tfanatic

[tfanatic]

Ian had always felt a strange pull to the ocean, especially to the quiet, hidden coves far from the crowds. That morning, as the sun cast its golden glow over the turquoise water, Ian arrived at his favorite secluded cove, tucked between towering cliffs draped in green. The air was thick with salt, and the rhythmic hush of waves on sand was music to his soul.

With his snorkel gear in hand, he waded into the warm shallows, eager to explore the coral garden below. The water was calm and crystal-clear, revealing an underwater world alive with color—swaying anemones, curious reef fish, and brain corals like ancient stone carvings. Ian drifted effortlessly, letting the current carry him from one reef patch to the next. Then he saw it.

Tucked into a cradle of coral, half-buried in sand, was something that glinted in a way no rock or shell could. Intrigued, Ian dove down and carefully pulled it free. It was a pendant, unlike any he’d seen before—crafted from copper wire twisted in intricate patterns around two stones. One shimmered like emerald flame, the other swirled with oceanic hues: deep teal, kelp green, and streaks of shell pink. It felt warm in his hand, pulsing faintly.

Without hesitation, Ian slipped it over his head. For a moment, nothing happened. He floated back to the surface and stared at the cliffs ahead, puzzled by how natural the act had felt, like it had been waiting for him all along.

After a while, he returned to shore, stretched out on his towel, and let the sun bake the salt from his skin. The gentle lull of the waves lulled him into a peaceful nap.

That’s when the dreams began—strange, vivid dreams of swimming faster than any fish, of breathing underwater, of coral reefs alive with song and light. He dreamt of a distant voice whispering from the sea floor, of ancient magic bound to stone and copper.

When Ian awoke, the sun had shifted, and something felt... different. His fingers twitched. His feet tingled. He sat up slowly, blinking against the glare, and gasped.

"What the hell?"

His hands had changed. Webbing now stretched between his fingers, glistening and smooth, with a translucent golden tint. His legs itched with a strange energy. He looked down to see fins sprouting from the sides of his calves, and his feet—his feet were now splayed and webbed like those of a sea creature, designed for propulsion, not walking.

Panicked yet oddly calm, Ian stumbled toward the water, driven by instinct. The pendant throbbed against his chest like a second heartbeat. He plunged into the sea—and everything made sense.

His body moved with grace, every motion smooth and strong. He didn’t need to kick hard; a flick of his feet sent him gliding. The coral world that had once required effort to explore now welcomed him as one of its own. Fish swam close without fear. He dove deeper than ever before without running out of air, realizing he could breathe through new gill slits along his neck.

Joy bubbled up inside him.

He swam for hours, weaving through arches of coral, chasing sunlight that filtered through the surface above. He was free. Transformed. Reborn.

When he finally returned to the shore, the pendant still glowing faintly at his chest, Ian knew he could never go back to his old life. The cove wasn’t just a place of peace anymore—it was his home, his beginning, and now, his future.

And somewhere in the coral, the sea whispered of others like him—those who had once found the pendant and chosen the ocean.

[tfanatic]

You’ve had it.

The endless meetings, the notifications, the pressure—it’s all too much. Burnout has you in a vice grip. You need to get away.

So you take action.

You clear your schedule, throw your phone on airplane mode, and pack your gear for a week-long solo camping trip. Just you and the wilderness. You’ve also brought something new with you: Primal, that powder everyone online is raving about. “Reconnect with your instincts,” they say. “Feel nature like never before.”

Skeptical but curious, you toss a few pouches of the tan, earthy-smelling powder into your bag.

You drive out for hours, leaving behind traffic, buildings, civilization. The paved roads turn to gravel, then to dirt. You find the trailhead, strap on your pack, and begin your hike—deep into untouched forest. The air grows cooler. Cleaner. You pass no one. It’s just the rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds, and your steady steps on the moss-covered trail.

You find it: a quiet clearing framed by tall pine trees, dappled in soft afternoon light. You set down your pack and exhale.

This is what you came for.

You immediately take the Primal, the gritty powder dissolving in your water bottle with an earthy, musky scent. It tastes wild—something between pine needles and raw bark—but you gulp it down, driven by stress and desperation. The wind whispers through the trees, and a strange calm settles over you as you unpack your gear.

After some time, the tent is set up, the fire pit is dug, and the wood is stacked nearby. As you brush your hands together and wipe your brow, you pause.

Your fingers feel oddly rough. You glance down.

Hair.

Thick, dark strands are beginning to sprout along the backs of your hands and creep up your forearms. It's coarse—almost bristly. You roll up your sleeve and see it continuing, a slow crawl of primal change weaving its way across your skin.

