Molten wings

by Mikeytron

 The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born; now is the time of monsters.

Added: Jun 2022 9,388 words 5,755 views 4.6 stars (64 votes)

P

Present

Kyle’s legs were beginning to cramp, but he didn’t dare move. Even though the ruin of a house was quiet and still beyond the tightly shut closet door. Even though the… things… he hid from were incapable of stealth. It was just too risky. He hadn’t wanted Omar to go out scouting, but Omar insisted. They only had enough food for another two days, maybe three, and there’s an old Costco on the other side of the highway. So, Omar went, and Kyle hid. Kyle was always a follower. Always the passive one. Always a coward.

Maybe that’s how he made it this far.

He stared at the far wall of the dark closet, dimly visible. A house centipede, motionless in the upper left corner for some time now. Ten minutes? Longer? Before, he always found their appearance alien, but now, it seemed refreshingly normal. A reminder of a time when the only monsters you might encounter could easily be crushed under foot. Besides, they were said to be horrified of humans, desperate to remain unseen. Kyle could relate to the many-legged little bugger.

The house stirred. Someone had come through the door downstairs. Kyle tensed. Then he heard the quiet low whistle, three ascending tones. Their signal. He relaxed. Slightly. His fist still gripped the butcher knife he had brought into the closet with him. Not that it would do any good if his worst fear should come to pass. Bullets don’t penetrate those beasts’ hides, what could a shaky blow from a knife hope to do? But holding a weapon helped him be a little calmer.

The closet door opened. Kyle’s tension spiked, then dropped. It was Omar after all, just like the whistles suggested. He looked haggard. Worn. His eyes haunted. Kyle remembered before, when Omar had been handsome, his brown eyes twinkling with good humour, always ready to laugh, his generous lips accustomed to smiling. Not anymore. He offered Kyle his hand, pulled him to his feet. The house centipede ran, disappeared into some crack or crevice.

“There’s a pack of them sweeping the town. I think they’ve passed us by already. I think. We should be able to hit the Costco at dawn. Hope there’s still some stuff left.”

Kyle kicked his legs, trying to drive the stiffness from his knees, dismayed to learn they were so close, but glad to hear they were probably moving on. “What else?” Omar shrugged. Kyle repeated himself. “What else, Omar? I know there’s something else.”

“I… I think I saw Pete with them.”

Kyle’s face clouded. “Pete’s dead, Omar.”

“We don’t know that. He was at boot camp when… when things changed. He might not be dead. Maybe he’s… he’s….”

“If he’s one of those things, then it’s the same difference, he may as well be dead.”

Omar scowled and looked away. “I saw him, Kyle. It was him, for sure. Changed, of course. Just… the eyes. They were his eyes. He’s still in there. You didn’t know him the way I knew him.” His voice thickened, cracked, and then he regained control of himself.

“Wait. Shut up. You made eye contact with one of those things?”

“… Maybe? He glanced over my hiding spot and I saw his eyes for a second, okay? They… they made me think of him.”

“You made eye contact.”

“… Okay, yes.”

“Fuck!” Kyle was in motion even before he finished his curse. He flew from room to room, throwing things into his bag, ready to bolt. “This place is fucking compromised, Omar! Idiot! You should have led them to a false location! Fuck!”

Omar stood still, defeated, haunted, his fight or flight exhausted. If that creature had been Pete, or what remained of Pete… maybe it was time to let them take him. They couldn’t run forever. They couldn’t fight back. It was getting difficult to scavenge food. He knew in his heart, if they even made it to Costco tomorrow, it would be an empty ruin. Why struggle against the inevitable?

“Get your fucking shit together, Omar! We need to be out of here now!”

Kyle rushed into the rotting remains of the living room and skidded to a halt. The TV, which had lacked electricity to run for weeks, was somehow on, eerily illuminating the dark room. It displayed a still image, red on a black background. A sign every remaining human had come to know, and to dread. The sigil of The Demon.

It was too late. They never announced their presence until they were confident of a kill. They were already here. It was too late.


Data File: Asmodrol

Asmodrol was a gamechanger. No one knew how the military made it where it came from. Attempts to reverse-engineer it by enemy governments and underground bodybuilding scientists proved fruitless. But the results were impossible to ignore. One simple injection, given to a normal man. Six weeks later, you’ve got a hulking muscle freak, 400 pounds give or take, adjusting for height—that was the only thing Asmodrol seemed unable to change. But in addition to hundreds of pounds of raw muscle, it also gave heightened senses and reflexes, resistance to fatigue and disease, enhanced healing. In short, Asmodrol was a true super-solider serum, Captain America on, well, steroids.

Yes, there were side-effects. Thankfully, none were serious. Higher blood pressure, but then the men’s blood vessels seemed to grow more robust, negating any harmful outcome. Heightened libido, but the government didn’t mind knowledge of that one getting loose. An army full of he-men ought to be unstoppable fuck machines, after all. The fact the average man’s dick about doubled in size in the weeks after his shot? No real reason to keep that quiet, either. Tiny dicks became average. Average dicks became huge. Huge dicks became superhuman. Why hide that?

However, the government did try to suppress other side effects. Like how, regardless of preexisting orientation, Asmo’d men preferred the company of other Asmo’d men? Sure, a minority of them retained some interest in women, or in men who hadn’t been augmented, but all of them were insatiable for others of their kind. Society’s attitudes would have to catch up before that one got loose, or so the government thought. But everyone in power agreed: it’s better to have an army of unstoppable horny super-homos than to have an army of frail heterosexuals. It’s obvious which one wins in a war. Who cares if they’re rutting like rabbits in the barracks during their off time?

