Playing With Fire

By Sovandar

Written as my half of a trade with Foulfrost (http://www.furaffinity.net/user/foulfrost/) - who I can only thank for his patience and understanding for the delays, my schedule has not been kind to me recently!

This story contains themes of transformation, world domination, violence, world history, unemployment, and male on male (on male) sex. If any of these offend you, then obviously you shouldn't read it. But if that's the case, you probably stopped reading before you even started the preceding sentence, but on the off-chance that you're one of those weird people who doesn't read disclaimers before starting things, I'm putting this here so when you complain, I can say, told ya so!

No copying without permission lest the ancient god Copyrictus strike you verily down!

* * *

The High Stargazer of Tayasal had lived quietly, even modestly, despite his rank. As the head of the Stargazers of the Itza of Tayasal, a wide valley-bound city-state, he was second only to the King in his political powers; and, with the great repository of astrological tomes in the great edifice of the Royal Palace, he had a greater power yet.

The Maya had, for many thousands of years, tracked the stars, and felt their influence; noted and devised and calculated until they had assembled a stunningly accurate chart of the heavens, and of how the heavens could influence the world beneath.

It had been their great misfortune that, in 1519, when Cortez and his Conquistadors set sail from Hispaniola, the magical energy at their command was at a nadir.

But, poor in gold and silver, and filled with hostile and highly resourceful allied City-States, the peoples of the Yucatan Peninsula had found resistance to the Spanish to be an effective stratagem. The Spanish had diverted their war machines to the North, against the Aztecs, then to the South, against the Inca; but, when they had run out of other enemies, it was the Maya who faced the much-emboldened Spain, the first of the European colonial superpowers.

Tayasal had lain quiet and nominally under Spanish occupation for nearly a century, until it was re-discovered - an ironic book-keeping error in the confused days of the peninsula's conquest had marked the area for later invasion, once more troops could be rallied. The valley's steep sides and the large, deep lake that blocked easy access to the city had deterred the commanders of the Spanish forces there, and by some happenstance, no more troops were ever rallied, and the area was forgotten.

The inhabitants had long acquiesced, even going so far as to pay taxes to the collectors who sporadically appeared, but their luck ran out in 1618, when Christian missionaries at last reached the area, and found the locals had never even heard of the Lord Jesus. The whole, embarrassing episode soon emerged, and negotiations began.

By March 1697, a decades-long war had been waged, under the auspice of a 'revolt', as Tayasal belatedly tried to assert its independence.

The High Stargazer was old, by then; frail, but not yet decrepit. He saw that there was a dark time coming, and despite the King's demands that he use his magic to save the city, his enchantments had done little but turn the tide against a few small skirmishing forces, a few minor battles touted as major victory.

He knew, when he looked out across the lake and saw the makeshift boat floating upon it, its deadly cannon armament being loaded far out beyond the reach of Tayasal's defenders, that the battle was over - beyond the lake, on the wide plain beyond, over ten thousand men were assembled for battle, outnumbering the defending militia by more than two to one. No spell that this three-century magical lull could support, would save the city.

The bombardment, when it came, was swift, and brutal; the city was aflame within an hour, and the population had been nearly halved. The defenders stood o chance when, at dawn the next day, the cannons ceased their fire to allow the army to advance.

The High Stargazer had long had it in his head that the city must surrender, or be crushed; surely, though the King had been a fool to spurn any peaceful resolution, the Spaniards would be merciful if he and his family surrendered, at the least?

As the pair of Spaniards and their native translator stood in the doorway to the Temple, he stood up from beside the altar, where he cowered with his son, and his son's husband - the only family he had - and walked slowly towards them, arms outstretched in a conciliatory gesture.

He had expected some roughness; how were the soldiers to know, for instance, that it was not a trick? He wasn't expecting to be punched hard in the gut to subdue him, and held down on the ground while their translator, a sneering Maya man, wooden crucifix worn proudly around his neck, screamed questions at him, translating for the unintelligible rapid-fire Spanish used by the soldiers. Was he a priest in this Temple of Satan? Was he in charge? If not he, who was?

The Stargazer did not know who Satan was, but any attempt to explain to them that the spirits worshipped here did not bear that name, only met with renewed violence.

Neither his son, nor his son-in-law escaped the soldiers' ire. Were they lovers, the translator demanded of them, having tired of the Stargazer. Had they lain together?

Neither man answered, but they didn't have to; the soldiers had seen them cowering, together, closer than any two men had a right to be, in the Spaniards' view.

One of the soldiers stood, and while one of his comrades held the stargazer's son-in-law down, he took his sword, and ran the man through.

Struck dumb with horrified shock, the Stargazer could only watch while his son, always a brave lad, charged at the soldiers, spitting and screaming and sobbing with rage, hurt, and loss. Unarmed and unarmoured, the outcome was preordained; the Spaniards did not even have a scratch on their bodies as the killers cleaned their weapons, callously stepping over the twitching corpses as if they were merely objects of furniture.

All the while, the traitor-Maya, the translator, was pacing angrily, and shouting at him that he must immediately his false idols, desecrate his own Temple, and do it while singing praises to the King of Kings, Jesus Christ - only then would he be allowed to live after allowing such sin.

The Stargazer knew little of Christianity beyond the name, Christ - missionaries had not been allowed here for three decades. But he wondered, a numb rage filling his soul as he saw his only child's life-blood seeping slowly across the stonework, what sort of God the Spaniards must worship to could produce such deranged monsters as these three men, capable of such callous, unthinking brutality.

He had brought them here; he had persuaded his son, no, his sons, to surrender rather than flee; would they be alive if not for his mistaken belief in the humanity of their attackers?

Guilt and rage flooded through him, and he knew he would not live beyond the next minute; it was only that he was no threat that had allowed him to survive this long.

But, blood and life could be powerful sacrifices, powerful sources of energy. The Maya had known this for centuries, their human sacrifices legendary and much-feared. Tayasal had long abolished such practices in the name of maintaining the peace; but, the methods were not gone.

At that moment, he wanted nothing more than revenge, nothing more than to see these men suffer for their crimes, nothing more than to die while punishing them so that he would not have to feel this dreadful guilt any longer.

He called down all his abilities upon them, heaping insults upon insults, on their God, their King, their parents, their children, their wives, them personally. The men seemed surprised at the vitriolic outburst - even though, not speaking the language, they could only guess what the violent stream of abuse might mean; their translator declined to translate the words for them.

They hauled him to his knees as he spoke the words of power and laid his curse upon them.

It was a masterpiece, he thought, considering how little time he had to think about it. They loathed men who lay with men? Let them be consumed by such urges, and see how their compatriots treated them! They murdered others with inhuman ferocity? Let them become beasts themselves, become as the monstrous dragons of the last Age! They casually slaughtered his family? Let their families bear the mark of the curse forevermore!

His head was severed from his body, in one single, clean stroke, and the translator and the second soldier stepped back hurriedly to escape the spray of blood that resulted. The soldiers wondered whether their translator was having second thoughts, so pale and shaky had he suddenly become.

He never translated the dead priest's final words; for it was at that moment that all three men saw Juan Diego de Merida, a nobleman and the ranking officer of the Spanish army here, standing in the doorway to the Temple, watching.

"Report, Francisco!" he barked, his tone irate. "What is going on here?!"

The explanations followed in short order, and it was his duty to absolve them of any responsibility for the deaths they had caused; he sent them on their way.

The translator, though, stayed behind a moment.

"Señor", he said, softly, as the soldiers left, "The blasphemers here..." he gestured to the decapitated, elderly body, "laid a foul curse upon me, and also upon Señors Francisco and Rodriguez. I... I am worried, Senor."

Juan Diego gave him a withering look of contempt. "Surely you do not believe that any witchcraft could strike down one who walks with the light of God?!"

"Uh, no, Senor, but there are legends, of..." he broke off, nervously, belatedly deciding it unwise to contradict his superior.

"Er, of..." he tried, again, before he unhappily gave up the attempt.

"Begone!" Scowled the Conquistador. "And be thankful I will not mention your lack of faith to Brother Iago!"

Juan Diego watched the native scurry away, and hoped sincerely that his platitudes and threats would suffice to prevent him from speaking to any others about this little incident.

Juan Diego, who had long spoken Maya fluently, had heard every word as he approached up the Temple steps, and he knew a spell being created when he heard one.

Oh, and what a spell it had been! The priest had conjured magical power so easily and simply, a few words and a gesture, using nothing but his hate and his own life-blood to empower it. A pity that the spell was interrupted, a few crucial steps curtailed by the summary execution.

But even incomplete, such a spell was far beyond any Mage of the Order of Antaeus.

But, perhaps, if he could recover the Priest's books, what magical secrets could he pass along to the Order? What fame and glory could he yet achieve? What would the other, long-hidden Mages give for the secrets of Maya power, at last, after a century of futile efforts, always foiled by the all-seeing eye of the Spanish Inquisition?

That translator could be a problem, though; he could not risk the Inquisition snooping around again, and ruining this triumph as they had ruined so many others. A pity the curse was incomplete, and wouldn't work... unless... well, what better way to study it, than by seeing if he could finish the spell, link the disparate strands around that unfortunate man, and ensure that he would never return to the provincial capital, Merida.

He was thus in a jubilant mood as he walked back into the dark recesses of the Temple; and, when he emerged an hour later, none of the soldiers questioned his bulging backpack, assuming it full of gold and plunder. Nobody, either, questioned his other order: to burn down the city, smash every idol, and erase every written word.

He, and he alone, would know the secrets of Tayasal's magic. The Order would soon turn to him for leadership, and away from that old misfit, Giovanni.

Thus, the conquest of Tayasal became a final footnote, Spain's last conquest, and one of its bloodiest; even the chroniclers of the time chose not to devote much attention to the strange rumours of witchcraft amongst the Spaniards, nor to the rumours of some manner of giant lizard stalking the deep recesses of the Yucatan forests...

* * *

September 18th, 2012

Peter pointed at the book on the shelf, half-recognising the motif on the spine. The Mesoamerican design was familiar from somewhere; Peter had an interest in history, but it wasn't one that Jean-Paul Gondamer, the flat's owner, shared as far as Peter knew.

"What's that?"

He asked casually, almost as an aside, while he finished putting his raincoat on and checked his wallet was secure, for the third time in as many minutes. Later on tonight, he hoped, he'd be far too far gone to know or care what happened to it, so best to make sure it was safe before that point.

Peter Forbes was dark haired, very lightly built, and a tad below average height - and, like many a student, was no stranger to drunken partying lasting until the small hours. In fact, he eagerly sought out opportunities to do so; the trouble was, he wasn't actually a student.

Not since July, anyway; a Graduate in Art History, he - like many another who thought to play the system by picking an easy-sounding subject for a degree - had found that his qualifications and his ambitions were no longer very well aligned; for jobs he wanted, there were many other, better qualified applicants, and his growing stretch of unemployment did little to persuade prospective employers to open their doors to him.

Nobody in the high-powered business of... well, business, was terribly impressed with the subject of study he'd chosen; and, openings for high-flying Art Historians in Plymouth were not exactly plentiful. Peter had little else to occupy his time except drunken revelry, followed by hung-over trawls of local papers and internet sites, looking for any available work.

"Hmm?" asked Jean-Paul, a very slight scowl on his face as he impatiently looked at his watch, struggling to get his own coat on. "Oh! Er, just a book I'm borrowing. It's about the Spanish Conquests of the Americas; but, look, we need to get going, or they'll have started the first round without us..."

Jean-Paul lived in the ground floor flat of the four-flat building; Peter lived on the floor above, along with Sally O'Connor, a beautiful and passionate young woman whose casual but heartfelt New Age fruitloopery nonetheless persuaded many a would-be boyfriend to admire her from afar. She said she'd be joining their pub crawl later, once she'd finished her crystal healing therapy orientation. She caused many a chuckle behind her back; with her almost religious emphasis on rejection of traditional medicine, her planned career as a Nurse was looking increasingly shaky. But, then, few who knew her were in much doubt that she'd only gone into the field to find a rich doctor for a husband.

Jean-Paul was an odd case, too, in his own way; despite being fluent at English, he'd never managed to eliminate his noticeable accent, and vehemently - even violently - corrected those ignorant souls who made a note of his 'French' accent. The Quebecois man was proud of his heritage in North America, and looked down on Europe and Europeans as 'nepotistic' - the irony of his own, oft-mentioned family legacy and associated fortune, apparently passed him by.

But then, with a first degree in Applied Mathematics and actively pursuing a second in Theoretical Physics - a few jokes about them being the same subject, excepted - he had probably earned a few good breaks.

Peter's reverie was interrupted suddenly as Jean-Paul took a firm hold of his arm. "C'mon, let's get going", he said, gesturing at his watch. He seemed rather more eager than usual to set out for the night on the town; he didn't usually touch people.

Peter felt instantly uncomfortable at the contact. Normally, it wouldn't matter; but, this wasn't completely normal, and hadn't been for four months, ever since Jean-Paul had confessed that he was in love with Peter.

Peter had known the six-foot-tall, fair-haired, and well-built Quebecer was homosexual; Jean-Paul had never made any secret of it. Peter hadn't had a problem with it before, really; but, finding himself the object of another man's misplaced affections was disquieting and disturbing to him, much more than he'd expected it would be.

But, for all that, Jean-Paul was a neighbour and a good friend, even though he'd been disappointed by Peter's instant rejection. Having hurt him once, Peter didn't have the heart to break off their friendship too, even though most of the time he was just going through the motions, more than feeling the old camaraderie.

He shook the arm off. "All right, all right, keep your hair on! They won't go far without us!"

Jean-Paul shrugged. "No reason to be late."

"Sally's going to be late!" Peter pointed out, heading for the door, checking his mobile to make sure it was switched on. "Hell, even Daniel's going to be there before her."

Daniel Petrov, ethnically Russian, nationally Hungarian, now resident in Plymouth under the European Union's migrant-worker visa rules, was studying Law, and was good at it. After four years here, he was approaching graduation, and had almost completely lost his accent. He was also Sally's current boyfriend, although the relationship between the slightly shy, intelligent, very logical Russian and the ditzy, extroverted and excessively spiritual young woman was clearly heading for the rocks. Sally's interest waned with each passing day; Daniel, steadfast, seemed not to have noticed. A rude awakening almost certainly awaited him someday soon.

Jean-Paul practically dragged Peter out of the door, locking it behind him, and ushered the ex-student down the single step to the exterior door out of the small building. "Peter, I'd have thought you'd know better than anyone, Sally shouldn't be a yardstick for good behaviour!"

