(Fate/Grand Order TF, Women to Pigs, Cow, and a Donkey)

It was a quiet day in Chaldea, with no new missions or events to distract the Servants from their day-to-day lives. Unfortunately, that also meant that the more dangerous Servants had grown rather bored. Two of them, Morgan le Fay and Circe, were busy appreciating the advances in human technology.

“Hm, there doesn’t seem to be much soul to it,” Morgan stroked her chin.

Circe nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed. Don’t get me wrong, the AI came close to something I’d consider to be art, but it’s just… Lacking.”

The two of them quietly hummed in mutual agreement, looking at the blonde pig that writhed about in what was once a lovely red dress. Now the clothing was torn and frayed, and a fair amount of it had found its way into her mouth.

“Excuse me!?” The AI in question stomped her foot on the ground. As a Servant from the far future of humanity, BB prided herself in excellence. Said excellence was supposed to extend to all her passions, and yet here she was, judged by a couple of… Of… Therianthrophiles!

“You are,” tutted Morgan. When BB shot her a confused look, the queen of Avalon le Fae continued. “Well, typically one must excuse themselves when they’ve made a mess. That is what you’ve done here, is it not?”

“A mess!? Are you kidding!? Just look at her! I’ve remolded her brain, animal instincts having flooded past her human desires! I’ve left her nothing but a common animal in body and in mind! She’s a fat, drooling, cross-eyed mess of a pig!”

“All of which are thoughts that were said by artists before your time. Really, we don’t mean any offense. It’s just that you’re programmed to repeat what you hear. Like a parrot.” Circe fluttered her wings. “Again, no offense. I like birds, obviously.”

“What the hell do you mean, no offense!” BB toed the pig she’d made. “You all saw, right? This used to be the damn Emperor of Rome! At the very least, you could give me some praise for that.”

Morgan laughed. “If that was all it took to earn praise, I think we’d spend all day admiring one another. Here, watch.” She gestured with a hand, and a blonde who was a near-twin to the pig’s former self appeared.

“Eh?” Artoria Pendragon blinked in confusion, hand still gripping the bowl she’d been eating from. Then her stomach gurgled, and she doubled over. Her eyes widened in shock, and she looked up to the other Servants pleadingly. “N-not this aguuhMMROOOO!”

Muscles that been hard-won in battle softened, and a trim and regal belly bulged, bursting free from the confines of dress and chestplate alike. She thumped onto all fours, tears of humiliation dewing at the corners of her eyes—eyes which soon glazed over with a simple, idiotic content.

By the time an udder stretched the space between her legs, there was nothing left of one of humanity’s greatest heroes save a drooling, idiotic mess of a heifer.

“See? In terms of legends, Artoria Pendragon’s tale weighs much heavier than one of Rome’s imbecilic emperors.” Morgan tossed some of her blonde hair behind her shoulder cockily. “So, are you going to praise me now?”

BB pouted, then beamed at the sound of approaching voices. “Maybe you just didn’t get a good look at it. Here!”

Okita Soji, captain of the Shinsengumi and another lookalike to the day’s two victims, shuddered as she rounded the corner. “H-huh?” She whimpered, only to let out a distinctly porcine squeal. “GGGRRRNK SNORT!”

Her nose twitched as she snorted repeatedly, the sounds bursting from her throat like coughs. She fell to her knees and pawed at the ground feebly, sobbing out snorts as her hands twisted into clumsy trotters. Her robes were normally loose, but now they were getting tighter and tighter around a voluptuous body overrun with fat.

Her thick nose twitched as she looked up in frightened confusion, fumbling uselessly at her sword. Then a loud, porcine squeal tore itself from her throat as she expanded, exploding from her clothing with fat, inhuman bulk.

BB watched the once-powerful swordswoman devolve into a sow, little more than a dimwitted squealing animal. Then she looked up to the girl’s companion with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, just… Proving a point, you know?”

Chaldea’s Oda Nobunaga, Demon King of the Sixth Heaven (or ‘Fire Mommy’ depending on who was asked), blinked slowly. Then she broke into a wide smile. “Hell no, are you kidding!? Do that again, that was awesome! Oh, but not to me. To her.”

“Really? You’re amused by this?” Circe sighed. “Modern Servants don’t appreciate real creativity, everything that BB just did was completely derivative!”

BB blushed. “It-it was not! You can’t prove that!”

“It’s neatly a completely different style to your first change! That Nero girl ended up embarrassingly round, like some kind of oinking basketball! Okita ended up like a classical pig! Granted, I don’t mind that sort of change, but I do prefer my piglets to be cute.”

“W-well, it’s hard for me to repeat the same style without people being specific…” BB blushed.

Morgan nodded patronizingly. “Which is to be expected of an AI, rather than an artist.”