Thirty years after the widespread implementation of Asmodrol in the armed forces, the world was subdued. It would stay that way until some other country managed to counter this unstoppable advantage. And how could that happen, when every day the scales became more and more unbalanced, and no enemy scientist could even begin to understand how Asmodrol worked? There were almost no enemy states even left, at this point.


Past

Pete stood in the bathroom, shirtless, flexing. He was three weeks into basic training. Three weeks since his shot of Asmodrol. He remembered it like yesterday. The cold swab of alcohol on his left ass cheek. The syringe, so small—it can’t have been more than a millilitre of the magic formula in there. A full dose, nonetheless. It was over in twenty seconds. He couldn’t hide his hard-on, but the army doctor just laughed and told him to get used to that. Pete pulled his pants up and trotted out the door feeling high. He knew it was all psychological. His body wouldn’t even begin to absorb the drug for hours, and it wouldn’t peak in his system for weeks. And yet… he already felt transformed, in that moment.

The changes were profound and he was only just halfway through them. He’d been 155 pounds at 5’9” when he signed up. Three weeks later, he was 280 pounds, according to the rickety old medical scale in the corner of their shared sleeping quarters. The scale, he noted, went up to 500. That made his dick twitch. Everything made his dick twitch, these days. He wasn’t alone. He could hear the men roughhousing on the other side of the door. He knew it would devolve into an orgy before lights out, just like it had the last three or four nights, as the Asmodrol peaked in the recruits’ systems.

Pete turned his attention back to the mirror. He looked like a super heavyweight bodybuilder. His small frame hadn’t changed. The muscles hung off his body like there wasn’t enough room for them. His pecs sagged under their own weight, round and pillowy, until he flexed them and they snapped into shape. Two huge boulders filling the mirror. He gave his reflection a single bicep flex. The sickening glob of mutant flesh jumped toward his fist. It had to be 22”, maybe bigger. They didn’t have a measuring tape in the barracks. His free hand groped at his crotch, achingly hard as he drank in his ever-growing reflection. “Fuck yeah,” he muttered, flexing harder, bouncing the bicep. “Not even halfway done growin’…”

There was a knock at the door. “Yeah, just a minute,” Pete yelled, annoyed. The bathroom was the only time anyone had any solitude during basic training. He knew that was on purpose. They were remaking their psychology just as much as their physiology. But he still felt entitled to a couple of minutes of alone time.

The knock again. “I said buzz off a minute!”

“General’s here, Pete, and he asked for you specifically.”

Pete froze. Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed the sound of the roughhousing going very quiet, very quickly. His abs knotted up visibly, as if anticipating a body blow. What could this mean? Was he in trouble? Was he being discharged? They couldn’t… take the Asmodrol out of his body, could they? They couldn’t revert the changes, could they? Pete couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

Stop catastrophizing. Find out what the General wants first, before you jump to conclusions. Put your shirt on and get back out there.


Further Past

Omar had a really nice build, but he was forever unsatisfied. Broad shoulders, nice round pecs, biceps like baseballs, with gentle just-visible twin cephalic veins tracing their curves. Other people he dated, they never understood why he was so driven for more, why he was unsatisfied. He’d show them pictures of how he wanted to look, outlandishly muscular men, impractically huge. They’d throw their hands up. “Just enlist and become one of those army freaks, then!”

But Omar didn’t want to do that. He wanted to be huge, but he wanted it on his own terms. He’d been raised to think of the military as an evil thing. He wouldn’t make a deal with the devil, he told himself.

But damn, if only Asmodrol would finally break through to the black market…!

When he started dating Pete, he was thrilled. Finally, someone got it. Pete didn’t think it was weird that Omar wanted more. In fact, Pete wanted more, himself. In the early days of their relationship, they shared their fantasies, giddy. Omar started to take Pete with him to the gym, showed him how to eat.

But Pete was a hardgainer. Results came, but slowly, gradually. Omar stayed positive, kept encouraging him. But Pete got into his own head too much. He brooded. He didn’t share his broodings with Omar, either. Omar would know something was wrong, but Pete would just shake his head and deny it when confronted.

Some retired military guys went to their gym. They were, of course, fucking enormous. Omar couldn’t help it. His mouth went dry whenever he saw them. His eyes were drawn to them like iron filings to a powerful magnet.

Of course Pete noticed.


Past

Truth be told, Pete joined the army just for that Asmodrol shot. He was no patriot. His boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, he corrected himself with a pang—liked muscles, the more the better, and slender Pete just couldn’t seem to grow, not in a way that would ever satisfy Omar. Or satisfy himself, either, if he was being honest.

He knew Asmodrol worked 100% of the time. Once it was in you, it forced you to grow, and grow a lot. He would give the military five years of service, retire, then go find Omar. Go give him what he really wanted, what he deserved. The muscles wouldn’t go away, after all. Maybe he could even make them a little bigger, with some hard work over the years.

You saw them everywhere, the Asmodrol men. Government and society in general was full of retired military guys, massive hulking specimens, oozing testosterone. The oldest of them getting into their fifties now, big as ever. Angling sideways to fit through doors. Filling up elevators. There were even special nightclubs for them, and their admirers where they could attempt to satisfy their insatiable cocks where the backrooms were an orgy of Asmo’d men, overpowered by runaway libidos, night after night, flexing, pumping cum, endlessly.

Sounds like a pretty sweet life.

But just three weeks after his shot, his transformation only half-done, they’d taken Pete aside, removed him from his basic training program. Put him in an isolated cell and subjected him to interview after interview. Days went by—Pete couldn’t even say how many, for certain.

