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It started with a bite. Nothing dramatic—no violent mauling or mysterious behavior. Just a sharp sting on the boy’s calf as he walked home through the woods. The dog had been strange: eyes too bright, fur too coarse, awfully large, and it disappeared into the trees before he could even cry out.

Maybe it was a wolf… Asher thought, but quickly brushed off the idea, not wanting to consider what sorts of diseases he might contract from a wild animal.

By evening, the wound itched and burned. Asher stood shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror, a cool towel draped over his neck, worried that his fears may be coming to fruition as he developed a minor fever. He wiped the sweat from his chest, but paused, frowning.

He had grown hair.

It was subtle at first—a fine dusting across his pecs, the kind of thing he’d occasionally spotted before, written off as hormones and shaven off. But now, it looked… different. Denser. Darker. More uniform, spreading across the center of his chest in a narrow path, then out along his pecs and collarbones in wiry, curling strands.

He touched it. Coarse. Thicker than any hair he’d had before.

He leaned closer to the mirror. “What the hell…?” He stared in confusion for a moment before coming to a conclusion. He was probably just having a growth spurt. Asher went to bed without bothering to shave it off.

He awoke to a burning pain on his leg from the bite, and limped over to the mirror to inspect the wound, suspecting the worst. However when he stepped into the bathroom and looked at the mirror, he gasped.

The hair had exploded across his upper torso overnight. It now blanketed his chest in uneven waves of wiry black, creeping down across his stomach in a trail that thickened with every inch. His nipples peeked through the mass like islands in a forest. When he pulled up his tank top, he found the hair crawling down the sides of his ribs and enveloping his abs. Even his back felt warmer, itchier, like something was growing there too.

And then there was his face. A beard had appeared overnight—not a scruffy shadow, but a full-grown, coarse growth along his jaw and cheeks. It framed his face in wild black bristles that curled slightly under his chin. His sideburns had thickened and now blended into the rest of the beard, almost like they wanted to connect with the hair on his neck.

Asher staggered closer to the mirror, breathless. “This… this isn’t normal.”

But just as the fear began to rise in his chest, a deep, rolling pressure dropped into his body like a wave of heat. His fever intensified. Hot chills ran up and down his body, making his limbs tremble. He grabbed the sink to steady himself.

Asher gripped the cold edge of the sink, knuckles white. His breathing was ragged, shallow, but something deeper stirred inside—

The first surge hit his chest. It wasn’t just pain—it was pressure, like his sternum was expanding from the inside out. His pecs swelled beneath his skin with growing heat, the fibers tightening, multiplying. It was like flexing the hardest he ever had—but constant. A deep, rhythmic throbbing accompanied the growth, almost pleasurable in its intensity. He cried out in pain.

Each pulse brought a fresh wave of strength.

His chest grew heavy with new mass, not sluggish but dense, powerful. He could feel every new fiber as it knit together—stretching skin, swelling his frame, creating something beyond human. The sensation was intoxicating. He let out a breathless moan, half in pain, half in awe.

His traps swelled like cords of steel, neck thickening to support the growing mass above. His lats flared outward, his torso taking on the shape of a beast—wide, v-shaped, monstrous..

His thighs grew next—exploding with size, pulsing as thick cords of muscle formed beneath the surface, wrapped in veins and hair. His calves grew to match, tearing at the seams of his pants.

Then came the fur.

Starting at his sternum, his hair suddenly became denser—coarse and wiry—tickling his oversensitized skin. He gasped as it spread, threading across his rapidly expanding pecs. It felt alien at first: a crawling, tingling sensation, like a swarm of ants—until his body adjusted. Then, it felt right. Comforting. Like warmth after cold.

The hair continued to grow, dark and wild, matching the rhythm of his muscle growth. It pushed through his skin in waves, following the contours of his chest, encircling his nipples, fanning out over his shoulders. He could feel it hugging his muscles, brushing against his swelling traps, sliding over the deepening ridges of his abs as they formed. The contrast of hard muscle under soft, bristling fur was euphoric.

