“Lost faggot?” Max stopped dead as a deer in the headlights. The eyes staring down at him made his fill with paralyzing terror that seeped into every bone like a drug, numbing and immobilizing him. He had been on his way to school, taking the same route he always did. It was a brisk and oft boring route, maybe fifteen minutes. He was not eager to return after a blissful two weeks of nothing but now Hell seemed that much hotter for standing before him was Luke. At only 16 and merely a sophomore Luke had a few inches on his prey and many pounds of muscle. Luke was also a fighter who had brought home many local martial arts tournament trophies, his skill matched only by his temper as he was quick to disprove any at school who doubted his abilities. A veritable walking weapon, he was feared and respected by many.
“Heard you’re fapping your little dick to me? My bros shitting me or am I right?” Max’s lips moved but made no sound. It was true, somehow he liked Luke, but there was no way, he shouldn’t have known that, how could he? A harsh push to the shoulders nearly toppled him and brought him back from thought. Relearning how to walk Max back tracked slowly as Luke followed until he found he could move no further, he had backed right into the Dead End. “I asked you a fucking question, you like this dawg?” He pounded his fist against his chest and grabbed his dick with the other and Max felt entranced. Luke stood there, towering, lean and long with all those toned muscles… no. Max thought, he had to stop thinking about him like that, he was going to kill him! But even in this moment Max couldn’t break his lustful thoughts towards Luke and stood there silent and cornered.
A flash of pain, and a foul taste, blood. It took Max several moments to realize Luke had jabbed him in the mouth. Red dripped down his face, some down his throat and he gagged. Before he could recover a flurry began, waves of fists rolled across his face the way water lashes at the shore. He could barely see, but blurred glimpses between blood and flesh as wounds opened and disfigured him. He tried to bury his head in his arms but a rising knee drove its way into his gut, immediately taking all the air out of him. His head went up again and was exposed to the renewed onslaught. Luke never seemed to tire, not a bead of sweat as hands moved faster than the eye could follow without effort or thought, fully automatic. By this point Max couldn’t protest, couldn’t even lie to make it stop, only able to wait until Luke got bored. He just stood, wallowing in his defeat.
Max lifted his left arm weakly and uselessly, Luke took a step back but the relief was shattered as his leg raced towards Max with such speed it almost split the air, it crashed against Max’s arm with such force it echoed through the alley. Max’s arm was assailed with pain, cringing and twisting out of his control it suddenly stretched out rigid against the wall. At first he thought it was broken but it shook and contorted and to the shock of both began changing, the skin slowly darkening from sun-deprived pale to a dedicated tan as the blood oozed across his arm but instead of dripping off, sank in. The veins seemed to enlarge with the spilled and regained blood as they protruded further and thicker, the muscles burning with agony as they tore themselves and healed over and over, expanding a little each time, contracting and relaxing as tone became evident on his arm, familiar tone. All at once his arm coiled and sprang forth, smashing into Luke’s face and catching him off guard, when it returned, wet with Luke’s blood it continued to grow, his fist becoming a replica of the one that had been hitting him, replete with the enlarged knuckles, dark hairs and calluses from hours a day on a bag. His fingers stretched out, further than usual, flexing, feeling strange and foreign. Max beheld the contrasted arm with fear and bewilderment, the powerful tool alien on his body. His enlarged arm caused his small shirt to strain and tear along the sleeve from the muscle.
