Most of the room Ryan saw was nothing special. Barrels stacked along the walls; racks full of dusty bottles; another flight of steps leading up to a small door to the outside. But in the centre of the room was an image from pop fantasy -- or horror. A great red circle encompassing an intricate pattern, the main feature of which was a large pentacle. At each point of the star stood tall iron candlesticks, black with age, stumps of white wax candles visible atop them. In the centre was a black wooden pedestal. And upon the pedestal...
A box. A small wooden strongbox bound with steel. Chains reached from each cnadlesitck to the
box, wrapping it tightly, festooned with padlocks. Staring at it filled Ryan with awe, and a strange, hollow hunger.
"Whoa..."
The thought of calling his friends crossed his mind, and quickly disappeared. He wanted this find to himself. Without conscious decision he walked forward, eyes fixed on the box, breath quickening. However, when he reached the edge of the circle he paused, a strange dread falling over him.
"This is too weird," he muttered, trying to rationalise his feelings. "Who would've thought... well, maybe it makes sense." Spelstorm did have a reputation, after all. Creepy old house, had to be abandoned for a reason. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Maybe I should call the guys..."
Then his gaze was drawn back towards the box. "Nah," he said decisively. What, he mocked himself, am I scared of some stupid "magic circle?" Like I believe in that crap. He stepped forward, driven by curiosity (so he told himself) to see just what was within that box. Someone had gone to great lengths, and not just theatrical, to keep it locked; so it must be pretty valuable.
A thrill went through him as he set his hands on the box. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. He still had to figure out a way to open the thing. "Huh..." The chains were decently thick, but pretty rusty. Before he started looking for keys, he'd just try breaking them off. His muscles weren't just for show, after all.
But as soon as he began to tug on a chain, he felt energy jolt up his hands and arms, and an explosion of white light blinded him. Crying out in shock, he jerked back and rubbed at his eyes. Distantly he heard tinkles of metal fragments and the heavy thuds of the chains hitting the stone floor.
When his vision clear, he found that the chains had all fallen away, the locks shattering like glass. He tried to swallow, his mouth going dry.
"It... no way..." It CAN'T be magic. Could there have been some kind of explosive? But why...?
Despite his sudden qualms, however, Ryan found his hands being drawn back towards the box. They were shaking, but he couldn't stop them. He grasped the lid, wrestling with himself. And suddenly it was flung open -- he wasn't even sure he had done it, having felt no resistance from the heavy wood-and-steel lid.
Trepidation was forgotten however as his eyes landed on what was inside. A black semicircle, polished and shining in the electric light. A dark metal tiara, molded into proud spikes, clasps holding three white gems. The stones sparkled, burning as if with a light of their own.
"Oh yeah." Ryan's hardly heard himself. He had to have that tiara, and in a second he was holding it up, admiring the glints and rainbow sparks struck from the heart of the gems, how they contrasted with the cruelty of the ornamental spikes and the glossy darkness of the black metal. He wanted to wear it so badly!
"But it is kinda girly," he protested to himself. Did that matter though? When it looked so beautiful, and must be worth a fortune!
Yeah! I'll look like a queen in this thing!
He hesitated, frowning, the tiara trembling as his grip tightened. What? That wasn't right. None of this was right -- but it made him feel so powerful! He had to put it on!
"Fuck. Why am I being such a wimp?" He shook his head, steeled his will, and set the tiara firmly in place.
He regretted it for a second as pain split his skull. He collapsed forward, grunting, barely catching himself on the pedestal. The heavy wood rocked with his weight; the strongbox crashed to the floor. With the pain came heat, spreading down through his body. It blanched his hair and paled his face.
But soon the pain turned to pleasure. The pleasure of power, a feeling of strength that surged wildly through him even as his muscles began to waste and his footballer frame to diminish. His blond hair became pure white, thick and snowy, falling down between narrowing shoulders to his waist. The pallour settled in his skin as it took on unearthly clarity and smoothness, wiping out his tan and his calluses as it spread over his torso, down his arms, down his hands. Hands now dainty in appearance but strong as steel; long fingers ending in tapered, red-painted nails hard as claws.
He -- no, she arched her back as breasts budded and began to round out from her chest, grunts turning to a wanton groan from full, rouged lips. Her back popped satisfyingly, taking on a proper feminine posture; her hips widening beneath the flood of pale perfection; masculinity washed from her face, her eyes taking on a more reddish tinge, the pale blue shifting towards a glowing burgundy. Muscle mass in her legs shifting into fulsome curves to match her expanding bust.
No longer could she think of herself as Ryan! From the whirling fire in her brain emerged her new name, strong and elegant as befitted the new Mistress of Spelstorm: She was Raya -- Raya Spelstorm!
Her fingers dug into the pedestal as a new wave of power and ecstasy burst through her, making her feel alive as she never had before. Aflame with magic and lust! Her old mind melted and warped together with her body as the transformation rushed towards its climax.