Red Ring
by Limerick
PROLOGUE:
The Demon King knew all ten thousand and five permutations of his subjects’ dietary needs.
It was all written down, ceremoniously, after the drawn-out and painful demon toddlerhood. A laborious process of finding-out, his winged subjects dispatched to harvest berries from the four corners of the realms. But he prided himself on knowing the arcane combinations of each demon. If he could not feed, he could at least know.
Taveris lived on hollis berries and the contented sounds of a happy Mewt. She had the figure of one tattooed on her forearm, bleeting in ink. She featured leathery bat wings of tremendous size, wrapped around a slight form. Like most Demons her cheeks were sunken, her eyes in sharp relief inside a hollow face. She wore a tight bodice. It increased feelings of fullness.
“My Lord, you sweat. You are fatigued,” she said, startled.
The Lord nodded. He sunk into his appointed throne, short of breath. “The humans,” he said, and it was nearly explanation enough. “They performed their ritual. A stolen soul, wrapped in the taken power of the gods. A perfect human rite, stealing from all and sundry.”
Humanity.
Their kingdom held six hundred and seventy-five of the necessary foodstuffs for the daily nutritional requirements of Demonkind. Raids and subtle expeditions could only harvest so much. Outright warfare destroyed more than it fed.
“An immediate assault,” Taveris said. “With all our slavering host. Every fang and wing and—”
The Lord held up a hand. It took effort. He himself fed on the rarest of foodstuffs, and rarely, to preserve them. At least he could share in their hunger.
“I joined in their rite,” he said, and allowed himself a rare smile, through his tusks. “I could not do otherwise. And I gave. Oh, how I gave. Our perfect heroine, built of the divine metals, contains not a little smoldering trace of myself. It entwines her new form. I have faith in myself. And now myself... rests within her.”
CAROLINE MILPITAS. CREVOLA: 1
BASINDORIUM: 12 IQ: 32STAMINADOS: 131 REMALTA: 10SPELLS: POWER OF THE TWELVE GODS
There’d been some unpleasantness with a large Freightliner.
Caroline’s memories flashed to the oncoming chrome of a fully-loaded 18-axle Class 8 truck. Right. The truckers were sulky under her new rule of apps and limiters. They’d done things like smoke cigarettes in a no-smoking Intermediate Unloading Zone. They rarely submitted Internal Evaluations of the other drivers, and their own self-critiques were lacking.
Caroline had left the cockpit of the Incremental Efficiency Warehouse Team, fondly referred to as the IEWT, to gain insight and perhaps say snarky things at the sun-scarred faces of her independent contractors.
And then.... had they even blown their horn?
After that she recalled a set of disapproving eyes. On her. And she’d been... naked? All disapproving, and all—metal. A table of the elements of silvers, greys, and golds. Eyes like wedding rings, all of them.
Except there’d been one, a large red sad pair, watching her with calm amusement. Very expressive, for a pair of eyes. It had stuck with her. Copper-red? Gold-red? The red was all that remained, burning in the eyes, a ring of red emblazoned somewhere below...
“BEHOLD! Oh. Ohhhhhh. Oh, please clothe her. Oh my goodness. We should have expected this.”
White stone columns. And people.
Plus she was still naked. The dying remnants of an inscribed circle winked out around her.
In the next moment someone tossed a white robe on top of her.
Caroline struggled with the scratchy white fabric. Uncomfortable linen, seemingly made out of straw. There was a poorly constructed hole in the top of it. She shoved her head through it. Her skin felt both raw and damp. She pulled down the suplice only to find it left her entire sides bare. There was an uncomfortable noble chuckle.
“Avert your eyes, assembled elect!” a woman’s outraged voice cried. “This holy flesh is not yours to—to ogle!” Caroline’s vision cleared. The owner of the voice was a woman with jewels in her hair, dressed in a sort of religious skirt. At least, it had a lot of tulle and lace. She ripped a chunk of it free, and pulled it around Caroline’s shoulders, at least obscuring her what little sideboobs she had.
“You may now look at her... from the front alone,” the priestess allowed.
“Welcome, my... uh....” the King had a white beard and wore a red outfit. He was flanked by knights in inscribed armor, and a trio of men that looked prince-like. “My lady. Our hope in the dark hour. The soul sent by the eleven, touched with their...”
He went on, gaining confidence as he went.
Caroline straightened.
She knew what this was.
Primarily she’d trained in life for that mixed discipline known as Financial Supply Chain Logistical Management. That’s what it said on her Purdue diploma.
But also, in spare moments, and even while crossfitting, she’d prepared for a variety of the manga scenarios. The otome game isekais first and foremost, not neglecting the reverse-isekais. All the various romances, a smattering of modern world apocalypses. And yes, many standard fantasy other-world adventures, both comic and non.
It was possible that, in the vastness of her assigned warehouse, some volumes of Seven Seas comics had gone missing. A necessary sacrifice of the company’s bottom line to her wellbeing. It was possible she had an entire bookcase lined with volumes. This was Isekai. Absolute, classic Isekai. At any moment she was going to be ushered into an Adventurer’s Guild, she could already tell.
She’d planned for this moment, mostly in the shower.
In a firm and commanding voice, or her best version of it, before the eyes of the assembled nobility, Caroline the Holy Saint said onto them:
“STATUS WINDOW! OR HOWEVER IT WORKS HERE!”
The bath water was hardly lukewarm. There was very little of it, a barrelful in a carved out marble divot that she had to nearly fold herself into. By contorting and rubbing the congealed fat known locally as “soap” she could just about get tepid. She told herself that it was lucky a medieval culture knew of baths at all.
She could work on that. She could work on a lot of things.
Caroline turned to more important matters. “Status window,” she grumbled, shivering.
It popped open, a semi-translucent scroll hovering in air. It seemed to actually be solid. She’d swung it around. Unexpected.
It was also large, and not a simple read. The numbers were arabic but the categories were generally not. I.Q. at least was listed, if insultingly low. But what was BASINDORIUM, STAMINADOS, REMALTA? CREVOLA had to be her level, since it was 1. And that was another thing. What were the numbers out of? There was no indication at all. STAMINADOS was triple what I.Q. was—what did that mean?
