(F to Cow)

Casino Camelot was a serious place, despite what its knights might have you believe otherwise. Only the strictest of rules were to be followed, and every game was held in the utmost regard without exception. These rules were enforced with blade and spell alike, and as a result, the floor was typically calm and orderly, just as it should be.

Except, of course, for today.

Ruler Artoria, the King of Casinos, narrowed her eyes at the sound of a commotion from the floor. Unless she was much mistaken, there was a repeated, insistent bellowing. The last time she’d heard something like that, her son Mordred had been trying to insist upon introducing bull-riding as a viable casino sport.

“Not again,” Artoria muttered, rising from her desk in a smooth motion that still sent a jiggle through her ample bosom. In all honesty, she still wasn’t entirely certain as to how a rabbit-like outfit was befitting of a casino’s owner, but who was she to judge modern times?

She descended from the manager’s room, elegantly, as she always was; then hurriedly, once she’d noticed the sound was indeed that of a bovine. She needn’t have worried about anyone noticing. For once, all eyes weren’t on her. Instead, the casino’s patrons were keen on whatever was happening.

“Make way, make way! Stand aside!” She called out. Some of the onlookers noticed and obeyed. The others were quickly dashed aside by a pair of blonde knights.

“Father!” Morded gleamed, an almost innocent happiness in her eyes. “About time, I was getting worried if you’d show up!”

“Mind your tongue,” Gawain chided the shorter girl. “Apologies, my liege, I could not stop-”

“MRRROOOUGH!”

Artoria blinked at the sight before her. A blonde woman was thrashing about on the floor, and for good reason. Her arms and legs were longer, and white fur with black spots covered them. Her massive breasts had long since spilled free of the trappings of her armor, armor which had split thanks to her growing, bulging gut.

“Was that Barghest?” Artoria blinked, having chosen the past tense rather deliberately. It was clear to her that the woman was the victim of some sort of spell, and one that would not let her remain a woman for much longer.

Gawain nodded. “Indeed. My counterpart from Avalon seems to have been cursed, a cruel fate bestowed upon her by no other-”

“Medea. It’s Medea,” interrupted Mordred. She noticed a disapproving glance from the other knight, and she rolled her eyes. “You were taking too long, you big lug.”

Artoria scanned the crowd; then cursed herself for an idiot. Of course, it would be the purple-haired witch. She was even wearing her full robe.

“MROOO! Stuh-stOOOPuh!” Barghest wailed from the ground, shuddering as her impressively toned physique turned doughy and soft.

“Now, now, you know the rules. You were the one who chose to gamble away your humanity,” Medea crooned. Then, after a pause, she added a quiet, “technically.”

Barghest shuddered and jiggled, reaching a desperate hand towards Artoria, only to whimper as her fingers clumped into dark, oafish hooves. The cruel spell wouldn’t end with so much as a bit of its victim’s humanity intact.

Indeed, Barghest’s impressive chest began to slide lower on her body, traveling past her belly to between her legs. New, longer nipples pressed out from the globe of flesh, revealing it for the udder it was.

“Medea,” Artoria called. “You have never given me a moment’s trouble before, so why now?”

A hush fell over the crowd, interrupted only by the mooing spat out by the cow-to-be. Almost everyone there knew well that Artoria’s temper was legendary once roused… And that that Medea sported an almost supernatural talent for pissing off anyone named or resembling ‘Artoria’.

“Well, I simply saw an opportunity, of course,” Medea smirked. “I-”

“MuhhOOO!” Bargest groaned, her eyes crossing, her hooves thumping against her face. It was a face that was getting larger and larger by the second, with flaring nostrils and thickening lips.

“Right, well, as I was saying, I-”

“MMOOO! THUMOOOODEE HULLPP!” Barghest’s mismatched eyes squeezed shut as her neck thickened like a tree’s trunk. Her sweet voice drew low and guttural, to the point where even her attempts at speech sounded as though a cow was making an attempt at human speech.

Medea narrowed her eyes at the changing woman, watching as she squirmed, and the last of her transformation washed over her. As the last of the woman’s gorgeous curly hair fell to the ground, Medea opened her mouth to speak again.

“MMMOOOO!” The cow lowed, opening her eyes to reveal that not even a glimmer of intelligence remained within her big, brown doe-eyes.

