《The Hideous Horde》


 The Reptile

    The Reptile


    He could feel that he was beginning to change. His skin felt like it was moving and his hair itched. He hopped down into the one place a good citizen would never willingly go - the sewers.


    He raced down the disgusting corridors, dripping unknown fluids and covered in mold. His feet slapped wetly on the moist stone floors, occasionally splashing into puddles of undetermined origin. He ran until he could run no longer. As he looked around, he could see that he had come to a maintenance room, a dead end. He could feel it coming, the change. His skin felt like it was bubbling just under the surface, his hair was on fire, and his nails were begging for freedom.


    Then, it began.


    Scales that were more like fingernails than true scales erupted from his body. As the scales grew, his skin peeled off and plopped onto the floor. Even his nails fell off and were replaced by short claws. Inch by inch, it crept along, uprooting his skin, a wave of skin-colored plates covering his body. The hair on his head peeled off like sunburned flesh, replaced by those strange scales. Between them, hairs began to grow, barely visible, but he could feel them.


    He could feel every errant breeze, every twitch of the rats and bugs around him, because of the hairs. As he breathed in through slits that replaced his nose, he could smell so much more than he ever wanted to, the decay and excretions and death around him. His ears were replaced by holes in his head, which brought him the sounds of writhing agony that every creature in the sewer made.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Most importantly, he could feel himself. The twitch of his muscles, the flow of his blood, the creaking of his bones as they morphed to fit the monster he had become.


    His eyes itched terribly, then began to burn. He clawed at them desperately, before they suddenly popped out of his head. He scrambled for them, grabbing at them, but he could not find them. What would he do without his eyes! He pawed at where his eyes had been but felt only their sockets, covered in scales. A weak point covered up.


    But then he felt a strange flickering, like standing close to a fire. He could feel a creature, furry and warm-blooded, pattering along the sewer floor. His tongue unintentionally peeked out of his mouth, and he could taste it too. It was like slime and mud, covered in blood and feces, but underneath was the succulent flavor of flesh. He had to stop himself from leaping at it.


    His face felt tight as it stretched forward, becoming a short muzzle protruding from his face. He ran his now abrasive tongue across his lips, revealing the change wrought to them. They had become beak-like, a hard, protective covering for his teeth, which ached as they grew sharper and longer. His salvia fell the floor, where it sizzled, showing its new caustic nature.


    He screamed, a scream of horror, a cry of despair, for what he had become. However, from his maw poured out a deep, grating roar that filled the tunnels and caused the nearby pests to flee in terror.


    Before he let Somnus take him and his consciousness, he had one last thought.


    ¡®Oh, gods. What have I become?¡¯

 The Muscle

    The Muscle


    The change had started months back when he had used some steroids. It had only been a one-time thing, in preparation for his upcoming wrestling match. But his muscles hadn¡¯t stopped growing. Even when he hadn¡¯t exercised for a week,they kept growing. He went to the doctor, but they couldn¡¯t help him, they claimed his body had to adapt to the change by itself. Otherwise, it wouldn¡¯t take.


    But now, he could barely move without opening a cut on his body. If he opened his mouth too wide, his lips would split. The growths covered his body like tumors, and they caused a deep ache, his whole body feeling strained. If he clenched his first, his whole arm would ripple from the ballooned muscles underneath them.


    His last wrestling match, he almost killed his opponent by accident. He had only punched them once. That was almost a month ago; now if he tried to throw a punch, he¡¯d rip open the skin covering his arm, all the way up to his shoulder. He¡¯d been forced to have a hospital take care of him.


    They had tried, once, to cut the muscle growths off of him. That had ended when every scalpel they had was broken, and the laser cutter almost chopped a doctor in half when the laser reflected off the muscles.


    He could feel them shifting under his skin, every centimeter they grew, he could feel it. He always felt like he was bloated, like that one time during Thanksgiving when he ate an entire turkey.


    His bones had changed too. The only reason he knew this, was because the doctors said that if they hadn¡¯t, they would¡¯ve snapped under the weight of his mass. They had tried x-raying him, but his muscles were so dense and so changed, they couldn¡¯t get a solid reading.


    His teeth had fallen out, at one point, but they grew back only a few days later. He heard some of the nurses saying his teeth were like blocks of cement, all perfectly uniform cuboids.


