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(THE CITY OF BRADDOCK. ON THE PLANET UMAGO)

"I don't care if it might be dangerous," snapped Mitch into his phone, "push the machine through the final stages right now. That's an order!"

"Aye, sir. We'll do so now."

Mitch shut his phone and spat, tasting the blood that had pooled into his mouth. So the Warlord was Zoltan Armstrong. God fucking damned, who could have guessed? The officer coughed and leaned against the alley wall for support, clutching the terrible ache in his gut. Armstrong had been careful not to break anything, but that didn't stop him from toying with his high school bully like a cat with its mousy prey.

It had seemed like such a good night too. Mitch thought he had scored the biggest prize when he found the Warlord alone in one of the taverns, and had nearly leapt for joy when the musclegod acquiesced to his invitation back out. Mitch had not wanted to fuck the Warlord in one of the rooms, which would have attracted way too much attention.

If only he did.

Mitch felt himself shudder at the thought of what Armstrong did. His metamorphosis from a hulking sex god to a vicious killing machine had been nearly instantaneous. One moment he had been stripping his shirt off seductively, the next he had slammed the officer against a wall so hard it cracked in places, and not in the sexy way.

"Do you remember me, Michelson?" the Warlord had sneered, his eyes cold, calculating.

"Do you remember the things you did? I certainly do."

"Remember the day you left me in the storm drain during the typhoon? I nearly drowned that day, all because I was too weak to push the grills away."

"Why Michelson? Why? Was it just a game to you? Were you just showing off in front of your friends? Why the fuck did you pick me over anybody else? It made you feel like a real man didn't it?"

"But now... now my arms are bigger than your fucking head Michelson. We're going to have so much fun together. Just you and me."

"Just like old times."

Mitch staggered as fresh pain speared into his midsection, buckling his knees and sending the ground to his face. He had tried to fight back of course, but with more than three hundred pounds of muscle pressing down on his back and a massive hand to his head, that wasn't a practical idea.

"Remember that game we used to play?" Armstrong had said, "The one where one of us would be the hunter and the other would be the hunted?"

"Let's play that one."

Mitch gritted his teeth as he struggled toward the facility. The Warlord had essentially given him a head start, but he didn't know about the facility Mitch had ordered built, and that would prove to be his undoing.

If only Mitch could get there in time.

***

Zoltan Armstrong slid through the window with a silence and agility that belied his incredible size. It was late and the room was dark, but the darkness hindered not Zoltan's enhanced capabilities.

This inn had small, simple, cozy rooms, and this one smelled strongly of sweat and sex. The Warlord made his way toward the bed, careful not to make a sound lest he woke its only occupant.

Gunther Hawke, beautiful and exhausted, lay curled under the cum soaked sheets, most of his fur was covered in Zoltan's thick, viscous man juice from the mind blowing sex they had had before bed. But Gunther had not known of Zoltan's late night adventure, the Warlord had showered and sneaked out the moment he was sure Gunther had fallen asleep.

Zoltan knelt beside the bed, sparing a moment to drink in the scent that stiffened the nipples on his bare chest. Despite the overwhelming smell of sex and cum, the Warlord could still taste that tantalizing, strawberry-esque scent that drove so many people over the edge. Zoltan could tell, despite the short time he had spent with Gunther and the rebel crew.

"I'm sorry I sneaked away from you just now." The Warlord said, coiling a lock of Gunther's hair with a finger, "I knew you wanted to protect me. But I recognised his scent in the ship. I need this, Gunther. I need to do this. This man single-handedly ruined my life. I suffered for years because of him! I lost so many nights of sleep wondering what I did to make him so angry with me!"

A pause. Zoltan could feel his emotions getting the better of him, and forced himself to take a deep breath.

"I took off the shirt you gave me, not because it was constricting my massive chest, I didn't want to rip it to shreds." The Warlord placed the folded linen shirt between Gunther's arms, "I'm going to finish the job. When I'm done, I'll come back, I'll keep you warm tonight, I promise."

***

Mitch Michelson was feeling a lot better now thanks to the medipacks that had been given to him, better enough to come up with a last minute contingency plan. He had set up a trap for the Warlord right in the heart of his secret facility.

The room was massive, with large machines producing hundreds of stimpatchs every minute and chucking them into large open vats. Mitch himself strode along the network of walkways build just above the vats, allowing him to oversee the production of the patches.

But all this was for show, really. The metal walkways all led to a large open space where a single machine sat, almost calling to him with its sweet melody.

