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What an awful vacation! Dylan stumbled inside and slammed the door with enough force to make the broken lock stick. Barely minding his bandaged leg, he kicked off his shoes with a sigh of frustration and relief. The loft he rented was nothing short of a zoning violation, but it was still more comfortable than the stale hospital room he'd been trapped in for the past week.

Home sweet home.

The recently-turned 19-year-old was desperate to shower and wash off whatever microbes latched onto him at the medical center. His dark hair was frizzled without its routine care, and scratching at his scalp was annoying since his nails had gone untrimmed. He felt rather cheated that his study abroad term was off to such a rotten start. Maybe it was karma for treating the semester like a vacation rather than an educational period. Dylan continued to curse the universe as he headed down the hall towards the bathroom.

So, how did he wind up in the hospital? He struggled to recall the events as he tugged off his shirt, which still smelled vaguely of saltwater and mold. He'd fallen into a nearby river...no, he was pushed wasn't he? One of his classmates had a few too many while they were out drinking. Their "study group" was walking home in the dark, shouting like hooligans, when Dylan was playfully shoved too close to the riverbank.

He went in with a loud, wet thunk.

Luckily, another of his peers was sober enough to pull him to shore, but not before Dylan went fully under and apparently slammed into some rocks, which left a jagged gash in his right thigh. He recalled a sharp pain, but it was too dark to see underwater. He was also very drunk.

His sobering friends rushed him to the ER where, rather strangely, the doctor asked if they fought off an alligator or some other large animal -- the wound Dylan received looked more like a bite mark than an abrasion. But that sounded absurd, even to Drunk Dylan. There weren't any gators living in the river, at least from what local brochures said. Oxford wasn't known for its swampy wildlife. This was clearly the stupid rocks' fault.

Against his own inebriated wishes, Dylan remained at the hospital per his doctor's request. His first night admitted was restless, however -- stressful and sweaty, hot and cold -- and Dylan firmly believed he'd sleep better on his own uncomfortable mattress. After a week of bedridden boredom, he found the strength to walk upright and discharged himself from the hospital. His injuries weren't debilitating, and Dylan felt perfectly capable of recovering at home, despite the nurses' protests.

So, here he was...back in his lovely low-rate, low-standard loft. It was already past dinner time, and he couldn't stomach much of what the hospital had to offer. Might as well order out and get started on homework; there was plenty backlogged already. But first, a much needed shower. Germs aside, his skin felt gross and clammy. His neck itched, his nails looked dirty, and he was starting to sweat.

Sudden hot flashes put a spring in Dylan's step. He quickly detoured into the bedroom, tossing off his shirt into the corner and dropping his pants. He grabbed a fresh towel from his closet and dabbed at the moisture pooling on his brow. The AC was audibly churning in the bedroom, but the flat felt hotter than ever. Damn thing must be broken. Again.

His temperature rising, he quickly reordered something on Postmates before tossing his phone onto the bed on his way out. He didn't have the time or energy to experiment tonight. Across the hall, the bathroom door clicked shut. A breath of relief came as bare feet hit cold tile.

Dylan hastily hung his towel on the wall and stepped into the full-sized tub, a surprising addition given the apartment's price. Palms sweating buckets, he wrenched the shower handle down, and with a threatening hiss, a brisk stream jettisoned from the spout, reliving the young man's building tension. For once, the broken water-heater was welcomed.

An audible sigh fell out of him, almost subconsciously. His skin felt all tingly as his fever slowly subsided. He never realized how good a shower could feel. Dylan soon lost track of time under the water. He closed his eyes and leaned into the cold shower wall, a bottle of shampoo left untouched the edge of the tub. Who needs soap anyway? The water felt cleansing enough on its own.

Eventually, he realized that he was shivering. For how long he wasn't sure, but Dylan took that as a cue to leave. The last thing he needed was hypothermia. The sophomore stepped out of the tub, almost immediately hopping back under the jet stream before his foot hit the floor. The air of the bathroom seemed impossibly scalding. His fever was already creeping back in.

