Sorcery and alteration Vol. 1 (Monthly tale - 36)

(Man into bull)

The shifting winds of the arcane, an invisible stream of power that if tapped into by the right hand can give a person domain over matter and fate. One may think that such immense powers would humble those trained in their usage, either that or lead them into insanity. Those are certainly both quite usual outcomes, but they are not the norm.

Vassily Leandros, high elf and the court’s royal mage, was proof of that.

Born into wealth and privilege gave him a feeling of entitlement to pursue a senseless need for more just for the sake of more, to boast to the bottom of his bottomless ego and to turn him wicked and abusive with his statues and power.

After having helped his side achieve victory in the minor dwarven wars he could have settled into an easy life of luxury and comfort, yet instead he only became more corrupted and cruel. He surrounded himself with supposed apprentices that were only there to caress his vanity and continued using his skill to satisfy his own greed and lust.

One day, in his hundred and eighty third year but still acting as if he was in his teens, the elf and one of his apprentices had gone downtown to the local tavern. Vassily entered as if the place belonged to him, wearing a lavishly flashy tunic and jewellery on all fingers and in his long pointy ears. His long silvery hair flowing down his back, but did not cover the top of his head, disgust and prepotency shone in his purple eyes.

His pupil was a noblewoman named Gracelyn. She was very short in stature and had raven hair. She had nothing but devotion for her master and shared the same contempt the elf had for everything beneath them.

The pair caused trouble and discomfort to the poor townsfolk, he drank and ate and finally brought about his own doom when he touched the tavern maid’s butt. Such a transgression would have cost anyone else a slap in the face and that should have been nothing to the likes of the mage, but all his impending disgrace caught the attention of a traveling warrior who decided to defend the lady’s honor.

Duels were the everyday bread and butter in those continental lands, but much less common were duels between wizards and fighters, due to the obvious inequity of matching someone that has his muscles and weapons at best against someone with arcane powers that can reach cosmic levels.

Vassily didn't care about fairness and he loved duels, for him they were the perfect excuse to show off his expertise and inflict unspeakable cruelties on his victims and he was certain this time wasn’t going to be different.

Everything seemed to point to him being right.

The warrior was a hardened mercenary from the distant Red Sands tribes, his name was Scourge, a large wide dark skinned man. Some gray showed in his hair and his beard, and he had many scars on his skin. He was struggling behind his iron shield, his scimitar having been lost in the first instant of the fight when an arcane arrow had forced him to roll to dodge.

Several tavern patrons and townsfolk had congregated to watch the fight, the maid was watching the violent scene with them, covering her mouth with both hands.

She had begged Scourge not to interfere, but Scourge wasn’t the kind of warrior who would let such displays of abuse happen right in front of his eyes and not step up. He also had been getting annoyed with Vassily ever since the mage had arrived at the tavern and wasn’t going to miss a chance to put that babbling fool where he belonged, even if the odds were against him.

The elf held neither mercy or respect for the fighter.

“Don’t you have any more clever quips left, old dog?” he shouted whilst heating the shield up with flame.

“Could you just shut up already?!” grunted Scourge.

He rolled again, pulling a dagger from the back of his left boot. There wasn’t a path to reduce the distance between himself and the wizard, but he was quite skillful at throwing blades.

The dagger flew, tracing a curve, Gracelyn saw it, yelled a warning.

She wasn’t fast enough.

Leaving behind a slicing sound and a blood splat the dagger hit the ground behind Vassily. The elf put a hand over his face, felt the cut on his cheekbone, saw the blood in his fingers.

“Good grief...” muttered Scourge.

He had missed his target, but that didn’t make Vassily any happier. He raised his arms, invoking lighting whilst yelling in anger.

“HOW DARE YOU CUT MY FACE?!”

The thunder blew the shield away from Scourge’s hands, he fell backwards and ended up gasping on all fours. Vassily cackled manically, but that wasn’t enough for him. Putting his fingers together he began to conjure the final spell that would give him victory, a twisted idea that had come into his mind when he saw his enemy down on his hands and knees.

