FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Soren's fire crackled loudly, a result of his delicate tending over the previous hour. He took pride in building his fires both high and loud, their crackling tongues belting into the air high above the cat's head as he would sit nearby poking it with a branch. The camp and its fire were all that could be seen on the forest floor. A landscape of darkened pine trees stretched around his alcove of light, their pyramidal summits spiking the earth from horizon to horizon. A full moon joined the stars' flickered constellations.

Soren's exploration of the forest had come to a rest like it had every night. There was a sense of accomplishment with each camp he set, representing an entire day of progress and the precursor to another soon to follow. His tent was set up nearby, out on the corona of the fire's glow. The rotisserie sticks still stood in the dirt, flanking the pit, its center pole burnt black at the middle. His stomach was full. He occupied himself with stoking the fire and reading from a small book in one paw. It was nearly done, there being only a dozen or so pages before the end. Maybe he would finish it tonight, perhaps tomorrow. His sharp yellow eyes jittered from side to side in their sockets, absorbing the story one line at a time. It was a good read. Being done with it would be a bittersweet occasion, no matter the ending.

Alas he could feel the fatigue pulling on his eyes, drawing his mouth into a lip-stretching yawn. "Huhhhhhhh... Goodness." The finale would have to wait for tomorrow. He tucked the bookmark string into place and stood up. A marvelous cascade of white tress remained coiled on the ground even as he stood at his fullest. Ears like kunai towered from his head, flicking away the odd moth that would come blurring towards the fire. He jammed the branch into the fire, knocking the logs off one another and sending them tumbling. An eruption of embers spewed into the air like a squadron of fleeing lightning bugs. Soren felt the heat flare across his face as the light throbbed and then faded. With the logs settled the fire was tamed, set to die within the coming hour.

Another yawn split his jaws. With a wrist over his mouth to contain it he wandered over to his tent. When his mouth closed he caught a glimpse of something in the distance. It was the miniscule glint caught from the dying fire light, half-hidden behind one of the nearby trees. Coming to a halt he squinted at it. Some metal tool perhaps? A shard of broken glass? The diminishing fire flared just once, providing a swell of light so that he could see better. He caught what appeared to be the pommel of a sword or an ax. What on earth could that be?

Forgetting for a moment how tired he was, he went around his tent towards the inviting shimmer. The pommel peeked from behind one of the tree trunks like a poorly hidden child.he braced for it to move upon his approach, either because its owner meant to confront him or flee after spying for Lord knew how long. Instead it remained still, enticing him with a more defined look now that he was closer.

Sandaled feet crunching the twig-strewn floor, Soren curled around the tree to see what it was. In the black of the tree's shadow he was forced to adjust his eyes, that queer object materializing with the growth of his pupils. Even at its most defined he could not believe what he saw. Jammed into the root by the tip of its blade was a Lynel sword. "Sword" only by name, it was a leviathan weapon whose stone-gray blade was hewn into a shape like a rounded executioner's ax. Razor sharp notches were cut out of the weapon's edge, the glint of which he had seen from the fire. Between the hilt and a stone pommel was a handle choked with a bright red thread.

Soren gawked at it for some time, both shocked and pleased by its random discovery. He had seen illustrations of such weapons and read descriptions of their immensity, but could never truly appreciate it until this very moment. The steel was tarnished and battered. Cracks fingered down its face, whether from age or use in battle, Soren could not tell. Such an opportunity was too rare to pass up on. He had to inspect it!

He grabbed the handle and pulled on it. It was as heavy as he expected, jerking his arm taut before it budged so much as an inch. Just pulling it away from the tree was an effort and a half. With its top few inches stuck in the root he had to jerk, jostle, and jimmy it before he could pull it free. Lifting the damned thing was a non-option. He had to drag it with both paws towards the campfire, tracing a deep gash in the dirt every step of the way.

By the time he returned to the fire he had built a nice ache in his muscles. He laid the thing down and shook his arms, flapping the sleeves of his cloak. "Whoo! Goodness." Another burden came in the shape of his dying fire. With his fatigue burnt away by newfound curiosity he went bounding back into the forest for more firewood. He returned with a bundle of sticks clacking inside of his arms. They were dumped into the pit, rearranged, then lit with a flint so that light would flood his camp once more.