“Heroine, may I attend you, in your stark and naked glory?”
Caroline splashed around, in her water hole, startled.
It was the closest thing to a friendly face, at least. The priestess from earlier, the one who’d done her best to cover Caroline up. She took Caroline’s silence for assent. The bath was deep inside the palace, in a grubby warren of wooden barrels and piles of rags, and Caroline suspected it was actually the laundry. The only bright color was a single limp flower, turned hopefully towards a warped window.
“What’s Basindorium mean?” she said, to the divine.
“Oh!” This made an impression. “The old tongue. Ah. That essence of spirit that flows through us all, the very breath of the eleven!” She saw Caroline’s face. “Um. When we call upon the spirits, we power...”
MP. Got it. Caroline glanced back up. “What about Staminados? Actually. Lets do all that later.” She had more pressing questions. “How close are we to inventing the steam engine in this world? Or printing? We doing any printing?”
It was the Priestess’ turn to be confused. “Let us start simply. I am Avine,” she said, and made a complex gesture with her hands. It had enough twists to appear like a dance move. “I serve the eleven. Allow me to hand you some clothing, yet again. We have much to discuss.”
“Is there a word for towel?” Caroline said. “Local word for towel? Cloth used entirely for drying?” No, obviously not. This was increasingly concerning. She needed to get some paper and pencil. If they had paper and they had pencils. She had an industrial to revolution.
She took a real look at Avine, for the first time.
A concern, for Caroline, in the unlikely event she was transported to a world of fantasy and magic, was the size of everyone’s tits.
On a selfish level, she herself was about as well endowed as a community college. She’d often told herself her body was perfect for modern logistics—lean, built for requirements, relentlessly shorn of excess padding.
But on a more general level, it was a perfect barometer for the type of isekai she’d been transported to. Obviously they were always big, but TOO big meant harem-horny. No interest in that. Exceptionally small was also bad. No one wanted to get transported to Berserk. Pleasantly, unobtrusively big, that was the sweet spot.
Avine seemed—cute. A lot cute, with wet doe eyes and a perfect milk-faced complexion. Normal. That was a relief.
“My top priority here is the establishment of a technological revolution,” Caroline said. She clambered out of the bath. Avine turned around, blushing. “I want to go full Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, right out of the gate. Steam power in month one, penicillin on deck, trains full of orcs in a year. Make sense? I mean, do you know words like, steam power?”
“No, Heroine,” Avine said. She turned. Her mouth had set. “I would be lying if I said that I did.”
“Orcs? What about orcs? No orcs?” Caroline furrowed her brow. What cheap Isekai was this, with no orcs? “Did you summon me because you were bored?”
“We suffer, heroine. From the attacks of the rapacious Demons. And you are the key to defeating it,” Avine said. She made a decision, and said the next part very slowly, and patronizingly, making sure she maintained eye contact with Caroline. “Which will presumably through the enormously powerful magic that you have been personally endowed with by every single god, and not as much this “penicillin.””
Caroline sighed. Her damp hair had soaked her new dress, which was dispiritingly white-mage in design, including a stitched in oversized hood. Was she a Healer class? The only thing worse was Support. “Avine, the overpowered magic skill is the least interesting part of any self-respecting portal story,” she said. Patronize! To her! She was going to introduce city planning concepts that would make their medieval heads spin. Sewers and municipal policing! “It’s merely a framing device and comic relief. Obviously.”
Well, fine. Best to get it out of the way.
“Status,” she said. Unsurprisingly, there was just one skill. “Alright. Here it is. Power of the Twelve Gods.”
“ELEVEN Gods,” Avine said, automatically.
“Says twelve. Alright.” Caroline swung her hand out. “Lets do this. Magic! No. Create! No. Radiate! No. Go Spell! No. Hmm. Power of the Twelve Gods! No.”
“Miss—”
“Make! No. Hmm. Any ideas?”
“Miss, if you are trying to cast your god-given magic, in this small washroom, while facing towards the throne room, then I urge you—”
“Oh, thats it. Cast!”
Caroline cast her spell.
Her vision shifted.
The world was a new one, riven with metals and shot through with impurities. Everywhere was bronze and copper, with vast fields of tin. And—there was Avine, now outlined in melted silver. Except she was shuddering, as gold poured into her. Gold from Caroline’s hands.
Gold, and a red streak. A metal streak, but hard to pin down. She was no blacksmith. Red-tin or red-copper or red—something. A red impurity, ultimately, that wrapped around Avine, her hips, around her bosom, and then up through her thighs. Caroline looked down, just in time to see the same scarlet pouring around her, through her
Coming to rest right between her legs.
Caroline was suddenly unsure exactly what kind of Isekai she’d been sent to.
She also dimly recalled that this two-bit fantasy world hadn’t given her any underpants.
And then it was rippling inside of her, the golden heat, the naughty red whip. Her vision cleared abruptly, the metal world burning away. When she looked again it was at Avine, normal once more, except shuddering and half-moaning inside of her religious garb, one hand on the wall. Caroline sympathized. Something was whispering against her clit, something very casually powerful. She could’ve sworn she felt a breath. A puff of air against her pussy.
Perfectly delivered to the most sensitive spot of a girl who had every nerve shimmering with magical power.
Unnoticed, in all the excitement, a dark patch of bristly short hair forced itself through her quivering skin, on the back of Caroline’s thigh. Around it, a matching ring of white grew in, the two nearly covering the pale human skin.
“Ohhhhhh gawwwwwdddddd,” Caroline moaned, on her knees. Avine had just managed to get onto all fours, huffing her way through her own orgasm. Caroline couldn’t manage a position that dignified. She was a raw ember of sex.
Nearby, Avine was too busy orgasming to feel her teeth sharpen, one after the other, into a razor mouth of predator teeth. Or to feel her own first band of fur forming around the bottoms of her legs. Her pupils contracted to slits.
Avine did feel the sudden growth of powerful bands of twitch muscles. She felt it as the best cum of her life.