Your heart thumps, but not in fear—more like anticipation.

You flex your fingers, watching the hair spread.

Something is happening.

You feel a jolt of energy rush through you, as if the forest itself is flowing through your veins. The breeze against your skin feels electric—alive. You grin, wide and wild, as your canines subtly press longer against your lips, sharpening like they were meant to tear into something raw, something real.

More hair begins to grow across your chest and down your legs, thick and dark, wild and untamed. Your skin tingles with every follicle that erupts, every new patch of fur signaling your body’s break from civilization.

Without hesitation, you take off your clothes, planting your bare feet into the cool dirt and scattered pine needles. The sensation is grounding—almost sacred. You curl your toes in the soil and feel it: connection. Earth. Roots. Instinct.

You don’t fight the changes. You embrace them. This is what you came for.

You have an entire week to lose yourself, to let go of the stress and grind. The woods stretch endlessly in every direction. You breathe in deep and exhale something feral.

You are ready.

[tfanatic]

As the golden afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, Alex lounged comfortably on the couch, his once-human form now fully embraced. The transformation had come months ago—unexpected, painful at first, but ultimately liberating.

Gone were the days of hiding, of dull routines and anxiety-ridden mirrors. His fur bristled slightly in the warm rays, chest rising with slow, confident breaths. The tattered shirt clung loosely to his muscular frame, a relic of his old life, worn now more for nostalgia than necessity.

A soft chuckle rumbled from his throat as he glanced out the window. For the first time in his life, he felt at home in his own skin—strong, sure, and unafraid. This wasn’t a curse. It was freedom.

And the world would just have to catch up.

[tfanatic]

Your muscles responded first. Every morning, you felt a little denser, your frame slightly wider. The mirror reflected someone tougher, someone built. You didn’t just look strong—you felt it in your bones, your grip, your walk.

And then came the hair.

It started as a fuzz on your forearms, easy to ignore. But within days, it darkened, thickened, spreading up your arms, over your shoulders, down your chest. Most would panic. You didn’t. You ran your hand over the coarse new growth and smirked.

This wasn’t a side effect. This was a signal.

The "primal" substance was doing exactly what it promised—stripping away the weakness, unlocking something raw beneath the surface. You were shedding softness. Becoming stronger, leaner, wilder. Your skin tingled every time more hair emerged, like your body was proud of what it was becoming.

You didn’t trim it. You didn’t hide it. You embraced it.

[tfanatic]

Mason stopped by an oddity shop on his way home, drawn in by the flickering neon sign and the promise of strange curiosities. The store was cluttered with shelves of dusty books, taxidermy animals, and glass cases filled with tarnished jewelry and mysterious trinkets. As he wandered toward the back, something caught his eye.

On display was a necklace, unlike the rest—an amulet fashioned from a large, curved tiger tooth, its surface worn smooth with age. The leather cord looked brittle, but the tooth itself gleamed unnaturally in the dim light, as if it pulsed faintly with energy. A small tag next to it that reads,

"Tiger Tooth Amulet — Protection. Power. Price to be paid."

Mason couldn’t explain why, but he reached out and took it. It felt warm in his hand. Too warm.

He laughed to himself, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet store. "Protection and power, huh?" he muttered with a smirk, flipping the amulet in his fingers. It was probably just a hunk of bone some guy carved in his garage.

Still—something about it kept his curiosity burning. He made his way to the front counter, paid in crumpled bills, and stepped back out into the fading evening light.

Settling into the driver’s seat of his car, Mason hesitated for a moment. The amulet swung slightly in his hand. With a shrug, he slipped it over his head.

It rested heavy and warm against his chest.

The moment it touched his skin, the warmth deepened—like a low hum under his sternum. He blinked, looked around. Nothing unusual.

“Probably just in my head,” he muttered—and started the engine.

As Mason turned onto the main road, the afternoon sun poured through his windshield, casting sharp light across his forearm on the steering wheel.

That’s when he noticed it.

The sunlight caught something strange—his arm looked… different. He squinted. The fine hairs on his skin had thickened, deepened in color. Orange? He rubbed his arm with his free hand, expecting it to wipe away like dust or something from the shop. But it didn’t.

It was real. His skin was warm—hot even. And the hairs were unmistakably turning into a coarse orange fur.

“What the hell…” he muttered, eyes flicking from the road to his arm, to the mirror, then back. The amulet pulsed faintly against his chest like a second heartbeat.

His hand tightened on the steering wheel. Panic prickled at the back of his neck.

This wasn’t just in his head anymore. Something was happening.

And it was only beginning.

