The ornate wooden doors swung open as King Godfrey strode into the dimly lit bedchamber, his boots echoing loudly on the stone floor. Despite the room's faded grandeur - dusty tapestries hanging askew, moth-eaten rugs, and a few cobwebbed wall sconces - remnants of its former glory as the royal suite still shone through.
In the corner by the tall, arched windows, an elderly man reclined in a plush armchair, blankets pooled around his withered legs. Two young maidservants hovered attentively nearby, one gently sponging his brow while the other adjusted the pillows behind his back. Though his face was heavily lined and pale, there was no mistaking the regal countenance of the once-mighty former king, Spencer.
The maids froze at King Godfrey's imposing entrance, quickly dropping into respectful curtsies. With a curt wave of his hand, the burly monarch dismissed them. "Leave us. I must confer with my father on urgent matters."
They scurried out as Vacichron silently closed the door behind them. King Godfrey crossed the room in several long strides, his heavy cape billowing out behind his broad shoulders. Spencer raised a hand in greeting as his son claimed the adjacent armchair.
"Godfrey, my son. What pressing crisis brings you to my chambers in such haste?" Despite his frail appearance, Spencer's voice retained a stern firmness.
King Godfrey leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as he fixed his father with an intense look. "The orc tribes have resumed their aggression along our borders, raiding outlying villages with increased ferocity. I aim to strike at the heart of this resurgence before it blossoms into a full-scale invasion."
Spencer's brow creased, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "Curse those green-skinned mongrels," he growled, slamming a bony fist against the arm of the chair. "I thought we had scourged their confidence after driving them back into the Gray Mountains those years ago!"
"As did I," Godfrey replied, his deep voice lowering conspiratorially. "That is why I have conceived an infiltration. To discover what foulness transpires in their mountain lairs that emboldens them so. And I require one uniquely suited to seamlessly blend in amongst the orckind..."
He described his plan to enchant someone with Vacichron's Chameleon Clothes, imbuing them with the perfect ability to impersonate an orc from the inside out. Spencer's mouth tightened into a hard line as he listened, but he remained silent until the end.
"You waste your breath, Godfrey," he said at last with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Were I the hale warrior of my prime, I would happily march into those wretched mountains and put every last foul orc to the sword! But I am an old, enfeebled relic. Hardly fit to stumble about in that guise."
"Which is why the transformation would transform the wearer to its most idealized self," Godfrey pressed. "Vacichron's magics can imbue you with the physique, strength and fortitude to infiltrate them seamlessly. You know their kind better than any in military aspect - who better to lead this infiltration?"
Spencer opened his mouth to protest further, but Godfrey seized the opportunity to turn to his wizard. "Make the preparations at once, Vacichron. What garments do we have that could ideally suit this infiltration?"
"Your majesty, we could utilize one of the orcish warchief armors from your trophy vault," Vacichron replied. "By enchanting those relics, the wearer shall become the very being of that conquered savage. With all the knowledge, prowess and background to slip undetected into their vile mountain society."
King Godfrey's eyes lit up at this suggestion. "An inspired solution!" He turned back to his father with a feral grin across his bearded face. "Think about it, you could take on the form of one of those wicked monsters you so violently subjugated before. We could even utilize the background and history of that dead warchief you felled to establish your credibility within their forces. The perfect infiltrator to destroy them forever from the inside!"
Spencer's face contorted in a mixture of rage and disgust, his gnarled hands clenching the arms of the chair. But he could not rise to refuse, his body too frail and withered. Godfrey had him cornered.
"Very well then," the wizard intoned, he summoned a bundle of stained leather and fur out of thin air - the battle-worn armor and garments of a fearsome orcish warchief slain by Spencer himself years ago. "Shall we commence the transformation? I await your specifications on the desired outcome, Your Majesty."
King Godfrey leaned back, stroking his hair as he considered. "Let us allow my father 10 seconds of idle time to prepare. 5 minutes for the transformation itself to take hold, manifesting an idealized orcish form at 90% peak physical perfection. The duration should suffice for 10 years in case of accidents, with a 45% compliance on mental alterations to blend in while retaining higher reasoning."
"10 years! That unreasonable length of time!" Spencer shouted out.w
King Godfrey smirked sheepishly at his conflicted father. "And do allow for orgasmic euphoria during the transformation process. I would hope you find some comfort amidst this unsavory endeavor."
At Vacichron's wordless gesturing, all of Spencer's gorgeous clothes disappeared, as if they didn't exist at all, giving King Godfrey a great opportunity to once again observe the changes from a third-person perspective. But before Spencer could react and cover his groin, the frayed leathers and animal furs began to twitch and undulate as if awakening from a deep slumber.
Spencer barely had time to furrow his brow before the filthy leather harness flew towards him and he could have sworn it left a trail of foul-smelling smoke. As it clung to his torso, the pungent miasma swirled around him, stinging his eyes and burning his nostrils with the reek of old sweat, charred flesh and rancid tallow.
He coughed breathlessly, and his body began to sweat like crazy creating similar musk. King Godfrey and Vacichron looked on in rapt fascination from across the room as the old man was regaining youth.
His shriveled, bony frame began plumping out, the sallow skin stretching taut as musculature ballooned forth in huge slabs. Age spots and liver spots faded from his exposed skin as the skin took on a smooth conversion from pale to dark olive green, finally settling on a youthful olive green.
Then, a spiked arm bracer was attached to his left arm, and a massive metal pauldron was attached to his right shoulder. The sudden unbalanced weight caused Spencer to arch his back with a grunting gasp. But as youth flowed through him, they soon turned into stinging waves of itch and pleasure. Their family heritage already favored prolific hair growth, but this was taken to the extreme. Tufts of coarse black hair sprouted from every pore, rapidly spreading into a coarse pelt covering his transmuting form.