Peter shrugged and gave a 'hmph' of irritation, stung more because it was true than because he was really offended. "Never mind, we're going now."

He paused, then asked, "Why the rush, anyway? I thought you weren't having a drink tonight because you've got a lab scheduled for tomorrow morning?"

Jean-Paul grimaced. "Yes. I've..."

The shrill tone of a mobile phone startled them both, and Jean-Paul cursed. "Sorry..." he took the phone from his pocket, his pace slowing as he looked at the caller ID on the small screen. "Oh. I've got to take this... look, carry on without me, I'll meet you there."

Without waiting for a reply, he stopped, and actually took several paces back away, waving Peter onward, as he answered the phone. "Hello? Yes, it's me... I'll have to be quick, I'm out at the moment..."

Peter stepped around the corner in the road, before deciding that an evening stroll alone through this neighbourhood wasn't something he wanted to try... nor inflict on Jean-Paul, who had just flashed his mobile at the whole street. The crime rate wasn't *high*, but these things happen in student neighbourhoods, even on a sunlit Tuesday evening.

"Yeah... I thought I said not to call about things like this? I can't really talk now, I'm in public..." Jean-Paul's voice drifted on the still air. "No, I don't care if... what?! Well, of course, but it's not..."

A passing car's engine drowned out the distant voice for several moments, and Peter wondered if he should walk on a bit further; it was a tad rude to start eavesdropping on a friend, even with the best of intentions.

"...no signs. So, don't worry!... no, no, of course... but you don't *really* feel anything, do you? Make sure you've got your am..." another car interrupted. "...just in case, obviously. Besides, I thought... what?" the sound of a mirthless chuckle broke Jean-Paul's flow. "No, I suppose not. You're only human... just, don't do anything foolish, okay? We can talk later."

Peter heard Jean-Paul start walking quickly toward him again, and he looked around, waiting. Jean-Paul was still putting the phone away as he rounded the street corner, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Peter.

"Ah! Peter!" he exclaimed, suddenly looking rather guilty. "I thought I told you to go on without me?" he said, a faintly hurt note in his voice.

Peter blushed, sensing a faux pas. "Oh. Er, I just thought that, with a mobile, in this neighbourhood, I shouldn't just walk off and..."

Jean-Paul shook his head vigorously. "No, it doesn't matter. Really. But it's no risk, not in broad daylight." He gave a dismissive gesture, seeming more on-edge than ever. "Ah, let's just get going. We've wasted enough time already."

Jean-Paul was unduly morose all the way to the pub, and nearly silent. Peter had thought him a bit more irritable than usual, but on that long, and surprisingly awkward journey, he started to wonder in earnest if something was wrong. But, how to ask? After not asking straight away, he felt like it was almost a betrayal to ask the question later; it might make him seem reluctant to help a friend in need, or it might rub salt into whatever wounds Jean-Paul was stinging from.

He was therefore glad when they met Daniel at the pub; Daniel seemed in as good a mood as ever, and - Peter suspected - had had a few before his friends arrived, to judge by his rosy cheeks and surprisingly loosened manner.

Even then, though, Jean-Paul didn't seem able to drop his burden; most of the lively conversation was between Peter and Daniel, as the empty pint-glasses piled up between the three of them. In fact, Jean-Paul kept giving both Peter and Daniel some very hard-to-read looks; but, the tension and negativity in them was plain enough.

It wasn't until nearly an hour had passed, the sun had set, and Sally was increasingly late, that Jean-Paul's bladder succumbed to the mineral water he kept drinking every time someone ordered a round, and he stalked off to the latrine.

"Daniel..." Peter started, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Does Jean-Paul seem... odd, to you? Er, today, I mean?"

Daniel frowned, and leaned closer, evidently struggling to hear. "Eh? Odd, how?"

"Well... tense. Like he's expecting some bad news, or something. He's been prickly ever since I went to his flat earlier, and he's been downright irritable since he got a phone call... I just wondered if you knew what it was about?"

Daniel looked mystified. "No, nothing I've heard of... I don't know, maybe you could ask Sally when she gets here."

"Jean-Paul will be back by then, though?" Peter whispered, quizzically. "I can't ask while he's sitting right there... and, I'm not sure I want to drag every..."

Daniel interrupted. "Yeah, true. Tell you what, I'll call her, I've been meaning to, and see where she's got to, I'll ask at the same time."

"Er, I'm not sure I..." began Peter, but Daniel had his phone in hand and had the speed-dial running before Peter could object further.

"Hi, Sal? It's... Oh!" he exclaimed, his eyes suddenly wide. He broke off, and threw a look of confusion at Peter, taking the phone from his ear a moment, looking intently at the screen, and then covered the mouthpiece with his hand.

"It's some bloke!" he exclaimed. "It's Sally's number, it's some bloke on the other end!"

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Huh? Er, maybe it's an error in the telephone exchange? It does sometimes go..."

"Sorry, is Sally with you now?" Daniel asked the phone, his tone suddenly a mix of sarcasm and almost aggressive friendliness, deliberately putting on a very fake-sounding posh British accent.

Peter momentarily thought he was hearing in stereo, as the tune on the pub jukebox ended, and a moment of relative quiet descended on the half-full room.

"No, she's not with me right now... er, do you want me to tell Sally you called?" Peter heard, drifting faintly across the room, a heartbeat ahead of the tinny echo from Daniel's phone.

Daniel didn't seem to have noticed. "No, I'll... call her later. 'Bye!" He hung up, and practically threw his phone down on the table, his expression of confusion hardening toward anger.

"The fuck... what the fuck was that?! Some guy knows Sally and has her phone, and... Hey! Peter! What's the matter?" Daniel demanded, aggressively, noticing Peter was craning his neck to try and locate the source of the voice he'd just heard. The guy on the other end of the phone was here, in the same room...

"Peter!" snapped Daniel, with enough force in his tone that Peter jumped. "Are you even listening?!"

"Uh, sorry, but..." Peter began, too shocked to consider that honesty might be a bad idea right about now. "...I thought... I heard the guy on the other end, over there, somewhere!" He gestured.

Daniel looked uncomprehending for a moment, but as his brow furrowed and his expression darkened suddenly, Peter realised that he might just have set the scene for a confrontation he'd rather not be involved in.

"Uh, now, Daniel, don't do anything rash..." Peter started, belatedly trying to calm his friend down. "There's probably a perfectly innocent explanation..."

"Yeah, you think?" asked Daniel, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "Maybe I'll go ask him..."

Before Peter could stop him, he'd grabbed the phone and hit redial. "Wait! Daniel, really don't..."

Daniel was already standing from his seat, phone at his ear. "Oh, hello?" he said, adopting a sarcastically phoney accent again. "Yes, this is me again... ever so sorry..."

He was starting to walk across the room, scanning for the man on the other end of the phone line, before Peter had managed to stand up himself.

A momentary doubt crossed his mind. Could he really stop Daniel? Daniel was normally shy... but, he had a bit of a temper, too, as well as being slightly drunk, and suddenly having some very severe doubts about his girlfriend's fidelity.

Peter's brain rushed through excuses for inaction. Daniel was sensible enough, he'd not start a barroom brawl on a whim. He was stubborn enough that Peter probably wouldn't be able to do more than watch. Daniel would make sure this was an innocent misunderstanding first, obviously.

But, more darkly... did Peter really think that Sally was being unfaithful? Honestly? Yes, he did. It shocked him to think of it, but it didn't *surprise* him. In which case, if Daniel found that out, and was determined to do something about it... did he, Peter, want to be in the middle of any fight that might break out?

No.

He sat back down, an impulsive decision, and immediately regretted it; but, having made up his mind, changing it became ever harder.

Jean-Paul returned, about a minute later. Peter could hear slightly raised voices from somewhere out of his line of sight, and his guilt was revving up into overdrive that he'd chickened out of intervening.

"Peter? Where's Daniel? You look like you've seen a ghost! What's wrong?" he asked, concern growing in his voice as he spoke.

Peter cleared his throat. "Daniel... called Sally, to see where she was. There's some guy over there..." he gestured in the direction, "who answered, and knew Sally by name, or something. Daniel's... gone to see why."

Jean-Paul's face turned white as the blood drained out of it. "What? Oh, no, no, no... why's he here, of all places?"

Then, Peter realised, Jean-Paul had already known. "The hell..?! You *knew*, didn't you?" he accused, rather louder than he'd intended, and Jean-Paul sat down in a hurry, looking around nervously.

"Alright, I saw Sally together with a young Doctor, lives just down the road from us, about a month ago. I asked her about it, she said she'd fallen in love with this great guy she met at work... er, Doctor Simpson, I think it was... and she was going to break up with Daniel sometime soon, when she found the opportunity. Crap, I'd been scared it'd be tonight..."

Jean-Paul paused as a thought struck him. "Wait, Daniel found...? Where's Sally? Isn't she here?"

Peter, perplexed at the sudden change of topic, shook his head. "Uh, no... no sign of her..."

"Then... why are you just sitting here?" asked Jean-Paul, his tone suddenly acid. He stood quickly. "Let's go stop him before he does anything stupi..."

A sudden, collective gasp or surprise went through the people assembled in the room as there was a sudden crash, and a man's yell of pain. Peter's guilt intensified; he'd long missed his opportunity to stop this happening.

* * *

Ben Simpson hadn't exactly had the best evening of his life. Sure, it had started well enough... Sally had asked him to meet her a bit later, after work. She was finally breaking up with her ex-boyfriend properly, she said, and she expected to need comfort afterward.

Ben quite fancied the thought of where some good, manly comforting of the distressed damsel might lead... it had, after all, led there several times before.

He didn't worry too much about the hints Sally kept dropping about wanting to get married as soon as the right man came along; he doubted he'd ask her. She was far too... clingy, scatterbrained. She'd be a great trophy wife, but Ben wanted something deeper for a long-term commitment...

Of course, even the short-term romp he'd been having with her seemed suddenly not worth the effort. Damn, the bitch had been stupid enough to invite him to the same fucking pub as her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, presumably so she could break the news, and then leave with him right away.

And, the consequences had been, in their own way, inevitable.

Ben felt confident that he could get that other guy a conviction for assault, if he really wanted... half the pub had seen the boyfriend throw the first punch. He couldn't have known that Ben was a green belt at Judo, and that as soon as the surprise element was gone, Ben would incapacitate him with an easy shoulder-throw and trip, while the burly landlord grabbed them both to hold them down and several people called the police.

He felt his nose, gingerly. He'd have to get one of his colleagues to check it out in the morning, and make sure it wasn't broken; that retard had a good right hook.

Sally had appeared, in tears and inconsolable. There had been more shouting, from Ben, and from... Daniel! Yes, that was the guy's name! Yes, they'd both been there yelling, several drinkers holding him and Daniel apart, Sally in tears and completely incoherent, saying she'd never wanted Daniel to find out this way, and how sorry she was... and loads of other drivel that nobody could make out through the sobbing. In the circumstances, even though it was clear that nobody wanted to leave her in such a state, nobody dared approach her with her violent partner kicking and spitting curses only a few feet away.

The police had been brisk, and businesslike; on their arrival, Daniel had calmed down and sobered up almost instantly. They'd taken statements, and threatened to arrest both Daniel and Ben right away... but, with Daniel's friends promising to keep him out of trouble at home all evening, and with the Police inexplicably getting the idea that Ben had used undue force against his opponent - probably that bastard landlord complaining about how Ben's throw had broken a table - Ben was forced to support writing the whole incident off as a misunderstanding, and each going their separate ways.

Still, he could call the police again in the morning and say he'd reconsidered... some affidavits from the many people whose names the police had taken would, surely, vindicate Ben's view?

Sally had, probably a bit foolishly, said she'd spend the night at his place. Daniel didn't like that idea one bit, to judge by his expression, even though he didn't reply with the police constable standing right next to him.

He'd decided it'd be best to go and book a hotel somewhere for the night... a room for two, of course, even though he wasn't in any mood for anything but sleep tonight, and he doubted Sally would be, either. But, he had work tomorrow... his pager, his instrument bag, they were both in his car. Outside his house. He'd have to go back and get them, of course.

He had his phone in hand, ready to speed-dial the emergency services if there was any sign of the angry boyfriend lurking amongst the shadows of the street. It'd be fine, he told himself; he could just walk briskly up, get in the car, and be gone before anyone knew anything. He'd sent Sally instructions to meet him on the corner of the street nearby... if Daniel was following her, she'd be gone before he could do anything.

Fuck, this was a bad situation!

Still, there was the small area of parkland, filled with trees and overrun with rhododendron bushes; better yet, it lay in between his house, and the small suite of flats that Sally inhabited. Going between the two, if he was careful, he could be nearly invisible.

Which first? If Daniel hadn't calmed down and had decided to do him some real mischief, he'd probably be watching Ben's driveway to see Ben come home. Therefore, Ben should go get Sally first, and dash to the car as fast as possible and get out of there.

But, suppose Daniel couldn't remember which house was Ben's? He might be watching Sally's flat - or even be there to try and talk to her, or worse - in which case, Ben turning up there would alert him and leave Ben no escape routes, with the car over a hundred meters away.

A toss-up; which was right?

Ideally, he'd prefer to fetch his car, drive up to Sally's flat, bundle her inside, and be off... but that would mean exposing himself twice, at both possible ambush points. If Sally wasn't ready to hop into the car right away, who knew what might happen?

His mobile's buzz startled him. Despite being set to vibrate, the sound was audible in the still night, and he jumped with shock, scrambling to retrieve the device in case it attracted any attention.

It was a text, from Sally.

'Dan up in flt, v v scared, outside now, cllect plz - S'

Daniel, therefore, was up in her flat... and she was outside? Presumably, yes, if she was in the midst of a shouting match she wouldn't have had a chance to send him a text; if she was outside, wondering where he was, then she wouldn't want to speak up in case Daniel heard.

Very, very scared? That was worrying. Should he call the police?

But, on what basis? He could go get Sally in under a minute, and then he could ask her what the matter was... she was prone to melodrama, so it might not be as bad as it seemed.

Which settled the issue; Daniel would hear the car drive up, and be able to respond. If Sally just quietly walked away through the park, though, Daniel might never notice. Even if he did, they could probably run off fast enough that they could be safely hidden in the rhododendrons before he got to the front door and gave chase.

He started walking quietly across the park, following the path. There were no streetlights in the small square of land; there were a few dimly illuminated bollards to mark the paths and the intersections, but the rest of the light was simply whatever spilled through the thinning tree canopies from the streets beyond.