Mason pulled into his driveway, tires crunching over gravel. His hands trembled as he shifted into park, still staring at the patch of orange fur crawling higher up his arm. He fumbled the keys out of the ignition and slumped back in his seat, breathing hard.

Then came the ache.

It started dull, just behind his upper gums—but quickly sharpened into a pressure that made him wince. He rubbed his jaw, trying to soothe it, but the pain only grew worse. Like something inside was pushing its way out.

He leaned forward and flipped the rearview mirror toward his face.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

His canines had lengthened—noticeably. Too sharp. Too animal. They caught the light like tiny blades, glinting unnaturally. His lips curled back in instinctive revulsion.

“No, no, no…” he yelled.

Another jolt of pain surged through his mouth. His teeth shifted again—grinding, reshaping, becoming something not human.

Mason burst through his front door, slammed it shut behind him, and took the amulet off. He threw it off to the side, hitting the ground.

He collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest. He begins pulling on the fur in panic, tearing his shirt

His muscles ached and stretched, bones popping subtly beneath the surface of his skin. Thick orange-striped fur now covered most of his arms and shoulders. His hands had twisted, nails elongating into dangerous claws that dug into the carpet as he braced himself.

Then came the roar—his own voice, filled with raw animal power

His fangs now jutted fully from his mouth, jaw widened unnaturally. He clutched at his throat, eyes shut with fear and disbelief.

“I took it off,” he growled through his new teeth. “Why… isn't it stopping?”

The amulet lay still on the floor… but its curse had already taken root. And Mason was no longer just human.

His legs trembled, no longer shaped quite right—his ankles lifted unnaturally, muscles warping, bones shifting to accommodate a new gait. He could feel the tendons tightening, reshaping. His toes curled as they realigned, becoming more paw-like with each inch he crawled.

Then came the sensation that nearly made him scream—a tug at the base of his spine. Something was growing. Extending. He twisted, panting, just in time to see a thick, striped tail unfurling behind him, swaying with a life of its own.

But through the haze of transformation, one thought burned clearer than all others:

The amulet.

Without it, he felt exposed—vulnerable. As unnatural as the changes were, being without the amulet felt worse. As if something ancient had been stirred inside him, and only that relic could keep it from consuming him entirely.

His claws scraped the carpet as he dragged himself across the floor, eyes locked on the amulet where it lay. With trembling fingers—now more beast than man—he grasped it and pulled it back over his neck.

The moment it touched his chest, everything slowed. The pain dulled. His breath steadied. Not reversed—but contained.

He collapsed, breathing hard.

With the amulet back on, the chaos inside Mason eased. Power pulsed through him—steady, controlled.

The claws, the fur, the tail—they were still there. But now, they felt natural.

With the amulet on, he wasn’t afraid.

He felt safe. He felt strong.

[tfanatic]

Evan trekked deeper into the hills, following a barely visible deer trail through the forest. It was supposed to be a simple day hike—clear his head, take some photos, and just be one with nature. But then he spotted it: a dark slit in the rocky hillside. A cave. Hidden and forgotten.

His curiosity flared. He stepped closer, pulling out his flashlight.

The cave was narrow at first, then opened into a chamber with walls slick with moisture and the sharp, mineral scent of earth. He wandered in slowly, eyes darting over the odd rock formations. As he leaned down to snap a photo of a strange cluster of eggs—or were they mushrooms?—a sudden sting flared on the back of his hand.

“Ah—damn!” he hissed, yanking his arm back.

Two small puncture marks dotted his skin. He rubbed at it, feeling a hot, itchy tingle spread across his knuckles. He glanced around, but whatever bit him had vanished into the shadows.

Shrugging it off, Evan stepped back into the sunlight. The bite itched for only a few minutes, then stopped. By the time he got home, he’d nearly forgotten it.

---

That night, Evan’s dreams were strange.

He wandered endless tunnels lined with silk. He couldn’t move his arms—couldn’t speak. Shapes skittered in the corners of his vision. Hundreds of eyes blinked at him from the dark.

He woke drenched in sweat. His hand, feeling itchy again.

He stared at it, heart pounding. Thin, silken webs clung between his fingers, glistening faintly in the dim light. He scrambled to wipe them off, brushing and clawing at his skin with growing panic.

“Where is it?” he whispered, eyes darting around the room.

He checked his sheets, the pillow, even under the bed. But there was no spider. Nothing. Just the cold, sticky memory of something that had been there.

---

That morning, Evan stumbled into the bathroom and froze.

He froze in fear as eight orange eyes stared back at him in the mirror. Rows of them. They blinked in perfect sync, embedded into his brow. Coarse hair framed them. His skin was now nearly obsidian.

