The lightning rolls across your skin, painless but brimming with power, tracing its way over your body. It spreads outward from the cut on your face, a tangle of blue sparks latching on to every joint it meets, one after the other. It soaks into your eyes, your teeth, your skull, becoming an ethereal framework outlining every joint and piece of your face and glowing beneath your skin. From there it spreads down your spine, jumping the gaps between vertebrae and fanning out through your ribs, your arms, your hips, every bone in your body flush with His magic, subject to the elk god's every desire.
With an eerie hum, the sparks extend out from the base of your spine, forming an empty lattice of blue lines that your flesh and bone rush into, more vertebrae growing from nothing, muscle and nerves and flesh filling the shape like water flowing into a depression in the earth. Within a few seconds you've grown a long, thin, sandy-furred tail that curves and waves back and forth behind you, the motions pulling at your spine, a soft layer of short tan fur spreading up from the tail into the skin around the base. The motions send ripples through your rear, pulling and tensing the muscles beneath while the fat below the surface thickens and softens, filling out into a soft and squeezable ass that bounces with your tail's movements, the fur of the cheeks turning bright white to emphasize the new curves, a white pair of plush pert cheeks in the middle of a growing sea of sandy brown fuzz.
The elk god, your Master, makes a spreading motion in the air with his pitch black claws, pulling at the framework He's locked onto your body. The blue sparks start pulling at the bones of your hips, slowly but inexorably stretching them wider, opening up the void between them. The bones shift and reshape as if they were so much clay beneath His hands, turning from their old shape into a strong, wide, sturdy set of child-bearing hips, the flesh around them filling out and softening to follow, white fur sprouting up over your privates and down the inside of your thighs, soft and curly like the hair it replaces, thick enough to trap the scents and fluids that are sure to follow.
And on that note, the Elk God steps closer, now mere inches away, his scent overpowering you, a strange rumble rising in your throat as the sheer giddy joy of being in His presence overwhelms your thoughts, making you lean into His touch, ready for whatever He makes of you. He reaches down to your groin with one clawed hand, grasping your scrotum and shaft easily within His grip, the touch prying a girlish eep from you. His other hand comes up to caress your face, the bone of your chin molding and transforming beneath his fingers, the sharp line of your chin becoming soft and smooth and feminine, your lips puffing out as His finger rolls across them, your teeth sharpening and growing into the fangs of a cat, a cougar, a panther, His Kitten. A stroke of his thumb wipes away your Adam's apple, makes your voice softer, higher, and breathier, each sound you make a plea for this to never stop. He softly grasps one of your ears, folds it over on itself into the triangular furry cat ears that you knew were coming, that you needed, because He wanted them. He effortlessly slides it across your skull to the top of your head, then does the same with your other ear, the ear canal and nerves following behind like a fishing line being reeled in.