On top of all if it, the vision, the heat, the pulsing, the growth, Caroline felt a sudden, intense need. Not one to be experienced, one she had to fulfill, immediately. A rumbling urge that somehow took her thundering, shuddering orgasm and pushed it to the side.
She was very, very hungry.
Green. She needed something green .The only thing around was—her mouth searched for it, her stomach needed it—the wan red flower deprived of enough sun. It would have to do—it was the only green thing around. Her lips closed on it, and masticated. She had dirt in her mouth, and she did not care.
Her status window pinged as her level went up. And then, after the rest of her stats had started a climb, STAMINADOS slowly ticked over to a new setting.
-1.
“Oooooooooooooooomoo!”
Caroline blacked out.
CAROLINE MILPITAS. CREVOLA: 2
BASINDORIUM: 21 IQ: 38STAMINADOS: 130 REMALTA: 22SPELLS: POWER OF THE TWELVE GODS
“Personally, I think that giving everyone the germ theory of disease is very impressive,” Caroline huffed. “And I’ll figure out radio VERY soon. This world is lousy with crystals, and I’m CERTAIN they have something to do with it. I read a wikipedia article on it VERY recently.”
“Of course, Heroine,” Prince Ricard said, smoothly. “And we’ve sent for that art instructor. I’m certain the two of you together can master the art of—perspective, you called it?”
She flushed, again. Caroline’s cheeks kept burning a bright crimson. She had to be giving a terrible impression of otherworlders. For one, that they blushed deep with each heartbeat.
Her efforts to jumpstart industrial revolution were off to a slow start.
She’d managed a drawn choo-choo train, with puffy clouds from an erratically-drawn smokestack. The nobility had treated it with polite incomprehension. She had fared no better with a prototype clock. The facing was easy. The gearing was harder. How had MONKS done it?
“I should mention a slight chance of demon attack,” Prince Ricard said. He was the main cause of frequent blushing. She’d joked online about the Isekai adoration for ornate velvet and gold-rope uniforms. In person, on a man, they sparked hot, short breaths and goggly-eyed nervousness out of her. A man in uniform, and what a uniform, with pauldrons, and a stout brown belt, and an actual sash. It should’ve looked silly, a man wearing white leather gloves.
Her body didn’t find any of it silly.
“Sorry—what?” Caroline said. It was difficult, concentrating. She needed to figure which of her many stats had something to do with focus. Her level had gone up, disconcertingly, after the Avine Incident. Numbers had gone up and a few numbers had, disconcertingly, gone down.
The only reassuring thing was that IQ had ticked up markedly.
Not that she felt very smart, around Prince Ricard.
“Demons. It would be simpler, perhaps, if they formed a terrifying horde and rampaged in a regular line. No. They dig, tunnel, fly, swim, and often simply walk onto our lands. They infest our shadows. I have heard of them wriggling down chimneys,” Prince Ricard said.
Caroline managed an objective thought. He was a later-born son, in a Kingdom evidently lousy with them. He’d been chosen for his urbanity and an obviously unflappable nature, as an escort.
Word had gotten around, after all, about how she’d given the Priestess Avine cat eyes.
Yellow feline slits. She hadn’t even known—she’d woken up quite awhile later, after grinding herself to a tizzy. Avine was long gone by that point. Caroline had her own concerns to deal with, not least shamefully mopping up her own juice on the flagstones.
She’d also been painfully, desperately hungry.
A need that hadn’t quite gone away, despite how many loaves of unsatisfying crusty peasant bread she’d crunched through. Fuel, she figured. Magic required fuel. It was certainly a distraction, while she was trying to recall vague concepts from 8th grade science. No doubt she could reconstruct the internal combustion engine, if she wasn’t stuffing her face with underseasoned soup...
“How is the Priestess?” Caroline said, finally giving in. All the nobility talked around their actual major points. The technology was weak but the manners were elegant.
“I’m glad you asked,” Prince Ricard said. “She is... distressed... by her sudden feline acuity. Certain strands of the faith place a premium on humanity’s form and function. And yet, on the other hand, she healed a roomful of wounded soldiers with a wave and a gesture. To which she attributes your influence.”
Caroline had come to two conclusions about her abilities. FIrst, the whole orgasm thing was a gag. A comedy Isekai, it had to be, a naughtily horny one. Contriving to put her in charmingly embarrassing situations. Although far from ideal it was at least reassuring. She’d just have to squeeze her legs shut during casting.
And, she had to admit, it had been.... kind of fun.
The second discovery was more unwelcome. The humiliation. She was not a tank, or DPS, or even a healer. She’d arrived in an Isekai world as a buff/support class. She was a damned bard.
A hungry bard.
The only thing that didn’t quite fit was... she’d grown some unwelcome hair.
She hadn’t discovered it right away, and Mirror Tech was on her long list of necessary improvements. Something to do with melted sand, she was sure of it. Still, she could feel it—a rough patch of short-grown hair underneath the back of her left thigh. By plucking hairs, and doing basic statistics, they were a mixture of black and white.
She also had a vague memory of... sucking on a flower?
But that had to be fake.
As a consequence, whenever her hosts had asked her, circuitously, about perhaps utilizing her god and goddess-given powers, she’d digressed about the invention of indoor plumbing, instead.
Prince Ricard halted. He put a warning arm out, which Caroline bumped into. His other hand drew his rapier.
“Oh, what—we’re in the CASTLE GARDENS!” Caroline said. A walk she’d enjoyed. Something about the vegetables felt... calming.
“Elsewhere I wouldn’t ever sheathe my sword. We are deeply pressed, my lady. We did not summon you as a lark. We gave up much, to bring you here. Ah. Your first Demon.”
Her first demon was gathering misshapen rutabagas from the garden’s ploughed rows.
Despite acting as a mischievous peter rabbit the creature was an ebony and ivory figure of easy menace. It farmed with long talons, and sat back on heavy haunches.
“Miss Heroine,” Prince Ricard said, solemnly. “You have the option of informing my father and brothers of my death, in the defense of our crops. But I would ask for your aid. Quickly, as I will soon be run through.”
“Run for it!” Caroline hissed. “Lets just go! Its—those are rutabagas! Or whatever dumb word you use for rutabagas!”