Soren squatted before the blade, drinking its many unique facets and blotches. Time alone in the forest had done it no favors, dulling what had once been a handsome albedo. A terrible shame, Soren thought. Surely I can do it better.

A quick trip back to his tent and he had some polish and a rag. The former came in a small tin he kept for occasions such as this, though it usually only meant cleaning the odd trinket or artifact. This was a whole different task unto itself, likely requiring everything he had left in the tin. Soren sat in front of the blade before he dragged it up onto his lap with a heave. How even the mighty Lynels were able to maneuver such a monstrous tool was beyond him. With its immensity crushing his lap he gained a newfound respect for the creature's strength.

He laid the rag in one paw and covered the tin's opening with it. With one tilt the rag was wet, and he began applying it to the blade. The thin polish had an acrid smell that made his nose crinkle, but it got the job done. Rubbing in tight, sharp circles made the tarnish peel away. Beneath the grimy gray was a startlingly shiny metal Soren could almost see his face in. That was only a tiny spot, though. He had a whole lot more to go on just that side. It didn't faze him. Back hunched over the blade, elbow jabbing with each quick swirl of the rag, Soren was determined to make the blade as presentable as he could make it.

It wasn't long before he had to switch arms. A burning ache had settled in the one he had been using, going up from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder. The veins in his forearms bulged to the surface. He barely paused to give it a relaxing shake and toss the rag to the other paw before he went right back at it. The polish had to be reapplied regularly. The tin grew concerningly lighter with each pour. There was the real risk of running out before the weapon was cleaned. A half-cleaned blade is better than a completely filthy blade, he convinced himself. If it comes to that, I'm certain the next town blacksmith will have some to replenish me with.

The first side of the blade was cleaned into a mirror finish after what had felt like perhaps a half hour of intense scrubbing. Both of his arms were tired and the rag looked like it had fallen through a chimney. Soren sat up to take a breather, his back creaking after having been bowed for so long. "Goodness." He thumped his fist on his lumbar. Maybe I should wait 'til morning to finish.

Killing that thought was the sight of the blade. Though there remained arcs and splotches of rough stains that refused to budge, most of the steel was now mesmerizingly shiny. In the softly pitted metal Soren could see his warped image staring back at himself, a slightly awed expression on his face. He thought the weapon had been something to admire before; now it was a masterpiece fit for a museum. Every ache in his muscles and joints seemed to vanish. He could not leave this unfinished for even a moment longer. It would be a sin to do so.

In a one fluid burst of movement he brought his hands beneath the blade and flipped it so that the other side was face up. With equal speed the rag was wet again and being dragged in circles around the crusty metal. He went through the motions once more, switching paws when need be and using up everything the tin had left in it. It paid out in the end. With one last sweep of the rag along the blade's razor edge Soren ridded the last of the tarnish, restoring the mighty weapon to some portion of its former glory.

The rag slumped from his paws. Both it and his fingers were black with muck. Uncurling his fingers and back was painful, they had been in their positions for so long. He straightened himself out with a wince. His veins ran like cords down his forearms. Sleepiness dried his eyes and made him yawn. Nothing would've treated him better than a retreat into his tent for some sleep. He wouldn't, not until the blade had properly been admired.

It was certainly worthy of it. More than just a brutishly crafted tool of war bigger than Soren himself, he'd polished it into a piece of art. It was difficult to believe that not an hour ago it had been a degrading hunk of metal jammed into a tree in the middle of the woods. Was there some Lynel out there looking for it? Did it look this pretty when they lost it? Would they have minded if he kept it?

Soren definitely wanted to. He was not a man who fancied material possessions, yet he found himself enamored with his reflection like Narcissus at the pond. It flickered and bounced with the fire, coloring him with its orange glow. He ran his paw over the cold steel, his fingers knocking over the pits and many other minute irregularities. He tapped one of the notch spikes, picturing what damage it could do to some poor soul who received it. He shuddered to think.

That ripple of discomfort did not dissipate even as his gnarly thoughts did. Something like a poorly chewed hunk of food sat in his tummy. A bone, perhaps. Soren winced and put his paw over his stomach. I should really get to bed. He pushed the sword off his lap onto the ground. That queer presence in his stomach blossomed into a shockwave of buzzing sensations that spread across his entire body, bristling his fur and making him shiver. His fur stood on ends. The veins he had popped from polishing the sword wound further across his forearm.