The fur chased the muscle across Asher’s body—dark and coarse, spreading like wildfire across his expanding chest, thickening in texture and coverage until his once-smooth skin vanished beneath it. It marched down his stomach, now segmented with abs so hard and deep they looked carved from stone. Even they were coated with a light mat of fuzz that thickened as he watched. The fur was everywhere, now growing faster—crawling down his torso. Each patch brought a rush of sensation. It was like his nerves were reawakening, like every inch of skin was being plugged into something greater.

His back itched like mad. He twisted, gritting his teeth as he saw the hair creep up his spine, down his lower back, thick and unrelenting. Asher moaned at the sensation. It fanned out across his lats, reaching the crests of his glutes, while spreading across his legs like dark wildfire, finally forming an uninterrupted pelt of fur that covered him from chest to ankle

He panted hard, staring at his reflection, which now barely resembled the boy he’d been.

Asher moaned again, deeper now, guttural. The heat flooded his arms—biceps tearing bigger with each beat of his heart. His skin felt tight, stretched to its limit, but instead of tearing, it adapted, welcoming the growth. Veins rose to the surface, pulsing with power. His fingers twitched—thicker now, meatier—and even there, hair began to sprout.

Asher clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the mirror. His body was morphing before his very eyes—each second, more rugged. More powerful.

Asher stared at the hair spreading across his chest, heart hammering in his ribs like it was trying to escape. What’s happening to me? The logical part of his brain scrambled for explanations—hormones, infection, hallucination. But none of those could explain what he was seeing. Or feeling.

This can’t be real. Hair doesn’t grow this fast. Muscles don’t just—

His thoughts were broken by a sharp crack deep in his spine. He yelped, stumbling against the wall. Heat radiated down through his arms and chest, and something inside him—something ancient—stirred.

The panic came quick, but it didn’t last long.

Because beneath the fear, another voice was rising.

Not in words, not at first. More like instinct. Like the way wolves know how to hunt. How to run. How to lead.

And that voice didn’t sound afraid. It sounded excited.

And then came the changes to his face.

Asher cried out as his ears pushed upward, growing pointed, migrating toward the top of his skull. His nose cracked and reshaped, flattening, then stretching forward. His features distorted—but not randomly. They refined into a new form. A predator’s form.

His jaw expanded, teeth sharpening behind black lips. Golden irises shimmered in the mirror.

And somewhere deep in his mind, the panic faded.

Asher’s thoughts began to shift. The fear, the confusion, the human part of him dulled like a fading dream. It was replaced by something sharper, older, truer. He lifted one now-clawed hand to the mirror, touching the reflection of his new face.

What he saw no longer frightened him.

The fur was complete now—thick over his chest and arms, his legs, even the tops of his hands. The muscles beneath twitched with power. He looked… primal.

And he liked it.

He smiled, and it was a wolf’s smile—feral and sure.

This isn’t normal. This isn’t me. Something whispered inside him.

But the words felt weaker now. Hollow. Because this—this massive chest, these arms swelling with strength, the thick fur blanketing his torso—this felt more real than anything he’d known before.

Even the simple act of breathing felt different—deeper, heavier, resonant. His lungs had grown. His ribcage had expanded. He felt massive. Unstoppable.

He ran a trembling hand across his chest—over fur and muscle—and shivered. The sensation was almost erotic. Not sexual—visceral. Raw. Real. Like discovering his own body for the first time and realizing it was perfect.

He could feel everything. The raw heat of the transformation. The power building in every fiber. The fur—spreading like wildfire—didn’t disgust him anymore. It was like his skin had been cold all his life and only now, finally, was it warm.

He flexed instinctively, marveling at the size of his new biceps. The thick cords of muscle in his thighs, the deep ridges of his abs.

This is insane.

This is impossible.

This is… right.

The last tremors of transformation faded into silence.

Asher stood still, his massive chest rising and falling with deep, slow breaths. The bathroom mirror barely contained him now—his frame so wide, so impossibly built, that his shoulders spilled beyond the glass on either side. For a long moment, he just stared.

A new thought came to him, clear and deep and final:

You were never meant to stay small.