Prince Ricard steadied his shoulders.
The demon had spotted them. It casually readjusted its stolen cache, to hold it in one hand. That left the other free for needle-like stabbings.
“Miss, we have all gone hungry, even at the King’s Table, to accommodate your own... considerable needs. We do not lightly grow brute necessaries behind these holy walls. I will not surrender what you have termed rutabagas. Food is life.”
Caroline felt her new, constant blush turn into a deeper, more focused glow of humiliation. So even the Prince’s chiseled jawline was the result of short rations. While she’d gobbled loaves of bread. And she’d been demanding more veggies, of all types, trusting, and not caring, whether the rinds and strands were ordinarily edible.
“I see you have chosen to witness my mauling and rending,” Prince Ricard said. He nodded, to his opponent. The demon, to Caroline’s surprise, executed its own, formal bow. “Only a Prince can render a gift with his own death. I hope my younger brothers are honored to be that much closer to the succession. Please, while it has its talons entangled on my corpse, take that change to flee. I will try to die heavily on it.”
How come this backwater existence had no tableware forks, but had developed keen-edged sarcasm? But no, Caroline thought, her throat tight, she couldn’t use the gift. That frightening blend of sexuality, power, and hunger...
The demon sped forwards. Ricard met the talons with his sword. She could smell dark earth and iron, this close. It was obvious to all three of them that, if the Demon had bothered to drop its rutabagas in its other hand, it could run Prince Ricard through.
It just didn’t feel like bruising the veggies.
“Cast!” Caroline screamed, her arms outstretched. The golden flash was short, this time. Just long enough to see the Demon flash mercury and tin, all laced together with a scarlet thread. A sick contrast to Prince Ricard’s proud gold and silver, even as she connected it to her own pumping-up power.
She belatedly realized it was a bad time for him to orgasm. The world of metals faded, in time for her to see the Demon, alarmed, drop his cache. A set of talons, biologically sharpened, sped for her defenseless Prince. He wore just his fine red uniform. And while she could feel the magic flowing into him, flowing through her, it was—too slow—she’d been so selfish—
He caught the Demon’s arm. Easily.
“Mhm,” Prince Ricard said, wondering. “Feels rather... good.”
She missed his next blow. Not only was the red prod fondling her, rubbing on her, not only was the need and the hunger growing unbearable, she’d just been treated to a deeply erotic show. A prince kicking ass right in front of her, his golden cords taut against his chest. Caroline fell forwards, again, her ass up in the air. The sounds of desperate combat barely intruded on her orgasm, on her rush of hunger. At least this time food was right in front of her. There was the cache of rutabagas the Demon had dropped.
And underneath them, delicious grass.
She crawled forward, pussy leaking and rippling, the red whip sliding in and out. Caroline ripped the grass out, by the roots, stuffing it into her needy mouth. “Oooomooomoooo,” she whispered.
Her ears curved backwards, losing human definition and becoming soft and long, like furry thistles. The first white streak appeared in her brown hair. But mostly what changed, as she ate and ate, was that Caroline got fatter.
It was already waiting for her, her new body, primed with the vegetable soups she’d slurped. Now her body eased into it, into thick new padding up from her toes. Ample thighs, now even more dappled with patches of painted-on fur. Her hips pooched out, the bones themselves fitting into a more fertile shape, a long ways from her former runner’s frame. And, most of all, she started to grow in some tits.
Big tits.
Something sped right by her arm, and she looked at it with dull, uncomprehending eyes. Her body shivered with a happy climax. It was so much better when she had a full stomach. Her ears flicked back and forth.
A demonic arm, leaking black ichor. Why was that there? Caroline stared at it, confused, while she munched on a big handful of the best grass she’d ever tasted. Her tongue—was it longer?—attacked each blade. She scratched at her thickened new rear end, uncomprehending.
Staminados calmly ticked down with each chew. Minus one.
“Miss. He has departed. I disarmed him.”
Prince Ricard helped her up. He picked her up with obvious ease, his hands nonetheless gentle against her clothes. Sense very slowly returned to Caroline. She stared at her savior, horrified.
Prince Ricard had a black, wet, adorable, puppy nose.
“You smell like...” he said, and then shook himself. Like a dog. “Excuse me. Miss, if I may. You’ve got a little... soil... on your chin.”
CAROLINE MILPITAS. CREVOLA: 3
BASINDORIUM: 29 IQ: 48STAMINADOS: 121 REMALTA: 29^SPELLS: POWER OF THE TWELVE GODS
“The Adventurer’s Guild? Over there,” Prince Ricard said. He gestured. Caroline’s eyes kept flitting to his perpetually wet nose, but she was curious about the Adventurer’s Guild.
The Adventurer’s Guild! The mainstay of a thousand Isekais! She’d go in, there’d be a too-lengthy explanation of the ranking system, some brute would challenge Prince Ricard... she’d read it all so many times. And as predictable as it was, predictability was starting to sound pretty good, to a girl who now had unmistakeable cow ears.
Ricard pointed to a burned out hulk of a building.
“Targeted. Adventurers were too effective against the Demons. Cecia, you were an Adventurer, weren’t you? With that ridiculous ranking system they had?”
The newest member of the Party gave a curt nod. She was delightfully turned out in black lace and bangles, her eyes shrouded underneath a heavy hood. Caroline looked forward to finding out if she specialized in fire or ice magic. Or both. “I was Rank A plus minus,” she said. “The Demons did everyone a favor, in my opinion. Do you remember that ridiculous receptionist they had? And her outfits?”
“I have no memory of Vera or Vera’s much-stressed blouses,” Ricard deadpanned. He turned, and grinned, and for a second his tongue was hanging out beneath his dog nose.
Caroline averted her eyes. She felt a pleasant tickle between her legs—it was hot out, and a bead of sweat was starting a trek down the small of her back. Which meant a lazy journey through patch after patch of black and white fur. Most of her thighs were covered, and quite a lot of her ankles.
Not just a comedy lightly-horny Isekai but one with furry overtones. At least she wasn’t yelling ‘~Nyahh,’ complete with ~tildes~. She was damned if she was going to be the comic relief.