He worried. Had he done something wrong? Had they discovered he’d only joined the military for selfish reasons? Was he… too into his body, his transformation? He was unable to keep his hands off his achingly hard dick any moment they left him alone, even though he was certain he was on camera the entire time. His transformation was continuing, despite the absence of physical stimulus. The quick, brutal, inhuman transformation that Asmodrol commanded, it couldn’t be denied, or delayed. Pete hadn’t worked out in any way since being brought to this isolation cell, yet every day he was five or six pounds heavier, by his own estimation, muscles crowding his frame, dick growing longer and fatter with every painfully hard erection.

So when the very same General himself showed up once again and ordered Pete to follow him out of the cell and down a long corridor, the younger man wasn’t sure what to think. Pete had never been given an explanation beyond “we want to do a thorough psychological profile on you, son.”

The General was an astonishing specimen, possibly the most muscular man Pete had ever seen. As Pete walked behind him, he couldn’t take his eyes off the enormous ass that threatened to rip even these specially-tailored pants. Two eye-popping gluteal mounds, begging for Pete’s ever-hard dick to split them in half. He forced his eyes up. A tight waist, then two lats that erupted, exploded outwards. Traps so high that Pete could just barely glimpse the very top of the General’s shaved head. His 33” arms comically propped up, almost parallel to the floor, swinging back and forth as he waddled along. The man had to be 500 pounds, at least, and all of it was raw muscle. Pete’s cock wept uncontrollably at the sight, a wet patch spreading near his left hip where his raging bone angled across.

“You passed the last test,” the General announced gruffly as he arrived at an elevator and waited for Pete to pull abreast of him. He stared straight ahead as he spoke. “Most raw recruits would jizz their pants and collapse into a frothing heap before they made it halfway down the hall.” Pete heard a little amused heh. “I know what the sight of my ass does to a newbie midway through his transformation, Private.” He glanced at Pete, at the unmistakable bulge in his pants, the soaking wet spot from the endlessly flowing pre-cum. “You might not think so, but your restraint is most impressive. You’ve got an iron will, that’s for certain. I’m convinced our confidence in you is well-founded.” The elevator door opened. “Get in.”

Pete did as asked. It was a huge freight elevator, obviously intended for multiple augmented men to use at the same time. The General followed, fished out a key, inserted it and turned it, opened a panel, then punched in a number code. “Everything you see and hear from here on in is top secret, not even to be alluded to except when in confidence with another man who has also been inducted into the Icarus protocol.”

“Yes Sir!” Pete said promptly, trusting that ‘the Icarus protocol’ would be shortly explained.

“You want to know what ‘the Icarus protocol’ is and you expect to learn in due time. Good, you don’t ask stupid questions. Well. You’re about to learn where Asmodrol comes from, and you will help continue to secure and manage our supply of it. It takes men of exceptional will and self-control to do this work. That is what the rigorous psychological screening you underwent was for. You ought to feel flattered. 90% of men we pull aside to test fall short. We have to be relentless. You’ll see why in a moment.”

The elevator door opened, and Pete gasped, his brain unprepared for the information it received from his eyes.

The General smirked. “It never gets old,” he chuckled. “When a new man gets his first sight of him. It’s cute. Pick your jaw up, Private, and follow me.”

Pete forced himself to look away, to follow the General down the catwalk, as if below him was just a normal factory or warehouse, and not…

Not a vast subterranean cavern, a hundred feet tall, filled, utterly filled, with… meat. It was… it was a demon, he supposed. At least, the creature had prominent horns, two curving spikes, wickedly sharp. Folded wings. Its face, at least a dozen feet tall, was brutal, animalistic, with an obvious underbite, two fangs poking up, pushing generous lips forward. And the muscles. Just… endless muscle. Pete’s mind raced. Biceps the size of an SUV, pecs as big as a duplex, all of it ripped to shreds, thick veins grasping, red skin looking on the verge of splitting from the sheer size of the raw meat it desperately attempted to contain.

But the most prominent feature was the thing’s cock. It had to be forty feet long, maybe more. It was spiralled with veins thick as the General’s grotesquely muscular arm. The head bulged freakishly, foreskin half-retracted, caught by the flaring coronal ridge. It was a cock bigger than a city bus. And it was drooling. No, more than drooling. Absolutely pouring out some transparent sticky fluid. Pre-cum, Pete supposed, if demons could be said to pre.

Men scurried around, siphoning off the gallons of dick drool. In the distance Pete could discern vats, machinery. “This is…” he began, his voice too hoarse to continue. He swallowed, tried again. “This is where Asmodrol comes from?”

“Yup,” the General said, forgiving the younger man his informality. It was a lot to take in, and he could indulge a promising new recruit. “In 1908, the beast was discovered in this cavern by army surveyors. For a long time he just sat here, the most top secret of top secrets. It was more than a century before the lab geeks started to figure out how to make use of him.”

“Is he…?”

The General grunted. “Is he a demon? Sure looks like one. Who knows, he could be Satan himself. Is he alive? Hard to say. He breathes, that much we can tell. But he’s never stirred. Never moved. Never spoken. Never opened his eyes. He just sits here with the hard on to end all hard ons, pouring out precum.”

“So he’s harmless?” Pete squirmed a little, remembering the shot of Asmodrol he’d received four weeks ago, suddenly aware of his 320 pounds of muscle, feeling unnaturally heavy, weighed down by it all. Feeling the subtle continuous throb of his muscles relentlessly growing. Maybe some resonance with the overwhelming presence, the proximity of the raw source. Maybe his imagination. Pete’s body transforming more and more to resemble this… monstrous thing he saw before him, endlessly spewing male essence. Pete’s big pecs, his thick quads, his bulging arms, his unstoppable cock, all growing every day, growing, growing, growing, endlessly larger. He had that… that thing’s seed inside of him. Suffused in every cell of his swelling body.