A loud clank from the other end of the hallway drew their attention, and the arguing trio looked towards the source of the sound. Meanwhile, Nobunaga took the opportunity to abscond with her changed friend—though she was more likely to tease the girl than to search for a cure.

“Excuse me! Master specifically forbade unauthorized transformations in the halls!” Jeanne D’Arc, French Saint and Ruler by Servant Class glared. She tapped her flagpole on the ground once more. “Now I would have an explanation for this at once!”

“Since we seem to be on a trend transforming these lookalike women…” Circe grinned.

Jeanne made it another step forward, opening her mouth to scold the trio. “HHEEEAAAUWR!” But instead of words, a humiliatingly stupid bray burst from her lips. A quartet of loud cracks filled the halls as her shoulders and hips lurched her forward.

Desperately, the saint clutched onto her flagpole for balance, either prayers of pleas forming in her throat only to emerge as brays. “GUHAAWWW! HEEEAWW! HEE-HAWWWW!” She couldn’t stop, even unintentionally shaking her widening hips as a tail slid from her backside.

“There’s an art to it, you see,” Circe purred. She strutted towards Jeanne, letting her delicate fingers play along the girl’s neck, teasing it longer, stretching it away from her shoulders. As she did, she looked deep into Jeanne’s eyes, savoring the panic.

Jeanne’s fear only grew as her nose broadened, and a mad blush crept across her cheeks as her teeth grew thick and ungainly. She wasn’t particularly vain, but no woman could like the thought of devolving away from their human beauty.

“Here, watch.” Circe gripped Jeanne’s ears, tugging on them like taffy. They stretched out, triggering the sudden growth of the blonde’s belly.

Jeanne let out a pitiful bray, kicking her hind legs in what started as a reflexive motion. It soon grew more and more natural, her mind fading with each asinine motion. Soon there was nothing left of her mind at all, and only her blonde hair gave away the fact that she used to be a Servant.

“See? There’s a talent to it,” gloated the goddess. “I mean, I don’t want to sound too full of myself, but…”

“What’s the harm? If the bot gets upset, we can just delete her memory,” Morgan sneered.

BB’s lips pursed tightly, a vein noticeably pulsing on her forehead. “You know what, I really am starting to get sick of you insulting me.”

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?” Morgan folded her arms. “Do you think a bunch of ones and zeroes can ever surpass the real thing?”

“I do. See, that’s the thing.” BB’s eyes gleamed a concerning shade of red. “Every time you work your magic, it takes effort, time. I can create a thousand different changes in the time it takes you to make one. And sure, yours might be higher quality than most of mine… But all it takes is one good spell from my end, and you’ll just be a drooling sow.”

Morgan’s eyes widened as a wave of scrap code burst against her magical defenses. She’d prepared them since the start of this whole argument, but that meant she wasn’t ready for anything new the AI had learned.

Morgan blinked in surprise, hand still outstretched to shield herself from BB’s attack. Then her stomach gurgled, and she doubled over. Her mouth opened to issue some form of counterspell, “HHRRRORK!” But instead of words, a humiliatingly stupid snort burst from her lips.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she looked to Circe pleadingly. A brain that had been trained in magecraft smoothed, and her trim and regal belly bulged. Desperately, she fell against the wall for balance, curses forming in her throat to emerge as porcine squeals. “HRRRUI! RRROINK!”

“I guess you were right,” BB purred. She strutted towards Morgan, letting her delicate fingers play along the woman’s fattening throat, teasing it larger. Then she gripped the queen’s ears, tugging on them like taffy. They stretched out, triggering the sudden growth of the blonde’s belly. “There is an art to it.”

Morgan thumped onto all fours, tears of humiliation dewing at the corners of her eyes—eyes which soon glazed over with a simple, idiotic content. The woman squealed, her nose twitching first with reflex; then twitching more and more naturally. Soon there was nothing left of her mind at all, and only her pale hair gave away the fact that she used to be a Servant.

BB stood proudly, hands on her hips as she looked to her inspiration, Circe. “Well? What did you think?”

“I mean… It’s…” Circe saw the glimmer of red slip back into the AI’s eyes and wisely changed her tune. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, I suppose. And really, I guess having another servant who’s transformation-minded isn’t the worst thing…”

“So you’ll teach me more? I’d love to learn more of your style!” BB positively glowed with energy.

Circe mulled it over. On the one hand, she hadn’t had an apprentice in a few thousand years, and she’d really gotten used to flying solo. On the other hand, she also didn’t want to risk having her reputation tarnished by getting changed by the rogue AI. And while she was sure she’d be able to defeat BB in a duel, that’s exactly what Morgan had thought moments before her ability to think was stripped from her.

“Well… What could be the harm, right?” Circe laughed. Unfortunately, those seven little words would doom their timeline to a new era of transformative chaos. But only time would tell just how much of this chaos would be told…