“You’re SURE about the... gift?” she said, to Cecia. She’d checked her own statistics, but they were increasingly a headache just to parse. She’d stupidly forgotten to write down what they used to be. Laminados was up, Staminados was way down, and some inherent part of herself called Remalta had a green arrow next to it. IQ was up, at least, not that she felt much smarter. “Sure that it’s... okay? Your Prince has a retriever’s nose now.”
“Prince Rex,” Prince Ricard said, smiling. “I coined it myself. And then I whipped our best swordsman. Using a stick that I myself retrieved.”
“It all seems very simple, to me,” Cecia said. “Eleven gods, each of which has an animal affinity. Your blessing cycles through the heavens. Presh, the God of Constance, often shown with a shaggy dog. Mie, the Goddess of—well, she has a cat. And so on. A mark of favor. That’s all.”
Right, that was all. It definitely made sense. A gloss of animalia to make her distinct.
Caroline wanted to believe it.
The only issue was, she’d been through the pantheon, and none of them were God of Cows.
The sweat bead got stuck around mid-ass. Caroline fought an urge to rub at it.
Not only was she accumulating fur, in black and white classic spots, Caroline had gained weight. After all, despite her increasing guilt she’d relentlessly denuded the Kingdom veggie crisper. It wasn’t lost on her that her hunger concentrated on leafy greens. Even the dark black bread was increasingly dull. Nonetheless, her ass had added additional poundage, as well as downy soft hair. Her boobs felt both thick and full. She felt different just walking. There was parts of her stuck off to the side. She was ponderous, where before she had been spare and graceful. She’d been thiccened with magic.
“And it’s TEMPORARY, right?” she said. “Avine, what do you think?”
The fourth member of their party had not said very much at all. She’d added a shepherd’s crook to her outfit, and wore even more robes and vestments than at the summoning ceremony. The Priestess Avine turned and looked at them with her hazel cat eyes.
“I think...” she said, slowly. It was the first time Caroline had gotten a good look at her, post-Cast. It wasn’t just the eyes. She had a set of pointed whiskers, just beneath her nose. Six of them. “...that the Gifts of the Eleven are precious.”
She’d accented and bolded the word Eleven, as best she could. Caroline thought to add “fonts” to the internal list she was keeping of Societal Improvements. Not high. Well below flushable toilets. But on it.
Caroline had agreed to the trip because—in truth, because Prince Ricard had requested it. The addition of a quivering, eager nose hadn’t diminished his looks. Actually, she was wondering where he could shove that nose. She was wondering about the size of his tongue. She was definitely curious about the wet patch on his pants after he had disposed of the Demon.
She’d also written some big checks, with her mouth, about improving the quality of local metals. “Bessemer Process,” she’d said, nodding her head sagely. “Produces the strongest steel. You just need....” and then she’d trailed off, before the eyes of the Castle Blacksmiths. “Uh. Hotter.... fire?”
The walls of the City were high and close, and manned with a dozen soldiers. Anyone not in the Royal Family wore shabby homespun clothes, loose and tied with a cord. Armor was provided by, as Prince Ricard put it, “dodging.” And even Caroline, despite the distracting new way her thighs were rubbing together, could tell they were equipped with pot metal and rust-pitted heirlooms.
Not a dozen soldiers, Caroline noticed. Although she counted again to be sure—she was feeling so muzzy. Eleven soldiers. Yes. She counted once again. Maybe her IQ had gone up too much for mundane tasks like counting. Maybe she needed to do, like, double-triple algebra.
“Okay, all set,” Prince Ricard said, a bare hour into the northern wilderness outside. The forest came close to the town. “Caroline, this is an experiment. Over there is an Asterio nest. Ordinarily clearing one of these is a twenty-two man job, or a B-Rank, back when we had B-Ranks. Four expected casualties. We write the condolences first and then fill in the names afterwards. Today we are clearing it with just the four of us, and your Gift.”
He pointed to the clearing. Like so much else it disappointed Caroline. A cave, she felt, should be a dedicated inky blackness in a clearing, practically carved out of menacing rock. This was a large hole in dirt.
“My Gift. You really want another go?” Caroline said. Was she really about to cum, three times? And yet—her body was telling her how good it would feel, and she had even more body than before. Her big new ears were already twitching. The red line would saw up and down inside of her pussy. Grass tasted so good when she cast...
Grass was starting to look tasty all the time.
Prince Ricard had removed his shirt. “Oh, absolutely. I barely feel the urge to bark. But Cecia can go first,” he said. A little too eagerly. Caroline felt a poorly-controlled surge of jealousy. But, on the other hand, the idea of Casting... she felt a warm pool inside of her. It was very much an experience, Casting. The heat, the hunger, the fact she would inevitably cum...
Temporary, she reminded herself. The fur was akin to an allergic reaction, Cecia had said so. The body’s confused reaction to an infusement of godly power. A cosmic joke, to be soon cleared away. In the meantime, what could a little grass hurt?
Her mouth watered...
“You might get a pig tail,” Caroline warned.
“Oh, I’m confident it’ll be a forked tongue,” Cecia said, smiling. “The next beast on the Long Cycle, the serpent. And after me, the powerful Teshio.”
“Then me,” Prince Ricard said. “And then Avine.”
“Not me,” Avine said. Her tone was stone cold. “Caroline. You are the Heroine. You do not need to cast a spell you do not want to. And before you decide, you should know what you are developing horns. Above your temples.”
“Oh?” Caroline said, voice trembling. She touched at her head. Two soft nubs were developing, still underneath the surface of her skin. They felt very good to touch, two new erogenous zones starting to make their way up and out.
Stroking them made it hard to concentrate, to demonstrate the decisive decision-making ability she was so proud of. As a logistics manager Caroline had prided herself on firm and unyielding decision-making, even on the basis of little to no information. She tried to summon up that same spirit, but the nubs felt very good indeed, especially so if rubbed counter-clockwise. “H-how about that.”
“Caroline!” Avine said, sharply.
“Oh! Sorry! I got distracted! CAST!” Caroline said.