He wasn't sure why, but he stopped walking, straining his eyes to see in the dark, the silence of the night suddenly seeming deeper, all-encompassing with the trees blocking the sound of the road. He felt a deep, queasy feeling in his stomach, a strange chill in the air that gave him goosebumps.

It was several seconds before his worry deepened quickly toward panic, as he tried to walk forward - and found he couldn't. He tried moving his head, bending down to see what was wrong, why his legs weren't responding, only to find that he couldn't even do that.

He couldn't move!

He tried shouting for help; a hoarse, throttled whisper was all the sound he could make.

He heard footsteps behind him. Thank heavens! Someone was here; hopefully, he could attract their attention somehow, get them to call an ambulance, or something. It must be some head injury from the punch earlier; this wasn't a normal concussion symptom; oh, God, he prayed, don't let it be a stroke, not at 28!

"Feeling alright, Dr Simpson?" said a voice from just behind him. His hopes sank at once; the voice's tone was sarcastic, knowing, almost taunting - and it was distorted, mechanical, almost like Darth Vader.

Daniel! It had to be!

But... even under that mask, he could hear some strange accent, soft, as opposed to the harsher sound of a Russian accent like Daniel Petrov's. French or Spanish, perhaps? It was hard to make out.

But he couldn't even say anything in response.

The voice's owner chuckled, the sound startlingly eerie in the dark. "Perfect... you have *no* idea how much trouble I went through to set all this up, weeks of planning... you've been screwing Sally more than long enough, I think, to absorb a little of her aura. More experimental subjects are most welcome."

Ben couldn't understand what the... man? Woman?... was talking about.

"I'm sorry I had to set you up with that fight earlier... heh, no, actually, I'm not sorry at all. I sent those messages from 'Sally', you see; I arranged the whole thing, just so you and that Petrov man would get into a punch-up. I needed to test some blood samples, to see who was the most... suitable subject."

Ben tried to turn around, struggled and fought, but his muscles wouldn't respond, holding him rigid. How had this maniac done it? Drugs in his pint earlier? But, how could he have made it so specific on the timing?

"You know Sally's of Irish descent, obviously - with a name like O'Connor, you'd hardly have missed that - but I suspect neither you nor she knows that amongst her ancestors is a shipwrecked mariner, a survivor of the Spanish Armada, washed up on the southern coast of Ireland after the disastrous failure to invade England. That won't mean much to you, but, you see, it's vitally important..."

He or she must be mad, Ben thought. The tone was icy calm, but only a madman would blather on like this. It couldn't just be a mugging, surely... what the hell was going on?

"Her family line is tainted by association with the family of a cursed Conquistador, upon whom the last great Mage of the Mayan Kingdoms laid a powerful curse, a last act of revenge for the slaughter of his kin. A spell that was intended to make its victims unholy, twisted monsters - in the eyes of Christianity at the time, anyway. I'm an aficionado of magic, you know... and Mayan magic is a great, unsolved mystery, whose secrets died with them and were never completely uncovered..."

That settled it. The man *was* mad.

"I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, of course; like the spell of Paralysis I laid on you. It's a lot easier to work magic these days... the planetary conjunction is filling the world with magic again, just as the Maya predicted. The curse was never laid *quite* right, so it's pretty much just dormant, and gradually decaying - such a waste! I have great plans for that kind of magic, altered just a little. You know that magical effects can imprint themselves on the aura of people nearby? Well, probably not, but after some 'close' personal contact with Sally, you've got more than a touch of that curse on you already. Enough for me to work with... I can't *recreate* Maya magic, but changing a few details are quite possible."

Ben heard the figure approach, and was startled to feel the figure pressing close against his back, an arm sliding over his shoulder and rubbing down the front of his coat.

"The curse's intent was to humiliate three particularly murderous Conquistadors... homophobic beyond belief, you see, they were cursed to feel desire for other men, and, when they indulged, to lose their humanity entirely, and become some kind of beast, a dragon of sorts. I don't know what that might mean, exactly... I *am* quite interested in finding out, though. You'll be a good test; I laid the requisite spells on you, and accelerated the onset a bit... got any secret fantasies about men yet? Maybe not long enough has passed for you to notice, I guess..."

Ben gave a strangled whisper of protest as the figure's hand slid down his belly, dragging the zip of his coat along with it, before his assailant's thumb hooked into the belt of his jeans.

"You'll enjoy this", the figure said, pushing against him heavily; Ben felt a balaclava-covered face slide onto his shoulder, pressing cheek to cheek. "Not something I have to do very often in my profession... very unusual, unique, in fact - but, I'm dedicated to my work."

Ben felt the figure reach another arm around, and his belt buckle came undone easily. His assailant pulled his jeans aside, undoing the fly, and groped Ben's crotch through his thin boxer shorts.

Ben felt sick at the contact. This guy was insane; the night air felt cold against his suddenly bared skin, and his body shivered, purely on reflex. He was going to get raped! How the hell had this happened? Why couldn't he move? It couldn't be real, it just couldn't!

The figure's hand slipped under the waistband of his boxers, quickly settling around his penis. The grip felt soft, cool but not cold; he felt nothing but disgust as the fingers rubbed gently at the head and shaft, not feeling even a vague stirring at the sensation.

"Well, it is an unusual situation..." the figure said, the accented, distorted voice almost sounding disappointed. "I guess I'll just have to prompt you in the right direction. Just as well I came prepared!"

The figure's grip left his flaccid cock, and pulled his boxers halfway down his thighs, making him shiver still further in the chill of the air.

He felt the figure step away from him, and he was momentarily alone. He felt dreadfully exposed, the simple fact of his sudden partial nudity making him feel disarmed and helpless on so much more fundamental a level than ever before. He felt like he could cry; but his eyes wouldn't even do that.

He heard a slight but definite squelching sound, but couldn't interpret what it was... he couldn't even turn his head to see. But, realisation hit him a few moments later when the figure's arm went around him in a bear hug again, and he felt a sickening horror as he felt something warm and moist and solid prod at his exposed backside. He tried to shout, scream, struggle, anything; but, again, only a throttled whisper passed his lips.

"Worried, Doctor?" asked the figure, balaclava-covered head leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "No need to be, you're going to it once the shock wears off..."

With that, the warm rod pushed forward, putting pressure for a long moment on his clenched anus before it parted the ring of muscle, and slid wetly and painfully inside.

Ben couldn't even scream as the shaft pushed inside deeper, each inch feeling more like a foot. Oh, good god, what if someone walked through the park now, and saw this? For all that Ben wanted to be rescued, wanted this to be over, how could he hope to live it down?

As he felt the figure push up against his closely, the man's still-clothed crotch meeting his exposed backside, he realised it was in as far as it would go, and it hurt like hell.

The hand returned to gently fondling his penis again, and Ben felt like he was going to vomit. He felt so unutterably violated by the thick length of male flesh piercing into him, touching him deep inside, already starting to slowly withdraw. He'd never even dreamed, nor had nightmares, about how it might feel for a powerful man to hold him down and stick his cock into Ben so...

Ben felt a shudder run through him again, as he suddenly realised that, just perhaps, it wasn't as bad as he'd thought. He felt a faint twinge of extra feeling from his groin, and realised with a shock that his cock was stirring slightly. It must just be the physical stimulation, of course, there was no way he'd find having another man's dick stuffed into his arse in the slightest bit erotic, never!

But, even at the thought, he felt his cock start to stiffen in earnest, and found himself a little ambivalent about the sensations as the man's shaft slid back into him again. He relaxed slightly; once he wasn't resisting it, pushing hard against it, it actually didn't hurt as much as he'd have thought. It...

"Enjoying it? See, what'd I tell you?" said the voice, and Ben gave a faint sigh as the gentle fondling of his swelling shaft turning into a smooth pumping motion. Oh, the feel of the man's hand rubbing his cock like this... while the smooth flesh of the warm shaft slid with surprising gentleness into and out of him... no time with Sally had felt quite so... piquant.

He wondered for a moment if it was true; some sort of magic spell, making him enjoy being violated like this. But, strangely, he felt barely a twinge of the horror he'd just been feeling a minute before; if anything, the thought of him being entrapped, and *used*, it felt... arousing.

His shaft was fully inflated now, and he felt a strange tingling sensation all along it, spreading down from the head, and out from his groin. Strange, but... good, somehow.

"Ah... a result!" said the voice, as Ben gave a quiet moan that was clearly one of embarrassed enjoyment. "I do think you're changing already..."

Ben tried to look down, and to his surprise, his head responded. His body was free! He could run away... but... that'd mean...

His head seemed almost to ring with each push of the cock into his rear, and each stroke of his own shaft. He was... happy to stay... right here...

He felt a surge of shock as he saw his maleness start to *shift* before his very eyes; the foreskin, already pulled back with arousal, retreating further, looking strangely discoloured. He gasped as his captor's hand met the edge of the retreating skin, the sensations suddenly multiplying up as the flesh left its prison of skin. The head seemed to melt upward to form a sharper tip, instead of the rounded head he knew.

His clothes felt peculiarly tight around him all of a sudden... and he felt too hot, despite the cool of the night.

"Interesting..." said the figure, pensively. "It'll be interesting to see what you become, with the spell transferred onto you like this."

Ben felt a cold sense of horror; it *must* be true, it was the only explanation... but he couldn't seem to pull away, didn't *want* to.

His shaft seemed to be growing even further; the hand gripping it seemed not to be up to the job of stroking it any more, the fingers straining painfully to enclose around it. He felt a strange sensation from his backside, too, something pushing out of him, pushing his partner away from him. He gave a frustrated groan as the man's cock seemed to be forced further out of him as he felt a new appendage, a tail, growing between them.

"Hmm. I think that's enough to get you started... adios!" said the voice, as the man's cock pulled away from him entirely, making him feel empty... and he felt *angry* at being left unfulfilled. He felt his arms ripple with newfound strength, and he turned, intent on grabbing the man. If he wasn't going to fuck Ben voluntarily, Ben would *make* him...

He felt abruptly startled by the savagery of his intent, and his bizarre desire for his rapist, even as he turned, claws at the ready, and saw... nothing.

Claws?!

Yes, his fingers did indeed seem to be topped by a short length of dull-tipped claw. He felt the heavy weight of nearly a foot of tail hanging behind him, forcing him to lean forward so as not to overbalance. Something felt wrong with his vision, too, like he was looking around while crossing his eyes.

Where had the man gone? He'd barely withdrawn a second before, and he was gone, no trace, nothing... magic? Ben had never thought it might exist, but standing here, his badly deformed and suddenly inhuman, straight as an arrow and suddenly left wanting nothing more than to lie down and let a thick-shafted man fuck him senseless, Ben could hardly deny the manifest reality of it.

He examined his hands more closely, noticing the rough, scaly texture to them... scales? He shouldn't have scales... but now that he *did* have them, they seemed so... attractive, somehow.

He needed to get help.

He started to walk in the direction of his house... and didn't even manage a full step before he stumbled and almost fell. Crap, he thought; of course, he had his pants still around his ankles. How could he walk or run like that?

He sat down on the cold, brick path to take them off, and realised that his toes had burst through the front of his shoes... three toes, each tipped with another claw. He tore at them violently, almost in a panic, ripping the shoes away from him in a panic, and his pants and boxers followed suit rapidly; his legs were clearly inhuman too. But, sexy-looking...

He suddenly wondered what on earth had possessed him to *remove* his trousers, rather than just, pull them up? That was what people would do, surely, re-clothe themselves, rather than walk around in public streets with their long, slick maleness hanging free, drooling precum for all to see?

Hot damn, he felt horny; more pent-up than he could ever remember feeling. Which was odd in itself, he felt sure he'd never before have gotten so hot at the feel of a man's prick being shoved up his tailhole.

His pucker twitched, scraping against the ground, and he gave a shudder of strange delight. Oh, but what a feeling it had been...

His shaft drooled more, and he tried to stand, the long, slick length bumping against his thighs and belly as he moved, little explosions of sensation.

He only got to his knees before his shirt, almost painfully constraining, suddenly gave with a loud ripping sound. One of the seams had given, and the front of the shirt fell from the left side, hanging from his right arm and the still-intact sleeve. Looking down, he could see a powerful, mostly-scaled chest, and the long, sexy, inhuman length dripping gently onto the path below it.

Holy crap, he couldn't resist it; his hand, almost trembling with anticipation, wandered slowly across to his shaft while he still knelt, and slowly wrapped around it.

The rough scales felt *so* good on his exposed flesh... but, he probably shouldn't...

He squeezed his length, and gave a groan that sounded more like an animalistic growl than a human noise. It only aroused him further, and he started stroking at the shaft, shaking with delight.

His other claw rubbed at his thigh, before moving slowly backward, examining the scales of his wonderful, thick tail, before starting to probe gently underneath it.

His tailhole felt slick, still; some sort of lubricant, he presumed, still left there from when...

Unable to resist, one of his claws gently, but firmly, prodded at the entrance, and becoming fast slick with lubrication, parted the opening and slid gently inside. Oh, this felt good... better than *anything* else, save the feel of a real cock up there...

After a few experimental thrusts and gentle squeezes of his passage, feeling the delightful sensation of his inner muscles caressing his finger, he slid in a second, basking in the stretching of the ring... then, a third, ignoring the slight roughness of inadequate lubrication.

He felt his face being pulled, a most strange sensation; but, he thought, it was just his snout growing. He loved having a snout, sexy, wide, powerful jaws of sharper teeth... oh, yes, he was a predator all right...

He felt his testicles pull up tight against his body, and his suddenly-slitted eyes bulged as his balls suddenly slid *into* his body with a strange popping sensation. He hoped he wasn't becoming a girl... he loved having his long, manly shaft, which seemed to be mutating further in his claw.

His coat was too tight as well now, and he paused his stroking to angrily tear it off. Clothing! Pfeh! It only hid his handsome, wonderful body from the eyes of any man who might be enticed by it, constrained his movements, and hurt as it dug into his scaly flesh.

He threw it from him into the bushes, even while one claw still teased at his tailhole, before he put his new, distinctly saurian claw back on his slick manhood, practically flying across the sensitive, frictionless surface, and drool escaped his large, growing muzzle.

His chest expanded outward, his groin following too, and he was forced to rise from his knees as his feet also changed and his tail lengthened, threatening to throw him off balance. He was growing faster, now, as his climax built; he felt like he was ten feet tall - and he was, massive and powerful!