    He had looked in the mirror once, a few weeks ago. After that, he banned all mirrors from being in his room. He was grotesque. His nose had expanded, but also become straighter, like it was roughhewn from a block of basalt. His eyes could barely be seen and looked like a pig¡¯s. His brow ridge nearly eclipsed his nose, and his cheekbones looked like plateaus sticking out of his face. His ears had stayed the same size but were comically small when framing his oversized features.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.??As he lay there in his extra-large, reinforced hospital bed, he heard a series of pops, and his fingers and toes felt relief. He tried to maneuver himself in such a way so that he could look at himself without splitting any skin and saw his nails on the floor. He raised his hands in front his face in horror, as the split caused by his fingernails popping off slowly spread up his fingers.


    Then, in barely a split second, the split turned into a tear. It races down his hands, gaping open and letting blood gush out. His arms ripped open, his blood fountaining across the room. He tried to let out a scream, but in doing so he split his mouth open, causing his skin to peel back from his muscles under his flesh. At the same time, the splits from his toes raced up his legs, revealing veins, tendons, and throbbing muscles. He opened his mouth wider to scream, tearing his face open even more.


    From the corners of his eyes, he saw nurses frantically racing around him, with antiseptic bottles and wet wipes, but nothing would staunch the openings now.


    For an instant, he looked like a bloody patchwork, covered in rips and cuts. Then, his flesh sloughed off his body, falling left and right onto the ground. Blood covered his surroundings, painting the faces of nurses, the walls, the floor, the ceiling, even the lights. There was so much blood that a red mist floated around the room, and the hospital room was bathed in an eerie red glow.


    As he lay there, his skin laying around him like a poorly made quilt, he felt both agony and relief. It was finally over. He looked over his body, preparing to die, but saw something surprising.


    His body was covered in red muscle, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. There was no skin to hold it back, and so it had expanded slightly but settled into a relaxed state. Instead of the strange, bulbous lumps that had been under his skin, now he had gleaming, solid muscle. The muscle that was, somehow, not bleeding.


    He was startled. He did not die, but at what cost? Now he will have to live on, as a monster.

 The Insect

    The Insect


    The change started suddenly, when all was calm and quiet. She had been in her room, laying in her bed, relaxed, when she suddenly felt a ravenous hunger, as if some eternal pit had taken the place of her stomach. She raced to her refrigerator, taking out every bit of food she had in it. Raw meats, frozen vegetables, yogurts, pudding, ice cream, orange juice, milk, and more. She ate them as they were, ripping open the packages and devouring whatever was inside. She ate so fast she didn¡¯t even taste it, the food sliding down into her stomach.


    But even still, it was not enough. She dug through her pantry and cupboards, getting her cereal, crackers, cookies, bread, chocolates. She devoured apples and bananas, oranges, anything edible that she could get her hands on. It didn¡¯t matter that she was making a mess. It didn¡¯t matter that she ate so much she should be sick. She just needed to eat.


    Finally, after every inch of her home was empty of anything that could provide nutrition, she lay in the middle of her room. However, the change had barely even begun.


    She felt something rise up her throat. It felt slimy as it gushed out of her mouth, covering the front of her in a strange yellow fluid. She writhed and quaked as the slime poured out of her, covering her body like a cocoon. Even as the first layer hardened, more spilled out of her mouth, an undeniable flood of unknown origin. Layer after layer covered her, until a yellow mound, the size of a small car, took her place.


    Inside the cocoon, she felt her skin begin to flake off, clumps of skin and hair sliding off her. These clumps slowly melted, until she was suspended in a fluid made of pounds of flesh.


    Then her body began to dissolve, slowly. Her muscles slowly became on with the secretion around her, revealing capillaries, veins, arteries, nerves, organs, and bone. Soon after, even the bone dissipated, until the only parts remaining were those necessary for her to live.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. They hung, suspended in a solution of grisly design, but then a new change began. A coalescence of off-white flesh began settling itself among the remains, tying them together and giving them the barest hints of support. Eyes grew and connected with the brain, but these eyes are not like the ones she started with. There were two multifaceted, black as the night during a new moon, and spherical in shape. Flesh grew around these as well, protecting the sensitive nerves and fibers.


    Soon, the being inside the cocoon, who was once recognizable as a woman, is now akin to an insect that was cruelly morphed into the shape of a human. Two long spindly arms lay at her sides, almost touching the thick, backwards jointed legs, which wouldn¡¯t look out of place on a grasshopper. Between the longer arms, just above the stomach, rested two smaller limbs, that would be better compared to serrated scythes than hands. They were only a foot and a half long, but it was clear that anything that got near them would be torn to shreds.


    The true horror, however, was her head. What was once a regular human mouth, is now the mandibles of an insect. Her large, glassy black eyes are covered by off-white eyelids, and above them are two setaceous antennae, each a foot long. Her body is covered in a yellow chitinous shell, with off-white flesh peeking out in some areas, and covered with a black pattern. The pattern is on her back and resembles a shadowy skull.


