The Champion

by Mikeytron   

A twist on the “be careful what you wish for” formula, regarding the history of an implausibly huge Mr. Olympia champion.

It had been a triumph. He was blowing up Instagram. He was the cover of every muscle mag that still printed. People would buy copies to commemorate it. The Reddit thread already had thousands of comments.

ADAM NOVAK: BIGGEST MR. O IN HISTORY

He’d only started lifting four years ago, in his early twenties. He only competed for the first time as an amateur two years ago. Got his pro-card last year ago. Qualified for the O this year. Nine months later, a rookie winner. No one expected it. Lots of people expected him to finish second or third no matter how obvious his dominance, just to make him “work for it” and “earn it” in a year or two. But it became obvious at the show itself: if they’d crowned anyone else, there would have been rioting. He was unlike anyone who had ever stepped on a bodybuilding stage. He was so enormous, it was alarming. Frightening.

And he was so young and had got there so quickly.

The comments online were fast and furious. Things like: “Is there any limit to how big this kid can get?” “What the hell are they feeding him?” “Did a muscle growth experiment escape its lab?” But also things like: “it’s too much.” “Disgusting.” “What happened to old school aesthetics?” “He’s gonna be dead of a heart attack in 18 months.”

He put his phone down, caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror across the restaurant where his crew had taken him to celebrate. Fuck, he didn’t look human. Handsome face—he was only 26—straight nose, big expressive eyes, firm generous lips, Hollywood jawline, thick dark hair kept short, but not too short—just enough to show its curl on his brow. But the rest of him. Fuck. He bulged. He burgeoned. He looked fit to explode, like his skin was barely holding back the giant round forms of his muscles. He took up twice the space of a normal human. Three times the space. He couldn’t move right, he was so huge. His buddy had to help him eat.

He knew the stats. Everyone knew the stats. 5’8”. 358 pounds at registration—probably closer to 370 now that he’d been carbed up. 2% bodyfat. 30” arms. 46” thighs. 80” chest. Ramy, Roelly, Hadi, Brandon, Iain, Hunter, all of them were dwarfed by him.

His shirt, the only thing he could fit into that came anywhere close to formal wear, was splitting at the seams—literally, it had already torn in two places, small tears, for now. It was custom made. He hadn’t paid for it, the company that made it had volunteered, as long as he did a social media promo. But they made it weeks ago, not expecting him to grow into the show.

He had definitely grown into the show.

“Where did this kid come from?”

Just a little town in southern Ontario, nowhere special.

Three Years Earlier

Adam had to lift pretty late at night because of his job and his classes. He was almost done with the degree. He hoped it’d land him a better job, one that would allow him to lift at a more sensible time. But for now, he showed up at the gym around 11 p.m. and generally left a little after midnight. It was one of those gyms where members all had a fob to open the door, and there wasn’t always staff on site.

This night, the few guys who were there already left not too long after Adam got there. He had the whole 20,000 square feet to himself. He felt dwarfed by it. He’d been lifting for nine months now, had some newbie gains to show for it, but he still felt out of place. He just looked kind of fit, at best. A little muscle on him but nothing special.

He launched into his next set, machine rows, and he really got into the rhythm of it. Slow cadence—he knew not to use momentum, he knew to emphasize time under tension. Pull, squeeze, return, stretch, repeat. His baby lats burned but he kept at it. These are the reps that count, he told himself. This is where the growth is.

When he finished, he looked up and saw a bodybuilder sitting on a bench, watching him. Adam was confused—he was certain he’d been alone for twenty minutes or more. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. Had this guy been in the lockers all this time? And he was blatantly staring. Adam took out his phone and toyed with it, hoping the bodybuilder wouldn’t start anything. He didn’t want trouble. He just wanted to finish his workout.

If Adam had noticed the time on his phone, or looked up at the clock on the wall, he would have seen that it struck midnight during the set of rows he’d just finished.

Adam heard a voice and felt a presence looming. “Hey, kid.”

His mouth went dry and he looked up.

The bodybuilder was huge. Like, pro huge. Some pros went to this gym but Adam rarely saw them because he always came in so late. Adam’s dick began stiffening automatically at the display of bulging pecs, thick veiny arms, quads exploding out of the bottom of tiny shorts hiked high, calves like two footballs clutched by veins like tree roots. He couldn’t help it. The guy was handsome, too. Mediterranean, maybe? Persian? Black hair, dark eyes that were swift and intelligent, perfect tan skin, and the muscles. My god, the muscles. He smelled like testosterone, this close up.

“I said hey.”

Adam closed his gaping mouth. “Oh uh…. Hey there.”

“You wanna get big, huh?”

“Um… well…. Yeah.”

“Thought so. I could smell it on you from across the room. You’re pretty scrawny but the size of your desire, whoo boy, I’ve rarely seen a desire so huge, not even in the pros.”

What was this guy talking about? Adam was worried, this bodybuilder didn’t seem to be in his right mind. He knew a lot of these guys did other drugs, was he hopped up on something? He did have a vaguely coked-up air about him. Adam better be careful not to agitate him.

“Oh uh, well, thank you. I’m trying my best.”

“I see that. That was a nice set you just did. Good intention. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to get everything you want, and more.”

“…. Haha, well, I hope you’re right. I definitely want to get huge.” Adam gave his best fake laugh.

“You better start your next set. You’re on 90 second rests and it’s been more than 100.”

“How…?”

“I said start your next set.” His voice was quiet, commanding.

Adam gulped, turned his attention to the machine, gripped the handles firmly, and started rowing.

Like before he fell into a kind of rhythm, but this time it was deeper. He kept pulling and pulling and pulling. His lats felt like they would burst. But he was merciless. His form remained smooth, controlled. His tempo, slow. He was crying, it hurt so bad. Literal tears mixing with the sweat running down his face. He kept rowing. It burned so bad, worse than anything he’d ever felt.