Though hesitant, Dylan shut off the water and headed for the door. Clearly, he was worse off than he thought. He'd caught some virus and needed to go back to the hospital. That would explain the body aches, the sweats and the chills...

Why he was suddenly burning up...

"Jesus Christ!" Dylan screamed as his blood turned to magma. The heat spiked and swelled till even his skin burned, as though he'd just spent a long day at the beach. What the hell did he catch from those river rocks?

The bathroom felt increasingly claustrophobic, and Dylan was desperate to leave. Ignoring the towel on the wall, his right hand reached immediately for the doorknob, but a cramp shot up Dylan's arm and forced it away from the handle. The young man cursed under his breath, squeezing his forearm to relive the pain. He swore he could feel bones moving around inside; no, he must have imagined it.

A cluster of cramps broke out across his body, drilling deep into his back and thigh muscles. The wound on his leg flared up like it was seeping poison into his veins. Panicked, Dylan stumbled trying to leave again, twisting the doorknob briefly before another spasm pulled his arm back. Goddamn it, he was going to die in this shitty bathroom!

Breathing heavily though clenched teeth, Dylan sneered as the pain culminated in the back of his hand. However, the ache was accompanied by an altogether different, unfamiliar sensation. Not stabbing, not burning, more like...stretching?

Dylan raised his hand to eye level, fearing that it would soon snap off his wrist like a weak branch. It remained attached, thankfully, but what proved alarming was the splotch of grey pigment on the back of his hand -- like he'd backhanded a fresh work of art - and more so, the eerie pulsation of his skin. It moved to a steady rhythm, the increasing pace of his heart rate. He could see his tendons twitching in time to the beat. The pounding drum in his chest grew audible and was soon accompanied by a crackling in the air.

Dylan couldn't believe what he was seeing. His fingers were curling against his will as his palm began to grow like a palm tree. Skin and muscle pulled taut, never once tearing or tiring. Like someone drove a knife into his hand, he cried out as his carpal bones stretched and widened, visibly writhing within his flesh.

Once they had moved farther enough from Dylan's wrist, his digits uncurled and began to splay outward. They felt pulled beyond their limits, burning and begging to be relieved of their new positions. Instead, their condition only worsened. Dylan's gaze remained transfixed as his fingers lengthened into spindly icicles of skin and bone. His thumb in particular felt thinner and less opposable, having grown the least in length. Horror and confusion flooded his thoughts as the grey skin from the back of his hand threatened to overtake his deforming fingers.

"W-what the fuck?" was all he could muster.

Still noticeable beneath the pain of his overextended hand, Dylan felt a tight pinching from between each finger as the small webs of skin that were normally present began to grow in size. They became slightly thicker, though no more than a coin's width, and extended up from his palm, steadily meeting the second knuckle, then the third, till they tapered off at his fingertips.

With its increased size and fresh webbing, his hand felt uncomfortably stiff. It seemed like a boat oar attached to his wrist, more suited to paddling than grabbing anything with much precision.

Dylan was on the verge of sobbing, less from the waning agony, and more from the sheer horror before him. He twisted his hand about, eying the bizarre webs of skin between his unwieldy fingers. It looked like a transplant gone terribly wrong, switched mid-procedure with the Creature from the Black Lagoon. What the hell was happening to him?

As if the muscle and tendon tearing in his hand wasn't enough, he noticed a deep ache buried near his elbow, like a bee was lodged beneath his skin and angrily digging its way out. Wincing, Dylan rotated his arm down and anxiously examined the spot in question.

More dire than a bee sting, there was a lump on his arm that certainly was not present before, a welt that was swelling rapidly. It started at the size of a cherry tomato, but it quickly remolded itself into a curvy wedge of cheese. It wouldn't stop growing!

Dylan stared down at his arm in a mortified stupor -- his hand had lengthened in one direction, while this protrusion pushed out painfully in the other. His jaw dropped as another scream shot through him. This must have been how Wolverine felt when his claws first emerged. Hopefully, the claws weren't next.

