Loki stretched like a contented cat, the stage entirely his, body and voice both, his words sliding into the ears of the audience like poison with a sweet aftertaste. He spun slowly on himself, his cloak slicing the air, then halted abruptly, his arm lifting lazily to point at random into the frozen crowd. His finger landed on an unremarkable couple—two silhouettes lost in the mass, neither grotesque nor captivating: a boy with a gentle demeanour, a slim frame, and a girl discreet in posture, pleasant but plain, invisible in a room of eyes starving for spectacle.
“You two, there. Step forward.”
The murmur of the crowd withdrew, swallowed by a charged silence. The boy seemed hesitant, but his legs moved without his command. The girl, clinging to his arm, advanced with him, their steps synchronised, directed by a will that was not their own. The steps of the stage unfurled beneath their feet like obedient servants, and soon they stood beneath the harsh lights. Loki watched them with a ravenous gleam, his smile as sharp as an animal’s fang.
He conjured a black velvet sack. The rolled parchments within rustled like dozing beasts. Loki held it out to the girl.
“Draw, for both of you. One nature shared... what a beautiful test of fusion.”
She hesitated, then her fingers slid into the sack. She searched, brushed, chose. As she pulled out the scroll, her lips parted. Loki unrolled it, mischief lighting his gaze.
“Tigers. Two beasts of the same den. And for our young male... testosterone shall flow like a river of fire beneath the skin.”
He snapped his fingers.
The boy shuddered. A sigh escaped his lips—deep, almost plaintive. He stepped back, but his spine arched, convulsed by a wave that coursed through his entire frame. His arms lifted without consent, fingers stretching, palms opening as bones began to lengthen. His nails darkened, curled into thick, hard claws, ivory-tipped and keen. His fingers grew stouter, stronger.
The transformation surged up his arms, skin taking on a warmer, tawny hue, then sprouting short, gleaming fur—dense, striped in black, blazing. His torso lifted violently as his ribs reshaped, fur over his belly paling to white. His spine straightened, lengthened. Back muscles bulged, shoulder blades jutting sharply. A powerful tail burst forth in a frisson of flesh and nerve, lashing behind him.
His face contorted in a silent grimace, and then the features changed. Cheekbones pushed forward, his nose broadened, jaw expanded. Teeth elongated into gleaming fangs, tongue roughening. A short pelt of orange and black encircled his neck and climbed to his temples. His eyes reopened—deep amber, feline pupils, a gaze inhuman and taut with tension.
Then the hormonal tide struck like a flood.
He growled—a low, gravelly, primal sound. His chest swelled, pectoral muscles hardening, sculpted as if carved in stone. Shoulders widened with a sharp crack, collarbones pulling apart to welcome his new stature. His arms ballooned with strength, biceps knotted, veined, forearms tense and tawny like coiled rope. Abdominals emerged, visible even beneath the pale fur, defined like a row of blades. His thighs thickened, calves spring-loaded. The scent of his sweat grew heavier, more animal, metallic, almost intoxicating. His breath came in deep, guttural rasps, the music of a body alight with fire.
His clothes transformed in turn. The tatters of human fabric melted into threads of gold and scarlet, winding around his waist, hips, back. Voluminous trousers formed, deep red, embroidered with feline patterns—claws, jungle leaves in gold—flowing over his muscular legs. A belt of plaited leather, set with blood-red rubies, bound his hips. His mostly bare torso was crowned with an ornate pectoral—gold, jade, ebony—shaped into curling animal forms, evoking ancient India and forgotten myth.
Over this, a draped mantle materialised—lustrous black cloth, lined with tiger-striped orange, falling from his shoulders like a sacred cloak. The stiff high collar, embroidered in gold, framed his neck but left his throat bare. Gold bracelets slid onto his thickened wrists, fitting the altered bones of his forearms. Sandals of woven leather appeared at his feet, the straps coiling up his veined ankles. A white turban wrapped itself around his head, bearing a jewel as large as an egg, crowned with a plume of colourful feathers.
He stood there, magnificent, a sacred beast. A king of jungle and palace. His gaze devoured the space before him, his body pulsing with new, dangerous power.
The girl followed, in a different rhythm—fluid, voluptuous.
Her head tipped back, hair parting like a curtain, shoulders shivering. Her arms slid down her sides as her skin warmed, then turned golden, streaked with fawn-coloured stripes slipping along her ribs. Her fingers lengthened, nails sharpening into perfect, glistening claws. Her legs reshaped, muscles becoming more defined, her gait more supple. Her tail emerged in an elegant spasm, curling behind her with grace.
Her face retained its core, but grew... wilder. Cheekbones lifted, her mouth widened slightly, more feline. Her teeth sharpened, though still recognisably human. Her eyes ignited—yellow, shining, piercing. A tremor of animal energy radiated from her like a low, continuous purr.
Her garments melted into her skin and were reborn in an explosion of splendour. A sari unfurled from nothing—gold and fiery red, embroidered with feline designs and tropical foliage. The fabric wrapped around her hips, slid over her thigh, climbed to cross beneath her reshaped chest. Her belly was bare—smooth, striped, firm, sensual.
A bustier emerged on her chest, studded with black pearls and topaz, the cut daring, shaped to honour her new body. At her ankles and wrists, golden bracelets appeared, finely worked, tiny bells chiming with each movement. Around her neck, a heavy collar of deep red, beaded with drops of jade. A delicate headdress—two thin chains joined by a central jewel—graced her forehead.
Her hair had thickened, curling in places, framing her feline face like a night-born crown. She lifted her eyes. He was already waiting for her.
Two tigers. Their breaths aligned, their pelts quivered, their tails swept the air with lazy synchrony. The room no longer dared to breathe.
Behind them, Loki tapped two fingers to his cheek, amused, fascinated.
“Now those,” he murmured, “are what I call tigers... So then—who dares tame them?”