When Adam finally stopped, he released the handles with a sob and let his arms fall to his sides. There was no way to hold them that didn’t make his throbbing lats feel worse. He groaned in helpless agony and looked around for the mysterious bodybuilder who had been talking to him.

There was no one else in the gym. Even though he’d been in his own world during that set, that agonizing endless set…. Adam would have noticed the muscle man leaving, right?

A Year Later

“Adam, you should totally compete!”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Adam shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to acknowledge that he had been considering that very thing himself lately.

“I’m serious, man, you’d fit right in on an amateur stage, classic, maybe even cross over and do open as well.”

Adam had poured himself into the gym after graduation. He found a job but his focus really wasn’t there—he was competent, but his managers always said he could be doing more, and as the months went by and his muscles continued to expand, they grew uncomfortable with his physical presence. He was handsome, muscular, confident, but there was something off about him, something they couldn’t put into words.

The gym was his life. His passion. It was almost like the first nine months he’d spent lifting were a kind of false start—what he thought of as newbie gains were quickly dwarfed by his second year of progress. His friends were right—not only would he not look out of place on an amateur stage, he’d stand a good chance of winning the whole thing.

So that’s what he did. The experience of contest prep was hyped up to be a gruelling gauntlet to him, but somehow he never found it that way. He got leaner, his skin thinned, his muscles popped, but he never felt hungry, he never felt exhausted. At first he was concerned because the scale wasn’t going down the way it should—but the mirror told a different tale.

“I guess you’re growing into your show. Lucky fucker.”

The classic weight limit for someone 5’8” was 182 pounds. The plan for him to do both classic and open was scrapped as his weight never dipped below 185, and indeed crept into the 190s by the time show day arrived. He registered as a light heavyweight. He wore turquoise posers.

He blew everyone away. He won his class. He won the overall. He qualified for nationals.

His friends were beyond hyped at the after-party. “You’ve gotta do it, man! Do nationals! You’re built for this!”

He believed it. He’d never felt happier in his life.

That night, back at the hotel, after everyone had left, he stepped into another shower to try and get more of the fake tan off. He knew he’d be shedding it for days to come even after doing his best to scrub it away. He enjoyed the way the water cascaded down his rock hard musculature. His glutes like twin boulders. His pecs like two shields of stone. The veins on his biceps and forearms like veins in marble. His cock throbbed, and he indulged himself; it only took a half dozen strokes before he blew a load all over the hotel shower wall, the hot water turning his cum all stringy.

He turned off the shower, enjoying the warm humid air. Slowly he toweled off and stepped back into the room, naked, his skin raw and scrubbed fresh. He stopped in his tracks. Someone was in the room.

It was the bodybuilder from the gym. That bodybuilder.

“Adam,” he said, smiling. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, just as massive as the first time Adam saw him. Stringer tank-top covering less than a quarter of his tanned, bulging, superheavyweight torso. Dark nips angling downward from the sheer size of his pecs. His lips quirked into a smile. “You’re looking well.”

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” Adam said, the timid pipsqueak from a year ago nowhere to be seen.

“Settle down. Relax. And you’re welcome, by the way.”

“I’ll settle down when I’m good and ready. Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?”

“You’ll figure out who I am in time. And I’m here to congratulate you. And deliver the remainder of your prize.” Adam’s eyes flickered to the gimmicky sword he’d been awarded for winning the overall. Amateur shows don’t have cash prizes. What could this guy mean?

“What are you, a rep for a supplement company or something?”

The bodybuilder’s lips quirked as he held in a genuine laugh. “That’s a new one. No, as I said, you’ll figure out my identity in time. Don’t you remember our first meeting?”

“I… I do,” Adam said reluctantly.

“Well, I simply asked if you wanted to get huge, and you said you did. Your need blazed like a bonfire on a dark night, you know. Obvious. It practically begged for me to intervene on your behalf. But I do need permission, you know. So I asked. You wanna get huge? And you said you do. So….” the man gestured elegantly, muscles shifting and flexing as he did. “Here we are.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

And with that, Adam woke up. His head hurt. His mouth was dry. His slow sleeping pulse suddenly doubled as he remembered—the weird bodybuilder! In his room! Talking some kind of crazy talk!

Adam leapt to his feet and almost fell to the ground. His body wasn’t like it had been the day before. He was… larger. A lot larger. The same height, 5’8”. The same bones. But his muscles had inflated. At least 25 pounds. He saw himself in the mirror above the TV, his handsome face freaked out, terrified, his chest and ab-quilted stomach heaving with heavy breaths.

What the fuck.

Six Months Later

His work was definitely going to find some excuse to fire him in the weeks ahead, he could tell. When he walked—or, waddled—into a meeting room, their faces screwed up like he had a stink about him. He was outgrowing his work clothes and he didn’t want to invest in new ones if they were just going to fire him anyway. But he had to get money from somewhere.

OnlyFans was a surprising help for his finances. He didn’t even have to have sex—just posing, flexing, or even doing normal things like shaving, or preparing food with no shirt on. Sometimes he got his dick out but a lot of the times he didn’t even do that. And people in the thousands paid to watch him, this young guy, just turning 24, handsome enough to be a movie star, with his jaw dropping muscles.

The day he was finally let go, for reasons he could probably challenge successfully except he didn’t want to, he celebrated with an OnlyFans post. “Watch me flex out of my work clothes.” All his office attire, going back to when he had been a 150 pounds nobody. One by one he squeezed his muscular body into them and then flexed hard, forcing seams to split, tearing fabric apart.

It was like ripping apart his old identity. The old Adam.

Adam wasn’t much for social media but he couldn’t keep his physique under wraps any longer. Instagram was a must. He hated it, but the sponsorships he’d picked up since his big win required him to make posts, and the larger his following the more likely they’d be to renew contracts. He had no paycheque anymore so he did his best to lean into it.