Several sweltering seconds passed, and the angular growth emerged at a full six inches in length (roughly 15 centimeters in local terms). A similar pain racked his left arm, but Dylan was still distracted by the horror already in view. He grabbed at the thing, pinching it, bending the tip too far and then instantly regretting it. It felt like cartilage, though firmer than say his ear lobes. The shape looked as familiar as it was foreign.

Was this a --

His worries were cut short as his left hand, not to be left out, underwent the same process of lengthening, forcing a pained moan from Dylan's lips. On the verge of losing both limbs, the mutating man swatted at the door handle, desperate to escape. He just had to leave. He could feel it in his burning blood.

The handle jerked a few times, but he couldn't get a grip on the damn thing with his oven-mitt appendages, and he'd clearly have to pull the door open to pass. Unable to think of more rational options, he backpedaled and prepared to ram the door down. God, this was gonna' hurt.

One...two...three!

Before Dylan could take another step, a shock ran down his spine, paralyzing him. For a brief moment, he couldn't feel his legs -- and that was just long enough for them to give out. Dylan collapsed, catching himself with two equally elongated hands. Up close, he could see blood vessels run along their backs and down through the webbing. The skin was truly connected to his fingers, and he certainly couldn't cut them off without injury. Insulted by such a thought, his digits flexed, and a stabbing heat lanced through his bony fingertips. Shit. Here come the claws.

One by one, his fingernails cracked and shattered as ivory daggers forced their way up through his nail beds. No blood was lost, however, as if his fingers were already prepared for their arrival. Dwarfed by Wolverine's adornments, Dylan's claws were only an inch (that's 2 ½ cm roughly) in length...and definitely not made of metal.

With little time to mourn his fading humanity or lack of Adamantium bones, Dylan grimaced as another part of his body caught fire - his feet. Tears pooled around his eyes as blistering heat rushed into his heels. He may as well have been standing in lava. In a panic, Dylan forced himself up onto his knees, raising his hands into the air as though he was praying at some cursed altar.

"Help me! Please! Help me!"

Dylan's toes curled against the tile as his arches stretched skyward, bones creaking like an old ship on the water. On their journey away from the floor, his heels slimmed down and lost some of the defined curve that distinguished them from his ankles. It almost felt like he was melting away.

While his heels shrank, Dylan sensed the skin between his toes pinch and grow, much like on his hands. However, the webbing of his feet became thicker than their counterparts, and it held his digits more tightly together --though Dylan remained ignorant of that distinction.

No longer comfortable on any weight on his feet, Dylan tumbled forward once again. Reflexively his arms shot out to catch his fall, and with a hard slap, he felt his palms hit the ground. Dylan glared down at his freakish hands, seeing how their webbing contracted while he gripped at the floor. Were they even larger than before? Is this what his feet looked like? This was maddening.

A crippling ache wracked his spine, and Dylan arched upward like a yoga instructor. He felt like he had popped a disk, sounded like it too, and there was something visibly wrong with his upper back. While a few of his vertebrae always jutted out slightly due to his lanky form, a noticeable hunch was emerging in between his shoulder blades. He could feel the muscles cramping and tensing, along with an odd swelling sensation -- almost like when those "things" pushed out of his forearms. Crackling pops accompanied the pain, eager to inform him that his body was remolding.

"I-I can't...Please...Stop..." He struggled to talk over the wet, snapping sounds of his body. Dylan forced his head side to side in a fruitless effort to ease the tension in his back, and his torso serpentined in a similar manner. Neither motion was very effective.

Against his better judgment, which at this point was nonexistent, Dylan craned his neck back as far as he could in spite of the pain. He had to know what was happening, what the hell shoving its way out of his spine. However, when the tip of the protuberance graced his peripheral vision, Dylan's breath hitched, and he regretted looking back at all.

Without a doubt, it was a fin. He was growing a dorsal fin.

The not-so-human Dylan screamed again, watching with haunted eyes as the deformity extended up and back, pulling the skin taut around it like a rubber glove. It felt like it wanted to rip itself out of his skin -- the creaking and grinding alluded to that -- but his flesh would not give way. When the fin seemed to reach its zenith, the cramp in his back released, and Dylan let out an exasperated groan.