    The only reason anyone might guess that she is a woman is because her figure has stayed relatively the same. Otherwise, she is a monstrous, bipedal insect, the kind that would send children running and screaming, and would cause Americans to reach for their guns.


    If she were awake, she would howl in despair at what she had become. Instead, she sleeps, covered by a yellow cocoon.

 The Judge

    The Judge


    The bottle broke against her skull. Feet stamped on her, forcing her into the cold concrete. Her ears rang, her nose broke, and she could feel teeth rattling around in her mouth.


    Her dress was dirtied, her makeup had become ruined streaks trailing down her face. One of the skinheads pulled her hair, forcing her head up, before slamming it down into a puddle under a sewer pipe. They jeered at her, harsh laughter ringing out.


    As she lay there, her face in a pool of sewage, men taking enjoyment in her pain, she felt her heart beating harder. It felt like it was trying to leap out of her ribcage, making it hard to breath. She could hear her blood rushing through her body. Her head swam, her vision grew cloudy.


    She had never wanted to be pretty. She¡¯d only wanted to be brave. To be powerful.


    A thrum echoed through her body, and a new ache began at her heart. It beat harder. Her ears were filled with the sound of its beat, like a liquid drum echoing through her head. Her veins cried out in agony as they stuck out against her skin. Her eyes became bloodshot; her skin flushed red.


    A new sound reached her, a combination of cracking bones and crackling static. Her vision was filled with sparks, and glowing lights shot across her eyes. Her head pounded. It reached a crescendo, where her beating heart became one with the fierce sparking in her head. Her blood was filled with lightning as her mind became a roaring inferno.


    The brutes noticed the change when her skin began to bubble. Wherever her blood flowed, her skin simmered. It expanded into red, engorged lumps, which started rupturing, revealing strange crystalline growths. They tore their way out of her skin, like knives ripping through paper. Her whole body was covered by them. Even her eyes did not escape the change, but instead of being torn apart, they instead changed, now looking like they were made of glass.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    She rose in her new form, not one of flesh and blood, but one of crystal and power. The men were frozen by fear. The woman, who had been unable to fight back just moments before, had undergone a terrifying metamorphosis. She stood there, covered in the viscera of her old form, and glared at them. Then, their once-victim went on the attack.


    There were three men in total, but they were no match for her. She grabbed the first one by the face, the one that had forced her face into that foul-smelling water and forced her power into him. He jittered in place like a marionette in the hands of a child, before collapsing into a twitching mess. His face became stuck in a grimace, covered by cuts and burns.


    The next one snapped out of his hesitation before she got to him and attempted to attack her with a pipe. It broke on her body, and then she was on him. She pulled his arms above his head, in anticipation of shoving her hand into his gut. He screamed as electricity coursed through his body, causing him to feel like someone had taken a chainsaw to his innards. She dropped him like the waste of flesh he is, before moving on to the final one.


    This boy, for he was too young to be a man, simply stood in a puddle of his own urine, fear covering his features. She rested her hands on the side of his head and looked into his eyes. She saw fear, fear of death, fear of pain, fear caused by the being in front of him, but she could not find regret or shame. Guilty, she decided, as power cascaded through her hands.


    The next day, a few bodies were placed in the city morgue. These bodies were covered in lacerations and severe electrical burns. The coroner said that the men had suffered for hours before they died. The only evidence they had was the torn skin and pool of blood belonging to an unknown woman. No new evidence was found, and it became another cold case.

 Not a chapter

    In case you missed it, I¡¯m using this so that y¡¯all can help me with the story. I won¡¯t put this as Interactive, cause it¡¯s probably a one-time thing, but I needs ta know.


    Mostly because my head in relation to plot elements is either a void, or cliches. I can do world building, I can do character making, but other stuff? Eh, it¡¯s kinda iffy. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    So please, assist this poor soul.


    Your regards,


    Solstice


    P.S. Chapters need to be 500 words long, so this is down here is all filler. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll write anymore until I have at least ten voters, so get your pals to come and see this horror of a story I¡¯m failing to write!

 The Reptile Moves

    The Reptile groaned in agony. The sensations were almost too much to bear. The breeze against his skin and hairs let him know there was an exit a mile away, covered by a grate, in a dark alleyway. He could feel flickering life, like flames, several feet away, watching him. These succulent morsels, no, disgusting rats, were waiting for him to die. He could tell, from the pitter-pattering of their feet, that they were starving. The mold that clung to the ceiling was noxious to eat,so they ate whatever they could kill,including each other, or they would eat whatever fell into the sewers.