As Nationals drew near the buzz around him was unmistakable. Instagram is full of bodybuilders who seem like they’re going to blow the competition away on show day, only to finish in the middle of the pack—but everyone was convinced that, this time, for Adam, it would be different. He was the heavy favourite among the online crowd.

He’d registered at 194 pounds at his first show. What no one knew was the very next day, after the visitation from the weird bodybuilder in his hotel room, he’d weighed in at 221 pounds. The growth kept coming during the three months of bulking he’d planned before beginning his cut for the Nationals. 250 pounds is a lot on someone who’s only 5’8”, but that’s where he landed before the cut. That’s when he got fired from his job. They just couldn’t handle someone that massive, such a meathead in a professional environment. No one who’s of sound mind would ever do something like that to their bodies. Obvious steroid abuse. Ticking time bomb of roid rage. No one felt comfortable in the office with him.

Fuck them anyway. He was making good money from sponsorships and OnlyFans, and he’d be getting his pro card in three weeks anyway.

His cut for his second ever contest began, and just like the first one, the scale was stubborn. It dipped down as low as 243, but it stayed there for a while, and then began creeping up. He was vicious about his diet and cardio. He didn’t cheat at all. But he was growing into his show again. With two weeks to go, he was back at 250 pounds, but so much leaner and sharper than he’d been just a couple months previous.

The internet was losing their mind. This wasn’t just a kid who deserved a pro card. Adam was rapidly growing an Olympia-contender physique, right before everyone’s eyes, and doing it at an accelerated pace that beggared belief.

He flew out for the show a week early, set up shop in an Airbnb, did his final workouts and a photoshoot at a local gym, went home and ate his prepared meals, updated his instagram and his OnlyFans, played video games, and then slept. Day after day.

He waddled into registration exactly 59 pounds heavier than he’d been for his first show. 253 pounds. The guy recording the weights couldn’t restrain himself. “Damn, son.” He looked Adam up and down. “That is a hell of a lot of mass to be carrying on a 5’8” frame.”

“Thanks man,” Adam said nonchalantly, trying not to become overly emotional. He kept a tight rein on things until after the show was over. He knew he was a favourite to win. He knew that pro card was his. But he had to pretend he didn’t know, until it had actually happened.

Super Heavyweight. Called to the centre of the lineup within seconds of getting on stage. Stayed there the whole time. Nailed every pose. Adam’s physique was shocking. The official photographer’s camera was going off like a machine gun. He knew this was something special, that pictures of Adam from this show would be well known twenty-five years from now. These pictures he was taking, as this freak of musculature moved gracefully from pose to pose to pose, would be joining the echelons of legendary physique pictorial. Cutler’s quad stomp. Arnold on the beach. And Adam winning his pro card, absolutely mopping the floor with the competition.

The after party was glorious. Everyone wanted to suck his dick, metaphorically and, eventually, literally. He should have been exhausted but he felt elated. He felt high, like he was on a drug. He kept pumping his cock into warm willing holes in the hotel room, a frenzy of muscle and lust and dominance. He was the fucking champ. He was the newest IFBB pro. He was only 25 years old. He was hot shit, and he had his whole future ahead of him.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

When he woke up it was still dark outside. The room was gloomy, dim. He felt hungover. His balls ached. How many times had he cum last night? Five? Six? More? He groaned and rolled over, intending to lumber into the bathroom for some water—he could drink all he liked now, after all.

He froze mid-roll. There was someone else in bed with him. A big lumpy shape, half-seen in the darkness. Denting the mattress. Not a surprise—hadn’t he hosted a victory orgy? But the room was dark, no one else was here, and although there’d been plenty of muscular men attached to his dick last night, this one was bigger than any of them. About the same size as me, Adam thought.

The other man blinked awake and smiled prettily. His massive pecs mounded up under his chin as he propped himself up on one arm and leaned toward Adam. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said, showing perfect white teeth that almost glowed in the gloom.

“Wh—what the fuck,” Adam stammered.

“Don’t be so shocked. You really ought to learn to expect me by now.” He reached a hand out and stroked Adam’s muscular arm, then his face. Adam didn’t draw away, for some reason. He felt hypnotized by the mysterious bodybuilder. He was paralyzed yet untroubled by this fact.

“You’ve done so well. Look at the size of you. You’re really huge now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah I’m… I’m pretty huge…” Adam felt himself speak, but it was like someone else was speaking.

“I’m contractually obligated to give you an off-ramp here, but fair warning. It’s your last chance to back out.”

“Huh?”

The bodybuilder smirked. “It’s like their brains shrivel up, I swear.” He resumed stroking Adam’s handsome face, toying with his short curly hair. “I’ll make it simple for you, big guy. You can stabilize around this size. You’ll spend your off-season in the 270s, you’ll compete in the 250’s, you’ll probably have quite the career. I can’t promise what kind of success, because I won’t be involved any longer. In fact, tonight will be the last time you see me. Pity, that. If you take this option, I mean.”

Adam whimpered. His cock was throbbing, achingly hard, like a steel beam in the sun, like he hadn’t cum for a month.

“The other option is, you stay on this ride and we see just how huge ‘huge’ really is.”

Adam felt his mouth open and close. “Guh….”

The bodybuilder stroked his face again. “Such a pretty man, really, even without the muscles. So what do you say, kid. Do you want to get even huger?”

“Fuck, yes, please, anything, I want to be a monster, I want to be the biggest bodybuilder ever, I never want to stop growing, I wanna grow ‘til I split my skin” Adam felt the words come tumbling out, like a dam inside him had burst.

The bodybuilder chuckled, his pecs flexing and dancing. “That’s what I hoped I’d hear. You know that bonfire of desire I said you had inside you? It’s burning brighter than ever, it’s never dimmed. It rages, I can sense it across the eons. I’ll see you next time, handsome.” Then he leaned in and kissed Adam. It was the most powerful kiss Adam had ever experienced. He felt his soul melting. Untouched, his cock began to twitch and dance and spurt cum like a broken sprinkler.