He reaches up, slowly, and rubs his face—cautiously at first, as if afraid of what he might feel. His fingertips brush the new contours of his muzzle, tracing along the bridge of his broader, flattened nose. The skin was tough, leathery in places, and the curve of his upper lip now hung subtly over the tips of his lengthened canines. He explores the jut of his jaw, now more angular, stronger, lined with dense black fur that flows up into his sideburns and wraps beneath his ears—which had migrated upward and now twitched slightly as his fingers brush them. His cheekbones were higher, his brow heavier. It wasn’t just a new face. It was the face of a beast.

The feeling was strange, like meeting a stranger and recognizing yourself in their eyes.

Then he brings one clawed hand to his chest, thick fingers grazing the coarse, black fur that now covered him like a pelt. He shivers

The sensation was electric.

His hand drags across the twin slabs of muscle on his pecs, now heaving and hard beneath the dense fur. The texture of it—warm, alive, like the fur of some powerful animal—was foreign but intoxicating. He slides his hands lower, exploring the deep grooves of his abs, each ridge bordered with the same bristling hair. Even there, the skin underneath was hot to the touch, tight with power.

Lower, even, and his eyes widen as he discovers a thick, furry monster between his legs. He groans ecstatically, stroking up and down the 12-inch-long, fur-covered member, reveling in the contrast between soft fur with hard flesh underneath.

“I’m… huge,” he mutters aloud, voice now a rich, low growl. It wasn’t just bigger. It was deeper, like it had weight behind it.

He takes a step back and admires his reflection fully. His arms look absurd—each bicep the size of his head, bulging under layers of fur and veins. His forearms ripple with striations, his hands powerful and clawed. His traps slope up to meet his neck, now so thick it barely existed. And his legs are carved and solid, covered in a thick forest of hair from hip to ankle, like tree trunks rooted in the ground.

He raises one arm and flexes it slowly.

The bicep surges upward like a beast rearing its head, peaked and enormous, a vein snaking over the top like lightning. He grins, baring sharp canines. Damn, he thinks. I could break steel with these.

He twists at the waist, admiring the broad flare of his lats, the way his shoulders roll like boulders. The fur only made him look more massive—accentuating every bulge, every ridge, giving his whole body a primal, untamed symmetry.

Another flex—this time both arms. He curls them upward into a brutal double biceps pose, his claws curled into fists. His chest juts forward, thick with fur and power. He turns slightly to the side and hits a side chest pose, pecs pressing together like slabs of stone. The sight of his powerful body in the mirror makes him grin gleefully. He hits a lat spread next, shoulders exploding outward, fur bristling with the motion.

He is still posing, still flexing, still admiring when a thought crosses his mind—not in fear, not in shock, but in total certainty:

I was never meant to be human.

He stares into his golden eyes in the mirror, his towering, fur-covered form flexed into a final, triumphant, muscular pose—arms bulging, traps rising like cliffs, chest flared, fangs bared in a feral grin.

He looks like a monster.

He looks like a god.

And he had never felt so alive.

[tfpage]

Hi, I got this key in the mail?? I looked up the destination on the map and it’s pretty close to a car show I wanted to attend, so I decided to stay. I’m an average 19 year old college student studying architecture but I’ve always had an interest in mechanics. I just never felt like I fit the mold, you know? I’m kind of skinny, average height at 5’9”, pale as the moon, and on top of all that pretty socially awkward. If I was a hairy, muscular hunk I’d instantly switch paths, but I feel out of place as a skinny nerd. Anyway, I figured I’d take the excuse and try to put myself out there a little - build some character.

Also, one of the guys bringing a car to the show reached out and said he’d leave me something in my room to ‘help me prepare’ whatever that means. I have no idea how he got my room number - 124. Even I don’t know where it is. Could you point the way?

The key was heavy, heavier than it should have been, as if it were made of raw iron instead of brass. The door to Room 124 creaked open to a space that smelled of engine oil and aged wood. This wasn’t a hotel room. This was a garage-turned-shelter.

Tools strewn across the floor, posters of ’70s muscle cars hung on the walls, and on the bed, a crumpled, grease-stained mechanic’s overalls. On top, a note: “Put this on. Let’s see what you can do.”

And then the change began.

