It didn’t come with a bang.
No flash of light. No apocalyptic sirens. Just that eerie stillness in the air—the kind that makes your skin prickle and birds vanish from trees. The air thickened, heavy like honey, and the sky turned an unnatural, velvety red. The wind stopped.
And they felt it, before anything else.
Ren was in the garden, barefoot in the late afternoon sun, a trowel in her hand. Cal was inside, rinsing out mugs in the kitchen sink. They made eye contact through the open window—Ren giving a half-smile, Cal mouthing “coffee?”—when the world seemed to hum.
Then everything bent.
Not physically. But something deep inside them—like their bones were instruments being tuned too tightly.
Ren dropped the trowel, gasping as her knees buckled in the dirt. Cal doubled over, the mugs crashing in the sink. Their bodies twisted, melted, reformed—but never with pain. Just… confusion. Pressure. Heat. A strange, liquid blooming of flesh and rebalancing of mass.
Cal’s shoulders narrowed, the muscles in his chest and back melting into soft curves. His jawline thinned. His hips expanded, thighs rounding out beneath denim that suddenly felt too snug. The hair on his legs faded as his face shifted into something smoother—softer. But most jarring was the loss: his arms. Gone. As if they had never been. He groaned - and then moaned, through the now longer locks of hair that drooped over his face and head. His dick stood to attention in his jeans, its length throbbing against the cold tile he could feel through his jeans' ribbing. He could also feel the tile with his new, pert, nipples.
Ren’s screams turned into whimpers.
She was changing, too.
Her breasts retracted slowly, fading into a smooth, flat chest topped with tiny, pert nipples. Ren's face stayed mostly the same—those bright eyes, that little birthmark near her temple—but the bones beneath danced and rearranged subtly. She grew taller. Her voice deepened, not into a man’s voice, but a beautiful androgynous tenor. Then—her arms. They shimmered and vanished, not in blood, but in a surreal, glimmering blur, leaving nothing but shoulders that curved gracefully into empty space. But a previously empty space in her groin was quickly, and very pleasurably, filled. As her clit grew, lengthening and hardening, and her vagina swallowed itself up before inverting itself into a sizeable pair of testicles, Ren instinctually thrust her hips forward, her new cock straining for room in the denim, its size dwarfing Cal's.
They had collapsed on the floor and the ground. One inside. One out.
Cal crawled to the doorway, dragging himself with his knees, heart hammering in his chest. He looked down at himself—his smooth thighs, the swelling between them now a distinct bulge—and let out a strangled, dry laugh.
“Ren…”
“I’m here,” she—he—called back, already crawling through the dirt toward him, too stunned to cry. Their heads met at the threshold, foreheads pressing together.
“You look…” Cal’s voice broke. “You’re…”
Ren blinked through the dirt and tears. “So do you…”
They stared at each other—at their delicate cheekbones, their plush lips, their long lashes and smooth, helpless shoulders. Cal’s cock twitched beneath his shorts, and Ren’s eyes caught the movement.
They were panicked. Terrified. Horrified.
But they both blushed.