Adam moaned loudly, reached out to pull the sexy bodybuilder in closer, and his hands passed through thin air. The man was gone. Adam slumped back onto the mattress, stared at the ceiling for a second. Then, realizing just how disgusting and stinky his mouth must have been during that kiss, that best-ever kiss with that god of a man, rolled over and went to the bathroom for a glass of water.

Adam shouldn’t have been shocked when he woke up in his hotel room the morning after his show. It had happened once already. And yet… he somehow hadn’t expected it.

He was bigger.

A lot bigger.

Like 40 pounds bigger. 253 pounds is a lot on a 5’8” frame, like the man at check-in said. 290-something, in contest shape? Practically unheard of. That’s beyond Roelly Winklaar size. That’s beyond Big Ramy size. That’s already in a category of its own.

He threw himself into the off-season with a vengeance. The mass came, like his body knew no limit. Every set, his freakish muscles filled with so much lactic acid, his eyes would tear up, he would be gasping and moaning, unable to ease the pain. And then his timer would beep and he’d launch into another set, ignoring the throbbing pain, pumping himself ever huger.

He grew. And grew. And grew. A member of the 300 pounds club now, rapidly filling out. His shoulders mound up alongside his head, bigger than his skull. His pecs hit his chin when he looks down at them. His walk now an extreme waddle. Every eye staring at him when he goes out in public. Blocking a sidewalk, blocking an aisle at the grocery store. People watch him, mouths agape. Children ask questions. Mommy, what’s wrong with that man?

His first pro show, an Olympia qualifier. The discourse went from “how well will he do” to “is he a contender to win it” to “how well is he going to do at the Olympia after he wins this?”

He tried to ignore the headlines in the bodybuilding press.

ADAM NOVAK PREPARES FOR HIS FIRST PRO SHOW, PROMPTING THE QUESTION: HOW BIG IS TOO BIG?

A NEW ERA OF MASS MONSTERS OR A ONE-OFF FREAK? ADAM NOVAK

He started his prep at 312 pounds. Just like before, the scale was stubborn. It dipped down slowly, stalled, and then began climbing again as the show neared. Adam’s training sessions were almost like trances, now. He’d emerge from the altered space occasionally, and see the pumped, fit to burst muscle freak, face anguished from the lactic acid burn, tortured body slick with sweat and tears, XXXXXL tank top about to explode, veins the size pencils, lungs heaving for oxygen. He was so massive he could barely get enough air in to fuel himself. He was always winded. His feet hurt from carrying this much weight. His gut hurt from eating so much food, every single day. Even his contest prep diet was enough for a family.

He got leaner, and leaner, and leaner. Scarily lean. It was the most shredded he’d ever been.

He weighed in at 317 pounds the day before the show. “Jesus,” the guy taking the measurements muttered. “Holy fuck.” Adam’s body seemed impossible, there was no way a human being could carry this much meat. The few people who knew him before, when he was just a normal dude, who were still in touch with him all sent him texts and DMs, worried about his health. It’s too much, Adam. Your body can’t take this for long. Forums and reddit threads were full of predictions of his doom. He must be on grams a week. Getting this huge this fast—kids today are too impatient. He’s going to pay the price for it.

The show was a coronation. He was the heaviest guy there. He was the leanest guy there. His proportions were perfect, if of a magnitude unheard of. When he hit a most muscular, the audience actually gasped.

The Olympia qualification was his.

The celebration was subdued, though. Not an orgy like last time. He didn’t even want to go to a restaurant. He was tired of how people in public gawped at him. He just wanted to chill in the hotel room, smoke a joint, order some pizza, watch some stupid videos on YouTube. So, that’s what he and his crew did. The champ gets what he wants.

As he said goodbye to the last of his crew, he knew what to expect. He had been expecting this all along. The memory of the kiss in the hotel bed last time stayed with him. It was seared into his soul, a tender spot he couldn’t stop poking at. It was the best kiss he’d ever had. It had been far more than a kiss.

“You can come out now, if you’re here,” Adam said to the empty room.

“You’re learning,” the bodybuilder said as he stepped out of the dark bathroom.

“I’m not that stupid. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life, that’s all. You can’t expect people to catch on that fast.”

“Can’t I? You lot used to be so much more reasonable before your faith in science overtook the evidence of your senses,” the bodybuilder smirked. “Although I will admit, your science has wrought many wondrous things.” He flexed, then, admiring himself. He’s smaller than me, Adam realized. A lot smaller.

“Everyone is smaller than you now, Adam,” the bodybuilder said, answering Adam’s thoughts. “A very small number of them are close, but you’re top of the heap. You’re it. The biggest bodybuilder in the world, in human history. How’s it feel?”

“It’s exhausting.”

The bodybuilder was silent, and Adam felt compelled to continue. “I can’t even tie my own shoes. I have to turn sideways to get through some doors. Everyone stares at me. I’m always out of breath and my feet hurt. Nothing fits. When I’m not lifting I’m eating, and when I’m not eating I’m sleeping. I have to wear a machine when I sleep so I don’t suffocate on my own meat.”

The bodybuilder stared at him, still silent. Was that the tiniest shimmer of pity in his dark, expressive eyes?

Finally the bodybuilder spoke. “I told you last time, it was your last chance to back out. There is no escape, now.”

Adam was quiet. “I know.”

The bodybuilder narrowed his eyes. “That bonfire of need in you….”

“Yes?”

“It’s still there, Adam. It hasn’t dimmed, at all.”

Adam hung his head, his chin in the cleft between his pecs, his arms unable to rest at his sides because his lats were in the way. His legs forced apart by the sheer volume of his quads.

“…. Yeah.”

“You want to get even bigger, don’t you, Adam?”

