the bench on his way down, and fell in a heap on the cold tile. “Fuuuuuck…” he groaned, clutching his head. As he began to slowly sit up, moving like a 100 year old machine, he felt a wet spot and pulled his fingers back, squinting to see a spot of fresh blood on his hands. He let out another moan of pain and laid back down. After a moment, Kaden regained his senses, no longer dizzy, and felt around for his phone. “Yes!” He whispered, finding it under the bench. Then, “DamnnnnIT!” as the screen flickered on, revealing thoroughly shattered glass, and then quickly died. “Ugh!” He exclaimed. “Why now?” As he turned around to push himself up off the floor, he spotted something shining underneath the locker.

“what the-“ he said, and lowered his eye to the ground, peering below. What he saw astonished him; a sleek white can, with strange, glowing symbols emblazoned across the side. His eyes grew wide and his hand waded through the dust and debris in order to retrieve its treasure. He ripped the can out from beneath the locker and stood up with renewed, curiosity-fueled enthusiasm. He turned the can delicately in his hands, inspecting every facet of its surface. The strange, archaic runes resembled no language Kaden had ever seen. Although to be fair, he was no linguist. The can glimmered with a radiance only polished metal can offer, dazzling in the light but in the dark locker room, it was mysterious and enticing. “No nutrition label” he noted, realizing the can must not be an official product, despite the familiar disposition of the can. All his pain and disappointment earlier vanished as he contemplated discovering what lies within the otherworldly beverage. Or was it even a beverage? Kaden had to find out. He tilted the top toward him and reached to open the tab, but noticed some small lettering, originally unnoticed in the obscurity of the power outage. “Physical.. enhancement.. Shit man this is sick” he whispered in awe. He quickly popped the lid open, and the can released a thick blue fog into the air. He admires the swirling cloud for a moment, but unable to resist any longer, he chugs the whole can, excited for the possibilities it offers.

He waited for the results - but nothing happened. He looked anxiously in the mirror, his eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out… nothing. He was exactly the same. *sigh* “Well, so much for miracles” he said, giddy grin dropping off his face.

then suddenly, he feels something bubbling up within him, pushing through his veins and out into his muscles. The throbbing sensation continues up and down his body, making him shudder. He moans as he feels his arms expand like balloons, giving him the physique he always wanted. He stares at the mirror as two thick pecs push their way out of his chest, his shoulders plump up, widening his frame. He watches his forearms tense, his abs harden and solidify, and his biceps grow to bulging, hunky limbs. Kaden’s jaw drops at the sudden, drastic transformation. His eyes glide over his image in the mirror, slowly inspection every new detail of his body. His rippling abs, his huge biceps, his boulder shoulders - every inch of Kaden’s body had developed into a well-defined sea of powerful muscle.

All of a sudden, Kaden snaps out of the shock induced by his rapid muscular growth, and realizes what has happened. “Shit, man! I look amazing!” He says, dropping the can to the floor with a clatter.

He turned to face the full-length mirror mounted on the wall, and for a long moment, he just stared.

His physique was something he barely recognized now—thicker, more defined, like a sketch brought to life in raw, living muscle. His chest, once merely broad, now jutted forward with solid mass, each pec sharply divided down the middle. His abs ran down his torso like a granite staircase, glistening under the locker room lights, the deep grooves between each muscle casting shadows that made them look even more carved.

Kaden tilted his head slightly, examining his shoulders—boulders of muscle that flowed seamlessly into thick, corded arms. His forearms were ropey and vascular, veins pulsing just beneath the surface. A layer of fine sweat clung to him, highlighting every line and curve of his form.

With slow, deliberate motion, he raised his right arm, curling it up beside his head. As his hand formed a loose fist, the bicep began to swell, tightening like a rising wave of stone. It peaked high and round, pulling the skin taut across its surface. The motion felt powerful, almost instinctive. He watched the muscle grow and shift, felt the deep stretch in his tendon, the satisfying burn as the pump settled in.

He flexed harder.