    The Reptile could tell all this because of the change. The damn cursed change. Oh yes, studies showed that those who changed physically were more powerful than their more human counterparts, but no amount of power can save you from being lynched by a terrified mob. He had seen one of those mobs, once, when he had traveled through a small town in Alabama, on his way up to D.C. They had chased a man, a man with ears like a bat, eyes like an owl, and a long, prehensile tail, all the way into the woods. He did not know what happened to that man, because he had driven away as fast as he could. It was not entirely out of the ordinary to be swept into those mobs. He would have either been forced to join them or be ripped apart.


    Now, however, those people would gladly tear him to shreds if they saw him. What was worse was, without eyes, he would have trouble using technology. Any modern phone will be useless to him. Perhaps if he found a payphone, he could call someone, but who would he call? His parents would call him a monster, his work friends would want to vivisect him, and the police would force him to be tagged and collared like an animal.


    The only place to turn would be some hidden mutant enclave, but if even the heroes couldn''t find them, what hopes did he have? Nonetheless, they would be the only ones who could help him. Help him get food, shelter, and most importantly, help him come to terms with his new reality. His new life, as a monster. One who was driven to devour any rat he smelled, who''s tiny hairs were irritated by even the cold stone floor below him, who had no eyes and was covered in skin-colored scales.


    However, he had two things in his favor. His newfound senses, and his mind. The only thing that had kept him alive and sane when he was fully human was his intellect. It would now be the only thing keeping him alive while he wastrapped in these dank sewers.


    The Reptile had enough of laying down, wallowing in despair, so he pushed himself off the ground, causing the nearby rats to scatter. The little flickering flames raced into the darkness, but the Reptile ignored them because he needed to plan. First, he needed clean water. Being in the sewers, the disgusting waste tunnels under the city, this was going to be difficult to achieve. He did not want to attempt to raid the surface, because he had no combat skills and would likely be caught immediately.


    He decided to explore these tunnels before making any significant choices. The Reptile took in his surroundings, the cold concrete floor, the tunnels reaching into the distance, and a rough metaldoor affixed to the wall behind him. He recognized it as a doorway into a maintenance area. This is a gold mine for this technologically capable reptilian creature. However, he chose not to get his hopes up and grabbed the door handle.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    The door did not budge an inch. Both the hinges and the lock have rusted shut, sealing the door more effectively than most intentional measures could. He pushed against the door, testing it to see if he could kick it down. The Reptile stepped back, bracing himself, then kicked above the door handle with all his might.


    The Reptile proceeded to fall onto his back quite comically, as the door slowly fell back itself. He quickly righted himself and rejoiced! His ability to feel his body allowed him to kick in just the right way to apply the maximum amount of force into the door, with the least amount of damage to himself. Now, it was time to see his rewards.


    The insides of the maintenance area was a mess. It was cluttered with a wide variety of shiny junk, from rusty switchblades to pipes, he even spotted an altimeter in the chaos. The Reptile''s senses informed him of the only living creature in this hovel, a large, fat rat that stood on its hind legs, glaring at him. His hairs felt a small hole, barely big enough to fit his hand through, on the wall, which was probably how the rat had dragged all these items into this space. The rat hissed and chittered at the Reptile, and he moved to back away, but his stomach groaned at him. He needed to feast, and some part of his new mind told him that this rat would be the best meal he could have.


    His instincts took over, and he lunged towards the rat as it leaped towards him. He felt it feebly scratching at his scales as his maw closed around the animal, heard it screeching as his acidic saliva ate into its flesh. Blood flowed into his mouth, the wonderful taste of iron filling his mouth. He clamped down on the struggling rat, feeling bones break from the force of his bite as his teeth tore it''s flesh to shreds. It was the best meal he''d ever had, and he hated himself for it. But he could not stop. He pulled the rat, twitching in its death throws, out of his mouth, before chomping down on its soft underbelly.


    Its intestines squished and rubbed together in his mouth as he chewed, his muzzle dripping blood. His nose was filled with the scent of his killed, and he breathed in deeper. A small part of his mind moved his body away from the more sensitive and important equipment in the cavern, but most of it was occupied with the single task, to feast upon this succulent meal.


    When the Reptile was finally sated, he was surrounded by broken bones, emptied of their marrow, and covered in slowly drying blood. Then, he realized what he had done. He bent over and tried to vomit, but it refused to come up. Even with his command over his body, it refused to give up hard fought nutrients. He didn''t want to believe what he had done, but the blood covering the front of his body and his hands proved him otherwise.