A deep frown furrowed his brow as he inspected his arms. What is this nonsense? Suddenly his muscles started to tighten, each sinew pulled on a coil, flexing out without his input. "Ah!" A sharp gasp. Quickened breaths. Added weight across his chest like there was an anvil atop it. He clamped his paw over his heart and squeezed his shirt. A heart attack???

Not quite. Striking him was not a stabbing pain up his left arm but a uniform stretch on his skin and fur as if he'd been pulled over a tanning rack. For one terrifying moment he thought that his skin was shrinking, ready to rip apart and leave him flayed. Then he looked at his arm and saw the shredded muscle that had burst across it. At the root of his forearm he could make out the thin roads of sinew that ran through his extensors. They were blossoming into a knot of rocky flesh so dense that even the most minute nudge of his finger would make it bulge. Even more veins were worming their way around the skin, each one bending and meandering like a river in the jungle.

"What is this?" He could feel it happening not just elsewhere but everywhere. The front of his shirt began to sink into his chest. Looking down he saw the two cinder blocks that jutted beneath his collar. He pulled the legs of his pants up to reveal his calves. They too were a gross depiction of Herculean anatomy, each muscle flexing and growing before his very eyes so that more of those blood-pumping annelids could journey about his shins.

"Oh goodness... No, no, no!" Soren scrambled to his feet and started patting his body down to see which muscles had grown. All of them had, and continued to do so. His biceps were like boulders now. The trap muscles grew into a second pair of shoulders on the flanks of his neck. Abs studded his trunk. Glutes rounder and harder than his cranium inflated his buttocks. What had been a modest feline frame was chiseling itself into an Olympian bodybuilder, one that forced his clothes into his exact figure.

What do I do? WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo? Did the sword trigger this curse? It had to have, but with no hint of how to make it stop, his best option was to get as far away as possible. One pump of the leg was as far as he got. His pants pulled at his legs, tripping him and sending him flat into the dirt with a plume of dust blowing out around him.

"Oof!" After shaking his head he rolled onto his back and saw how much his muscle-bloated legs had taken up his pant legs. The inside of his thighs were scraping each other. "Dammit!" With no other choice he tried bending his legs. Riiiiiiiiip! The fabric tore apart up the middle like a zipper, held together only by thin blue threads and revealing his hellacious bodybuilder legs.

"No!" With no time to mourn he hurried back onto his feet. There came another ripping noise, this time in front of his chest. Riiiiiip! A burst of chilly night air slashed across his sternum, bristling his nipples. Everything above the waist was so enlarged and exaggerated that the skin and fur surrounding it might not as well have been there. More rips and tears flew up his sleeves, then down his back, and around his shoulders. The tightness around his hips gave way, exposing his backside to the night. He tried reaching back to cover it, but the oppressive girth of his muscles kept his paws at bay.

"Ahhhhhh!" To call him a bodybuilder at this point would be underselling his condition woefully. Not only did the muscle stand in the starkest of definition against his fur, it stretched his body widthwise to explosive proportions. Knees had to bend to keep his center of gravity low lest he go tilting back into the dirt. His pecs were reaching up into his collar, locking his head in place along with that massive pair of traps. All four limbs were set in place by the draconian swell of his muscles. He could not so much as kick his leg forward to make his step or rotate one of his arms. The cat was trapped where he was, looking like some freakish monument to might and athleticism. His clothes were no more than tatters hanging off him. His seemingly tiny head was trapped within an arena of muscle. He could do nothing but grit his teeth and pray that it would stop.

The muscle growth did, but only so that he could begin the next phase of his transformation. That pressure which hung across his body vanished, rematerializing within the hilt of his spine. Soren cried out as a pole of discomfort was jammed up his back. He hobbled forward, unable to catch himself with so much muscle keeping him paralyzed. Back into the dirt he went, chest first, creating another massive plume of dust.

