“Might as well try the flowers; I don’t think those’ll kill me.”
Nothing tried to kill Andrew as the door shut behind him, but the smell was overpowering. Andrew lit a torch and saw, to his amazement, a floor covered in lilies. These bright white trumpets blared silently in blinding, waxy white, their scent so thick that the room was hazy.
There were some hieroglyphs on the wall. “Might as well check these out,” Andrew coughed. The flower smell was soaking into his lungs. “I might need to know this shit later.”
It was a woman draped with flower garlands, covering her naughty bits, with thighs as big as oil drums and a belly the size of a small car. “Hope that’s not life-sized…”
But her full lips betrayed a twisted grin. Round women stood at her feet and pointed to the square-shouldered men, who frowned and gathered flowers. The only man not frowning was the one bigger than the rest. He seemed quite pleased with himself, despite the toothy grins and long claws of the women standing behind him.
“Well, this seems ominous,” Andrew noted. “I’ll keep an eye out for that.”
Aside from the occasional chrysanthemum, however, all he could see were lilies. Their flared petals and long tubes were making him restless, energetic, but frustrated. “Stupid flowers,” he grumbled, crushing them under his feet. “What’s that stupid smell? It’s pissing me off!”
He walked on, but the only change was that the lilies changed from white to pink. This only pissed him off more. “Let me out of here,” he grunted. “I hate this game. Where are the fucking enemies? Where are the puzzles? There’s nothing but flowers and these stupid pillars!”
Then he did two things that surprised him; first, he punched the pillar. He was about to wail in pain when the second thing surprised him: the pillar broke.
It crumbled like a graham cracker: no pain. Andrew looked at his hand; it was getting bigger, and not only that, but the growth was spreading. His arm swelled like a firehose. His shoulder stretched and grew stronger, and his pectorals were the same shape and thickness as a London broil.
“My legs!” Andrew croaked. His feet were getting further and further away as his voice grew deeper and deeper. He lost his awkward teenaged tone along with his tightening shirt. His pale white pecks pushed away from his face. His shorts tightened; the bulge underneath took up the most room. His tightening thighs tore up the legs. Andrew felt like a tree: strong, thick, and tall.
“Oh, man…” He could feel every muscle, especially hit thick, twitching member. He understood why he was so anxious. “Well, I can fix that…”