The change subsided for a moment, likely planning its next course of action, and Dylan counted the seconds of his respite. He remained in place to catch his breath, but he felt a shiver down his spine, more noticeable than ever before. He could feel the air of the bathroom in his new dorsal fin. It was so sensitive, so embedded into his physiology.

Suddenly, everything made sense. And nothing did. He was turning into a fish of some kind; he wasn't high enough to deny or fully accept the notion. Why? How? Reality unraveled with his DNA. His humanity was splintering with his bones.

What an awful vacation.

Without warning, the change resumed its conquest. Cramps in his pecs made Dylan lose strength in his upper body. Not wanting to slam his chin against the tile, he hastily collapsed onto his arm and rolled over as best he could, cringing as his weird elbow fin bent at a poor angle.

The jaundiced light stared down from the ceiling, exposing Dylan's misshapen form. He propped himself up on his palms to avoid unnecessary pressure on his back fin, and for the first time he could clearly examine his body, or at least what was left of it.

The grey flesh from his hands had spread like mold. His abdomen, thighs, and groin all lost their normal skin tone, de-saturating like his arms to a pallid state. What human skin remained itched incessantly, though he was loathe to scratch anywhere with his dagger-tipped hands. It felt like little pinpricks were pushing up through his flesh -- too small to see, but all too present.

Looking farther down his body, he noticed his feet for the first time, how they had lengthened a few shoe sizes and developed their own thick webbing. The wrinkles along his shrunken heels were now uncomfortably smooth, and his ankles gave way to more grey splotches. More so than his hands, Dylan's feet looked completely alien to him. And even with these changes, they were not finished mutating.

Cramping again, each of his toes began to elongate like his fingers had, carrying the excess webbing with them. However, they splayed wider than his fingers had-- wider than Dylan knew possible-- as his entire foot extended like a swim fin. The familiar pain of fingers caught in a car door came to mind, as the fragile bones snapped out of place, compressed, and reattached in a far simpler arrangement. The webbing between digits grew more pronounced before consuming them entirely.

Soon he couldn't tell where his toes ended and the webbing began. Each foot was one long appendage with no need for individual parts. They even looked thinner, spread out like dough under a rolling pin.

Terrified, Dylan kicked his legs out, desperate to escape his aquatic fate, but succeeded only in smacking his deformed feet against the floor. They even made a loud slapping noise, like a diver warbling around on the docks; his face contorted at the sound. He couldn't stand how long they were, how the curve of his former-toes seemed strangely inverted, his smallest toe now the longest segment. They bent and flexed elastically, like his bones were less stringent than before. Undeniably, they were the start of a larger mass of flesh. His body seemed hell-bent on merging with itself, if his toes were any indication.

As the seemingly cursed college student choked back bile, another horrible thought came to mind. If he was some sort of fish...or an aquatic creature of any kind...he likely couldn't stay on dry land for much longer. Of course, renting a third-floor apartment proved to be a rather landlocked situation at the moment. Dylan seriously doubted he'd make it down to the river before his legs were completely useless. His webbed foot twitched in response, as if it acknowledged its ineptitude.

Fear of his own body morphed into a fear of mortality. Averting his eyes from his mutant form, Dylan raised his head and immediately found his lifeline, a porcelain pool just five feet away and recently moistened. He was not going to die in that bathroom.

Disgruntled, Dylan shimmied his legs around and crawled onto his stomach. While panic urged him to simply run for the tub, he also sensed that his fins -- feet -- could no longer support his body weight. Dylan reluctantly outstretched his arms and pulled himself towards sanctuary.

As Dylan wriggled along the floor, moving his legs even slightly was becoming difficult. He paused for a moment when an awkward tightness formed in his groin and threatened to cramp up his thighs once more. Now that he focused on it, Dylan could feel a new web of skin growing dangerously close to his private area. The seemingly adhesive skin pulled at his crotch and his dangling genitals -- he couldn't even fathom what "those" looked like at the moment. While not overly painful, the pull was far stronger than in his hands or feet as it urged his once proud thigh gap to close.