He could not see it, but his abdomen was starting to lengthen like the stalk of a newly sprouted plant. More fabric was torn apart. Both ends of his body were dragged down the dirt. In his spine he could feel more vertebrae forming between those already there. Around that was an addition of muscle, organ, and flesh. The gargantuan abs that had paralyzed his ability to bend over could now fit to a more appropriately sized frame, though in no way was this form appropriate for Soren. He let out another shout, this time from a double burst of pain that stabbed through his pelvis.

His hips were now several feet away from his midsection, down in the dirt. At the hilt of his trunk there formed two knobs of bone that reached out of his body like hands reaching out of a bedsheet. These were not held back, instead bringing the skin and flesh with it as it molded into a bony set of new limbs. They were folded into the ground, bending and curling beneath Soren's body. He groaned through his teeth. He had to get on his side or his back. The many muscles shredding his arms would not let him push up. I'll have to roll. On the count of three. One. Two. Three! His shoulder heaved upwards only to come splatting back down.

"Come on!" The discomfort of his new limbs jabbing into the dirt was becoming painful. He lifted his shoulder, came back down, used the momentum to lift his other shoulder, rocked back to the other side, then teetered himself to the side and fell onto his back. It was one small victory completely undone by the horror presented in front of him. His abdomen was stretched across the ground like a hallway rug. The paws on his feet looked so distant, like spires of a city on the horizon. They were not in line with his torso anymore. The thighs were being pulled up so that they aimed at the sky. The rest of his leg came with them, his furry feet paws looking like the detached limbs of someone else, not his own. He tried wiggling his toes. To his horror and disgust, they responded.

Those new appendages were lengthening from what had become a new midsection. They were like legs, but much thinner and straighter than what his normal legs had been. At their tips were not paws but solid hooves. More appalling still than just watching them grow was seeing them kick on command. He felt the air whoosh around them as they began flailing like a wounded horse.

A Lynel, he thought finally. I'm turning into a Lynel! As if reading his thoughts and confirming it was a sudden constriction around his rear feet. The claws in his toes fattened out to bump into one another. The keratin began to melt, fusing with their neighbors and curving out into a hoof shape that consumed the entirety of his feet. The fur above it started to thicken and feather, turning into a fluffy sleeve that consumed everything above the ankle to his hip. Between his two sets of legs was a barrel shaped torso, unmistakably equine in nature. That fluffy cat tail shrank into the space above his buttocks, now a huge pair of glutes to match everything else. There grew a long, coarse cascade of blonde horsehair that flicked and flailed with his terror.

Soren kicked his new horselegs blindly, a vain struggle to kick them off and return to his normal form. They were there for good, not flying off but demonstrating their power with each wind-hissing kick. "Nooooooooooooo, curse it!" He managed to roll onto his side. His torso, still feline, bent backwards, forming a right angle with his horse half (though it was more like his two thirds, it was so massive). For an embarrassing amount of time he was left there with his legs driving him nowhere, kicking up a storm of dust that clouded his camp and fell about him to cake up his new coat of blonde horse fur.

Calm down! Calm down. He was able to bring his legs to a stop, though they would twitch and bend at random, as would his tail. How do Lynel's get up in this situation? It would have to require some rolling to get some momentum. He twisted his body, getting his legs into the air, then twisted the other way, getting his legs beneath him. With just one push of his legs he was on his feet, or his hooves, rather.

Soren stood there aghast, unsure of what just happened. It had happened so quickly and fluidly, both the transformation and the standing up. Looking down he saw his rigid abdomen transition into his horse body. The soft fur of his underbelly faded into a smooth horse coat. The muscles once so huge that he couldn't move were now stretched out enough for mobility, but that didn't mean they weren't buff beyond what was natural for a cat his size. Just opening and closing his fists felt like he could pulverize someone's skull inside of them.

"Goodness..." he groaned. Twisting his head and torso to look over his shoulder at his horse body made his legs rotate him around. There was the rapid thud of horse feet beneath him, as well as more dust. His tail whipped and flourished, batting away an invisible cloud of flies. Stop! Stop! STOP! He untwisted his torso and his stomping feet came to a rest. His heart pounded in his chest, each breath blowing through him shaky and deep. OK. Alright. Just calm down, he told himself. There has to be some way to rev-

"Ah!" All at once a mighty pain blew up from inside his cranium, stabbing out at his temples and tingling across his jaw. He clapped his palm to his forehead where two cone-shaped knobs of bone were projecting out of his skull. Patting and pinching them did not slow their growth. Two fingers seemed to be stabbing outwards from the inside of his head and creating two, majestic horns. They curled along the very top of Soren's visage. Growing from the roots and spreading like an oil spill on the ocean surface was a shiny gilding that made it to the very apex of his horns. They shimmered in the fire light still crackling nearby. Once they were done growing Soren's horns formed a majestic double-arc over his head that would've made even the most majestic of Lynel's simmer with envy.