A sharp pain shot through my back, doubling me over. My once thin, pale hands suddenly swelled, knuckles cracking as my fingers splayed, growing wider, more calloused. Veins ran down my forearms like rivers beneath my skin, while my biceps exploded from schoolboy arms to 18 inches of metal-hard girth. My shirt tore at the seams, my pecs pushing out with force, my chest expanding into a slab of muscle covered in thick, dark hair, thick and damp with sweat even before I touched myself.

My beard.

I felt the itch before I even saw it. Thick, dark, invading my face, running down my neck and merging with my chest hair, a cascade of virility that filled my mouth with its salty taste. My hair, once straight and neat, thickened, dark and falling to my forehead, wet and heavy.

My lower abdomen.

My pants gave way instantly. My thighs, now 25 inches of pure muscle, tore them apart, as my crotch widened, my cock growing to 9 inches, thick and heavy, hanging between powerful thighs. My balls, fuller, heavier, twitched with a wave of pleasure.

The mirror on the wall sent me back the image of a garage god.

Height: 6’4″. Weight: 220 lbs of pure muscle and fur.

My mechanic’s overalls, now on, were open in the front, exposing my hairy, sweaty chest. My hands, huge, balled into fists, knuckles cracking.

My new mind.

I was no longer the shy student. I wanted to get my hands dirty. I wanted to smell the gasoline, feel the heat of the engine, feel the sweat running down my back as I lifted weights I wouldn’t have dared to touch before.

The door opened behind me.

"So," a gruff voice said. The guy from the car show was there, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, stopping at my package pressing against my suit. "I thought you were supposed to get ready. But I think you're more than ready already."

I smiled, my beard framing my face as the muscles in my chest tensed.

"Just tell me what I need to destroy."

[tfpage]

Hi, do you have a gym here? I’ve been trying all sorts of different places but nothing is giving me the results I want and I’m tired of it. I’ve always been kinda skinny and shy, but recently I’m wanting to improve my confidence.. and physique. I figured with a name like ‘Metamorphosis Hotel’ you might have some amenities that could help me achieve the hairy, muscular body of my dreams… anyway, what room number is the gym?

"Gym? Sure," the receptionist said with a devious smile, pointing down a dark hallway. "Room 666. Last door on the right."

I opened the door and gasped.

It wasn't a normal gym.

It was a temple of iron.

Ancient machines, rusty barbells, dumbbells carved from basalt. The air was thick with the smell of testosterone, old sweat, and tool oil. The walls exuded a strange warm humidity, as if the room itself breathed.

I started lifting.

Then the pain came.

A cramp broke my back. I fell to my knees, my hands sinking into the rubber floor as my muscles exploded beneath my skin.

My shoulders expanded to 4'10", my delts tearing my tank top.

My chest became a hairy, sweaty rib cage, the hair growing thicker before my eyes.

My biceps reached 22 inches, veins running down arms covered in black fur.

My legs doubled in size, my quads tearing my shorts.

I was a monster.

6 feet tall. 300 pounds. Pure instinct.

Sweat ran down my back, mixing with the musky scent I now exuded. My beard had grown to my chest, thick and soaked in salty sweat.

The mirror showed the truth:

I was no longer a boy.

I was an iron god.

A roar escaped me as I yanked 400 pounds off the ground like toys.

The gym door opened.

"Good job," a man even bigger than me growled, his eyes glowing in the darkness. "Now we get serious."

I smiled, teeth sharp.

Finally, I was home.

[tfpage]

Daniel was a lanky 22-year-old, standing at 5’10” with a frame that seemed to dodge every ounce of muscle. His arms were wiry, his chest concave, and his legs resembled stilts. Sparse, patchy stubble was the extent of his body hair, earning him playful jabs from friends who called him “Smooth Dan.” He didn’t mind much, but deep down, he envied the burly, rugged guys at the gym who seemed to command attention effortlessly.