“Oh, for the love of,” Medea crinkled her nose, twisting her hands. The glimmer of magic pulsed from them into the cow on the ground, who immediately fell into a quiet slumber. “Much better. So, as I was saying, I simply saw my chance. I thought to challenge her to a game. She evidently didn’t understand what was at stake…”

“Ha! I get it! At steak!” Mordred snickered for a moment before noticing a number of people were glaring at her.

“My son’s ramblings aside,” Artoria drew herself to her full height. “I cannot in good conscience let you claim her as your winnings. Though she is of my sister’s court, she is still a knight. If she was unaware of the consequences, then I too shall gamble for her fate.”

Medea gasped dramatically, her hands clasped to her chest. “Such nobility! But… I feel that I should warn you. This is a game you’re not entirely familiar with. It’s a card game, you see-”

“Nonsense!” Artoria thundered, and a small quiet smirk flitted across Medea’s face, too fast for any to see. “Do you think there exists a single card game that the King of the Casino knows not? I hereby decree, with my word as law, that no matter the game you announce, I shall accept it with my own humanity on the line.”

The crowd looked on, awestruck at the golden radiance the emanated from Artoria’s being. Or perhaps they’d noticed how much she jiggled with thunderous sentence. Regardless, she held all their attention as she sat at the table, hands folded.

“Now, witch of Colchis, name your sport,” spat Artoria.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Medea purred. “It’s Spellcraft: The Summoning, of course!”

“Eh?”

It was over in two painful turns.

“And with that, I tilt my Polluted Spy, and because of the three other runes I scribed this turn, it gets plus ten/plus ten to its attack, and because it has Sickness, you lose the game.”

“W-wait, hold on, how is that a loss?” Artoria’s brow furrowed. “That should have been eleven damage, and I thought I still had twenty life?”

“Rule 120.4b,” replied Medea, without a trace of irony in her voice.

“Is that the rule that says the printing company isn’t allowed to send hired thugs to the homes of its consumers to intimidate them into compliance?” Artoria’s brow furrowed as she struggled to recall.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no rules against that,” laughed Medea pointedly. “Edison wouldn’t allow it. ‘Companies should do as Companies will, and that’s the American way.’ Or something along those lines. No, no, I’m talking about Sickness Goobers. You now have ten of them, so you lose the game.”

Medea said the last words slowly, as though she was speaking to a particularly dimwitted child. It was the exact tone of voice she knew would get on any Artoria’s nerves, especially an Artoria who prided herself as a Ruler.

Artoria surged to her feet, a snarl on her lips. Her muscles tensed, but before she could so much as move Medea had plunged a dagger into her chest. Medea withdrew it with a quiet smile, her own eyes narrowed.

There was no pain, nor was there so much as a wound. But there was consequence.

Artoria gasped as itchy, golden fur bloomed from where the dagger had punctured, spreading between her well-endowed chest. The hairs tickled between her breasts, and she dug her nails into it in horror.

“How do you like my Species Breaker? Quite enchanting, wouldn’t you say?” Medea chortled.

Artoria didn’t have words to reply to her. She looked to the cow on the ground, and her heart clenched in fear, an emotion she didn’t even know she could process. Was it really possible? Could this base magic steal her humanity, her nobility, with such ease?

The answer seemed to be an overwhelming ‘yes’. She felt a gurgling deep within her belly, a rumbling in her gut unlike any other. She fell heavily, in every sense of the word.

“Father!” Mordred gasped, seeing her afflicted king slump into her chair. But try as she might, she couldn’t draw her blade.

“It’s her own spell. Guaranteed to last no matter what happens to the King of Casinos: none can interfere with a fair duel,” Gawain tore his eyes from the sight, guilt clear on his face. “If only I’d been able to protect her!”

Artoria watched her knights in shock, astonished they’d accept her fate so readily. Then again, it wasn’t as though she was doing a good job in shaking off this spell. Already her hips and thighs had fattened to the point that they spilled past the rounded edges of her chair.

“What’s the matter, darling? Something got your tongue?”

Whether it was the spell or some girlish impulse, Artoria couldn’t say. Nonetheless, she stuck her tongue out at the witch—only to yelp as Medea snatched it between her fingers. The purple-haired woman tugged, and Artoria’s head jerked forwards a few inches—and her tongue stretched out a full foot.

Medea dropped the drooly muscle, letting it wetly slap against Artoria’s chin and her fuzzy breasts alike. “Ah. It appears I did. Disgusting… Though not unappealing.”

Artoria struggled to speak around her swollen tongue, saliva slobbering onto the table with every syllable. "Pleathe! Uhhnuther round! Uh wuhhnu rematchth!”