Adam felt his breath shaking and catching. He was trembling. His body couldn’t take this. It was too much. It was way too much. He wouldn’t last another year if he kept growing. This has to end. It has to end now. It…

“…. Yeah.” Adam heard the sound of a wretched sob from somewhere in the room, the sound of a broken soul.

The bodybuilder stepped closer. He reached an elegant finger under Adam’s chin, having to work it into the canyon between his pecs to do so. He lifted Adam’s face. “Son of the earth, the need in you is…. exquisite. It is beautiful. You have the purest need of any mortal I’ve seen, and I have been here for…. For far longer than you can know, my treasure.”

Adam felt a tear trickling down his face as the fallen angel’s true form flickered through his disguise. The beauty he glimpsed was painful to behold.

“I should not do this. I am here to punish the sin of greed. I don’t know what they’ll do to me. This might be my unmaking. But you, Adam… your greed is no sin. It is purified, somehow. The purest essence of want. Son of the earth, I’ll give you what you want, but it won’t hurt you anymore. It won’t sap your life any more. Your skin won’t rip and tear. Your organs won’t fail. Your heart won’t break. You’ll keep growing, son of the earth, and I’ll protect you, damn the cost.”

A second tear trickled down Adam’s face as his eyes were locked with the demon’s. The world was shrinking, it was only their two bodies, not even the room around them. The point of contact where they touched was all of reality. Adam’s monstrously overgrown form, obscene and impractical mass, and the demon’s human guise, the pure essence of virile muscular masculinity.

The demon leaned in and kissed Adam again. It was like in the hotel bed. The ancient sign of a sealed covenant. The terms of their arrangement had been altered; a new contract was signed. Then, smiling, the demon took Adam by the hand and led him to the hotel room bed. His hands slowly running over the human’s unheard of musculature. The angry red stretch marks where his skin had begun to fail. The crevices where two muscles had run out of room and were now vying for territory.

Adam’s ass, the biggest most muscular pair of glutes on planet earth, slowly being prised apart by the demon’s thick foot-long cock, radiating heat, slick, lubricating as it went. He was as good as his word—Adam would not come to harm as long as he was under the demon’s power.

Adam felt drugged. He felt cosmic. His whole body was a sexual organ and the demon was touching every inch of it. Their hot breath in unison, mortal and immortal. The demon was inside him, deep inside him, pulsing, filling him with radiant seed, more and more of it. They couldn’t keep their mouths off each other, tongues darting, lips grasping. They wanted to devour each other and keep each other whole.

When Adam woke up the next morning, he was alone. He felt elevated; he felt empty.

He was 340 pounds.

Nine Months Later

The entire Olympia weekend was a media spectacle. Adam was the biggest name in bodybuilding, not just literally but metaphorically. He’d just been a normal young man three years ago, when a demon had visited his gym at midnight and offered him a deal. Not that Adam understood that it was a deal, back then. But now, after having gained more than 200 pounds of raw beef with no end in sight, he knew it very well.

Everyone wanted to know Adam Novak’s training secrets. Everyone wanted to know who his coach was. Everyone wanted to know what next gen roids he had to be taking.

They tried to make the press conference about more than him. Soft-ball questions lobbed at the other competitors. They tried to make it seem like a true contest, like anyone else had a shot. Even though Adam clearly dwarfed everyone at the table, hunched over his microphone like a literal mountain of meat, the largest official Olympia track suit looking comically tight, painted on.

Several months ago he was already the biggest bodybuilder in history. And he had grown since then, grown a lot. He registered at 358 pounds, still at 5’8”. The video clips of it happening had gone viral. He needed help to get dressed and undressed. He got so pumped backstage that he needed someone to feed him the endless amounts of carbs that his huge body required in the hours before the show—he could no longer touch his own face, or even reach his mouth with a fork.

He posed to Sympathy for the Devil that night, the crowd losing its mind. They knew they were witnessing history. Adam felt kind of cheesy. The song choice seemed too on the nose. Adam hoped he was watching. Adam hoped he liked the tip of the hat. Adam wanted to see him grin at the little joke.

Adam longed to see him again.

What had he said? He might get in trouble? “This could be my undoing?” Something like that. He was supposed to punish Adam, but he had decided not to. He had decided to give Adam everything he wanted and to protect him from the negative downsides.

Would he be waiting for Adam at the hotel tonight?

Would they make love again, like they had last time?

Adam couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized, in the van back to the hotel, his gargantuan freakshow body taking up the entire back row, that he was in love. He was in love with a demon, his very soul was magnetized to him, and he didn’t know if he’d ever see him again.

His heart was pounding as he waddled down the hotel corridor, so overgrown he almost brushed the walls with his beachball delts. It wasn’t the heart attack that internet trolls kept saying would claim him any day, as he grew and grew and grew beyond all reason. His heart was pounding because he didn’t know what was waiting for him.

If he didn’t show up….

Adam opened the door. The room was dark. He hit the light switch and heard his own tight voice, aching with hope. Aching with need. A simple word, wanting an answer.

“Hello?”

Initially I wanted the ending to be ambiguous, unresolved. Is the demon-lover waiting there? Is no one waiting there? Is it something else?

Then I decided I wanted to write three different endings. One bad, one mixed, one good. Or, Inferno/hell, Purgatorio/purgatory, Paradiso/heaven. So here they are, the three branching paths of the story’s conclusion. You may pick which suits you—horror, realism, or romance. If you read all three, remember the first one is darkest and most violent; gentler readers may wish to skip to Purgatory.

Branch One: Inferno

The hotel room was just a hotel room, the same as every hotel room in the world. An anonymous bed. An armchair. It was empty.

Adam stepped inside, his heart pounding in his ears. He maneuvered his overgrown body further into the room, muscles twitching and flexing with anxiety. “Hello?” he repeated. He could hear how desperate his voice sounded.

Nothing.

He made it to the armchair by the window and lowered himself into it. His massive quads rising to meet his bowed out ab-gut. His huge ass filling the generous seat, pushing against the arms and back of the chair, making him sit unnaturally tall, as if on a pile of cushions.