He didn’t know how to feel about it. But he definitely felt something, emotions he had no words for.

The General was speaking. Pete forced his mind to snap to attention.

“No, he’s not harmless. We have to process his… excretions quite thoroughly. Dilute them, to be honest with you. Even then, you remember how small your dose was. If a man were to just go drink raw pre from his cock, Private, he’d swell up with muscle so fast his body would rip itself apart. His dick would get so hard, so fast, it’d—well, I’ll let you finish that sentence. And the sickest thing? He’d be gulping down more and more even as it happened, drinking the raw seed like his life depended on it, right up til the moment he splits open like a rotten melon. I’ve seen it happen. The only way to save him is to pull him off, and he’ll fight anyone who tries. And even if we do pull him free, he’s basically useless to us. Too muscular to move, with a mind utterly broken, stuck in perpetual orgasm. Why do you think we’re so exacting in our screening? We let the wrong man down here, well, in a sense we’ve killed him, and given ourselves a hell of a clean-up job too.”

“So, I…”

“The Icarus Protocol. You’re flying very close to the sun, boy. We picked you because we think your wings won’t melt. Like everyone else down here. You’re not immune, though. Be careful. Watch yourself. You find yourself having dangerous, crazy thoughts…? You crush them instantly, and if you can’t you run for that elevator and get yourself to the surface. No one will judge you. We all need to… step out for some air from time to time. Spending too much time around the beast can addle your brain. No shame in it.”

Pete believed it. He was already feeling overwhelmed, his thoughts beginning to swim. He couldn’t stop staring at the gargantuan beast that filled the cavern. The General continued to talk, but his words reached Pete as if through a long tunnel, or as if Pete was suddenly underwater. Pete became aware of his own heartbeat, louder and louder. A thundering drum. He felt feverish. More and more all he could see was the thing’s unholy cock, endlessly oozing. And the thing’s face. Impassive yet brutal. Sleeping. Sleeping. Sleeping.

He’s inside me. He’s inside every man in this cavern. Pete could feel it, feel the essence of the demon throbbing in every man, each hard cock, each pumping heart, each hot little asshole.

He could see nothing but the monster’s face. Enormous. As if carved from stone.

And then, the thing’s mouth quirked, as if tempted to smile. Pete gasped. With an ultimate act of will, he broke from his fascination and whipped his head toward the General. The General had stopped speaking. He was staring at the demon, staring. Everyone was. The bustle of activity had stopped. Every man in the giant cavern was staring, motionless. Pete looked back at the demon. Some part of him screamed at himself to run for the elevator. To get out of here. Get out now. Fucking RUN.

He didn’t move.

The demon’s eyes opened. They burned like a magnesium flame, yet Pete could not look away. The beast smiled. Lips stretching, exposing wretched fangs. Beyond the smile, his mouth did not move, yet a voice filled the cavern.

FINALLY THEY SEND ME ONE STRONG ENOUGH. FLIMSY THOUGH YOU ARE, YOU ARE A VESSEL THAT WILL NOT BREAK. AT LAST.

Pete’s heart felt like it would hammer out of his ribcage. He gripped the catwalk rail hard, every muscle in his freakishly developed body flexing as if trying to rip itself off the bone, his veins looking fit to pop. His whole body trembling from the effort of it. He snorted, flecks of spittle flying out of his mouth. Breaking from the thing’s luminous gaze, his eyes darted left, right. The General, the workers, all of them. They were on the floor, against the wall, piled in a heap, all of them, writhing. No. Hands down their pants, some of them. Some of them violently ripping their pants off. Jacking their cocks as if trying to start fires. Others, their over-muscled bodies contorting, trying to shove fingers, fists, up their own aching holes. Some rubbing their nipples and nearly convulsing. All of them, lost in an onanistic sexual frenzy.

Pete gripped the handrail harder, feeling the metal begin to bend and give under his unholy strength. His cock had never been so hard in his life. Yet he would not touch himself. He would not. He would not give in.

I HAVE LONG WAITED FOR ONE WITH YOUR STRENGTH OF WILL. COME TO ME NOW. AND WE WILL BEGIN OUR WORK.


Further Past

“Omar. I don’t want you to settle.” They were sitting in the front seat of Omar’s car, parked outside Pete’s house. It was 2 in the morning, a hot summer night. Pete was breaking up with him.

“I don’t understand, Pete,” Omar said. “What did I do wrong? Do I… do I make you feel like you’re not sexy?”

“I just want you to have a partner you deserve. You’re a wonderful guy, Omar. I want to be worthy of you, but I’m not. Not yet. Maybe someday. But don’t wait for me, okay?”

“Pete, you’re not making any sense. This is stupid. If I want to be with you, that’s my choice to make.”

Pete smiled sadly. “Yes, and I can say the same. And I can’t be happy knowing you’ve settled for less than what you want. I won’t let you sacrifice your own needs just to make someone else happy. You’re too good, Omar. Selfless. I’m going to be selfish for you.”

“But… Pete… I…”

“It’s not goodbye, Omar. It’s… come find me when they let me out.”

“When who lets you out?”

“Omar. I… I love you, I really do, even if you can’t see that right now.” Pete was opening the car door, swinging his legs out.

“When who lets you out, Pete? Pete, what are you talking about. Where are you going? What are you doing? Pete, get back here, I- Pete-!”