    He had no way to clean himself, but the blood was beginning to irritate the hairs on his body. He flicked his tongue out of his mouth, realizing there was only one solution. The Reptile started by licking his fingers clean, wrapping his tongue around each until they were perfectly clean. He discovered that his tongue was long and flexible, able to reach his chest without him moving his head. Even as he cleaned himself, he shuddered at the grisly task. The Reptile felt reprehensible, sitting among the bones of his kill and a pile of scrap.

 The Reptile Builds

    The Reptile Builds


    As he lay in his new pile of scrap, he wondered how he had known what was in the pile. He had no eyes, and yet he had felt like he had seen the hoarding rat¡¯s junk. Perhaps some kind of synergistic effect between all his senses? But even still, it didn¡¯t seem like it would¡¯ve been enough.


    He clicked his tongue in annoyance and came to a sudden realization. The change must have given him some form of echolocation because the sound of his tongue let him see. The room seemed to solidify around him. With his senses, he could feel the room, but it was blurry in comparison to the echolocation.


    With this new method of sight, a whole new avenue of possibilities became open to him. With both the biosonar and all these pieces of tech around him, he could build.


    The first thing has to be something to make the water safe to drink. Either he needs to put together a Bunsen burner, to boil the parasites and bacteria out of the water, or create some kind of filter to remove the harmful aspects out of the water. Either way, it would set him up. Better to drink water than blood, at least.


    He began by sorting through the heap, looking for treasure in all this trash. He sorted all the proper parts together, putting assorted pipes here, an unusually large collection of metal teeth there, and so on. He found a busted hot plate, which would have been perfect if it hadn¡¯t been cleaved in half somehow. On the plus side, he could still use some of the coil and conductible parts to make the burner, with a few more pieces.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.??Finally, after what felt like an hour, the Reptile had sorted through the mess that was a packrat¡¯s living space. He absentmindedly wondered if the rat had some kind of superpower, considering its strange hoarding tendencies. Oh well, it¡¯s much too late to figure out now. He felt confident that he could build something out of all these parts, he just hoped he had enough to make something that could create heat. He was fortunate that he wouldn¡¯t need a battery, considering the power unit affixed to the wall, probably once used by maintenance staff.


    He had half of a hot plate, three feet of conducting coil, a spark plug, an engraved lighter, parts of a heater, and a surprisingly large roll of silver duct tape. He blessed his lucky stars that he wouldn¡¯t have to make his own adhesive because that would¡¯ve been almost impossible and fairly disgusting.


    The Reptile got to work. In lieu of a soldering iron, he discovered that his saliva could melt metal, allowing him to melt parts together. In little more than an hour, he had his own personal boiler. Most people would mistake it as either modern art or a pile of junk, but to him, it was his salvation. It certainly wasn¡¯t the prettiest salvation, but it would do. It had to.

 Decisions to be made (not a chapter)

    So I have embraced the Reader Interactivity stuff, since it was practically predetermined when I said it was a ¡°one-time thing.¡± In this case, it means the choice I had in the author¡¯s note. At other times it¡¯ll be closer to plot direction and alternative view points.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    I hope people actually enjoy this stuff, because if not this fic might become a train wreck. I¡¯ve got to admit, my plots are usually pretty garbage. So would you kindly help this poor fellow out?


    More to come.


    Your regards,


    Solstice

 The Living: A Visceral Nightmare

    The Living


    The doctor¡¯s news to her mother was not good. ¡°She is in a persistent vegetative state,¡± he said, ¡°And there is little to do but to wait and hope.¡±


    As they waited and hoped, years passed by. The sixteen-year-old who was hit by a car became a human who was a vegetable for too long. She was lucky that her brain was active; otherwise, she would¡¯ve been dead long ago. Instead, she was brought home, cared for by her parents, as she lay in her bed and breathed.


    As she breathed, someone brought a plant into the room. They watered this plant every day, and in the cool, humid place, a mushroom began to grow.


    It was small, hidden in the roots of the plant, but it grew. After many years, it finally spread its spores. With how close it was to the vegetative young woman lying on the bed, her the spores entering her lungs was inevitable.


    They swiftly took root in but remained hidden by her vegetative state. However, it could not be hidden forever. Her body soon began attempting to expel the foreign elements in her lungs, coughing up blood. Her body heated up in an attempt to kill the developing spores.


    The family buzzed around her, worried. They gave her water; they watched her daily. They opened the windows and checked her throat. What they could not see, however, was how she changed. She soon stopped coughing, as her body accepted the foreign fungus as a part of it.


    Believing the window was the key, they left it open, allowing seeds to float into the room. Her body accepted these as well, and soon she became a living habitat, full of little plants and tiny bugs.