He waited. Silence. Nothing.

He felt it rising in him. He tried to hold it down but as the minutes continued to pass it grew stronger and stronger.

“Where are you?” he said, hearing his voice quiver. His eyes stinging. He inhaled shakily. Waited a few seconds more. The room was unbearably silent.

“Why aren’t you here?” he asked the empty room, and then he broke. Tears burbling out of him pathetically. He tried to put his face into his hands but he couldn’t even manage that, his muscles were so gigantic, getting in each other’s way. He sat in the chair and shook with grief, tears running down his face, dripping onto the shelf of his pecs. Any attempt to pull himself together just made him weep harder.

“Oh, I’ve been here for a while, but I just wanted to see you cry for a bit, first. I do love to see a grown man cry, especially one so… extra-grown.”

Adam’s breath caught in confusion. That wasn’t the voice he longed to hear. It was rougher, deeper. Adam tried to wipe his eyes, again not quite able to reach. In his tear-blurred vision, there was an ugly mass of man standing by the foot of the hotel room bed. His head shaved bald, his lips thin, his eyes like pale blue fire, two blowtorch points. He was muscular in a skin-head kind of way. He was crowned with an unmistakable aura of cruelty.

“Of course I’m not him,” the stranger said, answering Adam’s thoughts even as he thought them. “What an offensive idea. He was a fool. An idiot.”

“Wha—” Adam began to speak, his voice thick and unsteady with crying.

“Oh, you love him so much, it’s pathetic. You give me a toothache. He didn’t even tell you his name.”

Adam’s breath hitched. The stranger was right. He hadn’t told Adam his name.

“Don’t worry. It’s been erased now, anyway. I couldn’t tell you what it was even if I wanted to. Fuck, you’re so stupid. What do you think he meant when he said ‘this could be my unmaking?’ What, you think Hell is like some office, his manager might put a note on his file?” He barked a short laugh. “You monkeys have such limited comprehension. You disgust me.”

Adam’s sorrow was rapidly giving way to a new feeling. Panic. His guts froze and he tried to rise from the chair. Fight or flight. He couldn’t move very fast anymore, but he could still knock this guy down and make a break for the door. It was then he realized he couldn’t move, couldn’t twitch a finger. He started to hyperventilate.

The stranger smirked and stepped closer. “He threw away an eternity for this pathetic carcass of yours. Unbelievable. What I truly don’t understand is why.”

Adam moaned in dismay. He felt heavier. Whatever protections his demon lover had placed on him were being removed. His joints ached. He felt his heart struggle in a way it hadn’t before. His skin felt too tight. He felt vaguely nauseated. He had grown huger than humans were ever meant to grow and now he was starting to bear the price of overstepping that boundary.

“Do you know how miniscule your lifespans are to a being like me? To a being like what he was? A hundred years is… a breath. Inhale, exhale, that’s a mortal born and died. He gave that up for you. And what are you, even? Some sick pervert who wants to be too muscular to function properly. Just because it gives you a hard-on. You could have wanted fame, fortune, power, you could have enjoyed sixty or seventy years of the high life before Hell came to claim you. But no, you just wanted to be this… blob of a thing. What pathetic fools, both of you.”

Adam tried to speak but his throat felt constricted. He… he was growing. His muscles slowly inflating, like balloons filled with wet cement. Unbearably heavy. It hurt.

“What, you thought you’d get off scot-free? A demon comes to punish someone for the sin of greed and lust by giving him too much of a good thing. He fucks up the job, fucks it up so bad they literally pull him apart atom by atom—oh, and believe me, he suffered more than you can comprehend before the end—and then the legions of Hell just forget about you?” His thin lips curled into a sneer. “No. I’m here to finish the job, and make sure it’s done properly.”

Darkness gathered around the demon. The temperature in the hotel room plummeted. Adam’s heart spasmed and throbbed with its triple burden of heartbreak, terror, and 450 pounds of muscle. 450 pounds and growing. He tried to scream but his mouth wouldn’t open. Nostrils flaring with panicky insufficient breath. The sounds he made were horrifying, chilling, an animal seconds from slaughter who knows its fate.

There was a crushing weight on his chest, a tight pain that got worse every second.

The demon looked less and less human, more and more brutal. Eyes blazing with cold fire. He fished out an iPhone, of all things, tapped the screen a few times. He smirked, then, leaned in to the bloated mess of meat that was Adam, held the phone in front of his snotty tear-stained face, knowing there was no way the doomed mass monster could ever manage it on his own.

MR. OLYMPIA ADAM NOVAK, 26, DEAD

Adam made a wordless groan of anguish.

“Wait, wait, you haven’t seen the best part.” The demon took the phone back, scrolled a bit, and then turned it around so Adam could see again.

A comment from some internet nobody. “RIP, too young. Steroids are the devil.”

The demon threw his head back and laughed, a deep, eerie, unearthly laugh. “Ha! Steroids are the devil!”

The chair broke under Adam’s ever-increasing weight and he sprawled like a tortoise on its back. Hands and feet unable to reach the floor, stuck helplessly in the air by the sheer size of his arms and legs. His limbs were being forced into a starfish position, like a grotesque parody of da Vinci’s Vitruvian man where every available inch of space is packed with useless meat.

Fingers of freezing fire gripped his heart and squeezed, hard. Cold sweat ran in rivulets over his disgusting carcass. The demon finished laughing and watched Adam swell. 600 pounds, now, and rising faster. He purred in satisfaction, licked his lips, and snapped his fingers. Every muscle on Adam’s body seized, cramped, flexed as hard as it could. He would have screamed if he was able. His neck muscles were strangling him, squeezing shut his windpipe. His joints were dislocating, pulling apart. His hips coming out of their sockets as his legs pushed harder and harder against each other, bloating up bigger and bigger. His skin began to rip apart, blood oozing through stretch marks a foot wide.