He felt his eyes pull upward, pointed eyeridges forming atop his head, and his tongue lolled from his snout as he pulled at his shaft, dreaming of a powerful, manly dinosaur like him to find him and mount him, fill his tailhole with a meaty rod. Mundane, human thoughts started slipping inexorably away, but he didn't care, all that mattered, all that existed, was him, his throbbing, aching shaft, his desire to feel a predator's manhood shove deep into him and squirt him full of hot seed...

He gave a hiss of pleasure as his tailhole pulled forward and seemed to merge with the base of his cock, his claws pressing into his body suddenly rubbing against the base of his shaft as they moved, a delightful buzz adding to his ecstasy - but only for a moment, as his body lengthened to definitely saurian proportions, and suddenly his arm couldn't *quite* reach far enough to probe into his anus.

Grabbing his shaft with both his three-fingered claws, he gave a frustrated bellow; he was *so* close, so...

His three-foot-long shaft bucked and then erupted, long streamers of cum flying out, as his frustrated bellow became a roar of subdued, triumphant pleasure. His new, sensitive nostrils were hit by the powerful scent of his spilled seed, which only drove him to new heights of pleasure, the seed pooling in long streaks under his bulky body and dripping from his thoroughly coated arms as the freshly-transformed allosaur revelled in his orgasm, dreaming of nothing more than being mated by a larger male of his kind, human cares abandoned in the miasma of the new, predatory instincts.

Litres of seed must have spilled, before at last the Ben-dinosaur, exhausted, toppled to one side and rolled over, claws slipping from its shrinking shaft, and fell asleep, satisfied.

The mage watched, from under the cloak of an invisibility spell, as the allosaur's maleness retreated back into the freshly-formed cloaca.

"Hmm... a dinosaur. I suppose the Maya must have found bones, maybe; it does explain the dragon references... interesting. I might have to alter it to make 'em a bit smaller, or it'll cause problems, I think..." the figure mumbled, sotto-voce.

So, a successful test... now, the plan could get started properly - and it would have to be very soon after so overt a demonstration. The creature's roars had been muffled by the spells the mage had placed, but they might be enough to alert the neighbours...

* * *

Peter heard the strange, rumbling sound somewhere nearby as he sat at home, pondering whether he should just go to the supermarket just down the road and buy himself a bottle to tide him through the night.

He went to his window, and looked out; the darkness was all-encompassing, and he could see nothing out there - but, his window was at the back of the building, looking into a small, shielded section of garden. If it was out on the street, Jean-Paul might be able to see it from his window.

He wondered for a moment if it was anything Daniel might have done upstairs in Sally's flat, where he'd retreated in a supreme fit of pique to wait for his now-ex-girlfriend to crawl back. He'd seemed a lot calmer since his uncharacteristic outburst in the pub... but maybe he was just concealing it better, and was now wrecking the flat out of spite?

No, Daniel wasn't the sort to stay angry, nor commit random acts of vandalism; and, he felt sure that sound had come from outside.

He prevaricated several more moments. Should he go ask Jean-Paul? Would Jean-Paul even be in his flat right now, or might he have gone to talk to Daniel, or maybe even talk to Sally so she didn't go upstairs alone? He'd seemed guilty that he hadn't done something sooner himself, almost like it was all his fault that the altercation had happened. Ridiculous, of course; Sally and Daniel were both adults, capable of making their own decisions - poor though they sometimes were.

Jean-Paul might be moping on his own, in no mood for company. So, maybe it would be better if Peter didn't disturb him.

But, if he didn't, he might just keep worrying about that odd noise.

It took a minute, but worry won. It would be a good excuse to make sure Daniel was keeping calm, too; Peter regretted leaving him to his own devices, even after just a few minutes. He'd seemed fine, but, really, he'd just had a bad emotional shock... these things didn't just vanish over the course of one evening.

He put on his shoes again, and tip-toed out of his flat, and across the short length of landing to Jean-Paul's door.

He was distracted enough that it wasn't until he knocked that he realised it was unlocked, and slightly ajar; it moved away from his fist as he hammered on it. That, in itself, was rather weird; Jean-Paul was a real stickler for security, always locking his door whenever he went through it, refusing to even give his neighbours the key.

Still, it had been a stressful night for everyone... he must have just forgotten, evidently.

He was about to push the door open when he heard a crash downstairs as the outside door flew open; he took a step back to see who or what was down there.

"Alex?!" he said, loudly, attracting the intruder's attention. The long-haired young man looked up, brushing the brown locks of hair out of his eyes, a combination of shock and alarm on his face. He was dressed in a suit as if he were going to work - albeit, with his shirt's top button undone, his tie missing, and without a jacket. He'd probably been relaxing at home when...

When what? Something had evidently happened.

"What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Peter asked.

Alex looked like an actor who'd just found a page of his script missing; full of vague but well-concealed panic, and not sure where to go or what to do next.

"There... there's a..." he started, pointing out of the door. "In the park, there! Damn, it's too crazy to even say... there's a *dinosaur* or something out there! Seriously! You got a phone around? I need to call the police!"

"The fuck?! Are you drunk or something?" Peter asked, incredulous and sceptical. It *had* to be a joke, and a very poorly-timed one; he wasn't in the mood.

Alexander, an ex-graduate from overseas who'd had better luck finding local employment than Peter, was evidently a tad shell-shocked, but his startled look as Peter snapped at him was obviously sincere. Peter's first instinct rapidly faded away, replaced by an increasing certainty that there was definitely *something* badly wrong, out of place.

"Wait, you're serious?!" Peter asked, his incredulity deepening into confusion. "What, like... a crocodile, or something?"

Alex started to jog up the stairs, slipped while halfway up and nearly fell, recovered his balance just in time, and joined Peter by the door, talking irately all the while. "Hey, I know what a crocodile looks like! This was... *oof!*... er, this was like something out of the movies, I swear! It's out there right now!"

He pointed past Peter, at the slightly open door. "Can I use your phone?"

Peter nodded, before he realised that Alex thought it was his flat door. "Yeah... ah, no wait, my flat's over..."

Before he could finish, though, Alex had pushed open the door, taken a step inside - and stopped, frozen. There was someone inside - and it wasn't Jean-Paul.

The black-clad figure was about the right height, but why would Jean-Paul have been wearing a ski-mask and goggles, or carrying a small and highly illegal revolver, or pointing it at two of his neighbours who he surely recognised from their voices?

Alex put his hands up in the air, eyes wide. "Oh, fuck! Don't shoot!"

"Step inside - both of you - and close the door!" commanded the figure, the voice distorted like Darth Vader.

Peter hesitated; should he run? What would a movie-star-action-hero do right now? Some sort of acrobatic somersault past Alex, he supposed, before wrestling the gunman down and disarming him. Peter had as much chance of that as of sprouting wings and flying to the moon; he'd be shot before he'd taken two paces.

Or, maybe, the action hero would run? The stairs were straight and wide-open; the front door was mostly glass and wouldn't block a gunman's sight of anyone racing down the garden path to the door. Even allowing for the gunman needing to push past Alex to get out, Peter didn't have much chance of going very far before the guy had a clear line of fire.

"I said, inside, close door!" repeated the figure, menacingly. Alex gave Peter some cover, but if Peter ran, and Alex ended up taking a bullet for him - probably against his will - how would Peter ever live with himself?

His body, amidst his shock, acted of its own accord, and as he lambasted himself for his cowardice for the second time that evening, he stepped inside, and closed the door.

"Bungling idiots... just *had* to come barging in right in the middle of..."

The voice had some sort of accent to it, Peter thought, but he couldn't quite make it out from under its distorted mask. But, it sounded, vaguely familiar from somewhere...

The room had been rearranged, he realised belatedly. Jean-Paul's coffee table and armchairs had been pushed to one side, and what looked like red paint had been dropped onto the carpet in the familiar and disquieting image of a pentagram.

In the centre of the sigil lay a book, an old book by the look of it, filled with strange, unrecognisable hieroglyphs. It all looked like a setup from some kind of horror movie.

Why Jean-Paul's flat, though..?

Peter had a vague but growing feeling that he knew why.

"Look, pal, whoever you are, I just came here to use the phone... I'm nothing to do with... er..." Alex began, sounding forlorn and clearly not holding out much hope. "What is all this?" he asked, eying the pentagram nervously.

"Hmph. Brave lad, asking things like that of someone pointing a gun at you", the figure observed, dryly.

"Er... you're pointing it at him?" Alex said, nodding in Peter's direction - and taking a step to the side, away from Peter.

The gunman adjusted his aim, tracking Alex; Peter felt slightly more at ease now that the dark interior of the gun-barrel wasn't visible to him. Seeing what Alex was doing, he took a step as well - in the opposite direction. The gunman couldn't be threatening them both at once, so maybe if they could get far enough apart, they could both jump him and get out of here safely?

"That's far enough!" said the figure, turning the gun back on Peter. "I'm warning you..."

Alex stepped aside again - but, intently watching the gunman rather than where he was stepping, his right foot crossed over the line of the pentagram, and there was an audible buzz.

He recoiled with a sharp cry of surprise, stumbling backward heavily against the bookcase before ending up splayed across Jean-Paul's writing desk next to it. "What the hell was..?!"

Peter's head snapped around as Alex fell, his nerves too much on edge to deal with the unexpected right now. He froze for a perceptible moment, but long enough for the gunman to stride over and push him hard, knocking him over onto the floor.

With both potential threats momentarily neutralised, the figure quickly turned the key Jean-Paul habitually left in the inside of the door, before pocketing it and stepping quickly away as Peter and Alex got to their feet.

"There. You're not spoiling the plan *that* easily, you two..."

There was a long pause before Peter cleared his throat. "Er... what now?"

"Now?" asked the gunman. "Now... we wait... I suppose. Sit down."

Peter looked around. "Uh, anywhere in particular?"

"Anywhere. You're less of a threat when you're not on your feet."

That much was true, he supposed, but having decided not to confront the gun-wielding maniac, he was committed to simple obedience; threatening was the last thing in his head right now.

He sat down in one of Jean-Paul's comfortable chairs. This might last a while, after all.

Alex just sat up on the desk, and wasted no time before leaping into the fray with a multitude of questions.

"This is too weird... you've *got* to have something to do with that thing outside, right? It's like a dinosaur, or something... and you're here, doing..." he gestured around at the pentagram, "...something... I'm right, aren't I?"

Peter closed his eyes and prayed. Don't provoke him, you fool! He thought, hard, as if he might will Alex into silence via some undiscovered psychic power.

"Oh, bravo, bravo, Sherlock. Yes, a few pieces of magic... powerful magic, too. So, you've been looking around outside, eh? I wonder..."

The gunman was silent for a long moment, concentrating hard on Alex. "Hmm. Yes, indeed. Well, that solves that mystery, I suppose."

Alex bristled at the cryptic comment. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I should *definitely* start at the beginning, I think. I am a member of the Order of Antaeus... you almost certainly have never heard of it. It's a secret society who preserve the ancient art of Magic, that same art that two thousand years of aggressive Christianity and European colonialism nearly annihilated all knowledge of..." he broke off, seeing the two men's expressions. "Doubtful? Well, I don't blame you, I suppose. I was, too, when I was recruited... though that was something of an afterthought... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The native civilisations of the Americas were very skilled at magic, you know. They used it for all manner of subtle rituals, and a few not-so-subtle ones. If they'd but turned its use to warfare, they would have easily survived the Spanish incursions... but, they didn't, and their knowledge was lost. Zealous conquistadors burned and looted and pillaged, and afterwards there was too little left to piece it all together again. Some of those Empires and Nations, we can't even read their writing any more!"

The gunman's head was cocked to one side, and he seemed to be looking off to one side, not really focused on the two hostages. Peter decided it was best to let the guy ramble on a while; he might decide to shoot them both and make a getaway, after all. Anything that might delay that reckoning long enough for help to arrive...

Still, it was worrying how deranged this guy was. Magic? Secret societies? It sounded like a crude version of a Dan Brown novel, or something.

Peter wondered again if it might be Jean-Paul under that disguise... it would explain why the gunman was in this room, why his mannerisms seemed familiar from somewhere... wait, hadn't Jean-Paul had a book on Native American art earlier today, which he hadn't wanted to talk about?

Or... well, Peter had *assumed* it was an art book... but he hadn't looked beyond the cover, and hadn't even read the title.

But he couldn't exactly ask the masked man if he was right... being right might earn him a bullet; anonymity was this guy's only shield. And he hoped, he dearly hoped, that he was wrong.

"Thankfully, one of the last surviving sanctuaries of the Maya civilisation started using Spanish as their native language - a sort of plea bargain to show that they'd given up and surrendered to a higher authority, namely the King of Spain. It was only an illusion, though; they rebelled, and their city was razed - but in the doing of that, a powerful curse was half-placed on some of the conquistadors who made the mistake of crossing the high priest there. They'd apparently executed the priest's son, in cold blood, on suspicion of sodomy... so the curse was to make them physically into monsters to match their monstrous actions, and make them, too, feel a strong but forbidden attraction to other men."

"Magic to subtly affect the mind was already known to the Order, but wholesale restructuring of mental processes? Impossible, as far as the mages of the day knew. Likewise, physical transmogrification, except for minor details like hair and eye colour. That curse alone was more potent magic than the Order could manage... so studying it became something of a priority. The magic of mind control has come a long way since then... which brings us to the here and now.

You've presumably heard all the rumours of doomsday happening in December 2012? Well, they're all based on a hysterical interpretation of the Mayan Long Calendar... which is actually a measure of the time between a series of planetary alignments. All planets will be aligned sometime in 2012... most already have, some are still to come. That's the time at which the Earth will have its highest level of background magical energy in many centuries, or for many centuries yet to come."

"And that's the end of the world, then?" asked Alex, sarcastically. Peter could hear a hint of something else in his voice, too; fear?

"Nothing so apocalyptic, but something serious, yes. You see, mid-December is the time when the Order plans to use this magical energy - on an enchantment to influence the minds of everyone on Earth. If they succeed - well, it makes James Bond-style world domination plots look small by comparison. They would be in de facto command of human civilisation."

Peter was suddenly struck by a very depressing thought. Mad though their captor was, he clearly believed all this... in which case, why tell them his master plan, unless...

...unless he intended to silence them?

"So... uh..." Alex sounded a little distracted. "Why are you telling us all this, if you're planning to take over the world, or something?"