    The plants tangled around her body, growing and reinforcing it. It soon became impossible to tell that the vegetation within her had not been there her whole life.


    The change began to associate the plants as part of her, and so they grew better to assist her in the most important task. Autonomy. Awareness.


    The flora within her advanced, changing faster than would be naturally possible, faster, even, than what would be possible in a laboratory. Their only goal was to maintain her and reestablish her awareness. They grew so that she could.


    They forced apart muscle to wrap around bones, they took in blood to give her sugars. The bone was replaced by stems, as her blood became sugars and water. Under her skin, a green epidermis grew, covered by a waxy, water-resistant cuticle.


    The family noticed her unusually green complexion and prepared to take her to the doctor.


    The change was not yet done, however. Plants that would never be seen in the outside world reached up, wrapping themselves around her brain.


    Stolen story; please report.??That night, the twenty-two-year-old vegetative woman, who had been unaware of the world for six years, opened her eyes. Her skin felt itchy, but from the inside, like the entirety of her skin had been covered in a rash.


    She tore at her skin, and it fell off in long, scratched off strips, revealing a shiny green layer underneath. She tore at her scalp, her face, every inch of skin she could grasp until it was all off. When her face and body were ravaged, she carefully plucked off each nail, then peeling the skin off it like one might peel an orange. The tatters of her old covering lay around her after her furious tearing.


    The simple hospital-style gown she had worn was shredded as well, falling off with the skin as she stood. She felt taller and larger than when she was aware. She could remember her time after the crash, but the days all blended together.


    She breathed in deeply, hearing a rustling as the air entered her lungs, flowing around leaves. From her vague memories, she recalled where the bathroom was. As she strolled to the bathroom, getting used to her bigger body, she passed by a calendar hung on the wall. The date was 2025. She stumbled. It had been six years since the crash, six years since her life had changed. She wondered who the president was and if Freaks were still seen as monsters.


    She made it to the bathroom. She walked self-assuredly inside, though internally she was terrified to look at herself. She knew she changed because when she woke up, she had literally torn her own skin off. Finally, she looked at the mirror, at what she had become.


    The first thing she noticed was her skin, a glossy green that covered her entire body. Her hair had been left behind in clumps where she tore it off, but now she saw vines winding their way down her scalp, leaves protruding from them intermittently. The hair-like vines hung all the way down to the end of her back, curling and winding their way down. Her fingernails, which she distinctly remembered ripping off, must¡¯ve had another layer underneath, for at the end of each finger lay a dark green fingernail. Her face looked sunken, enough that her skull would¡¯ve been visible if not for the plants under her skin.


    Was she beautiful, or a haunting facsimile of what was once a pure human? It¡¯s difficult to say. The uncanny valley just barely affected her, causing her to look slightly unnatural. Nonetheless, she had to accept that the being in the mirror was her. If she did not, she might go mad.

 Not a chapter just a wish

    Hello again. As I said in the Pre-chapter notes, I need some more solid feedback. As of right now there are seven votes on the last poll, which means two things. Either people don¡¯t care, or people don¡¯t like it. There might be a third option I can¡¯t think of right now.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The point is, I can¡¯t read minds over technology, and I made this Reader Interactive for a reason. Because I want to know what you think. The only reason this even became a story is because of what people thought! Otherwise it would¡¯ve just been a collection of weird transformations. So, think about it, alright?


    More to come,


    Solstice

 The Monster

    The Rush


    It started small, that I know for sure. Whether it was a teacher telling me off, or another kid insulting me, I couldn¡¯t tell you. What I¡¯m certain of is that when I thought of hurting them, I felt good. More than good. It was like mana from heaven and ambrosia from the gods, all wrapped up in one neat package from my heart. It rolled around in there, sending out little pulses through my body. The hate mixed with it and made something beautiful.


    I called it the Rush.


    I had thought, back then, if thinking about hurting people feels this good, what if I actually did? But I didn¡¯t. Not for a while, anyway. I just cultivated it, letting it grow and spread its way through my mind until I wasn¡¯t sure what I ever did without it. It was too good to be true, like a superpower or something. I mean, it wasn¡¯t, but it made me feel invincible. It gave me security when my parents fought. It gave me pleasure when the other kids beat me. It made the world bearable. For a time. But it always wanted more, more than just thoughts; it wanted actions. Actions that would change everything.