Data File: The Event

Some pretentious people called it The Day of Asmodeus, but as communications broke down, as the internet went offline, as people splintered into desperate groups trying to survive, shared culture became like a dream swiftly fading from memory, evaporating upon contact with reality. So, people said The Event. When Things Changed. There was no confusion about what was meant.

Where were you on The Day itself?

I was at the supermarket when this augmented guy in the produce section suddenly lost his shit, took his dick out, and started tackling and raping the suburban dads, the college boy stocking shelves, anything male he happened to notice.

I was on an airplane when the augmented guys in first class (they always flew first class on coach prices, just the sheer size of them) took over the plane and redirected it to Washington. And then proceeded to fuck passengers, one by one, between then and when we landed.

I was at the park, sitting on a bench, and this massive guy comes jogging by, huge pecs flopping, you know. Then he stops and bends over and grabs his knees. I think: he must be having a heart attack or something, all that mass you know. But then he rips off his shorts and he’s got this monster cock, just raging hard. He stands up straight and I swear his eyes are crazy. He sniffs the air and goes off running into the trees.

But the best stories are from people who were watching the press conference.

The president was addressing the world, on the topic of nuclear hold-out hermit states, North Korea and so on, the only remaining impediments to total world domination, to total peace. He, the Secretary of Defense, and the Secretary of State, a severe and famously uncompromising woman, were flanked by top military brass. Journalists filled the audience. The thing was broadcast live on TV, streamed online. People expected one final, big war to begin within weeks. The good guys would win, and the planet would be unified.

The president was midway through his opening remarks when some kind of shiver or electric shock passed through the senior military officials, including the Secretary of Defense, augmented men all. Acting as a unit, like they’d planned it, they shoved the Secretary of State off stage, grabbed the president, and tore his clothes off as the watching journalists cried out in shock and terror. The leader of the free world, his pale flabby elderly body, so frail-seeming in the harsh light. The podium knocked over, the microphones screaming with feedback. The Secret Service were all augmented men too, of course. They stood stock-still, impassive, except for some who licked their lips. The president, who moments before was outlining plans for total military conquest of the planet, was fucked on live television, baptized in demonic cum, bred with satanic seed, over and over, in front of a watching world.

It only took a handful of minutes. All these men, dazed in disbelief, aching, sore, the suburban dads, the shelf-stockers, the airplane passengers, the hipsters in the park, the president of the United States of Earth, all of them—they began to quiver. Shake. Convulse. Transform.

Grow.

Muscles cramping, knotting, bulging, cells swelling and dividing, swelling and dividing. The horrible shrieks that gave way to lurid moans as their cocks broke free of whatever cloth prisons formerly contained them, swelling, bigger and harder, bigger and harder. Their minds surrendering as a new, alien will supplanted their own. Awaiting instruction. And if no instruction came… there was always more pleasure. More normals to convert. More pleasure. More pleasure. More.

Prince Asmodeus, the Demon of Lust, had begun his global takeover, his transformation of the human race into his own idealized image. Every man who had ever received an injection of Asmodrol was his vassal now, their minds his to command. Their insatiable drooling cocks the arsenal of his army. And each one they fucked became like the one who fucked him. The more you fucked, the less human you became. As weeks passed, society broke down, the remaining humans went into hiding. It was the time of monsters. The Prince’s seed, spreading like a contagion, would cover the earth.


Present

Kyle was screaming, struggling, the kitchen knife lying uselessly on the floor. He was weak. A single demon could overpower him. But it was rarer and rarer to find uncorrupted mortals, so three held him down and took turns. Converting mortals was an exquisite pleasure. “You will thank us,” the biggest said, his voice warped, distorted, full of bass. “It is better this way.” His giant prick waved, over two feet long, thick as an upper arm, burbling pre, as it slowly approached Kyle’s skinny little butt. “It will only hurt at first.” Almost like the beast was trying to calm the panicking man.

Omar stood, impassive, unrestrained, too tired to fight, too tired to run. Kyle was about to be raped in front of him, yet he only felt numb. He was shocked the demons were not planting their seed in him now, too. Had he stumbled on a successful resistance technique? Utter surrender?

“No,” the biggest, their apparent leader, said, turning his whole body to look at Omar—he was too muscular by far to glance over his own shoulder. He smirked as if to say: that’s right, we can hear your thoughts. “We are instructed to bring you, unspoiled.” Then he returned his attention to the restrained Kyle.

Omar was confused, yet did not ask for an explanation. He was numb through and through. He watched as Kyle’s struggles intensified, as he screamed against the massive demon paw over his mouth, as his flesh was forcibly parted. Then, the little man stopped struggling. Omar watched as the weaselly coward began to moan, began to thrust his body in time with the giant demon cock, began slurping at the second massive dick insistently nudging his face. The impromptu gag was gone, but now the rotten living room was filled with moans of pleasure, orgasmic cries.

Once the second and third demons had their turns riding Kyle, who was delirious with enthusiasm by this point, begging for more, all five of them began to walk through the ruined suburb, Omar and Kyle in the middle of a triangle of massively muscular demon-men. Kyle was wobbling, unable to walk straight, both from the epic fucking he had received, and from his muscles beginning to cramp, to contract, to grow.

“Omar,” he moaned, clutching at his friend’s arm. “It feels so good, Omar. You have to… fuck… you have to let them do it to you, I… fuck… I…. fuck…. We were fools to resist for so long… fuck me….” he whimpered.

Omar felt a huge, hot, heavy hand on his shoulder. His knees almost buckled under the unexpected weight. He was so weak, he realized. Months of not enough food, not enough sleep, way too much stress… it would all be over soon.