The peak surged higher. Veins throbbed along his bicep and forearm like living wires. His tricep flared out behind it in opposition, completing the perfect symmetry of raw power. A grin spread across his face—not cocky, but appreciative. He leaned a little closer to the mirror, rotating his wrist to catch a new angle.

“Look at that…” he whispered, his voice rough with awe.

He wasn’t just in shape anymore. He was something else—sculpted, sharpened, evolved. And in that quiet, echoing space, Kaden stood in front of his reflection, not just admiring himself but becoming the image he’d always envisioned. A living monument of strength.

And he hadn’t even flexed the other arm yet.

Kaden held the pose for another few seconds, relishing the feeling of power coiled beneath his skin. The mirror reflected everything—the bulge of his bicep, the curve of his delt, the tight stretch of veins threading down his forearm. But as he slowly lowered his arm, something caught his eye. Something subtle. Something off.

He leaned in closer to the mirror, narrowing his eyes. At first, he thought it was just a trick of the dark locker room—a shadow, maybe. But no. It was real.

A faint dusting of dark hair was beginning to creep across his chest, much thicker than it had been even minutes ago. The fine line of fuzz between his pecs had deepened, grown coarser, branching out across the sculpted terrain of his torso. He brushed a hand over it instinctively. It felt… new. Not like the sweat-damp hair he sometimes noticed after a long workout. This was different. Thicker. Wilder.

Then he caught sight of his face.

His jawline, which he’d shaved clean that morning, now bore a fine coating of stubble—dark, sharp, and spreading fast. He leaned closer, fingers brushing over the roughness spreading along his cheeks and down toward his neck. His skin tingled beneath the touch, warm and alive, as if something beneath the surface was pushing outward, insisting on more.

“What the hell…” he muttered under his breath.

In the span of seconds, the fine shadow on his jaw had thickened into a full-blown beard. Dark, coarse hair now framed his face, spreading along his jawline, connecting up to his sideburns, even crawling subtly down his neck. He ran his fingers over it in disbelief—the sensation was real. The beard was dense, warm, masculine in a way that made his chiseled features look sharper, wilder.

His hand lingered there, fingertips grazing the unfamiliar growth. He hadn’t had facial hair like this since… well, never. It was as though his face had aged five years in five minutes—rugged, untamed, but still undeniably his.

The hair on his arms was thicker now too, standing out against the swell of his muscles. Not just growing—but accelerating. With each passing second, his body seemed to be claiming a new form, inch by inch. Not just stronger. Not just bigger.

Something else was happening. Something primal.

Kaden stared into his own eyes— still familiar—but with a flicker of something wild glinting in their depths.

The air felt hotter now. The silence around him, heavier.

Kaden’s hand shook just slightly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat pulsing through his veins. With a trembling thumb he hit record, angling the camera so both his reflection and the torn remnants of his workout shirt were in view. “This is insane,” he whispered, voice tight but excited, as he captured the faint ripples of new beard growth and the coarse dark hairs sprouting across his chest. Every few seconds he paused, zooming in on his bicep or tracing the emerging fur on his forearm, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and fascination. Even as the hair continued its rapid spread, Kaden’s grip on the phone held steady—he needed proof, a timestamped record of a change that felt like it was ripping reality in two.

Then, almost as if triggered by the camera’s lens, his muscles surged again. His biceps ballooned beyond anything human, swelling into colossal peaks that strained the mirror’s reflection; veins snaked across them like braided cables, thundering with life. His chest heaved outward, each pec splitting into sharply defined slabs, and the deep grooves of his abs grew even deeper, casting dramatic shadows under the locker room lights. The transformation wasn’t just growth—it was an eruption of power, turning Kaden into a living testament to raw strength. His skin tightened so much it gleamed, as though polished, while veins bulged and throbbed under its surface, mapping every contour of his new, unprecedented form.

