A barbarian? It was certainly an interesting idea. Jeff found the cliche savage fantasy hero who solved everything with violence to be fascinating and alluring even though he knew it was ridiculous, unrealistic, and totally unlike him, so he wondered what being one would be like.
He would soon find out. Jeff felt a tingling sensation as his clothes and computer evaporated. A sudden surge of testosterone and adrenaline filled him, and his whole body began to swell out with mass, expanding in every direction. He shot up in height and got taller until he was closer to seven feet than six. Jeff's body ballooned with muscle, abs and pecs pushing out of his formerly scrawny torso and defining themselves, arms and legs inflating into thick columns of bulk. His chest and shoulders broadened spectacularly. He felt so manly, and all the testosterone flooding his system was giving him a raging hard-on, more than he had thought possible--until his dick suddenly went soft, but somehow didn't get any smaller, now longer flaccid than it had been erect. His balls sank and swelled and his member hardened again to a truly impressive length and girth.
Jeff continued to feel a changing sensation in his crotch and looked down to see his pubic hair thickening and lightening from its dull brown, turning blonde. The pattern repeated itself across his body, starting with his treasure trail and spreading out as he grew a manly hide of thick blonde body hair. The change sweeping across his body reached his head, and his hair lightened to a bright blonde and lengthened into a respectable mane. A beard grew in across a jaw that started to widen and square. His face was changing into the face of someone else, someone manlier... and older. As his face roughened and hardened and his features grew rugged, it was clear that he was in his mid-twenties instead of his mid-teens. His skin toughened and paled, and his eyes tingled as they turned bright blue.
Finally, clothing materialized around Jeff's hulking body... although calling it clothing might have been a bit of a stretch. A fur loincloth wrapped itself around his waist, shielding his massive manhood, and fur and pelts appeared around his shoulders as well. Leather clothes materialized as well: boots, bracers, and a harness wrapped around his prodigiously muscled torso. Finally he felt the weight of a metal helmet appearing on the top of his head, high enough that it didn't block his vision, and a huge axe attached itself to the back of his harness. Wait, how did he know it was in axe if it was on his back. Well, it probably wasn't important.
His changes seemingly done, Jeff dropped his heavy head to get a look at himself (and the fact that he was still hovering above the town, whose people had yet to notice him). He liked what he saw. He was bigger, stronger, and manlier than he could have ever dreamed, and his outfit seemed designed to show it, though he was sort of concerned. In addition to being ridiculously show-offy, unlike anything he would ever wear, it didn't seem like it would provide any protection in a fight compared to armor. However, a voice in the back of his head told him that was foolish, and without questioning it he realized it was right. Armor was for city-dwellers who were too afraid of getting hurt, not man enough to fight, to hide behind. Jeff was never afraid. He was more than man enough to take a few hits--and the scars that appeared across his body proved it--and anyway he always hit his foes back harder. Such was the way of his people, for he was Jeffrok, might barbarian warrior!
Wait, what? Jeff had a moment of clarity in which he realized that his changes weren't quite done yet. He still needed the mind of a barbarian, and he was about to get it. Memories of Jeffrok's life started pouring in, his youth among the savage Bloodaxe tribe of the northern mountains, his people, hard and strong like the mountains they called home. He had always been the hardest and the strongest growing up, and grew into the best warrior, and the ideal paragon of the Bloodaxe values of strength, power, and honor. Suddenly he felt his mind dull, thickening like the rest of him, and his thoughts grew slower, simpler. Jeff felt stupid, but Jeffrok didn't need to think. Thinking was for city-dwelling cowards who had to solve their problems with words because they were weak and had no honor. Jeffrok was a man of few words (his vocabulary shrank to make sure of it) and solved his problems with his fists and weapons, like a man, for that was the Bloodaxe way. There was honor in it since it was so straightforward, without any city-dweller tricks, and in truth Jeffrok was too dumb to think of any other way.
The memories kept coming in. He remembered the destruction of his tribe and the dispersion and for a moment he was overcome by berserker rage that made him see red and drowned out even the few thought in his head. He grabbed his axe, he needed to KILL something! Then the rage subsided, and Jeffrok looked at the huge axe in his hand and grinned dumbly. It was too heavy for many men to lift with both hands, but he could hold it in one, and the weight was familiar and comfortable. It was like a part of him, an extension of his body, and he loved using it to destroy his enemies and carve out a song of blood. He loved fighting, loved the rush it gave him, like the rush he had felt while first transforming, because it made him feel alive, like a man. He even loved the rages he went into sometimes because they were the mark of a true Bloodaxe and helped him crush his foes. That was why he had become an adventurer when he came south to the lands of the city-dwellers after the loss of his tribe. He could do what he loved and kill things in exchange for money and the admiration of women and weaker men, he barely ever had to think, and he could still dream of avenging his people one day. It was perfect.
Jeff surfaced again and saw what he had become, a big blonde beast of a man, all brawn and no brain, almost inhumanly broad, tall, and strong. He looked like a savage, dressed in pelts with his gigantic muscles on display for the world, and that was all well, for that was the way of his people, and he should let the weaklings see what a real man as strong as him looked like. Such was the way of his people, for he was Jeffrok of the Bloodaxe, mighty barbarian warrior! And that was that. Jeffrok took over as Jeff faded to the back of his dull mind, and while the barbarian still knew that he had been the boy in the real world, he didn't really care. He felt contempt for that weakling, and it wasn't like him to think, especially about something that wasn't important, like his memories of another life that felt much less real than this one. He didn't have enough room in his thick head to think about those memories anyway. He could barely even remember that he was floating above the town because of the Chronivac, and when he blinked and opened his eyes again, he wasn't anymore, but instead found himself somewhere he could remember...