“That’s where you belong! Down on your hands and feet like a beast!”

Magic crackled between the mage’s fingers.

Scourge coughed, regaining his breath.

“You have no balls...” he grunted.

“Your insolence doesn’t mean anything anymore!” the power grew. “Do you believe scarring my face is a victory? I will close this wound as if it had never existed, but what I’m gonna do to you will last for your whole life!”

“Dragon’s sake, you really can’t shut up even when casting?”

His comment caused a few chuckles from the crowd, even Gracelyn had to cover her mouth and bite her lips to not laugh. That only angered the elf still further.

“Do you want t’ fuck that tavern slut so much?! Do you think you are the biggest cocked bull in the barn?!” Vassily raised his arms. “THEN LET THAT BE THE REST OF YOUR SORRY EXISTENCE!”

He cast out his dooming spell, full of rage and anger, a target seeking bolt that would follow it’s target to the end of the world.

Gracelyn cheered on her master.

The maid cried no.

Scourge kept his head cool. If there was something he had learned during all his years on the battlefield it was that there was no reason to keep wasting good tricks, so he rolled once more, reached for his shield and put the inner bowl like face of the defensive tool between him and the magic.

It hit the interior of the shield, bounced, confused as it tried to find flesh until frustrated, it  bounced back towards his creator.

Vassily’s eyes opened wide as the magic illuminated his face.

A flash of light.

Everybody had to rub their eyes after the shine had died away.

They saw Vassily standing slightly contorted to the left, with clenched lips and his breathing increased in speed with terrified trepidation. He could feel the buzzing spasms in his muscles, an indication of what was about to happen to him.

That terrible, shifting, permanent spell he had crafted and cast himself and which was now going to be the end of his status as a person.

Sweat dripped off his nose and pointy ears.

“No, no, no...” he shivered violently, trying to resist. “I... This humiliation isn’t happening to me...” he felt a twitch in his ballsack, the pumping of his blood. “I have to... dispellllllllnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...!”

Veins grew prominent in his neck as he groaned, two bumps began to stretch the skin of his forehead and a bulge began to form in the crotch of his tunic.

Tears dripped along with the sweat.

His penis had never been so hard. The mage pulled his clothes down, trying to uphold the hardon, but it only made it worse.

There were a lot of things you could say about Vassily: About how despicably vile he was as a person, about how he clearly deserved what he was suffering, but what you couldn’t say is that he was lazy or unskilled in the arts of sorcery.

The spell had been crafted with wicked precision and the intent was to denigrate it’s target to a mental degree. As is well known, it’s easier to cast a spell than dispel it, and it’s even harder when you try to remember the dispel incantation as your mind throws you an image of a grazing heifer, ready to be mated.

He snorted from his nostrils.

Muscles tensed up and began to swell, some soft ripping sounds. Looking around he saw Gracelyn looking at him. Shock, confusion and disbelief in his apprentice’s face.

“Master...?” asked the woman.

Vassily’s lip trembled as they parted.

“MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

The horns finally pierced skin, black pointy bones that stretched to the left and the right. Gruelling pain and suffocating heat kept his mind dazzled in horny heat.

He cried and moaned, he pulled harder at his tunic, pulled and pulled as the pressure grew, as muscles swelled and veins marked his skin.

He pulled until his cock ripped through the cloth.

Several gasps of surprise were heard, the feeling of the breeze on the tip of his dick, everybody saw the royal’s mage’s penis, it wasn’t easy to avoid it!.

The painfully erect chunk of meat, veiny and overgrown, with a swollen ballsack hanging beneath between his spread legs. It looked very clearly inhuman and on it’s way to getting way worse.

“What a dick,” chuckled Scourge as he got up, not being able to find a better quip.

With each pulse of his meat the penis slowly stretched further, leaving behind its foreskin, turning rounder in the process. Everyone around could smell the strong musk of his nude cock.

Vassily snorted.