A low hum of energy seemed to pulse through Kaden’s veins as he watched, transfixed, in the mirror. What had started as a modest dusting of stubble now erupted into a dense, downy undercoat that spread from his jaw and neck down across the broad planes of his chest. The hairs thickened into coarse, wolf-like fur, each strand growing longer by the second. Kaden could almost feel the weight of it, a soft but unmistakable mat of hair brushing against his shredded abs and wrapping around the ridges of his serratus. His arms, once smooth and bare, became sheathed in a dark, plush covering that climbed over his shoulders, engulfing his traps and creeping up into his hairline, where his scalp hair lengthened and darkened in tandem.

He exhaled sharply as the transformation engulfed his lower body: a creeping tide of hair that raced down his sides, engulfed his hips, and flowed over his quadriceps like a thick pelt. The fine hairs on his forearms thickened into bristly fur, and even the backs of his hands sprouted tufts between his newly elongated fingers and claws. His legs, too, transformed—fine vellus hair erupted into a living covering that rippled with each flex of muscle, hiding the sharp definition beneath. In moments, where once had been smooth human skin was now an unbroken expanse of lustrous, dark fur—every inch of him a wild tapestry of hair, masculine strength, and feral instinct.

Kaden’s breath hitched as he felt a peculiar tug in the center of his face—his nose stretching forward, cartilage reshaping into a broad, wet muzzle. His nostrils flared open, growing wider and more sensitive to every scent in the locker room. Simultaneously, a sharp ache behind his temples marked the migration of his ears: the flesh and cartilage sliding up and back until they perched atop his skull, now pointed and triangular like a wolf’s. As the bone structure shifted, a thick down of fur sprouted across his cheeks and jaw, brushing against the coarse growth of his beard and merging into a seamless coat. 

His nose had lengthened into a broad, wet muzzle; the cartilage reshaped itself into powerful nostrils that flared with newfound sensitivity. The flesh behind his temples creaked and slid upward, carrying his ears to the crown of his head, where they now landed as tall, triangular wolf’s ears fringed with tufts of dark fur. Fine whiskers sprouted at the corners of his mouth, quivering against the coarse growth of his beard, while a thick down of fur blossomed across his cheeks and forehead. With a final ripple of muscle beneath that fur, the last vestiges of his human face smoothed into a perfect fusion of man and wolf.

From there, the transformation painted itself across his entire body. His broad shoulders and bulging chest, already sculpted like marble, were now sheathed in a dense pelt of lustrous, charcoal-gray fur. A powerful tail unfurled from the base of his spine, swishing with deliberate force. His arms and legs—already pillars of muscle—took on a more lupine form: digitigrade legs ending in padded paws, arms tipped with retractable claws that slid free with a satisfying click. Every fiber of his being hummed with strength; veins pulsed beneath fur so taut over corded muscles that it gleamed like burnished metal under the locker room lights.

He lifted a clawed hand and ran it over his chest, marveling at the sensation of fur brushing against his fingertips, the electric thrill of raw power radiating through his core. Tilting his head, he flexed his neck, feeling each sinew and ridge in his throat as he tested the weight of his new jaw. Deep down, a low growl of satisfaction rumbled in his chest—no longer a whisper of surprise, but a roar of ownership. In the mirror, he saw not a man in a beast’s body, but a perfect hybrid: razor-sharp fangs glinting, golden eyes blazing with feral intelligence, and a physique that married human form to lupine ferocity.

With a sudden, ecstatic movement, Kaden slipped his phone into his pocket, eager to show off just for himself, no recording required, and dropped into a classic bodybuilding pose. He lowered both arms to his sides, flexing his triceps and biceps until the veins stood out like braided cables beneath the fur. He moved into a side chest pose, one paw planted firmly on his fur-covered forearm, the other pressing against his bulge, attempting to hide his glee at the situation, despite the initial strangeness of the second transformation. Muscles pressing against his fur-covered skin, Kaden watched the ripples of muscle dance under the dense coat. Finally, he lowered himself into a powerful lunge, tail swishing, claws digging into the floor, and let out a triumphant, echoing howl that shook the lockers around him. In that moment, Kaden didn’t just see his new form—he embodied it.