    It had been a chilly day, a perfect excuse to wear a jacket with many pockets, some hidden, and no one would think anything strange of me wearing them. Gloves covered my hands, a bit thin for the weather, but excellent for my plan. It was all perfect. The week, or was it a month, before that day, I had gone to a pawn shop with some pocket money and expensive jewelry. I didn¡¯t need to worry; my mother had too much to notice any change. I left with a knife, a beautifully crafted thing, to my amateur eyes. A nice rubber handle, perfect for gripping tightly, and a blade that shone in the sunlight and curved back like a dancer. It would do nicely.


    On that chilly day, a knife was hidden in my jacket and a plan well-formed in my mind; I went to school. It was, funnily enough, a safer time, back then, despite the rampant bullying. There were no IDs, no bag checks, no fear of a gun-wielding child storming the building, and no fear of mutants bursting in. That meant that there was no suspicion of me, as I trudged into the school with the other teenagers, all hating each other as the teachers turned a blind eye. That blind eye was good, exploitable. The eye of the needle that I would slip through, like a knife through flesh.


    I wormed my way through the day, attracting as little attention as possible, per usual, and feeling the Rush flow through me. With every second that the end got closer, the stronger it pulsed, until all I could hear was the blood in my ears, and all I saw was red. Any other day, I might have been dreading the school¡¯s end. Any other day, I wouldn¡¯t have had a knife and a Rush.


    In the last period of the day, I had to stop myself from grabbing at the knife, too many times to count. I could hear it, like a siren¡¯s call, beckoning me to draw it and finally reach the finale of my Rush. But I didn¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t time. Not yet, anyway. And so I sat, and I waited for the bell to ring. When it did, I waited to be surrounded by kids who thought themselves tough; I waited for them to pull me to the side of the building, and then I struck.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    They were all a bit too close to me, enough that all I had to do was drop my weight on one of them, and they all crashed to the ground. Only four of them, but that would be more than enough. I pulled up my hood, took out my knife, and smiled.


    The little cluster of boys stared up in horror as I began, with my blood rushing through my body and my knife gripped painfully tight in my hand. I stabbed down into the closest one, an indiscriminate, probing move, to see what I could do and how it would feel. It bit into his thigh, going deep, blood seeping out from around it. He screamed as a banshee would, or perhaps an abandoned baby, a harsh cry of sheer agony echoing from his lips in the empty lot.


    To prevent their escape, I pulled the dagger out, quick as I could, digging it through the flesh on its way out, before stabbing it into the arm of the next one. It cut through arteries and muscle, all the way to the open air behind it. This one¡¯s screams were even more pained than the other boy¡¯s, with more fear mixed in to spice it up. I saw the other two, the ringleader and the muscle, moving to get up, to run away and call for help. To prevent that, a stab went into each as well, more pain than they had probably felt in their short little lives, where they were the bigshots of the castle. Well, I held them now, and they had nothing that could hurt me. Meanwhile, I could hurt them as much as I wanted.


    I started with the leader, who had always prized his face. At least, I assumed so, from his screams when I began to cut. They had begun as pleads, but quickly faded to whimpering babbles as blood sprayed and skin tore. Finally, with a great heave, I had flayed his face off. By that point, he was either unconscious or dead, not that I cared. The Rush was rewarding me, a great golden pulse filling my being like nothing I had ever felt before. There was, and still is, absolutely nothing that can compare to that glorious feeling.


    Oddly enough, however, I felt like something was missing. Some piece of the whole thing, that would¡¯ve topped it all off. Then, I looked at the flesh in my hand, the blood dripping from my knife, and a realization popped into my head. I licked the blade, the taste like copper filling my mouth, so wrong yet so right. Then, I lifted the face above my mouth, and slowly lowered it, before taking a bite. A quick turn of my head, a dreadfully amazing ripping sound, and a new taste entered my mouth. Something that very few other humans had tasted before. The flesh of their fellow man. I would describe it, but that would take away some of the uniqueness of the sensation. The other three, trapped as they were by pain and injury, could only stare in horror at what I had done.


    Then I began to glow, a golden light emanating from my skin. The strongest glow came from my heart, the origin of my Rush. As the divine pleasure flowed through me, I glowed, and my Rush went from my mind to my body, a real force.


    With every bite of flesh, I grow stronger. Soon enough, no one will be able to stop me. Not the cops, not those stupid heroes, and especially not those Freaks! They call me a maniac, a scourge against humanity! WELL, I WILL EAT YOU ALL! And when everyone is dead, we¡¯ll see who¡¯s laughing.

 The Muscle Struggles

    The Muscle Struggles


    The Muscle lay there in his blood-covered hospital room, breathing heavily. As the blood mist settled, he looked over his newly freed body. His once lumpy, grotesque body, had transformed into an accurate recreation of the human muscular system if it were twice as thick and with twice as many strands. Whenever he so much as twitched, he could see the cords flexing and straining, pulling and sagging to allow his movement. It was a truly disgusting display.