One humid evening, while rummaging through a dusty antique shop to kill time, Daniel stumbled upon a small, ornate bottle tucked behind a stack of old books. Its glass was a deep emerald, etched with faint runes that shimmered under the shop’s dim light. A faded label read, “Elixir of Vigor – One Sip, One Shift.” The shopkeeper, a wiry old man with eyes like polished marbles, grinned knowingly. “That’s no trinket, lad. It’s old magic. Drink it, and you’ll become what you’re meant to be. But only one sip—more, and you’ll regret it.” Daniel, skeptical but intrigued, handed over ten bucks and left with the bottle.

At home, Daniel examined the elixir under his desk lamp. The liquid inside swirled like liquid smoke, glinting with flecks of gold. “Probably just fancy juice,” he muttered, but curiosity gnawed at him. He uncorked it, releasing a scent like pine and iron, and took a single, cautious sip. It burned going down, not painfully, but like a spark igniting kindling. He waited. Nothing. Shrugging, he went to bed, dismissing it as a gimmick.

The next morning, Daniel woke feeling… heavier. His usual grogginess was gone, replaced by a strange energy buzzing through him. In the mirror, he noticed subtle differences. His shoulders seemed a touch broader, his biceps slightly rounder, like someone had inflated them just a bit. Running a hand across his chest, he froze—fine, dark hairs dusted his pecs where none had been before. His jawline, too, sported a faint shadow, thicker than his usual peach fuzz. “Weird,” he thought, chalking it up to a growth spurt, though at 22, that seemed unlikely.

At the gym that day, Daniel felt unstoppable. He lifted weights he’d never dared touch, his muscles swelling with each rep as if eager to grow. By evening, his t-shirt clung to his chest and arms, and a trail of hair now traced from his navel downward, darker and denser than anything he’d grown before.

A week later, the changes accelerated. Daniel’s reflection was unrecognizable. His chest had barreled out, pecs firm and defined, straining his old shirts to the point of tearing. His arms bulged with veins snaking across them, and his thighs, once twig-like, now filled his jeans to bursting. Hair sprouted relentlessly—his chest was a thick mat, curling over his collarbone, while his arms and legs grew fuzzy, dark strands coating them like a second skin. His beard, once a faint hope, was now full and rugged, framing a face that looked sharper, more commanding.

Friends noticed. At a bar, his buddy Mike gawked. “Dude, what’s with the lumberjack vibe? You on roids or something?” Daniel laughed it off, but he knew the truth. The elixir wasn’t done with him. He felt stronger daily, his body craving movement, his skin prickling as new hair pushed through. Even his voice seemed deeper, resonating when he spoke.

By the end of the month, Daniel was a colossus. He stood broader, taller somehow, his frame packed with muscle that rippled under his skin. His chest was a wall of strength, blanketed in thick, dark hair that spread across his shoulders and down his back. His arms, once scrawny, were now massive, each bicep a boulder, forearms corded and hairy. His legs could crush logs, and even his hands looked powerful, knuckles dusted with coarse hair. His beard was a mane, blending into a neckline of fur that made him look primal, unstoppable.

Daniel’s confidence soared. He walked differently, with a swagger born of strength. At the gym, he was a legend, tossing around weights like toys. Strangers stared, some with awe, others with envy. Yet, late at night, he’d catch his reflection and wonder if the elixir had taken him too far. He was no longer Smooth Dan—he was a force, a titan. But he loved it.

One evening, he returned to the antique shop to thank the old man, bottle in hand. The shop was empty, its windows boarded up, as if it had never existed. Daniel smiled, tucking the bottle into his pocket. One sip had been enough.

[tfpage]

‘CLICK’

Kaden snapped another photo of his shirtless body in the mirror. He didn’t dare look - he already knew how he’d feel about his lackluster appearance. He whipped his phone around a clicked ‘post’ before he could see it… but that hesitance didn’t last long - he stole a glance at the image on the post and gasped. “Come on! There’s no way I’ve gotten skinnier..” he said, shocked by what he saw. Kaden turned his phone off resignedly and sighed.

Sure, he’d come a long way since two years ago, when he started weightlifting. And granted, he wasn’t quite bad-looking. Lately, however, he was certain that he was stuck on a plateau. Kaden had tried everything, switching up his workout schedule, his split, doing more cardio, even changing his diet, but nothing had shown results for months. He’d begun attributing it to genetics, but that didn’t make him feel any better about it. He looked down and poked his flaccid musculature, face full of disappointment, grumbling to himself. “If only…” he whispered, and began to grab his things off the bench to leave.