"Me? Oh, you misunderstand... I'm trying to *stop* them. If I can propagate a powerful spell, use up enough of the magic that's collecting here, then the Order won't be able to muster the energy for their ritual. Simple. The Maya Curse is the most powerful spell I know of... so I've... made a few alterations. Copied it, spread it. It's self-perpetuating, as long as there's enough magic around to keep it going. This town will be a useful test-bed; seeing how it develops here in the next few hours will be invaluable for the future. I'll probably have to spread it around the world... otherwise it may just use up all the magic in the local area, a temporary magical dead-zone rather than a permanent reduction."

Peter didn't feel *very* reassured by this string of irrational assertions; but, he did feel a tad more hopeful about surviving this, than he had a few moments ago. In fact, he felt curious enough to ask his own question.

"Er, stop me if I'm wrong... but wouldn't you get cursed, too?"

"Nice try, but that's a little secret I think I'm going to *keep*..." said the figure, with a chuckle. But, Peter noticed, while he spoke he used his empty left hand to feel carefully at his throat and chest, as if searching for something; maybe some sort of necklace? Confirming it was still there?"

"But, I expect you're curious as to what I'm planning to do with you, hmm?" the figure continued. Without waiting for Peter to answer, he said, "Simple: nothing."

"Uh... what do you mean?" Peter asked, the figure's tone unnerving him, even though he couldn't see what the insinuation behind the comment might be.

"I'm not going to do anything... I'll just sit back, I think, and watch you two change." Peter gave a sceptical look in the figure's direction, and glanced over at Alex to see what his reaction was.

He was startled to see that Alex's behaviour was not, exactly, typical for someone in a hostage situation. Alex seemed not to even be paying attention to the conversation; instead, he had his eyes closed, a grimace of confused concentration on his face, and he was busily groping at his crotch. Through the relatively thin fabric of the suit-trousers, Peter could clearly see he was erect.

"Alex?!" he exclaimed.

"S...sorry... I feel so..." Alex began, hesitantly. Then he let out a groan of guilty, embarrassed pleasure, and started using both hands to rub, with increasing vigour, at the throbbing bulge in his clothes.

"Heh... that magical diagram he idiotically stepped into was what I'd just used to try and focus some of the magical power, to change the curse around a little and make sure it could spread properly. When he was outside, he must have stepped in some of the... er, evidence; that was enough to trigger activation... what, you didn't realise I was playing for time, by spilling the beans? Come on, who do you think I am, a comic-book villain?" the figure taunted.

Peter felt a deep wave of nausea run through him, as for the first time he started wondering if, just maybe, some or all of this might *actually* be true. No, it had to be a practical joke of some kind... Alex and Jean-Paul dressed up, pulling some sort of 'Candid Camera'-style prank. After all, things like this just *didn't* happen, not...

"F...fuck..." Alex whispered, hoarsely, shoving his right hand under his belt, to get a better grasp on his constrained but painfully erect cock, while his left busied itself unfastening his belt and unzipping his fly.

"Wh..?!" Peter said, shocked. "Alex, snap out of it! Wake up, for fuck's sake, and think about what you're doing!"

"He's a bit far gone for that, I think", interrupted the figure, sitting down in an armchair on the far side of the room. "It'll be your turn next; even just spending a few minutes in the same room is probably enough. I'm not *sure*, admittedly, but it'll be an interesting experiment in curse transmission..."

The gun wasn't pointing at him, he realised. The figure had, probably thanks to the distraction Alex was inadvertently providing, let the gun barrel wander off at a wide and useless angle; the arm was limp, and he was clearly not prepared to defend himself. If there was ever a chance, this was it... and Peter had a growing fear that he didn't have long to make a move and call for help.

He jumped violently up from his chair, and tried to turn that momentum into a charge across the room at the gunman; he might even have managed it, but for the glass top of the coffee table. Misjudging the distance to it, he caught his shin square on the corner, sending a momentary pain shooting up his leg, and putting him slightly off balance as he hurled himself across the six-foot gap, slightly slower than he wanted or needed to be.

To his surprise, though, the gunman let go of the gun entirely; it clattered to the floor beside him as he leapt to his feet with almost catlike reflexes, and Peter knew he'd missed the opportunity. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, even himself; he had plenty of time, so it seemed, to ponder his foolishness and try to work out what he could have done differently, if anything, before the gunman made a gesture in his direction, as if shooing away an irritating fly, and his body lifted from the ground and flew back across the room.

He landed with a crash, narrowly missing Alex, and overbalancing the armchair backwards, tipping them both to the floor behind it in a tangle of limbs.

Peter saw stars for a moment before his head started to gather up the scattered pieces of his consciousness and reassemble them into working order. He could see pink; a fleshy hue, a phallic shape, and greens, swimming all around...

He recoiled away from Alex with a cry of shock; the fact that the other man's cock was bare, and lewdly erect, wasn't the issue; it was the strange, dark leafy-green hue of the skin around it that shocked Peter, the weird, scaly texture.

Alex looked irritated at being knocked flying from his chair; but not in the way Peter would expect. He seemed more irritated at the interruption, not the event; and, as Peter watched, horrified, Alex started stroking at his exposed dick, sinking back into his own little, pleasure-filled world. The skin of his hand was changing colour, too, like his cock had been painted and the colour was rubbing off...

The mage - what else could he be, at this stage? - chuckled. "Hmm. Faster than I'd have expected... but maybe it had already started taking hold before he stepped into the circle, maybe even..."

A mobile telephone started ringing, and the mage stopped speaking. Incongruously, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a mobile, flipped it open, looked up at Peter, and said, "Sorry, I've got to take this..."

Peter didn't know quite how to respond to his captor apologising for taking a phonecall; but any response was curtailed as, with another wave of his hand, Peter felt his legs grow heavy, making even shuffling forward a massive effort. No way to take advantage of the situation, he realised.

The telephone squawked with the inaudible, tinny voice on the other end. The mage responded quickly, cutting the other off, "No names; I've got... company".

More chatter on the line, before the mage made an exaggerated guffaw. "Oh, nobody important. Not as they are, anyway... but things will change soon enough. How about you?"

The phone talked for several seconds this time before the gunman replied, pointedly ignoring Peter's irritated glare at being dismissed as 'nobody important'.

"Hah! Give me some credit... speaking of which, I hope you're wearing your warding amulet?"

So, whoever he was talking to, was in on this plan, too. Probably. This was all a bit much for Peter to take in so quickly. But still... warding amulet? Some sort of protective measure? The mage had said he wasn't worried about being infected by this curse, and he kept touching his collar-covered neck and coat as if checking something there.

Well, if the magic part was real, maybe that meant there was a chance Peter might get out of this one. Maybe.

The mage gave a sudden shudder of distaste, snapping Peter out of his momentary reverie. "Ugh. Please, spare me the details. Any nosy neighbours come running?" There was a long pause as the question, presumably, was answered. "Good idea; probably best you keep on top of things out there for a while. I can deal with this place when we're done."

That sounded ominous.

The phone was still squawking as the mage interrupted, "Wait, wait, I'll have to call you back about that; I can't go into details right now. You never know who might be listening." The mage's head turned toward Peter, still frozen to the spot, and Peter could almost feel the hidden eyes under that mask giving him an ironic glare.

"Okay; 'bye."

With that, it was over; the phone clicked shut and vanished into a pocket with such speed it was as if it had never existed.

"Oh, don't worry about him. I'd worry more about you... your aura's already been tainted. Very quick-acting, this curse..."

* * *

"If you say so. Call me back when you've dealt with your 'company'. 'Bye..." said the mage, pulling off his gloves as well as his mask, so that if anyone did come running, he could claim to be here to investigate too.

It really wouldn't do to have anyone calling the police and reporting a shadowy, masked figure skulking around, particularly in this situation!

Damn it all, though; if his partner was busy dealing with an interruption, that'd set the schedule back, and badly. This was the crucial stage; discovery now would mean death at the Order's hands, and warlocks could be... *extremely* creative when it came to cruel and unusual executions.

It might come to that anyway... but the plan was still sound, and even the Order's magic didn't make them omniscient. He felt confident that, if necessary, he could hide.

A hissing sound made him look up, slightly surprised; what was that? He strained his eyes against the half-darkness, his phone's relatively bright screen display momentarily ruining his night vision. He could make out the still silhouette of the saurian creature that Ben had become; he felt slightly bad about it, but, really, it was necessary, and it wasn't as if the ex-man would be *unhappy* about his new situation... the original curse was supposed to be slower, tortuous, but that hadn't suited its new wielders' requirements of speed. A good degree of intelligence should remain; magic could never suppress such things, although it could twist them...

Ah! There!

A damn cat. There was a damn cat, standing in the path, back arched, fur standing on end, hissing threateningly at a twenty-foot-long dinosaur that could probably swallow it whole without chewing.

He shook his head. Domesticated animals, no sense of fear any more...

He shouldn't break his cover on account of a cat, really. On the other hand, it made his job a lot easier while the beast was quiescent and subdued... if it decided to get up and go on a walkabout, stage two of this plan might get complicated; he didn't want the emergency services working out an appropriate containment response too quickly.

So, maybe it was best to make sure the cat didn't wake it up. Besides, if the cat carried on, it was going to get stepped on, or eaten, or something... he wouldn't wish that on an innocent pet.

He looked carefully to left and right, to check nobody was coming, before he stepped quickly out of the bushes and gingerly stepped in the cat's direction. He hoped it wasn't a vicious cat, that'd scream and thrash and claw at anyone but its owner...

Keeping a careful eye on the sleeping dinosaur - he didn't, after all, know what sort of temperament new-Ben would be in when he woke up - he knelt down and took careful hold of the cat, which, thankfully, relaxed in his grip, settling down a bit, though it was clearly still jittery.

The cat felt rather wet, he thought; what the hell had it been doing? But, before he could ponder that question further, it wriggled a little, and slipped straight out of his grip.

Momentarily forgetting the conundrum, and forgetting that it was a cat, he gasped and tried to catch the falling animal.

The cat, of course, hit the ground on its feet, saw the man apparently making a violent lunge towards it, and took off like a rocket with a loud yowl of fright.

He was left standing there, feeling rather foolhardy, and hoping that the allosaurus-like dinosaur didn't wake up and decide it wanted a snack. Or worse, recognise him and decide it wanted revenge.

The cat padded slowly and gingerly back into view, clearly still wary of him. Its beady, bright eyes gleamed in the dark.

He watched curiously as it took a step onto the path, then took a step back, looking curiously at its paw, before lying down in the grass and starting to clean itself. Ah... it had stepped in the dinosaur's spilled semen. And that must be why it was wet.

Ugh.

He very cautiously reached into his pocket, took out a tissue, and tried to wipe it off his hands as best he could, but the stuff was sticky, and the tissue could only remove the worst of it.

He wondered why he should be so unprofessionally disgusted by it. After all, really, he'd spent a good minute or two shoving a dildo up another man's backside, of which this was merely one of the least important consequences. It hadn't been gay, though; it was just necessary. He couldn't deny that it had felt, funnily enough, a little erotic to have taken such control over another person... man, woman, for a while it hadn't mattered much.

The cat's reaction was interesting, though... having cleaned itself of the worst of the mess, it was now bending down over the cooling pool, and lapping at it like milk. How contagious had they made this damn curse? He supposed, on an intellectual level, it was better if animals made up the bulk of the victims, rather than people, but it wasn't a possibility they'd laid plans for. He hated unexpected twists.

He stood up and stepped over the puddle, aiming a nasty swipe to just miss the cat.

"Go on! Git! Shoo!" he said, in a loud, harsh whisper.

The cat, which had started retreating from him as he approached, turned tail and fled before he'd even finished drawing his foot back. He heard it rustle the undergrowth, this time disappearing for good, probably sneaking back home to safety. Its owner would have a shock in the morning, he thought wryly.

His night vision was pretty much back to normal; he'd not seen the reptilian creature he'd helped create, this close, before. If all went to plan, he might never again, either, and that wasn't a prospect that troubled him. Still, curiosity gave him pause, rather than prompting him to slink back to the shadows again.

The dinosaur's colour was hard to determine in the dim light, but was probably dark green, at least mostly, with a paler underbelly. Its torso was massive, and its thick tail made it almost look like someone had joined two large cones together at the thick ends; but, its head was disproportionately large, and clearly displayed a row of sharp, predatory teeth that the creature's lips didn't quite cover.

Its body shape was looked rather like the infamous tyrannosaurus rex, but it was clearly not one. Its arms were small for its size, but not feeble and atrophied to vestiges; these arms were powerful, bulging with muscle, and tipped with wicked claws that could clearly grab and hold prey. Likewise, its jaw was less well-developed than a T-Rex's, the head smaller in proportion to the body; this was a hunter that used its jaws, but didn't rely solely on them.

All of these combined, together with the distinctive, pointed ridges or crests just above its eyes, let him identify it from the traditional boyhood hobby of amateur palaeontology; it was an Allosaurus, a common but slightly less well-known relative of T-Rex. It was a genus that had once spread the length and breadth of the Americas; no wonder the Maya had found fossils, and thought them the remains of dragons, like the mythical Quetzalcoatl that their northern rivals the Aztecs had worshipped as a god.

This was not a true dinosaur, of course; they were long extinct. This was a copy, magically crafted... at his instigation, a person twisted and warped into this.

He felt perversely proud at that.

He shouldn't be feeling a faint surge of arousal at the memory of holding the magically restrained Ben still, while using a dildo to pleasure him and complete the magic, stroking Ben's painfully erect cock, hearing the man's pained whimpers turn to pleasured moans, in an echo of what would soon happen to his body, too.

But, ah, the power; the dominance; it had set off something primal in him, that much he knew from the moment he cast the first of his spells this evening. He'd been nervous, afraid at the time; but, ah, with hindsight, he wondered what it would have felt like if, rather than the discarded dildo, it was his own shaft he'd used, what the transforming orifice would have felt like around him...

He felt slightly light-headed; backlash from the magic, he supposed. His warding amulet would, and had, protected him from the curse already, but working spells always had some side effects. For that matter, preparing to work powerful magic was a mildly erotic experience in itself, self-affirming, empowering.

Drat, why was he letting himself daydream crazy, idle fantasies like this? Now he'd given himself a 'problem' to take care of; his stubborn, half-erect shaft pushed uncomfortably at the inside of his underwear, giving him a continual reminder of what had caused it.

Although, he was sneaking around in the bushes, and there was nobody around... he'd never given much thought to the potential for a cheap, dirty thrill at jerking off in a public place, even if there was no real risk of discovery, but it sounded quite appealing... better than waiting, alone in the dark.

