Brett stood frozen in the clearing as the Jungle King's hand hovered in the air, his deep, resonant voice rising in a strange, guttural chant. The sound seemed to vibrate through the very fabric of the jungle, sending shivers down Brett's spine. The power in the air was palpable, thick and oppressive, as though the entire jungle itself was holding its breath.
At first, Brett felt a slight tingling in his fingers. He looked down at his hands, but before he could process what was happening, his muscular arms began to feel heavy, as though they were weighed down by an invisible force. The veins that bulged against his tanned skin started to disappear, replaced by a layer of soft, smooth flesh. His fingers began to shorten, their tips rounding, losing their distinct shape. Panic surged through him as his strong, capable hands warped into cloven hooves.
“What… what are you doing to me?” Brett demanded, his voice still deep but tinged with rising alarm. He tried to step back, but his legs felt strange, weak, as if the strength was draining from them.
The Jungle King watched with a smug smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You wanted to see the truth of my realm, didn’t you, Brett? Now you will become part of it. I think you’ll make a fine little pig.”
Brett’s chest, once broad and powerful, began to change. The solid muscle that defined his physique seemed to melt, softening and rounding out. His pectoral muscles sagged into a pair of small, fleshy mounds, and his stomach, once flat and defined, began to push outward. His shirt grew tighter against the growing belly, the khaki fabric straining to contain the sudden expansion. His breath quickened, but even his breathing began to change, becoming more labored, as if his body was adapting to something less human, more animalistic.
With a ripping sound, his shirt gave way, tearing at the seams as his belly swelled, now a soft, round mass hanging over his belt. His broad shoulders slumped, losing their powerful structure, as layers of fat seemed to collect across his upper body, filling him out in ways that made him feel foreign in his own skin.
“You’re losing that heroic build, Brett,” the Jungle King teased, his voice dripping with mockery. “All those years of muscle—gone in moments. Just look at yourself. Strong, capable Brett Baxter, reduced to nothing but fat.”
Brett tried to speak, but his words were cut off by a strange, uncontrollable grunt. His lips felt thick, his jaw protruding forward as his face began to contort. His nose flattened, widening into a snout. The stubble on his jawline thickened, turning into coarse bristles, and his ears elongated and flopped to the sides of his head. His blue eyes remained sharp, but panic filled them as he felt the bones of his face shift under the skin, transforming him into a creature he couldn’t recognize.
The Jungle King stepped closer, towering over him, his massive frame casting a shadow over Brett’s shrinking body. With a cruel smirk, he poked a thick finger into Brett’s growing belly, causing the new layer of fat to jiggle. “You’re filling out nicely. I think a pig suits you much better, don’t you?”
Brett tried to protest, but all that came out was a pitiful squeal. His legs wobbled as they shortened, the muscles in his thighs and calves shrinking beneath layers of fat. His cargo pants tore apart as his legs thickened, his feet transforming into hooves. He stumbled, falling forward onto his hands—no, his front hooves—his belly now so heavy that it sagged toward the ground. He felt his spine curve unnaturally, forcing him onto all fours as his body continued its grotesque transformation. His back arched, his once strong and muscular frame now thick and round, covered in bristling hair.
His tailbone elongated, sprouting into a curly, stubby tail that flicked back and forth against his fleshy haunches. Brett Baxter, once the rugged jungle explorer, was now a plump, bristly pig, rooted to the ground as the transformation completed.
The Jungle King crouched down beside him, his massive hand grabbing a fistful of the scruff at the back of Brett’s neck. He laughed deeply, his voice full of mirth. “From a strong, fearless man to a fat, squealing pig,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “You should see yourself. You wanted power, adventure, and instead, you’ll wallow in the mud like the swine you’ve become.”
Brett’s mind was still intact, trapped in the body of the pig, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess of confusion and humiliation. He squealed again, the sound pitiful and pathetic, as the Jungle King stood and loomed over him, crossing his powerful arms over his chest.
“I told you there would be a cost, Brett Baxter,” the Jungle King said with a smirk. “Welcome to my realm.”