Spencer's eyes widened as realization struck him, this equipment belonged to a young muscle-bound warchief who loving showoff his rugged body even in war. He was not one to remember the names of the orcs he had slain, insights about the loathsome yet undeniably powerful being that this orc, Ausk Mightyfist flooded into his mind.
He saw flashes of a sinewy, vigorous brute adorned in little more than a thick leather loincloth and some leather strips, reveling in the sheer spectacle of his rugged physique. Ausk seemed to take immense carnal pride in displaying his improbably muscled frame for his leering warriors before charging into the fray.
An alien stirring of appreciation for the Ausk's feral masculine beauty made Spencer recoil inwardly. Why would he know and admire - nay, find it sexually appealing - this savage embodiment of the race he'd vowed to exterminate?
Amid his inner conflict, the transformation continued. The old wounds on his hands reabsorbed, the knobby joints smoothing out and the knuckles enlarged into meaty green fists. His brittle fingernails thickened and curved to a sharp, natural curve suited to life in the wilderness.
Atop his head, Spencer's wispy white hair shed away in clumps, making way for a fresh growth of wiry black fur sprouting forth. His elderly, craggy features contorted gruesomely as the facial bones ground audibly beneath taut greenish skin. Wrinkles and creases vanished, allowing the newly tautened flesh to smooth out into a heavy, protruding brow ridge. His ears elongated upwards into pointed tips while his nose flattened back into a pair of flared, swinish nostrils.
The distended jaw unhinged with a sickening crack, dislocating to distend the mouth cavity grotesquely. This paved the way for a thick underbite of curved, serrated ivory tusks to jut forth over his now blubbery green lips. As if that wasn't bestial enough, a rowdy spattering of coarse black hair then erupted along Spencer's jawline and upper lip area. Within moments the bristly growth had become a thick and short beard, framing his newly wild orcish features without cover too much.
A deep, rumbling chuckle reverberated from Spencer's rapidly broadening chest as he drank in the intoxicating sensations of his new form's vitality. He couldn't resist flexing the mountain ranges of newly sculpted muscle sheathing his arms, marveling at the dense power thrumming just beneath that olive green skin.
Once sluggish and pained, every movement now flowed with unrestrained vigor. The mere act of clenching his fists sent tremors of latent might radiating up to his whole beefy arms. For the first time in years, Spencer felt truly alive again.
As deeply repulsed as his humanity was by this transfiguration, some part of him couldn't deny the raw, visceral thrill singing through his veins. The savage urges simmering within, the ravenous hunger to dominate, conquer, spread his seed - it all begins to feel perverse to humans, but instinctive to orcs.
His meaty pecs heaved with every labored breath, exposing rows of clear abdominal ridges below. Rock-hard thews of corded sinew bunched along bulging arms capped by trencher-sized fists. Even his legs gained a beastly refurbished low-slung strength, the new black fur covering them straining as the four leather leg bracers embraced them.
Spencer's mind spun with a dizzying kaleidoscope of foreign memories and knowledge. The life experiences of Ausk Mightyfist intermingled with fragmented visions of orcish society, battle tactics, and even scraps of their guttural language. It threatened to overwhelm his already strained sense of self.
But through it all, his eyes retained their green emerald hue, glaring out beneath a heavy brow ridge now casting them in shadow. The whites grew a sickly tinge of jaundice, yet the irises still shone with the same intensity as before. As the former king, an orc conqueror, his self-esteem won't give in on anything involving orcs. He took a glimpse of the remaining clothes, just a leather loincloth left...
Suddenly, something stirred inside the leather loincloth. Before everyone could check it out. It turned into a golden light and strike to Spencer's mostly human dick. It is a warm gold ring pierced from the urethra to the underside of the glans!
There should be pain, but pure euphoria reached his mind. How could he forget his golden cock piercing! The flashes of intimate, sensual moments that made his improved body react most vividly. Recollections of fawning orc maidens and concubines worshipfully caressing his little gold ring, every hard edge of Ausk's physique blazed across his mindscape. The scents of their musky heat and the hungry expressions as they jockeyed to serve their towering warchief made Spencer's dick stir and turning orcish.
The dick swelled, expanding both in length and girth. Spencer felt its increasing weight, compelling him to lend a steadying hand. Blood surged in with like life-demanded, instead of going the other way up, making his head spin. His rational mind was rapidly succumbing to primal urges. Dignity no longer mattered to him. With both hands, Spencer jerk it from base to tip, pumping out a lot of precums.
Ausk clearly harbored no reservations about indulging in his prowess as both a conqueror and an alpha stud to be gratefully pleasured. As more salacious memories washed over him, Spencer found himself panting with growing ecstasy, his former dislike of orcs melting away. He was a magnificent green-skinned warchief, and these orcs existed to satiate his every whim...
Spencer's whole being had become overwhelmed in a euphoric haze of domination, violence, and unbridled lust. His balls had became big as goose eggs and shifted wildly and produced more sticky, producing more thick, musky cum, ready to announce his rebirth and mark his loots.
As the thunderous physical and mental transformation reached its crescendo, Spencer threw his tusked maw skyward with a deafening roar of euphoric ecstasy. Spittle flew from between its yellowed fangs as its meaty jaw unhinged.
At the same time, his meaty cock spurted like a hose. Ropes of cum fly across the large bedroom decorating everything with creamy yellow. At that moment, the vestiges of humanity were shed for now, fully giving way to his new brutish rebirth.
Before the Two humans who have been standing aside for a long time, was what once a withered husk blossomed into the peak realized form of an orcish juggernaut. Years of frailty and decay seemed to shed away with each pump of his mighty green-skinned muscles. Spencer was utterly remade - rejuvenated into a statuesque brute overflowing with primal vigor.