    The Muscle¡¯s study was quickly disrupted by a group of armed officers, dressed head to toe in heavy riot gear. Looking about the room, he noticed that all of the medical staff had left him, and were probably responsible for calling the police. Not that he blamed them since it is the lawful thing to do. The Muscle remembers seeing the signs stuck to walls, pronouncing ¡®Report all supers. It¡¯s the law!¡¯


    One of the six officers stepped forward, holding a pair of thick manacles that looked massive in the officer¡¯s hands. The officer glared steadily at him.


    ¡°You will be brought to a testing facility, where your abilities will be recorded, and you will be cataloged. Resisting is a felony. Seeing as how you are no longer human, your rights have been temporarily revoked. You will be given a designation once your abilities are discovered. If you can be cured, your name and rights will be returned. Now, hold out your hands.¡±


    The Muscle stood still for a moment, contemplating all that he was told. He supposed that now, he could be considered a second-class citizen. As he thought about his next moves, the other five officers raised their weapons at him. Not knowing his own abilities, he swiftly placed his hands in the shackles.


    The officer attempted to drag him to the door, but comically almost fell by a combination of the Muscle¡¯s unexpected weight and the still blood-slick floor. Not expecting the sight of a pinwheeling cop, the Muscle startled the other officers with his sudden burst of laughter.


    One of the officers closer to him hit him with the butt of their rifle, but it did nothing. The Muscle barely even noticed, to busy trying to stop his guffaws. He was not expected comedy, especially after all of the horror that he¡¯s lived through.


    The officer rapidly regained his composure and grabbed the, now compliant, Muscle, before walking him to the armored van.


    It was a long, tense ride, sitting in the windowless back area of the van. There were so many turns that the Muscle was convinced they were trying to cover up their route. He supposed it made sense, after all, once they finished up, they¡¯d probably dump him somewhere, and he wouldn¡¯t be able to track them down. He wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the van was scentless or something, too, to stop Freaks with an enhanced sense of smell from following them back.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.??Finally, they arrived at the facility. The Muscle stepped out onto a concrete floor, and before he could turn around, the prison truck had already sped off through a seamless garage door. The metal walls revealed nothing, but high above him, he could make out cameras and speakers attached to the ceiling. The room was massive and eerily empty.


    ¡°Subject previously known as Brock Richardson, we will now conduct a test to determine the extent of the changes caused by your transformation. To begin with, please insert your hands into the pedestal behind you.¡±


    Turning around, the Freak, known as Brock the Lock during his wrestling career, noticed that a cylinder had appeared. He stepped toward it, feeling air weave through coils of muscle with every step. He had been too dazed earlier to notice, but now that he had time to think, he felt powerful. Even more than the first time he successfully grappled his father. If he tried, he knew he could¡¯ve lifted that armored vehicle that brought him here like it was an unwieldy cardboard box, and he could¡¯ve crushed it just as easily.


    Standing in front of the pedestal, the Muscle slowly lowered his hands into the two dark holes. In an instant, they snapped closed around his wrists. He tried to pull his arms out, the groaning sound of strained metal quickly filling the air.


    ¡°Do not resist. This machine will simply test your grip strength. Relax, and grasp on to the bar that you will feel in your hands as tight as you can.¡± The cold, monotone voice commanded him once more.


    The Muscle complied, if only because he was unsure if he could break out, and he didn¡¯t know what he would do if he did. He squeezed down until he heard a crunch as the material in his hands gave way to his impressive strength.


    ¡°Interesting. Now, make your way over to the table and lay down on it. Your limbs will fit into the grooves, and clamps will then come down on them. Do not resist.¡± The voice''s tone did not change in the slightest as it gave him another task.


    Hefting himself up on the table that had risen out of the ground, he lay spread eagle, with his arms above his head. After a series of clunks, the Muscle felt metal bands covering his wrists, ankles, and neck.


    ¡°The next test will be one of toughness. We will apply various damaging substances to your body, to view their effects. Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll make sure you survive.¡±


    With that, the true torture began.

 Voting Time

    Hello, it¡¯s me again, back to tell you that the lack of votes is really harshing my mellow. To put it as succinctly as Royal Road lets me, I would be happy if more people actually told me what they wanted, or at the very least voted. So, please do so, for the greater good of the story. The next chapter relies on your decisions!If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    More to come,


    Solstice


    P.S. Since I¡¯m lacking requirements, I have to add some semi-filler again. Vote! Tell me! I¡¯d even be happy with smoke signals.