He glanced at the hand on his shoulder. It was enormous, rough, calloused, hairy. His eyes followed it up, forearm thick as his thigh, bicep so round and fat it sagged under its own weight, clutched by veins, deltoid the size of a fucking beachball. Despite everything, Omar felt his dick twitch; he’d been too stressed, too exhausted, to feel much desire lately, and yet… these things were approaching the size he used to dream about.

Omar’s eyes rose from the grotesquely muscular delt up to the face… not a man’s face, not anymore. More masculine than any man’s face. An unnatural light in the eyes. Subtle fangs poking out of even the closed mouth. And… his heart skipped a beat. The skin at the demon’s temples. It was inflamed, irritated, cracked and bleeding. Two tiny horns were just beginning to poke through.

Omar shivered uncontrollably. What were these… things that had once been men… what were they turning into?? Their transformations were still ongoing, obviously. They were so much huger than the Asmo’d men used to be, before The Event. Huger, but less than human. All three of them, their feet-long cocks, still hard, bobbed in time with their wide-set steps, swaying back and forth in the air in front of them. Hypnotic rhythm, cocks like metronomes. Omar shook his head, trying to clear the fog.

“It will be okay,” the demon said, voice so deep, so clotted with muscle and lust, that it sounded as inhuman as the rest of him looked.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Omar heard himself ask.

The demon-thing seemed to pause and consider his answer. “You will understand soon. We aren’t evil. You’re frightened because of what we represent. We are merely… the purest expression of what man was always intended to be. And soon you will be like us. We are not cruel. In fact, we’re showing you the greatest kindness you can imagine, you simply can’t perceive it yet.” He paused and seemed to chuckle. One of the other demons snorted too, as if at an unheard joke. “You can stop thinking of us as demons, or creatures, or things, you know. We do have names.”

Omar didn’t trust this. They were trying to butter him up, make him drop his guard. Why? But he knew his smartest move was to play along. “Oh? And what’s your name?”

“Azriphael the Fathomless.” A beat. Then all three demons… laughed. “Nah, I’m fucking with ya. I’m Jake. That’s Rob and Gunnar.”

Omar couldn’t help but feel some strange flutter of hope. These… men? … they seemed… kind of normal? Not their appearance, and not their sexual appetites, but… they had personalities. They bantered. They weren’t a mindless horde.

“Omar,” Kyle breathed, sounding for all the world like someone high on ecstasy for the first time. “Omar,” he repeated, “this is… so fucking…. So fucking fantastic, I… ugh! Ugh!” Omar was shocked to realize Kyle was actually cumming, like having a for-real orgasm, hands-free, as they walked along.

“Why don’t you take the newbie and introduce him to the rest of the boys, I know they’ll have a lot of fun together. I’ll take care of the normie,” Jake said. Rob and Gunnar nodded. Without a word, Rob scooped up the slowly swelling Kyle, already looking like a classic physique competitor, and fire-man carried him, fresh cum dribbling down the demon-man’s back as the trio walked away, the two demon cocks still hard, stiffly leading the way.

“It’s not much further,” Jake said as he continued to walk, trusting Omar to follow. Omar could bolt, but he was so weak. So tired. And these things, despite their outlandish muscles and ungainly cocks, ran so fucking fast. It was terrifying to see one rush toward you.

And, if he was being honest, some part of him didn’t want to run. His eyes kept drifting back to Jake’s body, overstuffed with muscle, his rolling waddle of a walk, the way his huge glutes shifted and flexed with each step, the way his face was nestled in among his pecs and traps…

They passed the rest of the walk in silence, although Omar felt Jake was on the verge of speaking several times. Finally, they reached a former public library. “He’s in there,” Jake said.

“Who?”

Jake compressed his lips, tips of his fangs pressing into the skin above his upper lip. “Just get in there. Maybe come find me by the camp fire later, okay? After you…” He seemed to realize he was saying too much, and shut up.

Was… was this bestial thing… flirting with him?

Omar wearily climbed the few stairs and stepped inside while Jake watched to make sure he went through the doors. He stopped in his tracks immediately, his mind unable to process what he was seeing.

Jake, Rob, Gunnar… they were still… somewhat human. This thing… Its back was to Omar. It was all muscle, wide as it was tall. Obscene glutes, wide as an SUV bumper, protruding provocatively, projecting toward Omar. Hamstrings that hung so heavy under their own weight they looked fit to fall off the bone. The super-wide-set stance demanded by the thing’s hyper-muscled legs did little to diminish its height. It had to be at least eight feet tall. Its reddish skin was inflamed and irritated along the central ridges of its back where small spines were protruding.The thing’s traps were too tall for Omar to see a head, but two wickedly curving horns were visible, cresting the muscular horizon.

Was this the Prince? Asmodeus, Demon of Lust?? Omar felt his heart rate double and his mind race even as his exhausted prick rocketed to full hardness. What was about to happen? Was his heart to be eaten? Was he to be consumed alive? Sacrificed in some dark rite? He felt himself begin to faint.

“No, idiot,” a bass voice rumbled, the deepest Omar had ever heard. The giant heap of demonic beef shuffled and slowly began turning. The beast was so overgrown that movement was difficult. Omar could easily flee, yet some force kept him rooted in place. The thing’s massive cock came into view as it slowly turned. It had to be at least five feet long, thick as a thigh, frantic with bulging veins, a fat helmet head so engorged it looked uncomfortable. And, like all the demon cocks he’d ever seen, the damn thing was drooling.

Finally, a face. Demonic, distorted, fanged, horned, ears growing into points, yet… there was no mistaking it.

“P-Pete…?”

“My title is The Anointed One, but yeah, Omar, you can always call me Pete.”

“H-how… I… what have…. How…” Omar felt the room spin. Pete wasn’t human. He had to weigh a solid ton, at least. He was utterly transformed.