But Luke recovered first and was now truly enraged at being punched by a little queer. He wiped the blood off of his face and in the same motion pounded Max anew with his fists who, while still wracked with agony, was slowly becoming indifferent to the pain as something took hold of him. Even as his shoulders slumped lower and lower in fatigue, frustration and submission they broadened painfully, straining his shirt further. The fabric slipped and suddenly Max felt the wind touch his belly, as his shirt was pulled up by his expansion exposing his cold and pale flesh. His chest was tight against the shirt, as his sore lungs desperately took long gulps of air that was just as quickly knocked out of him, over and over as Max failed to notice they expanded more each time, his chest heaving, but going further and further into his shirt. A small tear going down from the collar, showing his chest where the cluster of hairs he had begun to grow, now blood drenched, disintegrated into nothing and the smooth, darkening skin beneath toughened and pushed out, his nipples pressed clearly against the shirt, larger and harder than before. His pecs solid and toned from work outs he didn’t even remember doing and never would have attempted. They were round and firm in a way he never imagined them, a shelf jutting out of his chest. Another punch sent him back into the wall but when his back connected his spine suddenly forced him up, erect and seemingly taller. He heard it crunch as the bone broke to grow and then heal. His back now stronger, every muscle swelling and burning as he sweated and bled into his now ragged and drenched shirt.
Luke let up then suddenly seized Max by the neck with one hand and slammed his head against the wall. With his free hand he made a jerking motion in front of his junk and mocked him. “You still wanna jerk to this bro? Huh? Talk faggot!” Max struggled to breath, feeling the large hand crushing his neck, fingers digging into his flesh. It felt like something inside his throat broke, snapped or something.
“No, no I don’t! Please” he whimpered, but it wasn’t in his voice, it was in Luke’s. The surprisingly deep bellows seemed all wrong arranged to make those words, a voice usually proudly put to taunting or gloating. Luke took it as an insult and tightened his grip. Blood and tears ran down Max’s face, mingling as they dripped, his watery eyes unknowingly darkening to hazel. As one tear slid into an open cut on his face it seared and sealed itself, the feeling overwhelming his entire face which felt like it was on fire. The features distorted, becoming younger and sharper, the smooth skin stretched over a deceptively alluring façade. Luke, confused, continued to punch him with his free hand unknowingly accelerating the changes as Max’s face gradually became more and more like Luke’s. His mangled hair even fell out in clumps as dark hair grew in behind it in a short hair cut. Max cried out as his other arm began to follow the first, growing in throes and spasms out of his control as his larger hand clenched into a fist and forced itself into Luke, knocking him off and putting Max on his knees, gasping for breath.
A swift cutting kick to the leg made one of Max’s legs buckle, the bony front of Luke‘s leg making a horrible sound as it connected, almost breaking it, as he struggled to regain balance he felt disproportional, his aching leg being molded into a longer, leaner one. The thin appendage acquiring a decent circumference as it widened out, the muscles toning up to deliver kicks like the one just received, it stretched him up to the point the had to bend it to stand right. Beneath his strained jeans more changes were occurring, slight rips began to appear showing patches of darker skin covered in jet black hairs, less than before and cutting off around the knee. His shoe tightened and knowing what was next he looked over at Luke’s feet; they were easily 3 sizes larger than his own, their size all the more noticeable in the slides he was fond of wearing. Max could feel every toe growing larger and longer, pushing up against the end of his shoe as his foot lengthened and became Luke’s. Without warning his unchanged leg was swept and Max found himself looking up. His shoe popping off revealing a torn sock with large, elongated toes sticking out of it. His other leg not far behind as he could feel it morphing and lengthening, further ruining his jeans. The other shoe merely destroyed as his foot grew to match the first. Luke, now blind with rage bent over and began pummeling his collapsed duplicate, every punch to Max’s stomach sharpening his muscles, making his abs tighter and stronger, adding years of conditioning to them until the blows felt like nothing and a rock hard six pack with a smaller but darker trail replaced his pale stomach. Lying on the ground, large hands covering his face, was another Luke, almost exactly the same.
Max peeked through his long fingers, before moving his awkward hands out of the way. Luke was gone. He stood up, weary yet somehow rejuvenated. Examining himself he saw no sign of the fight that had just occurred except his torn clothes. Flexing and checking himself out, Max felt fine, better even than before. His body felt powerful, like there was nothing he couldn’t do but inside, he was still the same boring person as before, undeserving of the muscles ‘gifted’ to him. Confused, afraid and mentally exhausted, he tilted his head back and screamed in his new voice…