Ah. Problem. There were some levels of kinky he didn't much want to sink to - and stroking his dick with hands covered in a drying residue of dino-cum was one of them. Besides, good though the amulet was, it was never good to tempt fate so much as to start rubbing magically altered bodily fluids over himself, any more than he had to.

He had a spare tissue he could use as a crude protection, he pondered; the fluid was drying fairly quickly, so little danger of it soaking through. But, again, possible problems; all his clean tissues were now in a pocket with the used one, and besides paper wouldn't withstand any meaningful force, he'd just shred it.

Though, really, would it be such a problem? He felt pretty horny, even trying to consider the possibilities of self-pleasure dispassionately. Maybe his bare hand would do just fine, he wasn't exactly increasing his exposure considering it was already on his skin.

He realised he was unconsciously tickling his restrained shaft with the hand in his pocket; and he couldn't take his eyes off the dinosaur. It was, after all, in some way the trigger of it all; a focal point for the memory.

He wondered what its scales felt like...

It surely wouldn't do any harm, just to feel for a moment; he hesitated, before leaping into action, spurning all worry of consequences. He stepped forward, carefully, over the puddle of cum that separated them, and gingerly laid a hand on the creature's thigh.

It felt warm; that was logical enough, of course, the night wasn't yet cold, and it was too large not to have a lot of body heat. The texture was a lot smoother than he'd unconsciously expected; but then, he'd not really known what to expect.

He noticed that it had rolled over so that it lay half on its side, half on its back, with one leg on the ground, and one raised in the air; a necessity, he supposed, given its broad hip structure and large gap between its legs, nothing like the familiar hominid V-shape.

He could only just make out the narrow, well-hidden slit that sheathed its reproductive organs; a faint break in the scales, near the top end of the large bump formed by the pubis.

It occurred to him that someone could sit quite happily on that thick, meaty tail, and have complete access to...

Gah, what idiotic thoughts was he thinking now? What was he, gay?

Well, no, not as such... but at the present moment, it *was* this man's transformation, a demonstration of his own magical prowess, that had caused this flush of arousal; and, the opportunity for sex he'd passed up earlier, the lingering curiosity...

He unbuttoned his coat, and slid his hand under his belt, massaging his aching cock through his underpants. There was a very definite allure to this, jacking off, in a public spot, this close to a potentially lethal sleeping monster that he had set loose...

It wasn't *really* that dangerous, he reasoned; the curse would, *had*, given Ben a strong desire for other men, whatever his previous leanings had been. That was, indeed, its purpose... so finding itself close to another man in a sexual situation, would probably set off different instincts than the predatory ones.

But oh, the danger in that 'probably' was enough to add so much spice to this. He unzipped his fly and gently slid his shaft free, feeling it harden fully in the cooling air as it was released from its cramped confines.

There was some vague idea in his head that there was something amiss, but he paid it no heed; he'd indulged too far now to simply zip up and forget all about it.

The massive creature barely stirred as he rubbed his free hand across its scales, feeling suddenly breathless at its alien majesty. His now-dry hand rubbed at his maleness, spreading his meagre offering of precum around to lubricate the motions somewhat; ah, but at least some of the seed that had coated his hand was still there, helping.

He felt up its flank and arm, very gently feeling the powerful muscle beneath the scales... and was surprised to find its forearm wet, and slightly sticky. Ah... well, it had been masturbating, too, so some of its seed must have...

He felt none of his earlier revulsion; in fact, it was quite fortuitous, he though, gathering up a small handful of the drying goop, and spreading it across his cock. Ah, that was better, he thought, his hand making a faint squishing sound as he gently stroked back and forth over the length.

His head felt fuzzy; he really shouldn't... But, it'd be okay; he was warded against his own spell.

He sped up his strokes as he revelled in a daydream of what he might have done to Ben; maybe, pulled his trousers down completely, and stuck his shaft deep into the man's protesting anus... rocked back and forth, feeling Ben start to enjoy it too, feel the start of that thick tail growing between them, feel the scales on those bare buttocks as the cheeks shrank, giving him better and better access to the transforming predator's hole, the forming, massive creature completely under his command...

Damn, stroking himself just wasn't enough, as the image crossed into his head. The curse made the victim lust after males... so, that part of the fantasy, he might not have to simply imagine, the cursed man was right here, asleep, waiting. Could he really be thinking this?

His hand slowed its strokes on his throbbing shaft, and he knew that he didn't just want a quick, ultimately unfulfilling round of self-love; he wanted to see the predator writhing helpless under him as he squirted his cum into its tailhole...

He took a few steps back, along the allosaur's length, staring fixedly between its legs. Oh, yes, he couldn't resist this *unique* opportunity!

He shucked his coat off, and pulled at his plain T-shirt underneath, not caring if he smeared saurian seed all over it; it was only a cheap thing he'd picked up especially to dispose of after tonight, anyway. His trousers, he took more care with; it wouldn't do to have to walk home in the nude because he'd ruined them in his haste.

Finally, he slipped out of his shoes and socks, too, leaving himself clad only in his enchanted amulet - which was *not* on his checklist to remove, period.

He stepped to the side, breathing hard with excitement, and knelt down to scoop up a handful of pooled cum from the path, to lube himself up more, and gave a shiver of delight as the cooled liquid touched his cock; he couldn't remember feeling this aroused since he was a desperate, horny teenager...

He enjoyed the faint prickling of the grass under his feet as he walked carefully to the creature's tailtip, and started walking up and over the great weight of the tail; it was large and bulky enough that he'd only barely be able to get his legs over it at the allosaur's groin, and it was either this, or climb its haunches to get into position - which would certainly wake it prematurely. He wanted to be in control of this encounter, not leave it to the whims of the beast.

He reached the base of its tail without incident; the bulky appendage fitted surprisingly neatly between his legs when he tip-toed. The scales were warm under him, contrasting with the increasingly cool air of the night.

He could smell the creature's musk on the light breeze, a faint emanation from the slit that wasn't far away, not far at all.

He rested his weight on the creature's tail, marvelling at how comfortable a cushion it made; beneath him, it began to stir, slowly.

He lined up his cum-soaked, precum-drooling shaft with the base of the allosaur's genital slit, poking a cum-slick finger into it, feeling gently inside the flap of skin, trying to work out where he needed to get to.

That did it; the creature shifted its weight slightly, nearly making him fall off his slightly precarious perch, and it gave a feeble, coughing bark that sounded faintly irritated. It was waking up fast now.

Ah, there! His probing fingers found a slight depression towards the rear of the slit, and the moment he probed there, his index finger slid down easily into it. Bingo!

Before the creature could wake fully and come to any sort of decision about the situation, he quickly shuffled his body forward, and used both hands to spread the scales apart, to reveal his target, before he leaned forward, and felt the head of his shaft sink into the yielding flesh.

The feeling was looser than he'd expected; but then, the creature's body was a lot larger than his, so it wasn't surprising. But, the heat of it, like a furnace, burning so sensually! The last, lingering doubts evaporated; he wouldn't miss this for the world!

The allosaur gave another coughing bark, this one louder, and sounding more than a little angry, too; he hoped his sound-dampening spell would hold up to this.

Then, gaining its full consciousness, it tried to roll over, and stand up; but, it was not so large that the human didn't make its movement a rather more awkward task than it might normally have been. Still, he felt rather worried, suddenly, despite his arousal; if the beast threw him off, he might get trodden on - more than enough to break bones - or it might just attack him outright, and he didn't fancy pitting his distracted mind's magic against those powerful claws and teeth.

All of which left him with no option but to avoid being thrown off; not only did his survival perhaps depend on it, but it meant he could keep his cock right where it was, penetrating the magnificent saurian body, sheathed in its fiery depths.

He didn't even know he had the strength, when he gave the creature's thigh a hard shove, using the flailing leg as a lever to force the allosaur totally onto its back, shivering and giving a moan as the creature's innards twisted around his cock with the slightly changed position. Putting one hand on each of its inner thighs, he pushed them apart hard; an affectation, since he had ample room in between anyway, but the point was evidently not lost on the former-human-turned-dinosaur.

To his surprise, it stopped struggling then; and the frantic and uneven fight between them ended, the human male having impossibly won the struggle. He suddenly met its inhuman eyes for the first time, as the allosaur craned its long neck to look at him; and in them, even so alien, he could read its emotions. It was a mix of a little curiosity, a lot of surprise, a little but growing touch of lust, and, oddly, a hint of fear too. Maybe it remembered him?

There was complete stillness between them for several seconds, as both digested the situation; but, he knew he needed to keep the momentum - and the allosaur's innards felt so wonderfully warm, silky against his shaft, he couldn't long resist. He pushed forward further, hilting himself inside the great creature, feeling his cock throb and spurt a little precum into its depths, lubricated already with its own spilled seed. Almost reluctantly, he pulled back, only to shove himself forward hard, digging his toes into the grass for leverage.

If he wasn't *large* enough to make it roar with pleasure, he'd have to use a touch of force instead!

The allosaur gave a sound almost like a wheeze, and he felt its anal muscles clench around him; hopefully that meant he'd done it right, rather than just irritating the quiescent theropod.

By the third quick, hard, full-body thrust, it amazingly felt a little tighter, the strokes a little better, more pleasing; he felt its inner muscles working, the added sensation just what was needed.

He stroked at its thighs with a combination of lust, possessiveness, and tenderness; he relished the feel of the scaly flesh under his fingers, feeling the way the leg muscles shivered in time with his thrusts.

He leaned even further forward, resting his body weight on the saurian groin, loving the feel of the scales beneath him, and smelled the much stronger musk in the air... ah, there, on its chest, a patch of cum that must have dripped from its phallus earlier, pooling while it slept... and without another thought, he stuck his tongue into it, the bitterness startling him, but it tasted so good, he thought, as he licked his tongue over his sharp teeth...

...er...

Sharp teeth?

Startled out of his sexual frenzy, he sat up, ceasing his thrusts, though leaving his shaft buried into the allosaur beneath. He could stand easily over the tail now, he'd evidently grown at least a foot taller; his lower back felt very strange, sort of stretched and heavy; he felt dirt between his toes, where his toeclaws had dug into the dry earth of the park's lawn...

He'd gone too far, he realised, stretched his amulet far past its capacity. It was designed to ward off harm, but if its wearer went and dived headlong into harm's way, then some sort of failure was inevitable. There were counterspells; he needed to...

The allosaurus gave an irritated grunt, and clenched its inner muscles around his shaft with an audible squelch, making him quiver with sudden delight; He felt sure that the tailhole was even tighter afterwards, though still looser than he'd like...

What was he worrying about, really? This felt great!

He pushed his bothersome thoughts aside as he pulled back, and resumed his thrusting, gentler now, not so frenzied, taking his time.

He leaned forward again, further this time, and felt the growing, shifting heat at the front end of the allosaur's genital slit, as its own arousal grew; confined by his body weight. Good; he was the dominant, pleasure was his to give or deny...

He gleefully stuck his nose into the pooled cum on its chest again, lapping at it hungrily, licking the scales clean, making the allosaur give a sound that was almost like a giggle.

Disappointed to find the cum had vanished, he licked his lips, using his longer tongue to clean every last trace from his small but increasingly defined muzzle, as he raised his body more upright again, a bit of an effort now that his tail was growing, getting towards a foot long. He felt the genital slit part with the first trace of the allosaur's large shaft as he did so, and he eyed it greedily. He knew where he could get a fresher...

"Dear, dear... this is quite a pickle you've got yourself into..." said a voice from nearby, interrupting him. It sounded familiar, the tone wryly amused, knowing. Oh, no; he knew that voice...

The archmage, one of the Elders of the Order, stepped into view from behind him. Andreas Papargopoulous, a Greek of nearly eighty years, and one of the younger members of the Inner Circle these days. A conniving, cunning bastard, it wasn't surprising that he'd be the one to work the plan out, and try and stop it. Damn him.

He hunched his shoulders defensively, wanting suddenly to curl up into a little ball and die. It was mortifying; someone here, seeing him like this, balls-deep in a huge, beautiful, sexy, very male allosaurus...

"...wouldn't you say, Mr Petrov? Assuming, of course, you're still capable of speaking?"

The semi-human creature that Daniel Petrov had become discreetly thrust again into that hot, increasingly tight tailhole, and shuddered. It almost didn't matter if someone was watching; nobody got to interrupt the prime male, making this other his, mating and joining as only two males could. Who did this presumptuous voyeur think he was, anyway?

"That warding spell tied to your amulet seems to be given a dud, Petrov... I'd best remove it before you strangle yourself, if you must insist on fucking when I'm talking... not that you can help it, I suppose."

With a loud *clink*, he felt the tightening strap of the chain necklace suddenly break loose, and the small pendant fell away, lost in the dark and the bushes.

"My, my; sabotage, by the looks of it. I daresay your supposed friend has designs on going this one alone... oh, I'll make sure you get your revenge, or at least, I'll get it for you." There was a long pause, and the man's tone changed as Daniel started thrusting with more force, lewd squelching starting to fill the air again, and the allosaur beneath him curling its toeclaws in pleasure and making a sound like a sigh as Daniel started mating it in earnest, again.

"Why do I bother... well, this isn't the place for this conversation."

With a tap of his staff on the ground, the world around the three creatures suddenly changed; gone was the lightly wooded park and the night sky, instead there was bright sunlight, low scrubland as far as the eye could see, and not a cloud in the sky. The air was hot and dry, the thin sandy soil almost uncomfortably hot.

Daniel found it hard to think, to try and remember; that hot, pulsing tailhole, his mate's whines and grunts, occupied his mind so much... Ah, the Order's little retreat, a large ranch in the edge of the Australian Outback; a vast desert, desolate, and ultra-sparsely populated. Easy to hide in.

"Now I guess you're wondering how I discovered your little plot?" Papargopoulous began. Daniel, though, blinking in the bright sunlight, was more focused on the creature below, seen in light for the first time; he paused his mating, to drink in the sight of his wonderful mate.

His scales were an erotic, virile green, striped with darker, brown lines; his hide was thick, tough, and masculine; his teeth and claws were sharp; his shaft was large, meaty, pulsing and drooling with arousal as it reached full erection; but, most of all, his muzzle and his eyes, holding so submissive an expression, so complete a surrender to Daniel's will, Daniel's needs.

Daniel felt like he could cum, right there, just basking in the appearance of this majestic carnivore lying passively beneath him, the tailhole eagerly milking his growing, shifting shaft for his seed.