“Don’t you dare... mock... MUUUUUU...! Peon scum, you are the ones that deserve thishhh...” his eyes rolled back as a shock of need made him bend his back. “No... so strong... AM stronger than this...!”

In despair the transforming high elf tried to craft something, anything magical, if he couldn’t reverse it he had to at least halt the changes, because if he gave into the beast there wouldn’t be any way back.

He was certain of that, it was his spell after all.

Sobbing he waved the fingers of his left hand in an attempt to pull power from the invisible magical currents, but it was just at that moment when his shoulder seemed to dislocate.

“GRAAAGH!” the whole arm ripped out of it’s sleeve, growing muscular and clumsy, fingers merged in pairs as the thumb inflated, the dark keratin covering the forming hoof, matching the dark horns and making the rings fall to the ground. “MRUUUUUUUUH!”

His rib cage expanded, the weight of his scrotum, the spasms of a forming tail. Vassily looked around, his eyes found his apprentice.

“FOUUUUUUUULL! IDIOT! STOP IT! DO SOMETHING!” his face blunted into a brutish frown, nose deformed and any elvish grace was washed away amongst bellows of horny anger. “DO SOMETHING RIGHT NUUUUUUW!”

A blushing Gracelyn blinked out of her trance and stopped looking at the transforming penis but the red on her face remained.

“Y-yes...! Yes! Of course! Of course!” she cried.

As quickly as she could she began to cast an incantation, but a strong hand stopped her hands, the owner of that hand was Scourge.

“No,” was the single cold and dry word that the warrior uttered.

“Let me go! I have to stop the spell, you damned ignorant moron!” she begged for help from the townsfolk. “Commoners, aid me! Stop this bandit! Help your lord! He’s Vassily Leandros, mage of the royal court!”

Nobody moved a muscle to aid her, everybody was too entertained watching as the tail ripped more fabric and the bull-person’s swollen anus was exposed.

“He’s a bull,“ was Scourge’s response.

Gracelyn shook her head.

“No! He’s not dirty livestock!”

Scourge pulled the apprentice close to his face, the young woman’s feet were lifted from the floor.

“I don’t give a goblin’s fart about how dirty or clean that beast back there is, but he is livestock,” the mercenary said, piercing the blushing girl with his stare. “He did it to himself and he’s ending up in a barn and you aren’t doing anything to stop it, he hasn’t, but you are going to respect the duel or I will knock you down.”

“Y-You... Disgusting barbarian...”

“Your nipples are hard.”

The girl’s mouth was shut after that. When Scourge opened his hand Gracelyn just dropped down as if her knees had melted.

“You are free to join him in the barn if you are so lusty, heifer.” he said and turned his back on her..

Vassily’s tense muscled skin was becoming coated in white fur. He dropped down to his knees and slammed his horns against the ground, grunting in rage, trying to hold back the demands of his massive and round bovine cock.

“GHHHHUUUUUUUUU! MROUUUUUUUUUUUUUH!”

His darkening pupils noticed that Scourge was now squatting down in front of him with his arms on his knees and a placid smile on his face.

“I can feel the heat from here, bull,” Scourge told the mutating mage. “You are quite the stallion, all that cock, maybe you should…”

“If youUUUU thooooonk... thishhhh is my enddddd...” babbled the beast. “You will poooooooooooooyyyyy! Amoooo nuuuut endiiiing... foooormmm... Meeee groooot mooooooge! Yuuuuu duuunn... knoooow...!”

Scourge shrugged.

“Dunno, lots of stuff I don’t know, but there’s one thing I’m pretty sure about.”

The bovine creature’s head was expanding in all directions.

“W-whatghhhh...?” he asked, salivating as the fog of lust filled his brain.

“Cow cunt.”

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!”

A crystal clear image appeared in his brain, sending what was left of the great Vassily into a lustful rampage. Even if he had still wanted to, at that point he would have been totally incapable of stopping his other hand, the one that was not yet a hoof and was still sort of usable, from grabbing his cock and pumping the meat in front of the crowd of spectators.