“What’s the adage, dear? ‘Say it, don’t spray it’? I think it’s rather fitting. Unlike that tight suit of yours.”

Medea was right, a fact which Artoria hated more than anything in the world. She felt like three hundred pounds of meat stuffed into a bulging spandex leotard. She struggled to rise, only for her chair’s legs to give out beneath her, sending her thumping awkwardly onto the ground.

It was no place for a king, she reflected bitterly, despite how her enlarged tongue had so shamefully landed on the casino’s carpeted floor. Artoria struggled to rise, but she could feel herself weakening more and more with every passing second.

She barely managed to stand on all fours, and even that was so strenuous that she panted heavily… Hell, at this point she existed heavily. Worse, she wasn’t feeling the full pressure of her body on her hands or her feet.

A glance down confirmed why: her skin was darkening and toughening at the same time. Her hands, so used to dealing cards, were getting less responsive by the second. Her toes had long since sank into the clumping enamel mass that marked the ends of her ankles.

“HOOOVUTH!?” Artoria slurred, tongue swaying pendulously.

“Much more than that. Don’t worry, you’ll look positively gorgeous in my stable,” gloated Medea.

Artoria would have loved to trade banter with the witch, but instead a new wave of growth distracted her. A plastic snapping filled the air as her outfit positively exploded off of her, revealing a generously hefty bulk to the crowd.

“N-nuh! Uh duhn wuhhnnuh mmrrOOO fattt!” Artoria wailed, tilting her head to look at how big she’d gotten. No matter how she turned, all she could see was the fattened flab of a heifer. Her toned sides were flabby and fat; positively bloated.

Worst of all were her breasts: a slow, long, taunting ache, coupled with the horrid feeling of her cleavage merging into an overstuffed milk balloon. It was warm and fleshy, and she wished that it had fur of its own if only to keep her from feeling the fuzz of her thighs against its bulging mass.

“So hard to hear you past all those extra pounds, sweetheart. Are you asking to be milked? Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tend to your every need.”

Astoria glared at the witch, despite the odd sensation in her throat and in her skull. Her neck twitched as it grew, and she could hear heaving sobs turn to bellows. She didn’t have much longer to speak, and was desperate to get one last jab at the witch.

“Duh… Duhmmn… Duuhaahmn MMRRROOO!” Artoria’s ears stretched away from her head, simply so that they could flatten in resigned humiliation. She had failed even in that. She barely even noticed the numbed cracking of her face, her nose and mouth stretching out and away into a thick herbivore’s snout.

“Aw, and there’s that. Only one thing left…”

Artoria shook her head in confusion, whimpering at the feeling of her long hair slipping from past her pores. Thick fur had replaced it, but that can’t have been the change Medea was talking about. What, then?

It came to her with a wash of cold dread. She’d nearly forgotten how Barghest had lost her mind… Or perhaps that was the spell at work? No, she couldn’t consider that. It was much to terrible to even dream of. There was no way she could lose her mind just like that.

And yet… She could feel it. Artoria could feel complex thoughts slipping away. Her self-restraint was the first to go, letting her bellow her fear to the helpless audience. “Muughmmroooo! Nuh! Nuh wannooo dum!” Her tail thrashed behind herself, its tufted tip whipping against her fat ass and stirring her to further frenzy.

Then went her dignity, as she jiggled in a small circle, searching desperately for what was spanking her. In just seconds, she’d lost even the ability to tell that it was her tail that was striking at herself. “Huh! MMRRRO! NNNOOUGH!”

Then she felt two warm, tender, soft hands against her cheeks. She looked up to a human with purple fur, and the sweetest eyes she’d ever seen. The stupid Artoria cow only remembered her name, and even that was tenuous. Her smooth brain had no room in it for thoughts of vengeance or comeuppance.

“And there we have it,” Medea giggled, petting her new cow’s face and rubbing the blonde’s flabby cheeks. “A perfect addition to my farms, wouldn’t you say? I’m going to make Auntie Circe positively jealous at this rate.”

“You bastard!” Mordred roared. “You’re damned lucky we’re in this casino, or else I’d… I’d!”

“You’d what? Lose to me in a game?” Medea chuckled. “What a lovely idea. Any of you; all of you. I’ll take whoever wants to fight… And I’ll take your humanity too.”

She extended the challenge to her waiting crowd, and was pleased to see more than a few challenging eyes meet her own. Perfect. It looked like today would be the start of quite interesting times for the casino…