But no, as much as Mitch wanted to use it, he couldn't, rushing the development of the machine left it one crucial fault. It could not function without one more, key component.

Mitch had borne a grudge against that musclebound freak since he signed up for the Republic's Super Soldier programme and sent him and half the campus to the hospital. All that hard work Mitch had put into the gym, into his body, gone! It had taken him months to recover, even with the best and the brightest treating him. Who knows how much bigger he could have been if not for that setback. Mitch wanted revenge, and he knew he was going to get it.

The officer approached his machine. His glorious machine, built from the very blueprints stolen from the Republic of Haclyon. The machine resembled a metallic, inclined chair, maybe the sort you found at the military dentist. But the chair was clearly made out of several other mechanisms that could move and shift to accommodate the increasing musculature of its client. A huge box like structure surrounded the chair, leaving one side to be used as an entrance.

"Sir!" suddenly yelled one Sergeant Leonard from down below, "He's coming!"

Mitch spun around to face the door on the ground floor, way below him. "Spring the trap, hurry!"

There was not a moment to spare; nearly at once the doors had crashed open so hard they were wrenched off their hinges. But Mitch had planned for this; he had set a trap at the only entrance to this underground room.

The look on the Warlord's face was priceless as he collided with the magnetic shield, he nearly reacted fast enough to strike at the generators, but then the computers initiated an incredible power overload that resulted in an electrical explosion that would kill an ordinary person dozens of times over. Mitch had to shield his eyes from the light as the Warlord was knocked unconscious. It was simple, basic technology that the Republic used to control rampaging Warlords, so simple even the little peons downstairs could operate it.

Leonard scurried to shackle and strip the Warlord. He moved fast, and within moments the naked Warlord was being lowered onto an inclined table on the upper platforms, spread eagle style, for the next phase of Mitch's plan.

"Well, well." Mitch sneered as Armstrong's consciousness returned to him, "Looks like the tables have turned again."

That was enough; Mitch didn't need to entertain Armstrong anymore. He knew the Warlord recognised the machine; the shock across his features was more than obvious.

Ignoring the Warlord's presence, Mitch approached the machine, stripping as he went, dreaming about the muscles that would soon be packing all over his body. Mitch sat on the metallic chair, smirking at the fact the cold metal would soon be hot from the god like muscles that would soon occupy the seat.

Mitch spared the trapped Warlord one final sneer, and pushed the big red button.

Huge metal bands immediately clasped across his wrists and ankles, binding him to the chair. Mitch did not panic. The machines around him began to hum as the lights dimmed and a computerised voice announced his transition to godhood.

"Device activated. Scanning. Energy source acquired. Scanning. Target acquired. Initiating growth sequence."

Something big and hard began pushing against his rear end and Mitch winced as the metallic dildo forced its way into his ass. The thing was cold and incredibly thick. It was stretching him so much it hurt.

Several other mechanical tubes were snaking their way toward the struggling Warlord too, but one in particular ended with a massive cylindrical tube that swallowed the Warlord's entire cock.

Armstrong was still soft inside the cylinder, but the tube was so big that even at maximum arousal, Mitch knew the Warlord would never get big enough to break the glass.

"Power levels at five per cent. Standby for transfer."

A soft sizzling sound, followed by a sudden moan greeted his ears as the machine planted several stimpatches onto the Warlord's big balls. Mitch could see veins exploding all over as the stims took effect. Armstrong's cock sprang to life almost immediately, swelling and throbbing as more veins began snaking up his shaft. More stimpatchs came down from the machine, slapping one onto each of the Warlord's nipples.

"RRAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHNN!!!"

Mitch didn't care that the Warlord's pecs were growing massive, all he cared about was that gigantic cock. It was already twenty-two inches long and five inches in diameter. It was getting wider, the Warlord's balls were churning out incredible amounts of juice right now, Mitch just knew it.

And sure enough, the base of the shaft suddenly thickened incredibly, the underside bulged out more and more until finally the Warlord's orgasm exploded into the tube, flooding it with his seed. The machine kicked in after that, sucking up Armstrong's man juice and diverting it to the generator, giving the machine some much needed power.

"Power levels at forty per cent. Initiating growth sequence."

There was a monotonous humming as more tubes descended from above him. Two tubes adhered to his sensitive nipples, the microtubules passing harmlessly through his skin and into the bloodstream. A much larger tube suctioned itself to the head of his erect cock firmly, but comfortably.

"Growth sequence initiated. Standby."