His features were not done changing. Those fingers pressing out of his temples migrated to his snout and smashed it back into his head, mushing his nose and jaw into a much more stocky, stubbier hill of bone. His chin broadened and his many feline teeth flattened. Sharp grunts and whimpers hissed from between his paws as he held his face like a man weeping.

Tingles erupted across his jawline. Something scratched at his wrists. With his hands off his masculinized face he stomped back to the sword and looked down at his reflection. There was a sharp gasp of terror once he saw what he'd become. Everything feline had been squashed into something hellaciously dwarfish. Though his eyes maintained their friendly roundness and yellow color, everything that surrounded it was stunted and thick. More was changing as the white hair began migrating down from his scalp, devouring the flanks of his jaw, absorbing his chin, and wreathing his mouth. Like flower petals in the morning sun it blew out from his face, covering everything from his collar to his pecs. The very bottom of it sagged down to his navel, a cascading mane of snowy white as impressive as his hair.

He stroked his paws through it, half marveling, half dreading it. In a matter of seconds he had aged entire decades. Contrasting that was the explosive display of strength and athleticism that was the rest of him. Even after stretching to his new frame he had muscles for days. A small boulder could've been crushed between his bicep, itself shaped and sized like one. Moving his girthy, rough fingers made the tendons in his forearms burst. There was a wave of power rushing through him when he closed his fist and heard the knuckles pop. So strong. But Soren was not a violent man. Such might coursing through his veins terrified him.

Then he remembered the sword. It was still on the ground, reflecting his image and the light of the nearby campfire. Remnants of his clothes were scattered around it. If there was ever an appropriate time to pick it up, it was now. Without thinking he knelt on his forelegs, bowing his body so that he could reach for the sword. He expected the same weight from when he was a cat, but when his giant mitt of a hand closed around the handle it did not feel cumbersome, but rather natural like the walking stick Soren took on his travels. He picked it up with relative ease and stood back on his feet.

More power surged through him. Across his body he heard a sharp crunch noise. His grip on the handle tightened. His biceps swelled, letting loose another set of veins. No! Not again! His mind screamed at him to chuck the sword as far as he could, but Lynel instinct kept his fist closed as if his life depended on it.

Soren's muscles started growing again, and so did everything else. The dirt around his hooves began to coagulate into a ring as it expanded. He looked down past the sword and saw the ground shrinking beneath him. The handle became too small for one hand, forcing him to drop it finally. That didn't stop his growth. His legs lengthened. His shoulders broadened. Both sections of his back grew, one forward, the other outward.

Soren, as mighty as he had become, was powerless to stop it. He could do nothing as his massive hooves scraped across the ground, bumping into the firepit and dousing the flame. The camp went dark, leaving the ghostly moonlight to illuminate his ascent towards the treetops. Across his body felt like nothing but sheer mass was being poured into it from the inside out. His flank scraped against a tree, rattling its many pines and creaking the trunk. With a quaking thud he sidestepped, only to bump into another and send it crashing into the earth. Its plummet rang through the forest along with a sharp cuss of regret from Soren.The many millions of trees that populated that forest showed their summits to him once his eyes breached their canopy. His chest followed, solidifying the modest wizard as the most massive thing alive, both in that forest and in the world.

Just as his fears of growing into infinity began to materialize it stopped, leaving him to fill out all of his camp. In the dim moonlight he could see where a giant hoof had completely trampled his tent. The firepit was but a smear of black soot leading from his hoof to the center of the camp. Looking around he could see the far horizon and the lights of the nearest town, the same one he had planned on visiting next. With his gigantism seemingly permanent, his possessions destroyed, and a magic sword too small for him to use, the leviathan Lynel scratched the back of his head.

"Well," he said, his voice booming like thunder. "Hope they don't mind me strolling into town like this."

THE END