Their black mage had assumed a pose of cool anticipation, her arms held out, her chin upturned. It didn’t survive the first second of Caroline’s spell. The metal flash showed her as silver-on-steel, and also the red cord wrapping around her arms, on the way to her tits.
Despite being hidden behind dark robes there were two big boobs down there. Lots to work with.
Caroline belatedly remembered—she really needed to cast her magic on hands and knees. The first hot, spectral breath on her pussy made her fall over. And she’d been waiting for it. Looking forward to it.
At least she’d made provision for the yearning hunger it caused, bringing an enormous bag of freshly cut greens. After all, despite the oddball physical transformations, this WAS the only way to get stat gains and level-ups, and that was the name of this particular genre. A cold-eyed realist like herself would endure some bovine spotting, some tender-fun horns, for power in a dangerous world.
Right? She stuffed grass in her mouth.
Caroline moaned through her first mouthful. Cecia was thrashing about, in a very undignified way, beneath Avine’s cold stare. It was hard to tell lies to herself when the magic was surging through her, the red cord feeling its now familiar way up her slit.
It felt so damn good to eat and cum.
The second bag of greens were in her pack. Caroline struggled against the need—she couldn’t eat MORE grass, in front of everyone, like a common cow. She had to drag her bigger body over to the sack, pull it open with her hooves. Hooves? No—hands. She couldn’t just lower her mouth to the delicious stalks beneath her.
The whorls of fur grew and grew. Stiff small patches turned into longer, soft fur. Her ankle bones reconvened, and started a gentle process of fusing together. But most of all, her horns sprouted. Big, ivory horns, forcing their way upwards into the sun. Bone formed and fused and grew. And when she blinked, it was with eyes with a slightly different color.
Someone gently pushed food into her mouth. Caroline opened her eyes. Prince Ricard was feeding her, from his hand. A gourd of some sort. He was feeding her, and it tasted so good.
“BUCK-BACAWWWWKKKK!” Cecia screamed, to the world. She flapped her arms. Avine shook her head, disapproving.
“CAST!” Caroline managed, between bites. She directed it towards Prince Ricard, and missed. The Priestess took another dose in her silver-gold body. In the flash of metallic clarity Caroline could see the nub of a tail, growing in at the base of her spine. It was a mark of her dignity, or maybe her experience with the GIft, that she just fell into a kneeling position. And that despite the red vine probing her backside.
She striped Avine, added spots and stripes and all other types of kittenish decoration, pouring fur onto her body. It spread all over, claiming her.
“SORRY! CAST!” Caroline said. To the man feeding her, this time. Without the distraction of an imminent demon she could see more, and better. Especially the usual red cord, this time wound up and down the man’s cock, pressed hard against the tautness of his leathers. He was dripping already, even before she’d cast. His tail was going to be shaggy, Caroline could tell. His ears grew out, and then drooped, friendly and furred. Her third cast exhausted her MP, even as her level count ticked up. Numbers on her status board ticked up and down.
Staminados, in particular, kept dropping like a rock.
Her body was preparing, deep within her. The stub of her own tail was all ready, spring-like above the heft of her butt. Her stomach had reformed, deep inside of her, for the challenges of turning grass into energy. And most of all, the big weight of her boobs added a complex apparatus for the development and expressing of gallon after gallon of milk.
All three of her companions were preoccupied. Cecia was gasping and clucking, Avine was hissing to herself, and Prince Ricard had howled his challenge to the first ugly monster just then crawling out of the hole. With them not looking, Caroline felt free to eat, cum, and pass out, in whatever order she chose.
CAROLINE MILPITAS. CREVOLA: 5
BASINDORIUM: 70 IQ: 87STAMINADOS: 101 REMALTA: 38SPELLS: POWER OF THE TWELVE GODS+
Prince Ricard had disposed of the monsters by himself.
The Gift took a bigger toll on girls. Cecia had been a wet, shaking mess for quite some time, her hand touching at the hard yellow beak her nose had become. Her arm had a flurry of small white feathers. Caroline herself had passed out mid-chew, her mouth full of loam and grass. She’d swallowed some dirt without thinking too hard about it.
Ricard had been untroubled. He was magnificent. The monsters were a kind of dirty crab, hoisting pincers out of muddy shells. They skittered low to the ground, and presented few obvious weak spots. Ricard had stabbed them in their tiny, deep-set eyes until that had grown tedious. Then he had dropped the sword and started tearing them apart with his bare hands. Or paws. Whatever was the correct word.
His tail wagged as he did it. He was a uniform brown, unlike his more flashy and colorful girls. His chest had a shock of hair, like a fuzzy ascot. His muzzle-y mouth was bloody.
“I’m SUPER sorry,” Caroline said, to Avine. The Priestess was distinctly feline, now, a growth of tawny fur peaking out from the collar of her robes. Like all cats, she was good at unamused stares. “I missed! I just—missed. I bet you’re really good at, uh...”
“Yowling? Purring? It is very likely,” Avine said. Her unamused stare was belied by her voice, which had a sultry murmur to it. It was a voice that wanted to be pet. “I think you’ve become more powerful already, heroine. Cecia can practically lay eggs from the start.”
“I’m, uh, level five now!” Caroline said. She squinted, staring at her status screen. A broad, fleshy tongue poked out of her mouth. It had gotten longer. Her teeth, too, had lost their sharpness, and filled her mouth in big flat rows. Herbivore mouth. “Gosh, I’m like, getting super powerful!”
The stat screen was reassuring, even as her tail had poked out of her rear. Just a short bulge. For now. She had enough MP now to power a town. The Gift itself was leveled up. And her IQ had skyrocketed.
Which made it a puzzle why Caroline was feeling distinctly muddle-headed. Her mind felt stuffed with cotton. No. Grass. Fields of grass, delicious grass... She giggled, and wasn’t sure why. Had she thought of something funny?
“Come on, Cecia,” Prince Ricard said. His tail hadn’t stopped wagging. Despite looking friendlier and very much like a good boy, with new shaggy ears, he had no trouble ordering Cecia around. The black mage looked just as dazed as Caroline felt. “Lets get these piles sorted. Out by the pond.”
He hefted a dozen black piles without difficulty.