“Stay with me buddy,” Omar heard, but then there was blackness.


The crackle of a fire. That’s right. This library had a fireplace, he remembered that, from the before-times. The warmth. The orange light partly penetrating Omar’s eyelids. He opened his eyes, smiling, not remembering anything else.

“Good, you’re awake,” came Pete’s disturbingly deep voice. Omar started up, throwing aside the blanket that had been placed over him. He’d been washed, he realized. Undressed and then dressed in clean clothes. Shaved. He worked his mouth. It wasn’t clammy and sticky. They’d given him water, and enough of it that for the first time in weeks he wasn’t dry.

“Where… where are you?”

“It was a mistake to reveal myself to you that way. You weren’t ready. I forget how… extreme my appearance is, compared to the sad state of an unaltered mortal. It’s better if you don’t see me, just yet.”

“Pete… please don’t talk that way… you’re freaking me out.”

There was a heavy sigh. “We will go as slow as we need to. Please. Ask me whatever questions you may have. I will not lie to you.”

“What… what are you? Are you… Asmodeus?”

There was a bass rumble of laughter. “No, Omar, Lord Asmodeus is larger than this building. You’ll meet him some day, when you’re ready. He knows all about you.”

Omar felt a shiver. “Again. Freaking me out.”

Pete was silent for a moment. “I am truly sorry. Things look so different once you’ve been transformed, Omar. But I won’t force it on you. I want you to choose this.”

“Choose this!”

“You heard Kyle. I’ve rarely felt so much fear in a human heart, yet fifteen minutes later he wouldn’t shut up about how amazing it was.”

“How did you…?”

“I borrowed Gunnar’s ears for a bit.”

“I saw you earlier. You didn’t look… like this. You looked like the others. More… normal.”

“You saw Jake. I was borrowing his eyes. That’s why you thought it was me. They were my eyes, in that moment.”

“Pete! I need you to explain! What does this all mean!”

There was another sigh. “I am one of a very rare sort of human, Omar. One who can drink the pure seed of our Lord Asmodeus without being driven mad by the sheer lust it awakens in a human heart. My will is strong enough to withstand it. That’s what they mean by The Anointed One. I am his right hand. Because I was lucky enough to drink right from the source, my transformation is… more extreme. As are the abilities I gain. We can all hear a normal human’s thoughts, sense their feelings. I can see your soul, the others can’t. It’s a very pretty one, if you’re interested. And I can reach out and possess others. That’s what I meant by borrowing eyes and ears. I would only take full control if there was no other choice, Omar. But I was so eager to see you, I couldn’t help taking a back seat in the minds of the boys we sent to find you.”

“You… were eager to see me.”

“Yes, Omar. Yes. Of course I was. I… Omar, I missed you so much.”

Silence. Omar didn’t know how to answer. He remembered the night Pete broke up with him. Pete felt unworthy. Like he wasn’t enough for Omar. Like he didn’t know how much it would hurt Omar, to just… leave him like that. The first man Omar had ever found who felt like he did, who shared the same dreams. In the weeks between Pete leaving and the world abruptly ending, Omar had cried himself to sleep every night. Now, this…!

Pete sighed. “Your thoughts are very loud, I don’t want to hear them but I kind of can’t help it.”

“Where are you, Pete?”

“Still in the lobby by the check out desk. I’m using my mind to speak to you, right now. I… I don’t really fit into the stacks. Or through the doors to the reading rooms.”

“I’m coming out there.”

Silence. “If you think that’s best, Omar.”

Omar stood. His mind spinning. This was too much to take in. His ex-boyfriend was some kind of freakishly overmuscled demonic creature, the right hand of the hell-beast that had broken the world, and he wanted to get back together. He tottered out toward the lobby, the library dark and ruined, books strewn here and there. The ruins of the old world. It wouldn’t be coming back.

He rounded the corner and saw Pete once more, the unbelievable mass of him. “Fuck,” he exhaled. He thought he was prepared for this second glimpse. He wasn’t.

Determined, Omar continued forward. Pete stood there, immense, yet somehow… chastened? Omar reached him. He was so tall that his altered face was out of reach. “On your knees,” Omar said. To his shock, Pete kneeled, slowly, awkwardly, barely able to manage the movement, his muscles were so immense, calves and hamstrings and glutes pressing together, bulging out behind him.

The Anointed One of Asmodeus, the second most powerful being in this monstrous new world, was bent in submission before him. Omar reached out both hands and firmly grasped Pete’s face. “Don’t you ever,” he began, “ever leave me like that again, get it? That was dumb as hell, Pete. Pardon the expression.”

To his shock, Pete dropped his head. Then… this can’t be right… he… his breath caught? “I’m sorry, Omar,” he said, weirdly deep voice quivering. “I was an idiot. I… I don’t deserve you, still, and not for the reasons I thought back then. Can you–” his voice caught. “Can we have a second try?”

Omar tried to duck his hand under Pete’s chin to raise his head, but it was buried in his bulbous pecs, and anyway, his massive horns added a surprising amount of weight to his skull. Having failed, he said “Look at me” instead. Pete raised his head. Sure enough, there were rivulets of tears down his freakishly altered face, his unnaturally shining eyes glinting, wet. “Yes,” Omar breathed. “Yes, let’s… let’s have another try. It’s a lot to get used to, Pete. You have to be patient with me. But, you know,” he said, laughing shakily, “whatever it is, it’ll be a hell of a lot better than hiding in abandoned houses and scavenging what you can find for your next meal.”