"Ah, I guess not. Well, if you'll excuse me; I have a job to do..." the Archmage observed, vanishing from sight as reality rewrote itself around him. He must be desperate about something, throwing magic around like that... Daniel had a vague feeling he knew why, but couldn't quite place the stray thought.

He rolled his hips, jabbing his cock into his mate deeper, rubbing his growing tail against the larger one beneath him. Whatever worried the Archmage, it didn't matter. Not important.

With his new, three-fingered hands, he stretched, relishing the feel of his flesh expanding, bulking out, the raw power filling him... his shaft expanding to fill his mate's intimate recesses, his precum flowing freely, lubricating the passage just enough to keep it pleasurable and slick.

He interlaced his clawed fingers with his mate's thick toeclaws, rubbing his long tail against the other's, angling his thrusts deep, feeling and seeing the way the submissive allosaur below him tensed as he stuffed its tailhole full.

His mate made some pleasured, sighing, wheezing noises, his erect shaft bobbing and slapping wetly against his bellyscales with each of Daniel's thrusts, and Daniel knew that he had brought his mate to the very edge of the precipice.

His lengthening muzzle bumped against the other male's, and he licked it, before opening his jaws and biting gently on his mate's snout as Daniel's body reached its full, true size. He was in charge, on top, and instinct drove him on as the urgent need pushed all other thoughts out of his head, his thrusts short, sharp, and deep.

The predator beneath him shuddered, its breathing heavy from its nostrils, and he felt its tailhole clench violently around his shaft, and wetness splash hard against his chest, again, and a third time.

He felt the tingle of his own climax approaching fast, as he released his grip on his mate, and gazed down as the prone allosaur covered himself in seed, again, helplessly squirming.

As the flow started to lessen, he leant down again, using his flat, broad tongue to lap up the fresh, musky cum of his mate, the taste so much more intense with his new predatory senses...

...and with a final push, scales slapping together hard, he hilted himself deeply, and roared his triumph to the azure sky as his buried shaft swelled and exploded with his new, saurian seed, forcing the hot fluid deep into his mate's tailhole, and still thrusting, taking mind-boggling pleasure in ravaging his allosaur mate's oh-so-male body.

Then, finally, he collapsed on top of the other, rubbing their rounded torsos together, spreading the spilled cum between them, not a care in the world other than simply being close to his new Beta.

Was there something he should be doing?

No. Nothing that mattered.

* * *

"No, see? There's nothing wrong with me. It's been several minutes, there's nothing wrong with me!" said Peter, suppressing a hysterical urge. He glanced across the room at the slowly-changing Alex, whose greener, scalier skin now seemed to cover most of his body, only a few fading flesh-coloured patches left.

At least Alex had been distracted, or shocked, enough by the ongoing change that he'd stopped his self-pleasure and come a little to his senses. Only a little, though; he seemed to be daydreaming, and kept throwing hungry glances at Peter.

The gunman shrugged. "It's not precise; too many variables, just like everything else. It's spreading, though, eating away at your aura... I can see it. Could be minutes, could be hours... it'll be interesting to see which."

The argument had been going around in circles for nearly five minutes. Peter *did* feel really peculiar; cold sweats, nausea, cramps, pins and needles... was it some magic curse, or just his own nerves, his mind playing tricks on him?

He was about to respond again with a denial, when the gunman suddenly cocked his head, evidently startled by something. Peter's nerves were so jangled that he jumped, shaking with nervous tension; what had surprised his captor? There was no sound, no other movement...

"Someone's coming... oh, no, no, no! Not Paparg..." The gunman leapt to his feet, and was interrupted as, an instant later, in a flash of dull blue light, two more figures appeared in the room, as if by magic - and, indeed, very definitely by magic.

Peter gasped, already half-way through his own startled reflex, unable to be any more surprised. He felt suddenly, and inexplicably relieved; there was one man, elderly, tanned complexion, slightly stooped, regally dressed, carrying a staff that wouldn't have looked out of place on the set of 'Lord of the Rings', that he didn't recognise. But the other man, he recognised immediately as Jean-Paul.

Jean-Paul looked slightly dazed, and very pale; a trickle of mostly dried blood ran down the side of his head, and his fair hair was matted down with dark clots from what was evidently a nasty gash above his left ear. Around his neck hung a large, ornate, golden necklace, with a large amethyst centrepiece; from the way it hung over his collar, and he kept fidgeting with it, he must only just have put it on.

His eyes went wide as he saw Peter, and wider still as he saw Alex. But it was the other man who spoke.

"You've overstepped your bounds, somewhat..." he said, addressing the gunman with an air of authority. "...and do put that down, before someone hurts you!" he continued, his authoritative gaze turning into a baleful glare as the gunman raised the pistol, aiming it at him. "You know full well what will happen if you pull that trigger. Do you really think *you* can hurt *me*?"

Peter felt hopeful, nearly elated; help had arrived!

His hopes fell quickly afterward as the pistol suddenly turned toward him again.

"Maybe not you, but how about him? I doubt you'd like that..."

The elderly man shrugged. "Really, why should I care? Go ahead, shoot him, it'll save the effort of a cover-up."

"I wasn't talking to you..." said the gunman, watching Jean-Paul's face go even paler as he took stock of the situation. "How about it, lover-boy?"

Peter had never felt anything quite like it; but, he noticed in that instant, that the gunman wasn't looking in his direction - he was looking the other way, at right angles to the line of the gun. The aim was off, too far left, too low.

But he knew with icy clarity that in a second or so, the gun would be aimed true, and those masked eyes, ready to kill.

And with that, his fear was gone, along with his paralysing terror. Everything seemed slower, all of a sudden, and completely clear, like a mountain stream. If he didn't make a move now, save himself, he'd die. His 'rescuers' had made their disregard clear.

He started to move; there wasn't enough room for him to run, not enough distance top build up speed, but even at a brisk walk, there were barely three paces to cover.

Jean-Paul's horror deepened as he saw events unfolding; Peter felt suddenly guilty for taking the risk, but, whose side was Jean-Paul on? He hadn't been the gunman, but... who, or what, was he?

Not important right now, there was only the single moment, and the goal within reach.

The gunman started to turn, perhaps seeing the movement in his peripheral vision, perhaps alerted by Jean-Paul's stare and expression; the gun went off as Peter reached out to grab the outstretched arm.

But, one-handed, not aiming properly, not even looking in the right direction, the bullet was far off course, embedding itself in the wall after tearing its way through 'Hamlet' and most of 'Othello' before it passed harmlessly through the bookshelf, leaving only the Complete Works of Shakespeare as a casualty.

The report of the gun in the closed room was deafening, momentarily stunning everyone with the barrage of noise and confusion. Peter, who'd built up a lot of momentum, crashed headlong into the gunman, sending them both toppling to the ground before the gunman recovered, and flung him back.

But, his distraction had been long enough.

The elder man made a gesture, and Peter could *sense* the power rushing past him, invisible. The gunman gave a yell of pain - a feminine wail, not the distorted mish-mash Peter had become used to hearing.

With shock, he realised that the mask had been pulled free, either when he charged, or thanks to whatever the old man had done - and beneath was another face he recognised. Had he known anyone who hadn't been lying to him?

"...Sally?" he said, incredulously.

The elder ignored him. "It was bad enough that you dragged young Daniel down with you... poor, idealistic boy, what poisonous lies did you feed him? Not that it matters, now; your method of... tying up your loose ends, was singularly brutal. Did you realise he'd already let slip to me what you were planning? Is that why you tricked him?" the man said, voice booming.

Jean-Paul quietly helped Peter to his feet. "What's going on?" asked Peter, without emphasis, suddenly so overwhelmed, he felt completely numb.

"We're here to help... don't mind Elder Papargopoulous, he wouldn't do anything, really... don't worry, we'll find a cure, the magic's..." Jean-Paul began, in a whisper.

"Magic? Wizards? What the hell? I mean... who are you? Really?" Peter asked.

The old man's voice rose again. "Do you have anything to say in your defence - not that it matters?"

"We're the Order of Antaeus", began Jean-Paul. "We're the keepers of the Old Way - ancient magic, that fell out of practice during Roman times, and was nearly lost... Sally, she was under a familial curse, so Daniel and I, we were sent to... study her. But Daniel... he fell in love... I knew he was teaching her magic... illegally... and I suspected they were plotting something, but until earlier today I never...

He took a deep breath, strong emotions battling behind his eyes, his composure weak. "I tried to stop her tonight, but she was so... violent... Gods above, what will they do to me for *my* failings? I should have stopped this..."

Jean-Paul looked like he might cry. Peter felt almost like crying, too; all the stress, all the fear and tension, and suddenly fear for his friend, too. He wished for a moment he could be a little boy again, run to his mother and hide in her arms until all the nightmares passed on by. He wanted to be close, to hold, to feel safe...

It wasn't until he wondered why Jean-Paul's shoulders had tensed, that he realised he was kissing him.

He pulled away, slowly, feeling as confused as Jean-Paul looked. Why had he just...? Jean-Paul had feelings for him, that much he knew, but he'd never... never thought it might feel so...

"No... my warding..." croaked Sally's strangled voice. "Don't..."

The two startled men looked around, reminded that there were others close by.

"You deserve no less. It's up to me to decide your punishment; I think locking you away in the Ranch with the other monsters you've created will be punishment enough."

The mage bent down over Sally, plucking at the air as if pulling threads from near her. "Your magic is nothing compared to mine."

With a lunge, Sally made a grab at him, her reflexes slow, her movements seeming sluggish; there was a flash of blue light again, and the mage was gone. Jean-Paul gasped, and took a step toward her, his eyes fixed on the gun that was still in her hand.

She made no move to stop him; she seemed to be struggling to breathe, sucking in air as if drowning. She was clearly incapacitated; but, even in this state, apparently she still had a few tricks.

The elder mage, though, evidently had more, re-appearing an instant later in the same position, still bending low. "Really, did you th..."

He vanished again as Sally gestured.

Peter was finding it hard to concentrate. He felt very strange; but, not *bad* strange. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Jean-Paul; it had never struck him how handsome the Quebecer was, before. And the man had eyes only for him... he felt his cock twitch slightly in his pants. What was wrong with him?

The mage reappeared again. "I can do this all day... and you're just about out of magic, young la..."

He was interrupted as the gun discharged again, and there was a spray of splinters as the bullet passed through the base of his staff, a great crack opening along the grain of the wood, running halfway along the ornately carved stave's length.

Jean-Paul took a step back, and stumbled; Peter tried to catch him, but was off-balance. They crashed heavily to the floor, Jean-Paul ending up beneath Peter, facing him, winded and stunned as, with another flash of light, the mage was sent away once more.

"Not without your Transport Staff..." said Sally, coughing, tossing the gun aside. "You should've... put more into blocking *my* spell and not worr... *cough*... worried so much about the curse... shit, what's he done to me...? No, no, I've no more magic, nothing... Need to get... out of..."

She didn't seem to be speaking to anyone that Peter could see, as she rose to her feet, and stumbled uncertainly toward the front door.

Alex stood in her way, looking at her curiously, hungrily, his inhuman maleness once again jutting from his unfastened fly. His hair was gone now, and his eyes looked... inhuman, somehow; large and alien.

"Stop... her..." said Jean-Paul, struggling to get the words out, coughing with the effort. The cut on his head seemed to have been reopened by the fall, and he was evidently in some pain. "Please..."

Peter's heart lurched at seeing Jean-Paul in such a state... and before he could stop himself, he'd kissed him again, on the lips, his tongue worming his way into Jean-Paul's open mouth, the alien heat and novel taste intoxicating. His penis stirred further, and he felt suddenly flushed with arousal at being so close he could feel the other man's heartbeat.

The curse; it had to be, this wasn't like himself, Peter thought, he would never have done this if not for some *outside* force, changing him...

His maleness was hard now, confined within his underwear quite uncomfortably - and in fact, all his clothes felt strange, slightly too small. What was happening to him?

He pulled his head back from Jean-Paul's. "P...Peter...", Jean-Paul gasped, looking up at him. "Your eyes... you've..." he coughed, his breath returning slowly. "No... keep control! We might be able to... to reverse it..." He turned his head to one side. "Not like this... no, not like this..."

To most of Peter's mind, it seemed logical, sensible, that Jean-Paul would want to do the virtuous thing, and make absolutely sure it was Peter's own free will that Peter was acting under. But a small, insistent little thought took it as an insult, a challenge. Why *shouldn't* Jean-Paul love him like this? He could feel the firmness in Jean-Paul's crotch, he knew Jean-Paul felt something.

He wanted, so badly, to feel that hardness grow and rise further, to feel how much Jean-Paul desired him, to feel their lengths grind together as the pleasured each other.

This wasn't like him at all.

But it was what he wanted, it was what he wanted Jean-Paul to want, as he firmly grabbed Jean-Paul's protesting jaw with a hand that looked oddly off-colour, the skin rougher than usual, and pulled him into a kiss again.

His teeth felt wrong, too; out of place, out of shape. His lips felt stiff and sore; the kiss felt so good, but he couldn't seem to keep it going. He hissed in frustration, grinding his hips against the smaller man's... wait, wasn't Jean-Paul taller than he was? Or... supposed to be?

He suddenly felt a weight on his back, heavy breathing, scales, claws encircling him; he felt a jutting length of cock poke at the back of his thigh, as a wonderfully sexy half-human face, half-saurian muzzle rested on his shoulder. Alex, evidently, had got bored toying with Sally... but why shouldn't he, she was just a human woman, whereas...

Alex's clawed hands pushed in between Peter's and Jean-Paul's hips, forcing them slightly apart, so that Peter was resting all his weight across Jean-Paul's shoulders, pinning him down. Jean-Paul struggled, but to little avail, and Peter felt confused. Why did Jean-Paul seem frightened by Alex's handsome, changing form?

Alex was not Jean-Paul, but Peter still felt an uncharacteristic thrill as those clawed hands fumbled at his belt buckle, unfastening it. Suddenly, his rear end was bared, the large, wet length of saurian shaft bumping against it, rubbing damply along and between his cheeks. He felt his own shaft start to dribble precum onto Jean-Paul's jeans as his anticipation rose. It might not be Jean-Paul's cock, but oh, he needed to feel male flesh enter him, spear him, breed him... Jean-Paul understood that, surely; Peter hoped he wouldn't be jealous.

Peter reached down with his own hands, unzipping Jean-Paul's fly. Jean-Paul kept struggling as Peter lowered his cock inside, rubbing it against Jean-Paul's trapped, half-hard length as Alex positioned himself with his tip against Peter's puckered anus, lubricating preseed leaking onto and into Peter all the while. Peter smiled, toothily, as he felt the scaly stomach behind him rub against the developing nub of a tail.