Continuing along, he soon crawled like a slug in both speed and style, leveraging his nearly conjoined knees against the ground. He rolled his hips inward to avoid dragging his privates against the cold tile, leaving him with the awkward stride of an inchworm. His webbed feet flopped uselessly in the air behind him like a flag of surrender above his aft side.

A bulbous hand-fin slammed against the rim of the tub as Dylan pulled himself off the floor. His upper body strength had seemed to improve as the changes went on, a double-edged sword in Dylan's mind. He carefully cleared the edge of the tub, turned himself around, and pulled his "legs" over into the shallow pool--from the calf up, they were unable to move separately now.

He went in with a loud, wet thunk; the puddles that remained from his shower felt almost pleasant against his rear. He habitually leaned back against the wall, but his new dorsal fin bent against the wall, and he winced in response. His fins seemed somewhat flexible, but this one was hypersensitive, and he didn't want to test its limits. Resigned, he tried leveraging his thick forearm on the rim of the tub and furiously crunched his abs to avoid putting pressure on the towering growth behind him.

As Dylan struggled to find a comfortable position, another spasm rolled down his abdomen and into his pelvic area. His head shot back with a groan, but took hold of the tub's edge just in time to avoid smacking his head against the shower wall. Something felt terribly wrong within his lower region, an ache even worse than his spine readjusting.

A burning sensation shot up his cock, making it twitch wildly and grow partly erect against his will. He tried to take hold of it, merely to restrain himself, but it proved too sensitive to touch - just the brush of his swollen fingertips intensified the pain. As it throbbed, it seemed to add girth and length, bringing his modest 5 inches to a strong 8 1/2. However, Dylan hadn't the wherewithal to admire his improved size. As if someone was stroking it too aggressively, his shaft ached and throbbed, and its color transitioned from its usual tone to a pallid white. The heat flared.

"N-No way. Anything but --" he muttered gingerly before his voice broke into a shrill cry.

It was something no man should ever have to experience -- the sharp sting in his cockhead, the sound of his shaft splitting in half with a messy squelch. The most precious part of his anatomy -- his ex's words, not his -- was bisecting, reforming into the bizarre claspers of the common shark.

Even after his member diverged, the newly separated crowns relinquished their edges and molded to trident-like tips. They looked more like sex toys than anything organic, but Dylan could still feel their authenticity. Blood was pumping into both shafts as they twitched uncomfortably. He didn't want to look at them, an exceptionally cruel reminder of his life to come, but he briefly noticed that his testicles were absent, replaced with a strange vertical slit beneath his dual shafts. The young man simply pretended it wasn't there.

A less formidable pain flanked Dylan's new genitalia as two familiar wedges emerged from his skin, forming what appeared to be pelvic fins. Compared to the trauma of his dorsal fin emerging, let alone his cock tearing in half, these additions barely registered in his mind. He could ignore them as well.

The change migrated south again, clawing at Dylan's ankles for the last time. They shivered anxiously, almost eager to shed their humanity. He desperately wished he could pull them farther apart, to avoid their inevitable transfiguration. Undeterred, the shape-defining bones within were starting to simplify and compact, eliminating the curve left by his feet and with it, the only indication they had existed at all. The adhesive skin absorbed his ankles in its downward descent. His heels touched and would never be separate again.

With his foot-fins curling into a fluke shape, Dylan sensed an uncomfortable tightness where his ankles once resided. The remaining bone and muscle sounded unhappy with their current alignment, crinkling and grinding incessantly. His new tail fin flicked up in response, and with a violent snap, it turned a sharp ninety degrees.

"Fuck, fuck!" Dylan screamed hoarsely, though his cries sounded more like those of a wounded tyrannosaurus. He was no better than a "Jurassic Park" attraction now anyway. His caudal fins, befitting of a shark's backside, reminded him of a movie monster--half of a "Jaws", even.

The nasty rotation of his fins caused a chain reaction within the rest his tail. Whatever remained of his leg bones, now bound together in a fleshy potato sack, began merging and reorganizing into a proper configuration. The base of his spine stung and uncurled, devolving in shape and increasing in size. Dylan could swear it was worming its way down past his buttocks, or at least where they used to be. He imagined that they sealed up in the midst of his change since he could no longer clench his sphincter in terror.