It had turned out that Caroline’s first dungeon adventure was a poop hunt.
Fertilizer, desperately needed, for the beleaguered farms to the south of the capital. Manpower was stretched so thin, holding back the demon depredations, that every ounce of artificial fertility was necessary.
“Oh!” Caroline said. Something had floated through an increasingly bovine head. “The three-field crop rotation system! Prince, you guys should totally use the three-field crop rotation system!” She beamed. So she was still a smartie! It was reassuring.
He paused. Prince Ricard’s mouth was red-rimmed with monster blood. He’d casually gnawed on some torn off legs, post-massacre. “Which is?” he said.
“Ummm,” Caroline sat back. She unsuccessfully fought an urge to rub her new horns. That was not a good way to keep thoughts in her head. It wasn’t clear what was. Her body told her that some more grass would help her relax. “Something about nitrogen! It fixes it!”
She beamed. This was a real contribution. Heck, perhaps even the key to going from medieval to early-modern. She had another great idea—she couldn’t rub her horns if she was rubbing her boobs. Brilliant.
“Sure. Cecia. Come.” The mage followed.
“You think this is temporary?” Avine said, once they were out of ear shot. “You believe this is...an amusing side effect? I can feel my teeth filed to points. I chased a mouse through the Abbey halls. I have claws. I felt the corruption stir within me... within... within my loins. We already have powerful beasts with inhuman hungers in this land. We call them Demons.”
“Look,” Caroline said. “I’ve read probably a billion of these stories. This is just a cheap excuse to give all the girls big mouth-watering tits.”
“Just two tits? Or more?” Avine said. Her small pink tongue flicked across her sharp teeth. For the first time in a long time, she blinked.
Caroline stumbled off, away from the question. It was all so—confusing. She was growing horns, a tail, and, from her new center of gravity, the transformation had taken hold in her rump. She had to concentrate, for just one second, think logically, and make cold and calculated decisions. She was in this land to teach them about how glasses worked, and introduce the fundamentals of the printing press, and then be lauded as a queen of intellect. She was not there to give everyone horny animal skills and cum. She needed—she needed—
Caroline needed a nice, calming, mouthful of grass.
“Prince. Prince, please! I feel so—this was not planned, or egg—expected. I’m a type of fowl. I have—”
Prince Ricard, up against the lake. He had his doggy hands over his black mage, and had already substantially ripped her clothes off. They were along the water’s edge. Cecia’s body was finally on display, her body unexpectedly plump, her thighs quivering as he groped at her. She was much more chicken than Caroline had even expected, her body dusted with small pluckable feathers. It had to be her Gift, giving Cecia those thighs. They were delectable. There was no way she could now walk in a straight line.
“I like your thighs, and I like your wings,” Ricard growled. He used a new claw to tear off the short shift the wizardress wore. Two eye-popping breasts tumbled out.
“No, Ricard, PLEASE,” Cecia huffed, cheeks red. “I think—Avine was right—I feel so—fat and stupid. There. This isn’t the golden light, its reducing us...”
Prince Ricard shut her up with an urgent kiss. It was awkward, as he was developing a half-snout, and she had a beak, and neither of them were used to it. Caroline melted just as hard as Cecia did. As usual her knees hit the ground. She was most comfortable there. One of her hands was already fondling a horn. The other hand had a choice—new big tits, or the juncture between her legs.
“Hands and knees. Or whatever they are now,” Prince Ricard ordered, as soon as he broke the kiss. It was a miracle he hadn’t bit her lip. The order clearly came as a surprise to Cecia, who didn’t look like she was usually roughly told to prop her ass up.
But she did.
She had a fat, fine rear, her backside speckled with the first few red feathers, and Caroline wondered how many eggs it would lay.
Prince Ricard pulled out a long ruby-red prong. He shoved it inside before Caroline could get more than a passing look. Whatever Cecia’s concerns were, they dissolved into an arousing blend of human moans and stupid clucks. Her feathers shook under the assault. Ricard’s urbane demeanor had fully turned into a dedicated, unrestrained pounding of his hapless mage.
Caroline’s mouth hung open. She groped around, and found a nearby bush. With a little effort she could strip it bare of leaves. They all went into her mouth, where her bovine teeth pounded them flat. They tasted wonderful, and her pussy felt even better. All the little concerns about her purpose and her power flitted away, shooed out by a contented thoughtless fog. And other, unnecessary things, like the enclosure movement, and geometry, went with them.
CAROLINE MOOPITAS. CREVOLA: 12
BASINDORIUM: 101 IQ: 157STAMINADOS: 81 REMALTA: 59SPELLS: POWER OF THE TWELVE GODS
“C-cast,” Caroline said. Or thought she said. But yes—the metallic sheen took over, and the now tin-alloy girl in front of her did the usual yelp of unexpected sexual delight.
She herself was feeling—muddled. Very worryingly so.
The dungeon hunt squad had turned horny, hungry, and much furrier than before.
She’d resolved to steady herself with a morning of algebra and geometry. That, at least, she could do—Caroline had been the pride of High School Geometry, working her way through proofs with a protractor and drafting pencil. Even if she couldn’t re-create solar panels, she could at least prove the pythagorean theorem. Definitely, she could do that.
Except her mind kept dawdling, idling, and downright blanking. She’d drawn a rhombus, and then filled it in with grass. Delicious, wonderful grass. She’d added a few flowers, for seasoning, and had only snapped out of it when she’d drooled on the page.
“Oooooooh,” she moaned, in tune with the girl in front of her. Prince Ricard put a comforting paw on her shoulder. He’d prepared her a discrete bag of thrown-out veggies from the castle kitchens, mixed with weeds. Caroline, guilty, had insisted that she didn’t need anything more prepared. Raw greens were fine. Even better. And she didn’t need to dirty a plate. Caroline stuck her nose into the feedbag more and more. There was an actual puddle between her legs.
Caroline giggled, helpless. At least she was finally helping. It DID feel good to help, even in this pathetic and horny way. Prince Ricard had asked her, sincerely, to make his hand-picked squad as powerful as he was. And she had said—no. No no no. She was growing a tail, she couldn’t, she just couldn’t...