Suddenly, as he was grabbing his keys, the lights cut out, causing Kaden to stumble. His feet flew out from under him, losing traction on a small puddle hidden in the darkness. He hit the back of his head on the bench on his way down, and fell in a heap on the cold tile. “Fuuuuuck…” he groaned, clutching his head. As he began to slowly sit up, moving like a 100 year old machine, he felt a wet spot and pulled his fingers back, squinting to see a spot of fresh blood on his hands. He let out another moan of pain and laid back down. After a moment, Kaden regained his senses, no longer dizzy, and felt around for his phone. “Yes!” He whispered, finding it under the bench. Then, “DamnnnnIT!” as the screen flickered on, revealing thoroughly shattered glass, and then quickly died. “Ugh!” He exclaimed. “Why now?” As he turned around to push himself up off the floor, he spotted something shining underneath the locker.

“what the-“ he said, and lowered his eye to the ground, peering below. What he saw astonished him; a sleek white can, with strange, glowing symbols emblazoned across the side. His eyes grew wide and his hand waded through the dust and debris in order to retrieve its treasure. He ripped the can out from beneath the locker and stood up with renewed, curiosity-fueled enthusiasm. He turned the can delicately in his hands, inspecting every facet of its surface. The strange, archaic runes resembled no language Kaden had ever seen. Although to be fair, he was no linguist. The can glimmered with a radiance only polished metal can offer, dazzling in the light but in the dark locker room, it was mysterious and enticing. “No nutrition label” he noted, realizing the can must not be an official product, despite the familiar disposition of the can. All his pain and disappointment earlier vanished as he contemplated discovering what lies within the otherworldly beverage. Or was it even a beverage? Kaden had to find out. He tilted the top toward him and reached to open the tab, but noticed some small lettering, originally unnoticed in the obscurity of the power outage. “Physical.. enhancement.. Shit man this is sick” he whispered in awe. He quickly popped the lid open, and the can released a thick blue fog into the air. He admires the swirling cloud for a moment, but unable to resist any longer, he chugs the whole can, excited for the possibilities it offers.

He waited for the results - but nothing happened. He looked anxiously in the mirror, his eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out… nothing. He was exactly the same. *sigh* “Well, so much for miracles” he said, giddy grin dropping off his face.

then suddenly, he feels something bubbling up within him, pushing through his veins and out into his muscles. The throbbing sensation continues up and down his body, making him shudder. He moans as he feels his arms expand like balloons, giving him the physique he always wanted. He stares at the mirror as two thick pecs push their way out of his chest, his shoulders plump up, widening his frame. He watches his forearms tense, his abs harden and solidify, and his biceps grow to bulging, hunky limbs. Kaden’s jaw drops at the sudden, drastic transformation. His eyes glide over his image in the mirror, slowly inspection every new detail of his body. His rippling abs, his huge biceps, his boulder shoulders - every inch of Kaden’s body had developed into a well-defined sea of powerful muscle.

All of a sudden, Kaden snaps out of the shock induced by his rapid muscular growth, and realizes what has happened. “Shit, man! I look amazing!” He says, dropping the can to the floor with a clatter.

He turned to face the full-length mirror mounted on the wall, and for a long moment, he just stared.

His physique was something he barely recognized now—thicker, more defined, like a sketch brought to life in raw, living muscle. His chest, once merely broad, now jutted forward with solid mass, each pec sharply divided down the middle. His abs ran down his torso like a granite staircase, glistening under the locker room lights, the deep grooves between each muscle casting shadows that made them look even more carved.

Kaden tilted his head slightly, examining his shoulders—boulders of muscle that flowed seamlessly into thick, corded arms. His forearms were ropey and vascular, veins pulsing just beneath the surface. A layer of fine sweat clung to him, highlighting every line and curve of his form.