A red liquid had flooded into all the tubes by now, and then, it began.

Mitch screamed as the dildo suddenly erupted inside him, jackhammering him as it delivered its cocktail of muscle growing chemicals. The tubes at his pecs suddenly burned, causing a network of veins to spread from his nipples, throbbing with the red liquid. Then he felt the hot fluids gushing into his cock, forcing his cum slit wide open as too much fluid was forced down his shaft.

The officer continued to yell, his body was beginning to tingle, and he knew it was happening at last.

***

First Sergeant Darius Leonard, acting quartermaster assigned to the elite First Commandos Squadron of the Umagon Rebel Forces, was in awe.

So this was the technology of the Republic! He simply stood open mouthed as the Lieutenant-Colonel moaned and wailed and grew in his machine. The officer was already as muscular, as powerfully built as the Warlord, and he was still growing! The Warlord on the other hand, seemed to grow weaker and weaker as multiple orgasms were forced from his massive cock, flooding the cock tube with so much cum at times it seemed the machine would not be able to suck fast enough.

"Power levels at seventy-two per cent."

Darius's own meat was painfully hard down one side of his pants, and felt a jet of cum squirting from the head as Mitch yanked his wrists free and proceeded to flog his monstrous cock with two muscular arms. Two incredible mounds of pec muscles bulged incredibly as Mitch pounded his dribbling cock, as if his pecs had gotten so huge they had to fight for space on his already massive chest, not to mention the thirty-plus inch biceps that were bulging against them.

"Power levels at eighty-seven per cent. Commencing final phase of transfer."

"FUUUCK YEAH!" Mitch roared, in a voice so much deeper than Darius remembered, "MORE MUSCLE! MORE POWER! MORE! MORE!"

The officers nearly-three foot was spurting out more pre cum that Darius's own orgasms, yet the smell was starting to get so overwhelming Darius thought he was going to faint.

"Power levels at ninety per cent."

"FUCK YEAH! FUCKING GROW MOTHERFUCKER! PUMP ME UP! PUMP ME MORE! FUCK! OHH! FUUUCCK!! I'M CUMMING!! OHHH! OOOOOOHHHHHHH! UUUUUUGGGHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!!!!!!"

As if on cue, Mitch wrestled his legs free from the machine, abandoned his cock, and brought his arms together for a titanic double bicep flex.

"Power levels at ninety-four per cent."

"YYEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Charged with newfound power, the muscles swelled higher and higher, becoming larger than the Warlord's thighs. Their size and sheer thickness had a gravity that called for Darius to kiss them, to worship them with his tongue and his body. And yet, all that power had the quartermaster rooted to the spot, all he could do was watch as the officer's superior, endless muscles flexed above him, bulging in ways most people could only dream off.

Mitch had turned into an eight foot tall muscle god, but his cock was at least three feet long and thicker than a basketball. Darius felt his mouth dry up as the underside swelled monstrously as Mitch's orgasm surged to the surface, splitting his cum slit wide open before exploding from the tip with an audible boom. The officer began to roar, the veritable tsunami of thick, thick cum splattering all over the exhausted Warlord, who had finally stopped cumming into the tube.

"YOU SEE THIS YOU FUCKING RUNT?!" Mitch roared, flogging his cock and blasting cum all over the Warlord's face, "THIS IS WHAT A REAL MAN LOOKS LIKE! I'M FUCKING BIGGER THAN YOU! I ALWAYS WAS! I ALWAYS WILL-"

Then, a high pitched shriek; followed by a fiery rocket that blazed past Darius's head and collided with the massive beast that was Mitch Michelson.

***

Gunther had seen enough. He did not need to look to know he had scored a clean hit, Leonard had made a dash for the lift to the lower floor, and he would have to be dealt with later. For now, he had more urgent matters to attend to.

Chucking the spent rocket launcher aside, Gunther raced toward his Warlord. Zoltan's cock seemed to have softened in the tube, it was hard to tell; that thing was just so big now. Zoltan's pecs were just as massive, there was a veritable web of veins spreading from his nipples across his striated chest muscles and. The Warlord himself was conscious, a look of utter relief blooming across his rugged features at the sight of Gunther beside him.

"Thanks," he growled, his voice hoarse from yelling, "Your jizz tastes much bet-"

A roar, bestial and furious, before a massive, massive hand consumed his waist and yanked him into the sky.