His poor suffering heart spasmed one final time and ceased.

The fatal final flex relaxed. Adam was confused. He was still with the demon. The hotel room had gone fully black. It was no longer recognizable as a room. It seemed like an infinite dark space. He was weighed down by more than a thousand pounds of flesh, barely able to twitch a finger.

“Oh, did you think death would free you? That’s cute.” The demon smirked, all vestiges of humanity gone now. He was a fallen angel, and he was horrifying to gaze upon. He was the spirit of cruelty. Adam’s soul gibbered. “No, we’ve got tens of thousands of years to fill this space with you, sinner. Imagine that. You’ll be a planet-sized blob of muscle, and you can’t die, you can only suffer. You think it hurts now? You’ll think back to these moments with longing. Just remember. You asked for this.”

Adam tried to scream as the growth resumed, consuming him for all eternity, burying him in ton after ton of self.

Branch Two: Purgatorio

The hotel room was just a hotel room, the same as every hotel room in the world. An anonymous bed. An armchair. Empty.

Adam stepped inside, his heart pounding in his ears. He maneuvered his overgrown body further into the room, muscles twitching and flexing with anxiety. “Hello?” he repeated. He could hear how desperate his voice sounded.

Nothing.

He made it to the armchair by the window and lowered himself into it. His massive quads rising to meet his bowed out ab-gut. His huge ass filling the generous seat, pushing against the arms and back of the chair, making him sit unnaturally tall, as if on a pile of cushions.

He waited. Silence. Still nothing.

He felt it rising in him. He tried to hold it down but as the minutes continued to pass it grew stronger and stronger.

“Where are you?” he said, hearing his voice quiver. His eyes stinging. He inhaled shakily. Waited a few seconds more. The room was unbearably silent.

“Why aren’t you here?” he asked the empty room, and then he broke. Tears burbling out of him pathetically. He tried to put his face into his hands but he couldn’t even manage that, his muscles were so gigantic. He sat in the chair and shook with grief, tears running down his face, dripping onto the shelf of his pecs. Any attempt to pull himself together just made him weep harder.

Adam sat in the chair for hours. Bouts of proper weeping were spaced with periods of near quiet, punctuated by just a few whimpers. He was a no-show at his own celebration. His phone buzzed and buzzed with texts and calls from friends, associates, well-wishers, first congratulating him, then wondering where he was. Adam sat there all night.

He never showed up.

Adam stopped crying. He had no idea what time it was. His head hurt. He knew he was already dehydrated from the contest, knew he should get some water. He stood up. The room was unbearable in its silence, its emptiness. He went to the sink and poured glass after glass of water, watched his muscles flex and bulge as he gulped each one down. He looked unreal, cartoonish in the harsh bathroom light.

I wish he was here to see this.

That set him off again. He leaned forward, hands on the sink, and started sobbing, his soul aching for the absent beloved. He returned to the chair by the window and sat back down. He waited. He knew, at some level, it was futile, but he kept a vigil.

The grey light of dawn was pearling the eastern sky when Adam crawled into bed, whimpering, alone. He knew he’d be alone for the rest of his life. Even if he met someone, married them, had kids and a house with them—he knew his soul would never be mingled with another in the same way, not ever again.

He awoke after three or four hours of fitful sleep. He looked wretched, dark circles under his eyes, even more dehydrated than the day before. But he knew he had to go on. He moved like a robot through the days that followed, doing the photoshoots, doing the interviews, trying his best to be the charismatic face of the sport of bodybuilding, a role he could not avoid, now, not if he tried.

His growth stabilized. He continued to compete in the 350s, getting up toward 400 pounds during the off-season. He won six Mr. O’s in a row before retiring. He knew he could have won more, but he had invested wisely and he was tired of the grind.

He kept his muscle after retiring, though. He would do occasional guest posing well into his 40s and he still looked phenomenal, was still fifty or sixty pounds heavier than any other bodybuilder his height. He remained a bodybuilding celebrity, with millions of followers. Even as new technologies were developed, new generations of muscle freaks ballooned onto the scene, no one came close to Adam Novak’s sheer size for decades and decades.

He kept that stunning muscular size even with minimal workouts, three times a week, not pushing too hard, eating like a normal person. Even into his 70s he was over 300 pounds with abs. He was the 75 year old with 25” biceps—smaller than at his biggest, but still bigger than almost anyone else. And it never affected his health. He never had joint pain from carrying so much mass on such a relatively short frame. His cardiac health was perfect. His liver and kidneys stayed strong. His cholesterol was never an issue.

His heart would still give a tender, painful throb when he remembered the night alone in the hotel room, the night when his lover was supposed to appear but didn’t. Despite that, he knew that the demon must be watching over him somehow, must be taking care of him. The protections he’d placed over Adam never wavered.

He had a good life. He travelled. He learned. He made friends. He enjoyed pleasures large and small. He became wise. He died in his sleep, peacefully, at 90, still unnaturally muscular. He didn’t appear to die of anything. It just seemed like he was ready to go.

They found him with a smile on his face. “He must have been dreaming about something nice when it happened.”

It was a good guess, but he was smiling for a different reason. When he went to sleep he felt like he wouldn’t be waking up. He dared to hope that maybe, finally, 64 years later, he might be reunited with the love of his life. He hoped to wake up somewhere else, somewhere in his arms.

Branch Three: Paradiso

“Hello?”

Even as Adam spoke the word, he heard some sound from within the room. Like someone was watching television or something…? He recognized his own recorded voice. What was going on here?

Adam maneuvered his overgrown bulk through the narrow entryway, turning almost entirely sideways. He stepped into the room and saw his demon lover sitting in the armchair by the window, bulging out of his XXXL stringer tank top, thighs exploding out of his short shorts, smiling fit to split his face in half. He was so fucking handsome, dark hair, dark eyes, perfect skin, muscles full and round and huge. Nowhere near as big as Adam, now, but he exuded so much attractive masculine energy that Adam felt even more light-headed than before. He was perfect.