With slow, deliberate motion, he raised his right arm, curling it up beside his head. As his hand formed a loose fist, the bicep began to swell, tightening like a rising wave of stone. It peaked high and round, pulling the skin taut across its surface. The motion felt powerful, almost instinctive. He watched the muscle grow and shift, felt the deep stretch in his tendon, the satisfying burn as the pump settled in.

He flexed harder.

The peak surged higher. Veins throbbed along his bicep and forearm like living wires. His tricep flared out behind it in opposition, completing the perfect symmetry of raw power. A grin spread across his face—not cocky, but appreciative. He leaned a little closer to the mirror, rotating his wrist to catch a new angle.

“Look at that…” he whispered, his voice rough with awe.

He wasn’t just in shape anymore. He was something else—sculpted, sharpened, evolved. And in that quiet, echoing space, Kaden stood in front of his reflection, not just admiring himself but becoming the image he’d always envisioned. A living monument of strength.

And he hadn’t even flexed the other arm yet.

Kaden held the pose for another few seconds, relishing the feeling of power coiled beneath his skin. The mirror reflected everything—the bulge of his bicep, the curve of his delt, the tight stretch of veins threading down his forearm. But as he slowly lowered his arm, something caught his eye. Something subtle. Something off.

He leaned in closer to the mirror, narrowing his eyes. At first, he thought it was just a trick of the dark locker room—a shadow, maybe. But no. It was real.

A faint dusting of dark hair was beginning to creep across his chest, much thicker than it had been even minutes ago. The fine line of fuzz between his pecs had deepened, grown coarser, branching out across the sculpted terrain of his torso. He brushed a hand over it instinctively. It felt… new. Not like the sweat-damp hair he sometimes noticed after a long workout. This was different. Thicker. Wilder.

Then he caught sight of his face.

His jawline, which he’d shaved clean that morning, now bore a fine coating of stubble—dark, sharp, and spreading fast. He leaned closer, fingers brushing over the roughness spreading along his cheeks and down toward his neck. His skin tingled beneath the touch, warm and alive, as if something beneath the surface was pushing outward, insisting on more.

“What the hell…” he muttered under his breath.

In the span of seconds, the fine shadow on his jaw had thickened into a full-blown beard. Dark, coarse hair now framed his face, spreading along his jawline, connecting up to his sideburns, even crawling subtly down his neck. He ran his fingers over it in disbelief—the sensation was real. The beard was dense, warm, masculine in a way that made his chiseled features look sharper, wilder.

His hand lingered there, fingertips grazing the unfamiliar growth. He hadn’t had facial hair like this since… well, never. It was as though his face had aged five years in five minutes—rugged, untamed, but still undeniably his.

The hair on his arms was thicker now too, standing out against the swell of his muscles. Not just growing—but accelerating. With each passing second, his body seemed to be claiming a new form, inch by inch. Not just stronger. Not just bigger.

Something else was happening. Something primal.

Kaden stared into his own eyes— still familiar—but with a flicker of something wild glinting in their depths.

The air felt hotter now. The silence around him, heavier.

Kaden’s hand shook just slightly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat pulsing through his veins. With a trembling thumb he hit record, angling the camera so both his reflection and the torn remnants of his workout shirt were in view. “This is insane,” he whispered, voice tight but excited, as he captured the faint ripples of new beard growth and the coarse dark hairs sprouting across his chest. Every few seconds he paused, zooming in on his bicep or tracing the emerging fur on his forearm, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and fascination. Even as the hair continued its rapid spread, Kaden’s grip on the phone held steady—he needed proof, a timestamped record of a change that felt like it was ripping reality in two.

Then, almost as if triggered by the camera’s lens, his muscles surged again. His biceps ballooned beyond anything human, swelling into colossal peaks that strained the mirror’s reflection; veins snaked across them like braided cables, thundering with life. His chest heaved outward, each pec splitting into sharply defined slabs, and the deep grooves of his abs grew even deeper, casting dramatic shadows under the locker room lights. The transformation wasn’t just growth—it was an eruption of power, turning Kaden into a living testament to raw strength. His skin tightened so much it gleamed, as though polished, while veins bulged and throbbed under its surface, mapping every contour of his new, unprecedented form.