"YOU!" bellowed Lieutenant-Colonel Mitch Michelson, his muscular body, the biggest and mightiest in the world, flexing and bulging in all feasible directions, "YOU DID THIS TO MY WONDERFUL MACHINE!! I COULD BE BIGGER! STRONGER! MORE MUSCULAR! YOU! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"

Zoltan roared then, the rage burning into his eyes. The Warlord's muscles bulged ridiculously as he tore himself from his shackles, yanking himself free from the cocktube as he went.

"Leave him!"

Mitch turned to the Warlord, a mad glimmer in his eyes.

"Make me."

The ground came up hard, the metal grilling smashing against his shoulder as Gunther was hurled earthwards. A cry of pain slid through his lips, a cry which turned to a sob when Mitch's massive foot came smashing down. It was as though a tank was pressing against his chest. The air was forced from his lungs so forcefully Gunther thought his lungs would collapse.

"This is what I do to weaklings like you!"

Gunther felt what he thought was Mitch's spit on his face, but a close inspection revealed a dollop of extremely thick cum. Sheer disgust spread through Gunther's mind as Mitch's erect cock hardening at the sight of his plight.

Then Zoltan came crashing into the picture, shouldering the officer so hard he was forced to take his foot off Gunther to balance himself. Fresh air burst into his lungs like a hurricane, Gunther rolled over to one side as the two titans fought.

Gunther knew the Warlord was losing, and could only watch helplessly as Zoltan's body fell, struck down by an eight foot beast that outmuscled him in every possible aspect.

Mitch raised his mammoth arms in victory, each thirty-something inch biceps bulging and rippling with insane definition. "Fool! Look at me! I am a fucking MUSCLE GOD! LOOK AT THIS BODY! LOOK AT THE MUSCLE! The power! I feel it surging in me! Look at this chest! NO ONE HAS BIGGER PECS THAN THESE!"

Zoltan snarled and sprung to his feet, but, as if to prove his point, Mitch merely advanced, shoving his rippling pectoral muscles into Zoltan. The Warlord pressed with his mighty legs, but his feet began to slide backwards as Mitch confidently took step after step, pushing the smaller wolf back, his cock hardening with each little victory.

"Oh god look at me! All this muscle, this strength! I feels so fucking HOT! Look at my cock, runt! LOOK AT IT! Look how fucking muscular my cock is! It's BIGGER! STRONGER THAN YOURS!"

Mitch flexed his globular ass muscles, ramming his giant cock into Zoltan's face, unbalancing him and allowing Mitch's pecs to shove him back.

The officer laughed.

"Feeling small? WEAK? GOOD! Now that I've proven I'm the biggest and the strongest, I have NO NEED FOR YOU!"

Gunther felt himself gasp as Mitch crushed his hand around Zoltan's neck, denting the metal grilling that formed the upper platforms, and lifting him up effortlessly. And then the giant monster turned his dilated eyes to the sergeant.

"You... on the other hand..."

Zoltan growled as Gunther himself was caught in a vicegrip that threatened to crush his internal organs, but the Warlord still wasn't strong enough to free him.

"You're WEAK, runt." Mitch spat, giving the exhausted Zoltan a good shake, "You can't even protect Gunther here. Watch closely, runt, watch me own your precious Gunther like the slave that he is."

Mitch's titanic arms moved, taking Gunther with them. Despite his best efforts, Mitch was too strong and Gunther felt himself saddling Mitch's monster cock. Gunther felt the officer flexing his inner muscles then, and suddenly his mega dick rose backwards, pressing itself against Gunther's chest and forcing him back onto Mitch's brick like abdominals. The officer's shelf like pecs hanging over him completed his new prison. Gunther fought against Mitch's godly muscles, but that cock was too strong, Mitch couldn't even get it to budge forwards. Mitch had too much power and too much muscle control.

Zoltan was struggling ferociously now, seething hatred emanating from his eyes at the sight of Gunther clamped to the muscle god. "You know what happens when you overdose on stims don't you?"

The officer laughed and raised Zoltan even higher. The Warlord ceased struggling, suddenly aware of what Mitch intended to do.

"NO!" Gunther yelled, realising too late, "DON'T! PLEASE!"

Mitch aimed for one of the giant vats, and flung Zoltan as one would a baseball.

***

Zoltan screamed himself hoarse as thousands upon thousands of stimpatchs seared into his flesh, flooding him with more stims his tortured body could possibly handle.

Zoltan screamed, screamed his death knell, and screamed till no sound could leave his lips. And he fell deeper still, buried under a waterfall of patches as the last light faded.

And above him, Mitch Michelson laughed.