On the TV was the OnlyFans video Adam recorded right after his old office job fired him. Back when he was a bulked 250 pounds—more than 100 pounds less than what he weighed today, just a year and a half later. He looked so… normal in the video. A total stud, yes, very muscular, young and handsome, hulking out of button-up shirt after button-up shirt, but normal, believable, one hot bodybuilder among the thousands in the world. He was snarling and panting, free hand mashing his hard-on through his work pants. Really playing into it. “This is what I think of your dumb office,” he said, spreading his lats. The shirt resisted and then, with a sound like a gunshot, the fabric exploded down the sides of his ever-widening torso. “This is what I think of coming in every morning and yes-sir-ing to weak middle-aged fucks who’ve never accomplished anything meaningful in their lives,” he said, throwing a bicep toward the camera, pale blue cotton slowly, deliciously peeling away from the grapefruit-sized muscle as it bulged and swelled, bigger and bigger.

“Hey champ,” the handsome demon said, still grinning. “Congratulations.”

“I’m so happy to see you,” Adam said, anxiety melting, relief washing over him in gentle warm waves.

“I know you are.” The demon smiled even bigger. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

“So… what’s going on?” Adam gestured at the video of his smaller self, defiantly tearing apart the livery of his former job, liberating himself flex by flex.

“I quit,” the demon said.

“You…. quit?”

“I quit! Just like you did. Let’s say you inspired me.”

“Can you… do that?”

“Oh, I had to give up a lot. Most of my powers. Immortality. But I did it happily.” He stood up, then, erection proudly tenting his shorts. “I spent, oh, tens of thousands of years exiled from heaven. Then I found paradise where I least expected it. I’d gladly give up eternity in hell to spend a mortal lifetime in heaven with you.”

Adam felt his heart swell. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. He tried to speak but a happy cry came out instead. The ex-demon stepped forward and gathered him in his arms and kissed him. Adam felt all of his 358 pounds going limp, like he was melting into his beloved. But the demon—the former demon—his lover—was strong, strong enough to hold him up, the smaller man’s 22” arms firmly, if barely, wrapped around the larger man’s torso. Adam felt protected and loved in those arms. Their twin erections pressed firmly against each other, two magnets pointing to the same north, every cell in one body attuned to the other and vice versa. They kissed again and again, confirming and reconfirming the flesh of the other, each one believing the other to be a miracle.

Finally, a pause. “Adam, I… I know I should have asked first. If you turn me away I won’t have anywhere else to go, but you can, you know. You can turn me away. You have to take me freely, not out of any obligation. Not out of pity. But it all happened so fast, if I stayed any longer things could have gone very bad for both of us, and I… I want to be with you more than I want anything else, anything I’ve ever wanted, I…”

Adam took the babbling ex-demon’s face in his hands, a muscle-thickened palm on each side, and drew the taller man down so that their foreheads pressed against each other. “Take a deep breath,” Adam said. “Calm down.”

The ex-demon’s heart was beating so fast. Before now he’d never had a heart to beat. How did mortals live with this pounding inside them, always pounding? Their minds like electrical storms. He gulped air, laughed at himself, shakily. He was mortal now, too, after all. He would have to get used to this. These… surges of being. He never knew the love he felt would get stronger when he gave up his demonic form. He never knew these curious monkeys were capable of feeling so much.

“Adam…. will you…. share your life with me?” He was shaking for the first time ever in his tens of thousands of years of existence.

Adam smiled. “Of course I will,” he said. And then they kissed again, gently, deeply. The final covenant between them sealed, the last contract. “I’ll stay by your side forever, if you stay by mine.”

“Oh god, yes, yes, of course, yes.” And they were husbands, then, in the eyes of the universe, even if no mortal laws had yet been consulted.

The OnlyFans video had stopped playing and the room was a quiet cocoon of love. Adam suddenly started laughing. the ex-demon pulled back slightly, a curious expression on his face. “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t even know your name,” Adam managed to get out between wild laughter, laughter at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“Oh! Ah…. well…. My old name, I don’t like it all that much anymore. Why don’t… fuck, I didn’t think this far ahead. Why don’t you call me Mo, maybe? It’s a little part of what my name used to be.”

Adam sighed, content, and nuzzled his face into Mo’s neck. “Okay, Mo. They might have some issues at the DMV but we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

They were quiet then, nuzzled into each other, a merely huge bodybuilder dwarfed somewhat by the most muscular man to ever walk the surface of planet earth. “There’s one further thing,” Mo said eventually. Quietly.

“What’s that?”

“Well, the protections I placed on you, they’ll last your whole life. That was great, I wasn’t sure they’d allow that. But they went one step further, and let me keep one little bit of power.”

Adam felt his cock throbbing. He had a sense of what Mo would say next. But he wanted to hear it from his own firm, beautiful lips. “What’s that?”

Mo leaned in, his lips brushing Adam’s ears, just about the only part of the muscle freak’s body that wasn’t hypertrophied in some way. He whispered and shivers of carnal delight raced through Adam’s entire overgrown pounds body, his ripped-to-shreds muscles twitching and dancing with anticipation.

It was a very simple sentence that Mo said. “I can make you even bigger,” he breathed. “So. Much. Bigger.”

Visions flashed through Adam’s mind of next year’s Olympia, him accepting the award on stage, over 400 pounds by then, pulling Mo up to join him, passionately kissing him before the crowd. Visions of vacations together, years from now. Weekend breakfasts in middle age. 500 pounds. 600 pounds. More. Fuck. How big could Mo make him?! Adam knew the same visions were flickering through Mo’s mind. They were both panting, their cocks throbbing, untouched, their muscles flexing, their hearts racing. Wordlessly, holding each other, they both came at the same moment, their souls meshing eternally.

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