Sally was nearby, just out of reach. He was vaguely aware that once - not long ago, even - he'd have been mortified if anyone had caught him with his pants down, let alone when he was grinding his cock into another man's crotch, with a half-man-half-dinosaur on top of him. Now, he felt only irritated.

"Damn... I should have kept some backups, for protection... too late now. I didn't lie, you know; I really did plan all this to try and save the world. Silly little Sally, everyone thought... but, I just dyed my hair blonde and flashed a cheeky wink at every man who went by... and suddenly, everybody thought they knew me? Women turn their heads with jealousy or high-minded disgust, and men stop seeing me as a *person*... I used to hate that, but it was such a perfect opportunity... being totally invisible..." she said. Was she talking to him? It didn't matter, he had other things to focus on.

Peter loosened Jean-Paul's belt and pulled down his pants, relishing the feel of his cock rubbing against Jean-Paul's smaller, mostly flaccid member. As Alex started to push, the tip of the inhuman shaft starting to slickly spread Peter open, Peter wrapped a large, scaly hand around his and Jean-Paul's rods, and started stroking. It felt like heaven... but he felt confused, and very conflicted, that Jean-Paul didn't seem to be enjoying it, not at all. Wasn't this what Jean-Paul had wanted?

"Daniel got cold feet... I *knew* he was planning to turn me in... so I finished the preparations without him, and sprung it on him as a surprise... I hoped that..." She took a deep breath, her voice sounding slightly strained and hoarse, and a little excited, "...those snobs in the Inner Circle wouldn't have time to respond, and I knew I could get Daniel to play along a bit, if he thought he was in control. It was so easy... I'd infect a few people, probably you lot, and use magic to drop you all over the world, major cities, big transport hubs... so the Order couldn't just stop it, not easily, not without exposure... you'd be confused, you'd wander around and talk to people, get close... then start to *change*.... Ohhh...."

Alex's shaft sank deep into Peter, and he started thrusting; it felt painful, the rod too large for Peter's smaller, mostly-human body, and even the copious preseed wasn't enough. Peter gritted his teeth, feeling his face extend almost in time with Alex's motions, bumping into Jean-Paul's face as it grew.

Oh, of course. Jean-Paul had some magical thingy that was stopping him joining in... that was no good, Peter thought. If he kept that on, he'd never see how beautiful Jean-Paul might look with scales, claws, a tail...

Jean-Paul seemed, of all things, distracted by Sally. Peter felt jealous; why should Sally be stealing his love's attention, why now?!

"It wasn't... Daniel. I found out... I gave you away..." he said, looking toward her. "He got what he deserved... just like you're getting..."

Peter became aware that Sally has herself half-naked, and fingering herself, watching the three men and half-men, talking all the while. From her slit, though, protruded a very un-feminine organ, about an inch long, but growing. Peter felt a curious excitement at seeing the growing nub of a saurian shaft on Sally... more playmates, more for the pack.

Sally grunted in response. "Oh... oh dear... not that it... really matters... he's probably escaped a nasty punishment by..." She gasped again as her hand ran along the side of her new male equipment, starting to toy with it more than with her ever-less-female lips. Her other hand seemed to be occupied with the catch of a small cooler box, the sort one might take on a picnic, or a day on a hot beach.

The she giggled. "What'll they do to you, I wonder..? They look even less highly on incompetence, especially given how I've... *almost* beaten them... You know, I've quite an idea about what to do with you..."

She leaned forward, crawling almost on all fours, and grasped the chain of the warding amulet Jean-Paul still wore.

"Wait, don't!" he said, suddenly alarmed. But, he was too late, as she pulled the device free, and flung it aside, before retreating back to a safe distance.

"After what you *tricked* me into doing to Daniel... it's the least you deserve... at least you'll be happy with your boyfriend now!"

Peter felt Jean-Paul's soft maleness start to harden against his much more sensitive, freshly-skinless shaft. Ah, good, he thought! He'd been getting worried Jean-Paul mightn't want his attention! He raised his upper body a bit, letting Jean-Paul have more freedom to move, and heard his very-tight shirt start tearing at the seams with the motion, his new, much sexier body bursting free.

Peter tried to smile at him, happily; but, an allosaur's muzzle wasn't built for smiling. He licked Jean-Paul's neck, instead, tasting the salty, masculine taste of his skin, and the faint iron tang of the blood.

Alex's thrusts didn't miss so much as a beat during the exchange, and as more and more precum leaked from his aroused shaft, the movements became easier, less uncomfortable, and more pleasurable for Peter. His pleasure was redoubled as he felt Jean-Paul's shaft harden quickly to full erection, while Sally suppressed a moan of her own.

His growing tail was making Alex's access to his backside increasingly tricky; the upward bend in the thick appendage was getting uncomfortable. But, moving away, would mean breaking contact with Jean-Paul's maleness, that wonderful, hot touch...

But he made a decision anyway, as Jean-Paul started pushing him upward, slightly panicked, as Peter's weight and bulk increased, and Peter realised that the small, human frame was more delicate than he'd thought.

He couldn't rise easily; his tangled clothes, his pants still pooled around his thighs, prevented it, and Alex's efforts to continue sliding his shaft in and out of Peter's tight hole made it difficult. Peter strained to get his legs under him, slowly, forcing Alex to slow down and copy the motion; his trousers tore in two, the legs separating as he stood, his precum dripping down onto Jean-Paul's exposed, throbbing cock and testicles.

Jean-Paul gazed upward as the last shreds of Peter's shirt fell away, his eyes newly interested in Peter's barrelled, scaly chest, his growing muzzle... his drooling shaft, between his thighs where the scales were still growing, muscle forming beneath the skin to support the growing tail.

He sat up, sniffing at the musk-filled air of his flat, and gazed down curiously as a drop of Peter's precum landed on the back of his hand.

Peter, craning his neck, was being forced to balance on all fours as Alex's much greater weight kept him down. He was slightly surprised that Jean-Paul could fit under his chest comfortably at arm's length like that... but he *should* be big, and strong, and sexy, and so should Jean-Paul, or Jean-Paul'd never manage to take his tailhole like Alex was doing, so wonderfully...

Jean-Paul licked at the spilled preseed, savouring the taste like a gourmet meal. His eyes lit up as if he'd discovered a new, unexpected pleasure, and his head turned toward Peter's dripping, bobbing shaft, hungrily.

Peter growled, quite inhumanly, as Jean-Paul's head leaned forward, and he felt the soft, human lips close around his tip, sucking like a straw, a flexible tongue rubbing over the sensitive, pointed tip, as the lips slowly sank deeper onto the jutting flesh.

Sally gasped, and a faint, mixed musky scent filled Peter's new nostrils; it made him look around, and see Sally now completely naked. He strange, human breasts were shrinking into a much better-looking flatter chest, her skin turning slowly toward green, scales spreading out from her much narrower-looking slit that looked so deliciously male now. Her frame had expanded, making her well over six feet tall; but her cock was still undersized, not yet three inches.

Despite that, what it lacked in length it was attempting to make up for in enthusiasm, as it quivered violently in her grasp, watery seed gushing from it in an orgasm that was more a constant, slow flow than a series of vigorous eruptions. She seemed to be trying to catch as much as possible in the palm of her hand... but Peter didn't have any chances to think about her not-yet-male form, when his tailhole was being pounded by a *very* amorous male, and his shaft sucked by his new mate.

He could feel those wonderfully flexible lips stiffening slightly, the occasional graze of teeth on flesh feeling sharper, and he knew Jean-Paul was changing. Craning his neck to look underneath him, he realised that his own form had changed more, too; his arms, shorter, were holding him with his spine aimed downwards toward the floor, and his neck felt longer, more flexible, even though his jaw felt massive and swollen, his head much larger.

Alex was almost complete in more ways than one, his body a prime example of reptilian masculinity, his green-scaled body powerful and sleek, his tail long and thick; the human room seemed barely able to contain him, and might not for much longer. The shaft in Peter's tailhole expanded to saurian proportions, making them both gasp in delight. A shred of a shirt caught on the back of Alex's neck served as the only reminder that the rutting beast had been human not long before... and it was a definite improvement, Peter thought, as he felt his climax start to rise. Jean-Paul slurped noisily at Peter's own, growing shaft, his new, extending muzzle just barely keeping pace with Peter's growth to keep up the stimulation, if not the wonderful suction the human mouth had managed a minute ago. His hand, with claws starting to grow from his fingertips, worked at his own rod, the slap of the flesh muffled by the lewd slurps and gurgles as Peter's tailhole was filled, emptied, filled again with allosaur cock.

Peter felt his internal floodgates open as Alex shifted his position to better accommodate Peter's growing tail and avoid himself bumping against the ceiling, positioning himself to one side, twisting his lower body, and putting a large, three-toed foot on Peter's back to force his tail higher.

Peter groaned, and then growled, and then roared as he felt his shaft pulse, thicken as seed filled it over several exquisite seconds, and then violently buck as his essence leapt out, down Jean-Paul's eager throat.

For several seconds, Jean-Paul managed somehow to suck and slurp noisily and loudly at the spewing flesh, swallowing the flood quickly; but, inevitably, it overwhelmed him, and he fell back for breath, Peter's shaft quickly coating his shirt and open trousers in saurian seed. Jean-Paul's hand raced across his freshly-lubricated cock, the fingers shrinking and merging down to three, as he gave a very human-sounding moan and released his own, much smaller contribution to the mess on his chest, bucking his hips into the air as Peter coated him, marked him in musky essence.

Alex smelled, heard, and *felt* Peter's orgasm, the tailhole clenching to crushing tightness around him. With only a few more thrusts, he let out a roar that dwarfed Peter's efforts, shaking the windows and walls as he came, seed lancing out from his shaft, filling Peter's tailhole with his first spurt, the second and third forcing seed to drip out of the overfilled hole and onto the carpet beneath.

All three changing males were startled by a blue flash, like the teleportation magic they'd all seen earlier... but, there was no new scent in the room, no new presence. All the old persons seemed to be there, even Sally, her body now bulky and well-muscled, undeniably and erotically male, her six-inch and growing shaft shuddering with arousal as she saw the scintillating display of saurian sex in front of her, desperate to join in, but sitting back; her time would come.

Turning their attention back to each other, Peter began licking Jean-Paul's mutating torso clean of seed, his new, sharper senses tasting and smelling the difference between the mostly-human dribbles of his mate's seed, and his own, much larger, much more allosaur-scented contribution. Jean-Paul started slowly trying to work his shirt off, as his body grew, clawed toes bursting through the ends of his shoes, clenching and unclenching as his cock still bucked and throbbed, a small dribble of seed emerging as the bliss of the transformation overcame him fully.

Peter pushed his hips up as they gave an uncomfortable twist of their own volition, his stance switching from recognisably humanoid to entirely bestial, and he rose to his own three-toed, wickedly clawed feet, feeling a twinge of regret as Alex's shaft slipped free of him, the room not quite tall enough for the two full-size saurians to stand together so intimately.

There was another blue flash; but this time, someone new did appear - the old man, the Elder, his staff now looking as good as new.

"Bitch! That staff was irrep..." he began, red in the face, before he broke off, noticing that the room reeked of reptilian sex and was filled not by people, but by cavorting, growing dinosaurs.

"... ah, not that it did you any good..." He shook his head. "Jean-Paul, Jean-Paul, you should have had more sense than to stay... I wonder which of you'd Sally? Well, it doesn't matter, you lost, whichever you are. Now..." He broke off as the floor gave a very ominous creaking as Peter reached his full allosaur size, bumping against the ceiling, and Jean-Paul and Sally both continued to grow, lost in the throes of their self-pleasure. "Damn, we'd better hurry..."

He tapped his staff on the ground, twice, and the room faded away, replaced with the bright sunlight of the Australian scrubland.

"You'll not do any harm here... I, though, need to sort out this mess..."

As the four dinosaurs eyed each other, their erections manifesting again as they took note of two more allosaurs nearby, sharing the remains of a freshly-caught sheep, they ignored the old man as he walked across to a middle-aged woman, dressed much the same as he was, and carrying a very similar staff.

"Not managed to destroy any more years of work, Andreas?" she asked.

"Blast it, Katharine, will you stop going on about it. It was a tense situation..." he eyed the allosaurs as the two still partly-human ones started an ambitious sixty-nine position, while the other four started snapping and barking at each other, apparently arguing over who was to top who.

"...and it still is. We can keep these here as long as we need for study, but we need a way to neutralise the contagion. And we need a cover story while we work the Ritual of Dispelling - that whole neighbourhood needs cleansing before it spreads any further."

Katharine nodded. "I've already alerted the others. We'll be ready to start in less than ten minutes... we should head back there in the mean time, make sure nobody starts interfering, or calling the emergency services."

Andreas nodded. "Agreed... it beats standing here and watching that lot..." he turned his head, seeing the animalistic rutting frenzy that was in full swing only fifty feet away. "Ugh. Let's go, before it makes me ill."

With that, they vanished, entirely confident that this unexpected outbreak was contained.

They didn't notice how a few of the surviving sheep nearby weren't running for their lives, but had started watching the deadly predators with interest.

* * *

Mumbai, three minutes later

The nurse was tired, and running more on caffeine and adrenaline than on alertness and vigour. It was a busy day, as always, in the overcrowded A&E wing of the largest public hospital of India's largest city - indeed, the second-largest city in the world.

Her foot bumped against something on the ground, causing her to pause in her stride. What was that?

A sample tube; evidently a patient's sample had escaped from its holder at some point. She picked it up, only belatedly thinking to check that the biohazard seal wasn't broken.

The tube was filled with viscous, translucent liquid, of no obvious origin - it wasn't even labelled. Tut-tutting, she put it in the pocket of her medical apron; without a label, it was useless, and needed destroying with other possible biohazards.

Worryingly, it felt slightly sticky; she quickly wiped her hands clean with a sterile, alcohol-infused antibacterial tissue, and reversed her course back to the diagnostic lab nearby. They could get rid of it, and she could wash her hands there, the way signs all over the hospital told staff to continually do.

She should take a day off, she thought; she felt suddenly queasy, for some reason. He hands felt oddly dry, too, she thought, not noticing the slight, green-tinted discolouration on the tips of her fingers...

...and in seven other cities across the globe, the active samples that the last of Sally's magic had teleported there, waited for someone to find them.