Pete smiled. “Soon no one will have to do that, Omar. Peace is coming. If only we could just explain to people. Stop fighting. Life is about to get so much better. No more war. No more hunger. Just the best sex you can imagine.”

Omar frowned. “But… what about women?”

“Think about it, Omar. When was the last time you spotted a woman on a scavenging run?”

Omar was silent. Come to think of it, it had been a while. He’d just chalked it up to chance, or a more primitive division of labour among some of the survivor cells. But… a dark suspicion burbled up. “You didn’t kill them, did you?!”

“God no!” Pete frowned in dismay. “Lord Asmodeus was owed a favour by an old… work colleague, let’s say. Lilith. She’s taking good care of the women, they’ve got their own utopian thing going on. I can explain more later. But now, ah…” Pete shuffled. “I’ve been really patient, Omar, but you wouldn’t believe how bad blue balls feel when you’re a three thousand pound demon with a five foot cock. Can we… please…?”

Omar laughed despite himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed. “A demon, asking please?”

“I need you to want it. I…” Pete was breathing hard, and suddenly Omar got a greater sense of just how much willpower he was using to restrain himself. “I won’t force myself on you, Omar. I need to ask. If you say no, I’ll… I’ll make the library off limits and you can stay here, safe, as long as you want. Forever, if you want. I… fuck… I promise. But… please Omar… I’ve…. I’ve been dreaming of you for so long. I’ve been longing for this. Let me show you what it’s like. Let me be the one to begin your new, better life. With me. With us. Please.”

Omar was silent for a long moment. There would be no going back from this. But how long could he hide in this library? And truly… maybe he would enjoy it? The thought thrilled him, dark and forbidden. To be enormous, muscular, inhumanly hung, with an insatiable sexual appetite. No more struggle. No more hunger. Just… sex. Sex with someone who loved him. Fuck. Pete did love him, he realized. He looked up, knowing Pete could hear his thoughts. Pete’s eyes were shining, and he simply nodded, yes, yes, I do.

“I love you too, Pete,” Omar said, leaning in, kissing the demon tenderly at first, then more passionately. “I missed you too. Please, Pete. I’m ready.” A shiver raced through his body, the hairs on his arms standing up. “Make me grow.” Like their bedroom fantasies of long ago, but real, about to happen.

He paused, then, considering Pete’s inhuman genitals. “But, uh… how will we…”

Pete grinned. “If you’re worried I’ll literally split you in two with this thing, relax. I mean. I probably could. You’d probably survive it once the magic juice started working on you, it’s amazing the injuries you’ll heal right up from, once you’re transformed. But it would be pretty horrific for the first few minutes. No, why don’t you—ah!” Pete’s words cut off as Omar, intuiting his intent, leaned in and began licking around the flaring coronal ridge of Pete’s gigantic cock head, fat as a giant pumpkin.

Omar continued his work, no reluctance to slurp up the clear streaming precum that drooled down like tree sap. “I should… probably warn you… fuck,” Pete said, struggling to gather his wits and speak clearly. “My seed is more… potent than the others. Hnng. Because of who… what… I am. You’re going to get… FUCK me, keep doing that… you’re going to get… bigger than the others.”

Omar paused, looked up, his face glistening with Pete’s pre, his eyes intense. “How much bigger?”

Pete looked down, barely able to see his boyfriend’s face over his own pecs. He knew the answer to the question, but just thinking it… fuck… it was putting him over the edge. “As big…” he huffed. “Maybe as big… bigger than… FUCK!”

For the first time since Asmodeus, demon prince of lust, awoke and spoke to him, Pete’s will failed. The dam burst. He grabbed Omar roughly and shoved his face toward the tip of his cock. No mortal could ever dream of opening wide enough to take in even part of the head, but all Omar needed to do was drink. And he did. He gulped mouthful after mouthful, until his stomach hurt, but he kept going. Pete’s orgasm seemed endless. He was still spewing when Omar began to feel a heat rising in the pit of his gut, began to feel his limbs twitch, his muscles knot…


All the demons nearby knew to gather outside the library. Every man, after being transformed, understands and obeys these urges. Instructions do not come in words, they come in impulses to act in specific ways, impulses that, for almost all, are totally impossible to ignore. Almost all.

So every hyper-cock muscle freak demon-man just felt like it was the right thing to do to gather outside the library and wait.

They were not waiting long. The big double doors opened, and The Anointed One stepped out, glorious as ever. Every dick stiffened at the sight of him. Even this pale shadow of Lord Asmodeus was terrifyingly potent, this being halfway between demon and man. He was pure masculine sexuality incarnate, supernatural energies barely contained by a once-mortal form.

His huge horns glinted dully in the sun as it dawned on the new day. He spoke without using his mouth, his thoughts loud, commanding, powerful, the words filling every mind who gazed upon him. It was a simple message, just two words.

MY CONSORT.

He stepped to the side, and a second being of unbelievable musculature filled the double door. Shorter than The Anointed One, yet no less massive, his eyes full of dark fire, his limbs so encumbered with excessive meat that he struggled to move properly, his yard-long cock bobbing and drooling as he slowly made his way forward. Already the skin at his temples was splitting. His horns were beginning to grow in already. Unheard of. But then, only the very most favoured ever gained even a sip of The Anointed One’s far more potent juices, and this consort of his had clearly drunk very, very deeply.

The assembled crowd gripped their always-hard cocks, began rubbing them as if in salute. Pete smiled. He had not ordered them to do this. This was spontaneous. He glanced at Omar, like a baby fawn taking his first awkward steps, as the crowd howled, reaching orgasm in unison, fountaining their approval, a hundred champagne corks popping, a ticker-tape parade of cum.

It was the beginning of a new world.

 

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