And then he’d put a paw on her shoulder, and asked again.
In front of them, a girl was becoming part mouse. Her ears popped out into round and gray discs, already twitching with anxiety. Usually they didn’t grow a tail, straightaway, but every single person had added a new nose. This one was long and pointed and pink. As she regained her senses she put her hand to her mouth, just in time for mousey whiskers to pop in, one by one. She’d be carpeted with fur soon. Caroline was definitely more powerful. That was nice, too.
Everything felt nice...
“What am I?” she said. She was a staff sergeant on Prince Ricard’s Demon-Fighting Squad, and her face had featured a spread of three livid scars. They were gone now, or at least hidden underneath soft white fur.
“Prey,” Prince Ricard said, under his breath. “Mouse, Sergeant,” he said, louder.
“Ooohhh gods,” the mouse said, and, to emphasize it, she squeaked. Unbelieving, she cradled her still-growing tits. They all had huge boobs, each and every one of them, usually with a strip of fur. “Ohhhh my gods. It feels... it feels...”
“Good. Yes.” Ricard motioned to the previous squad member, who was now a sort of lizard. He had several lids on his eyes. After some trial and error they’d hit on alternating genders, so the previous squad member could fuck the latest one. With accommodation for Prieta and Gavine, who would continue their existing relationship as camel and sheep girl.
“Short break,” Prince Ricard said. He gave a significant look to Cecia. His hunger for chicken breast was unabating. After the first few times he’d started just fucking her in the other room, and not even bothering to close the door. For her part, Cecia seemed to be concentrating on not bucking or squawking when she talked. It was a struggle.
“Short... break...” Caroline huffed. She had a moment to herself. Her fingers felt too heavy to pick up a pencil, and the idea of doing multiplication filled her with revulsion. But this HAD to be okay, didn’t it? This was her skill, her cheat ability. And it didn’t feel BAD, just the very opposite. She was growing, leveling, evolving towards some higher existence. Her Level confirmed it. But why was she dripping through her panties, and sprouting horns, and why did her big new boobs feel so very tight?
Why was she struggling to multiply six times seven?
She was still changing, still growing. She filled the chair even more than before. It was her feet, this time. She was losing them. Caroline reached down to touch, to feel her toes before they fully disappeared. They’d fused, mostly, into one hard mass, and that hard mass was becoming a set of hooves. Dark black, unlike the rest of her, which was all soft whites with occasional noir patches. Even her hair was a fuzzy ivory, matching her fur. Last time she’d walked around it was to the barnyard sound of hooves, clicking on stone.
It should’ve been hard to walk around. Her tits kept growing and growing, and her tail wagged around, and she even had a heavier head. All that plus less surface area on her hard hooves. But it was fine, just fine. Her body cantered itself into just the right position, with her ass in the air, her back bent, her tits leading the way.
“Oh! They’re gone,” Caroline said, feeling underneath the table. That was it. No more toes. Just the keratin of hooves. Even they felt nice. She felt drunk, and took solace, in losing her human feet, with another lengthy feedbag session.
The Priestess Avine burst in later, when she was about to turn yet another girl into yet another horny animal. The priestess had her hood all the way up to hide her own twitching nose. Caroline wondered how she was dealing with her urges. Everyone she’d transformed needed to get off like, all the time. It was pretty hot. She herself had stopped bothering to mop up her chair. Sitting in her own creamy mess was hot too. Everything was soooo hot.
“You’re creating ABOMINATIONS in here!” she hissed.
Prince Ricard stood directly behind Caroline. “Look in a mirror, my divine. Personally, I see only soldiers. Caroline, cast.”
She wavered. Did she... NEED to cast? But her body liked it, craved it. Casting felt so good, she felt so good. Her tail was so long and her horns felt so nice to stroke... her IQ stat was going straight up, despite her concerns. And at least Staminados didn’t have THAT much farther to fall.
“CAST!” Caroline said. This girl’s ears sprouted straight up. It was immediately obvious she’d made a bunny girl. It hadn’t escaped her notice that, Avine excepted, the men were predators, the girls were prey. Black and white fur nearly leapt off the girl’s skin, and she didn’t even hit the floor before crying out with a noisy orgasm.
They all watched her form a cute white puffball on her butt.
“I think I leveled up again,” Caroline said, dizzy from another orgasm. The red line explored her butt. Unnoticed, her eyes flipped color, to a bright and shining blue. She would never know. She’d never been able to make mirrors.
“We strive against Demons, we need warriors,” Prince Ricard said, folding his furry arms. “You can feel our strength. Even our new little mice are four times what they were.”
“They fornicate in the barracks! I just came from there, your squad is a braying and hooting orgy ball, fitting cocks to holes! It’ll be a maternity ward soon enough. And even I can smell your SPUNK on this CHICKEN!”
“Quite rude, priestess,” Cecia said. She rubbed her lips, discretely.
“Ohhhhh,” Caroline huffed, overcome. Something was different, this time. Something was changing, again. It couldn’t be more fur, she was all covered with it, with just small human patches. Her tail was long and beautiful. Her horns were heavy and strong. It was—
Her hands flew to her tits. They sloshed. And a squeeze....
Caroline felt the first impossible drops stain her shift. The smell immediately filled the room, overpowering even the scent of orgasming bunny girl, her buckteeth still forming.
She was milking.
“Avine!” Caroline said, imploring. She was too horny to think. Or, her body told her, not made for it, perhaps. She was just a cow. She was producing milk, right on schedule. Caroline shook her head, frightened. Hooves, horns, milk—she had to fight this, didn’t she? Or at least, not turn herself into a cow with relentless magic... “Avine, I’ll—I’ll come with you. Can we do some math maybe? Like, we’ll start with addition? Something—something easy?”
“Come with me, heroine,” Priestess Avine said. Her eyes never left Prince Ricard.
Caroline fled the room, dripping milk splatter on the floor, and leaving behind a richly scented puddle of her own juices.
“I guess it’ll have to be me, taking care of her,” Prince Ricard said, looking at the panting and quivering bunny girl. “Oh, Cecia, don’t look at me like that. You do smell like my cum.”