The shock of his spine stretching sent Dylan reeling as new sensations flooded in from his tail. He thrashed about in the tub, tail spasming, and accidentally slammed a half-fist into the wall. A crack and crater remained where he impacted the tile. As if frightened by this display of bestial power, the change finished with his spine and quickly slunk away, providing Dylan a much needed reprieve. He was constantly being pushed to his limits, but never allowed to black out from the pain. Clearly, the universe wanted him to suffer.

Choking back another sob of despair, he caught his breath and took another look at his warped body. He looked like some sort of shark-man...a "wereshark?" How much "were" was he compared to his shark-ness? He still had hands, useless as they were on dry land. He didn't think he would lose his arms completely, or the claws he'd agonizingly grown would've been pointless. And they were, indeed, still quite pointed.

Dylan ran those pointy, gangly fingers across his abdomen and took note of how rough and textured his skin felt. Save for a patch of pale white down the center, the blue-grey hue overtook most of his torso, just as it had with his tail fin. That's what his legs had been reduced to -- a cartilaginous caudal fin. When he thought of bending an ankle or rotating a foot, the large fin only flickered in response.

Oddly enough, his pelvis felt intact, at least partly, as the bony ridges of his hips still poked up around his waist. And writhing in agony must have burnt a few calories since a fair bit of ab muscle was showing for the first time in Dylan's life. That was exciting, right? Maybe he'd keep the abs when he turned human again. IF he turned human again.

Exhausted, he tilted his head back, jaw going slack. His mouth was as dry as his skin. The showerhead entered his vision, though it seemed miles above him, and thoughts of hydration tempted him fiercely. Would more water relieve him of his suffering, or would it simply make everything worse? Did he have the strength left to fend off fate, or even his mounting thirst?

Before he could second guess himself, Dylan pulled on the handle, and a cascade of cold water befell him once more. Icy droplets bounced past his parted lips, and he eagerly swallowed. The moisture soothed his throbbing muscles and arid throat, even if a rusty aftertaste was infused by the aging pipes. His tired eyes closed for a moment as Dylan embraced the downpour.

Flashes of the riverbank crossed his mind. Sober this time around, he was fully submerged and could follow the current out into the sea. Feelings of power swept over him, and when he reached the seam of the ocean, he almost felt at home. The sound of collapsing waves and thunderstorms surrounded him. His arms paddled forward as his tail flickered behind, propelling him out into the dark waters. Goodbye menial classes, goodbye stressed-out-student life. He'd leave his flat abandoned and find a better, cheaper home in the open Atlantic.

Dylan nearly found peace in his daydream. However, back in reality, it seemed that water was the secret ingredient for the last of his transformation. Aggressively pulled from his imagination, he felt his stomach start to churn, literally writhing and rumbling beneath his stunning new abs. His eyes clenched as he curled in on himself and lifted his tail, attempting to pull in his knees out of habit. Nausea ensnared him; he likely would have hurled if his diet hadn't consisted of red Jell-O for the past few days. The exact cause of his pain was unclear, though Dylan could sense things growing and shrinking around his intestines, particular the intestines that led down towards his tailfin. He didn't want to think much about his internal plumbing at the moment.

As quickly as it started, the change reversed directions, and a suffocating constriction took hold of his chest. The reluctant "wereshark" opened his eyes to see the pale skin along his ribs pulsate, wriggling like eels along the ocean floor. His face twisted into a palpable cringe. Was something about to shoot out of him again? How many fins could he possibly grow?

Conversely, it seemed this was a development within Dylan's body. Something was tearing inside of him. The man inhaled sharply as invisible daggers dug into his flesh, carving around his ribcage with disturbing squelches. One by one, eight distinct gashes peeled open, four on each side of his torso. The cuts grew longer and wider with every nervous breath. Disgusted, he wrapped his arms tight around his chest, scared to look at the awful wounds left on his skin. He knew what they were -- he could feel them shudder as water seeped in past his forearms -- he just didn't want to admit they were real.