His shouts truly became indistinguishable from insane animalistic bellows. A beast in need of sex.

His big tongue salivating onto the ground.

Scourge was picking up his gear and tying it up back onto his belts and backpack.

Vassily kept masturbating furiously in front of the watching audience.

The bull creature masturbated in front of everybody, the changes ramped up in an horrifically bulking manner. Clothes were completely destroyed as the expansion of his mass progressed.

Back hooves ripped through his boots, the last rags of the once expensive tunic dropped from the muscles. The pure white fur, pristine as the snow, covered the muscles whilst the tail slapped against the ballsack and the neck elongated.

At the end of the long neck no trace of the elf remained, his silver hair fell off, a blunt snorting muzzle that continued making louder sounds as the pressure in that penis between his back legs approached it’s climax.

Vassily’s overgrown arms were forced down, away from his cock, but that barely mattered anymore in attempting to stop what everybody around, and especially he, knew was going to occur.

Just like what he looked like and was meant to be, the beast was forced down onto all fours, toes and fingers finally melting away as he raised himself up on sturdy hooves.

His monstrous penis shook violently.

“MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

He felt his brain being shrunk by the confines of his morphed skull as he blasted out a load of thick cum. The changes finished, he lowered this neck and clenched his bulky teeth, unloading every drop of sperm by tensing every inch of his body and sex.

That leaking cock began to grow flaccid.

The beast in front of the warrior panted, tired and exhausted, his pupils dilating as the dizziness in his brain became a buzz.

No trace of the elf wizard was left, instead an enormously well equipped bull stood on rags and cum. A white bull, the only real oddity maybe being his slightly too long ears full of earrings, but other than that he was a just a simpleton bull, like any number of others you could at a random farm.

Stiffly tense.

Warmed up in heat.

The beast stood, the crowd seemed to collectively stop holding their breath, there were even a few chuckles. Gracelyn was still sitting on the floor, blushing with her knees crossed.

Inside the horned skull was utter shame and disbelief that this outcome had been the way that he truly became bovine.

“Fits you like a leather glove, Scourge laughed loudly. “Stupid cow.”

The once mage was indeed a cow, but inside the bull still lingered and will forever remain some of Vassily’s spark, and that only made him angrier in his confusion. Maybe his mind would be deluded in instinct, all magical knowledge reduced to the desire to graze and mate, but one flaring thing remained in his thoughts: Hatred.

Specifically hatred for the warrior standing in front of him with a smile on his lips..

Any grace or dignity had been twisted and altered by the bull’s body, yet all that muscle and bulk were exactly what he needed.

The beast pawed the floor, lowered his head, snorted.

”CAREFUL!” cried the tavern maid.

Scourge didn’t move, even after seeing the gigantic bull running towards him. Like the true beast he was, that he might have always been, the bovine male was running towards him, horns pointing forward, salivating at the idea of impaling that man upon them.

To prove that he was the most powerful male around.

The warrior smirked, he pulled his arm back, the bull bellowed.

“MROOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUH!”

The collision was inevitable.

The first was hit directly on the forehead, between the horns. A single powerful blow, Scourge’s boots slid back slightly, but the bull stopped first, collapsing unconscious with his tongue out.

After an instant of shock the townsfolk clapped and cheered, Scourge bowed to his admirers.

“My pleasure, my pleasure,” the last bow was for the maid, he grabbed her hand and kissed. “Don’t let such a lusty beast touch you, my lady, you are too good for livestock,” the maiden blushed, as the sound of metallic boots and the shouts of the guards began to sound in the distance. “And that’s me cue to leave!”

Scourge slid into the crowd, walking quickly in the opposite direction to the metallic boots. He passed near to the still stunned Gracelyn, the apprentice made a vague attempt at stopping him, it failed.

A new burst of laughter caught the ex-apprentice’s attention, she looked back at the snorting beast in the middle of the street and quickly understood what was so funny.

The dumb farm animal was peeing himself while asleep.