His scream echoed through the house—but the sound was strange now. Deeper. Vibrating. Like a warning.

He raised his hand to his face, fingers trembling, touching the edge of what he used to be.

Something had bitten him in that cave.

Something ancient.

And now it was waking up inside him.

[tfanatic]

It began subtly. A stray hair here, a darker patch there. At first, you dismissed it as nothing. Maybe you were just stressed. Maybe your hormones were out of whack. But when you woke one morning to find your entire arm covered in thick, coarse hair, denial was no longer an option.

You stared at your hand in the bathroom light, fingers twitching involuntarily. Your nails were duller, rounder. Your knuckles — broader. A deep, uncomfortable thought crept into your mind, one you’d been trying to ignore for weeks: The curse is real.

Your breath quickened as you stared at your hands—now covered in a coarse, unnatural fur. The sink's cold water streamed over them, but no amount of scrubbing could remove what was happening. You clawed at your skin, rubbing harder and harder, trying to scrape away the hair, the wrongness, the fear crawling up your spine.

"This isn't real!!" you yelled. "It's just a dream. Just a—"

But the roughness of your palms, the thickening of your fingers, the way your nails curved ever so slightly—none of it faded. Your reflection caught in the faucet, twisted and distorted, only deepened the dread as you slammed your fists against the sink, chest heaving.

"What's happening to me?!"

The bracelet on your wrist, once loose and stylish, now bit into your skin—tightened by the swelling muscle and coarse fur underneath. Panic surged. The curse was no longer creeping. It was accelerating, and you didn't know how to stop it.

You stumbled backward, clutching the edge of the sink, heart racing like a drum. You needed to sit—now. Your legs gave out beneath you, and you crashed onto the cold tile floor. That’s when you saw them.

Your feet! The hair had spread—thick and wild—down your legs and across the tops of your feet. The toes had changed shape, subtly but unmistakably. They looked stronger, more agile… almost prehensile. Your feet were broader now, and your ankles bore an eerie bulge, like they were preparing for a different kind of motion—climbing, leaping.

“No… no, no, no…” you yelled, pulling at your shorts as if that could stop the transformation crawling up your thighs.

But it was too late.

You forced yourself to stand, legs trembling beneath the strange weight of your reshaped body. Dragging your heavy, hairy feet across the tile, you staggered toward the mirror. Please no… please no…

When you looked up, the breath in your lungs vanished.

The face staring back wasn’t yours.

Wide, amber-ringed eyes blinked in terror. A flat nose twitched, flaring slightly with each ragged breath. Your ears—your ears!—were massive, rounded, and stuck out from the sides of a head no longer entirely human. Coarse hair framed your cheeks and jaw, thick like a mane. Your mouth fell open in a gasp—and what came out wasn’t a scream, but a guttural, primal sound.

You gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles cracking under the pressure. Your heart pounded in your chest, but your reflection just stared—wild, alien, animal.

The transformation was complete.

And worst of all, behind the fear… was something else creeping in.

Something curious. Instinctual. A feeling that maybe, just maybe…

This wasn’t entirely wrong.

[tfanatic]

Jason had always lived paycheck to paycheck, and this month was no different. When he saw the flyer taped to a telephone pole—"Get Paid $2,000 for a Simple Clinical Test! No Prior Conditions Required!"—he barely hesitated. A quick call and a short screening later, he found himself at a stark white lab, signing a stack of waivers he barely read.

“Just a vitamin compound with some gene therapy adjuncts,” the technician said with a practiced smile. “You might feel a little flushed, maybe dizzy. Drink water.”

The injection burned more than Jason expected, but the money was wired to his account before he even left the building.

He felt fine. Until he got home.

It started in the bathroom mirror. He leaned in to wash his face and glanced up—only to freeze in horror. His nose was bulging, widening into a fleshy pink snout. Thick bristles erupted across his cheeks, pushing through his skin like needles. His mouth contorted as tusks jutted from his jaw with a sickening crunch.

“No… no no no—!”

Jason stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged grunts. His hands were still human, but hairier, stronger. His reflection now looked like something from a nightmare—a man twisted halfway into a wild boar.

Panicked, he fumbled for his phone. The number he had for the clinic was now out of service.

He tried to calm down, thinking it had to wear off. But the changes only worsened. His ears sharpened, his voice grew guttural, and an overwhelming urge to root through the pantry consumed him.

Days passed. He couldn’t go out. Couldn’t call for help. Jason’s mind remained his own, but his body was no longer fully human. And worst of all, he wasn’t sure he wanted the cure anymore. Something primal had taken root inside him… and it was waking up.