Dylan winced as the same feeling overtook his neck, though the pain wasn't as intense -- the smaller surface area, he suspected. One hand jumped to his neck in response. Just like his chest, Dylan felt a couple flaps of skin fluttering below his jaw. They pulsed excitedly as water continued to run down his neck and seep into the identical slits along his ribs. The sensation was almost relaxing.

In spite of the growth of his...you-know-what's...Dylan watched his chest rise and fall just like before. His lungs still functioned, so his fear of suffocation abated. A stroke of good luck in all the anarchy, since the tub had little room for him to lie down in, let alone swim freely. He was rather far off from the ocean of his dreams.

In a less fortunate turn, the familiar caustic pain targeted his skull at full force, like a hot metal bat was slammed against the side of his head. Dylan dug his palms into his temples to relieve the compounding migraine. As his distended thumbs brushed against his ears, he noticed how the shells had diminished in size, the outer lining nearly merged with the rest of his scalp. Though with the pounding and ringing inside his ears, he paid the outsides little mind.

The ache in his skull exploded without warning, and his jaw wrenched open, hard pops signaling its sudden dislocation. The young man let out a strangled cough and cocked his head as best he could. Try as he might, he couldn't budge his lower jaw without a sharp pain. Yep, definitely dislocated.

Emboldened by their freedom, his upper and lower jaws pushed beyond their blunt, human proportions. Sinuses burned as they twisted in shape, forced outward as the bridge of Dylan's nose crept into view. He didn't even have to cross his eyes to see the tip. Pained tears fell and curved down around his steadily growing maw, though they were quickly washed away as the shower ran.

The last of his human features was on the verge of destruction. Desperate to uphold the Alamo of his humanity, Dylan grabbed hold of his stretching face and tried to force it back into place. He pushed in as hard as he could, ignoring the pain running rampant in his jaw. However, his growing snout raced forward incessantly. Even his newfound arm strength could not impede the meteoric force of the change.

With no room left on the front of his burgeoning skull, Dylan's eyes began their migration to the sides of his head, a deep throbbing buried behind each socket. The room started to spin as his field of view expanded; his brain was finally overloading. He tried to close his eyes and shut out the world, maybe even return to his admittedly animalistic daydream. However, to his chagrin, his eyelids were losing their opaqueness. Through the thin flaps of skin, he could still see the apathetic tile walls staring back at him. Dylan blinked a few times to check his sanity, and each time his lids seemed abnormally moist as they swept across his pupils. There would be no shutting out the world. Instead, he suddenly felt twice as naked.

The shape of Dylan's head deformed into a blocky log, and his chocolate brown hair left silently with the water. The muscles in his neck tightened and thickened to support the new weight of his skull; his shoulders hunched and broadened to support his neck. Gone was the lanky body of an unathletic sophomore.

As the agony grew unbearable, Dylan released a guttural growl, his lips pulled back in a snarl as they slimmed down into nonexistence. Drool seeped past his teeth, which were creeping farther out from his gums and sharpening to points. His moans crescendoed to a roar when pressure drilled in his gumline and released with a wet splurt. In a debutant debut, an entirely separate set of teeth thrust out behind the old ones, just as sharp, and sent spats of blood down onto his chest. A metallic aroma filled the air and wafted around the inside of his growing snout.

This was his first scent of blood.

Like a safety rope cut, his jaws snapped shut with terrifying force. Dylan gnashed both rows of ruby-stained fangs and roared, all remnants of his human voice dissipating. The pain he'd experienced, the rage he felt towards his own body, boiled to the surface. Reason evaporated from his mind, and with it any fear of himself or others. A deep trench opened in the pit of his stomach, aching and shuddering. He'd never felt so famished.

The beast's once blue eyes snapped open, now growing cloudy like a storm brewing over water. Any remaining color was soon swallowed by an inky black tide. Driven by instinct, the beast clawed at the sides of the tub, leaving jagged grooves in the panels of the wall. This shallow basin was unfit for a hunting ground.

Its transformation complete, the wereshark was starving, angry, and eager to kill...

As soon as it found a way out of the bathroom.