A low hum of energy seemed to pulse through Kaden’s veins as he watched, transfixed, in the mirror. What had started as a modest dusting of stubble now erupted into a dense, downy undercoat that spread from his jaw and neck down across the broad planes of his chest. The hairs thickened into coarse, wolf-like fur, each strand growing longer by the second. Kaden could almost feel the weight of it, a soft but unmistakable mat of hair brushing against his shredded abs and wrapping around the ridges of his serratus. His arms, once smooth and bare, became sheathed in a dark, plush covering that climbed over his shoulders, engulfing his traps and creeping up into his hairline, where his scalp hair lengthened and darkened in tandem.

He exhaled sharply as the transformation engulfed his lower body: a creeping tide of hair that raced down his sides, engulfed his hips, and flowed over his quadriceps like a thick pelt. The fine hairs on his forearms thickened into bristly fur, and even the backs of his hands sprouted tufts between his newly elongated fingers and claws. His legs, too, transformed—fine vellus hair erupted into a living covering that rippled with each flex of muscle, hiding the sharp definition beneath. In moments, where once had been smooth human skin was now an unbroken expanse of lustrous, dark fur—every inch of him a wild tapestry of hair, masculine strength, and feral instinct.

Kaden’s breath hitched as he felt a peculiar tug in the center of his face—his nose stretching forward, cartilage reshaping into a broad, wet muzzle. His nostrils flared open, growing wider and more sensitive to every scent in the locker room. Simultaneously, a sharp ache behind his temples marked the migration of his ears: the flesh and cartilage sliding up and back until they perched atop his skull, now pointed and triangular like a wolf’s. As the bone structure shifted, a thick down of fur sprouted across his cheeks and jaw, brushing against the coarse growth of his beard and merging into a seamless coat. 

His nose had lengthened into a broad, wet muzzle; the cartilage reshaped itself into powerful nostrils that flared with newfound sensitivity. The flesh behind his temples creaked and slid upward, carrying his ears to the crown of his head, where they now landed as tall, triangular wolf’s ears fringed with tufts of dark fur. Fine whiskers sprouted at the corners of his mouth, quivering against the coarse growth of his beard, while a thick down of fur blossomed across his cheeks and forehead. With a final ripple of muscle beneath that fur, the last vestiges of his human face smoothed into a perfect fusion of man and wolf.

From there, the transformation painted itself across his entire body. His broad shoulders and bulging chest, already sculpted like marble, were now sheathed in a dense pelt of lustrous, charcoal-gray fur. A powerful tail unfurled from the base of his spine, swishing with deliberate force. His arms and legs—already pillars of muscle—took on a more lupine form: digitigrade legs ending in padded paws, arms tipped with retractable claws that slid free with a satisfying click. Every fiber of his being hummed with strength; veins pulsed beneath fur so taut over corded muscles that it gleamed like burnished metal under the locker room lights.

He lifted a clawed hand and ran it over his chest, marveling at the sensation of fur brushing against his fingertips, the electric thrill of raw power radiating through his core. Tilting his head, he flexed his neck, feeling each sinew and ridge in his throat as he tested the weight of his new jaw. Deep down, a low growl of satisfaction rumbled in his chest—no longer a whisper of surprise, but a roar of ownership. In the mirror, he saw not a man in a beast’s body, but a perfect hybrid: razor-sharp fangs glinting, golden eyes blazing with feral intelligence, and a physique that married human form to lupine ferocity.

With a sudden, ecstatic movement, Kaden slipped his phone into his pocket, eager to show off just for himself, no recording required, and dropped into a classic bodybuilding pose. He lowered both arms to his sides, flexing his triceps and biceps until the veins stood out like braided cables beneath the fur. He moved into a side chest pose, one paw planted firmly on his fur-covered forearm, the other pressing against his bulge, attempting to hide his glee at the situation, despite the initial strangeness of the second transformation. Muscles pressing against his fur-covered skin, Kaden watched the ripples of muscle dance under the dense coat. Finally, he lowered himself into a powerful lunge, tail swishing, claws digging into the floor, and let out a triumphant, echoing howl that shook the lockers around him. In that moment, Kaden didn’t just see his new form—he embodied it.