(Mass TF, People to Animals)

“-animals! All of you, nothing more than animals!” Queen Elisa cackled as dozens of despicable nobles devolved before her eyes. Her eyes swept to the demon at her side. The thing’s red skin seemed to glow the more she exerted her power, and Elisa could swear steam was rising from the air around her.

No, not her—it. Tamara wasn’t a human, and didn’t deserve that respect. It was easy to forget given how human it looked, but it was clear from the way it acted.

Tamara lifted its arm towards a trio of fleeing nobles in purple robes, the Acastias if Elisa remembered correctly. A look that was akin to a smile passed across its face as they stumbled, hands and feet twisting into hooves and goatlike brays spilling past their lips. But its eyes… Tamara was totally focused on them twisting into beasts, and yet it was so dispassionate.

Elisa had seen that look on her husband’s cook’s face when he’d slaughtered the goose for the night’s meal. Somehow Tamara must have recognized that, because the man was currently pawing at a feathered neck that stretched well above the collar of his outfit. Again, not even a trace of emotion had passed into its eyes.

Elisa tried not to shudder. She instead looked back to the crowd, watching as the young Von Kluper knight found ugly yellow claws bursting from her greaves. She shrank into the confines of her armor, squawking pitifully as several loud cracks seemed to echo even above the room’s din.

For a moment, Elisa thought it was the brave woman’s bones—then she saw a clear fluid stained with gold trickling from the gaps between her groin and greaves. It was unmistakably yolk from the eggs that must have been forcing their way from her body, one at a time.

“Mother…” A hand on Elisa’s arm pulled her from the sight, and she looked at her frowning daughter Layla. “Is this all really necessary? I mean, father and my proposed husband have… I mean, they’re…” She motioned wordlessly at the bull who was still tangled in his robes, and at the pack of bleating sheep that had once sported such pretentiously curled hair.

“Yes, but they’re not all changed.” Elisa smiled. “We have to make sure everyone who was so ready to give you up loses everything. They can’t have anything, land, status, or even humanity. Only then can we be certain you’re truly free.”

Elisa turned back to the crowd, now a pack of beasts suited for sties and pastures. Princess Yvette was now a snuffling pig, chewing at the scraps of her dress. The Lord and Lady Hallower were a pair of large sheepdogs, already rutting away as though they were in heat. Duchess Jacqueline seemed to still be struggling onto her fading mind, her eyes flickering to and fro on the sides of a llama’s head.

It had all been so fast. In some senses, Tamara was more frightening than Elisa’s husband had been. She would be glad when the day was done, and the demon returned to its realm.

“Shall I fetch some soldiers to wrangle them?” Layla clearly struggled to remain composed in the face of what she’d seen. Elisa smiled. She was a brave girl, and would make a good queen someday in her own right.

“No.” Tamara spoke. Its voice was soft and melodious, like every word was a song. Yet in the silence that followed each sentence, a shiver passed down Elisa’s spine as though someone had played their fingernails along a chalkboard. Then it lifted its hand, pointing a finger towards a wooden table.

A woman rose from it, shivering, clearly panicked at her own body betraying her. Yvette’s twin was, for the first time in her life, distinguishable. It seemed that wouldn’t be for long, given how her bodice was beginning to stretch and warp around her body.

“Ah, Viola. So wonderful to see you,” Elisa sneered. “You were the one who said that my daughter was so lucky to be wedded to that simpering fool of a man, were you not? In some ways, you might not be wrong. Better to have any man than to be laid at the mercy of a boar.”

Viola didn’t reply, she couldn’t. She squealed instead. Her hands pawed feebly at the tusks which had burst from her jutting jaw, and her skull soon shrank around her beady eyes. Once such a fit, beautiful girl, her hourglass frame had barreled out beyond all reason.

She continued to rise into the air, ballroom shoes slipping from trotters still stained with the paint she’d splashed upon her nails. Her arms and legs flailed as they were sucked into her body, shrinking away until they could just barely support her above her humiliatingly swollen gut. A small spot settled around one of her eyes, a mirror to the other pig’s, and she dropped onto the ground with a thud.

“Now it is done. My payment, if you will.” Tamara coldly extended a hand towards the queen.

“You may find it within my husband’s vault,” Elisa turned towards the bull, a small smirk on her face. “I’d imagine there’s plenty to-”

The demon had gotten close, too close to her. She could smell its skin, an oily reek that left a bizarrely fresh mint tingling in her sinuses. That smile was twisted across its features again, but this time there was a flicker of something in her eyes. It was amusement, and it was much worse than the utter dispassion she’d worn before.

“Would you care to repeat that?” Tamara’s breath was damp, yet it burned like the sun as it passed. “Because our contract was that you would pay me a thousand gold pieces. You would. Not him.”

“The gold naturally falls to me in the event of his death,” Elisa began, her eyes widening a moment later. In the human world, she’d be able to call his transformation a death. It was, after all, the complete extermination of his mind, his being as a man. But for the purposes of a pact with a demon…

She whirled to look for a sword, a bow, anything.

“And how, pray tell, would you like to use one of those?” Tamara purred.

Elisa’s hands were much heavier. No, not hands. Hooves. She hadn’t even felt her dexterous fingers clump together. They’d been taken from her with as little effort as it would take to breathe. She looked down to them, then turned towards Layla. “Run.”

Of course, Layla wouldn’t. The girl had always been a firebrand, which was precisely why Elisa had summoned Tamara in the first place. She clasped her hands together instead, eyes closing shut, a chant rising from her throat.

Elisa recognized it: the Rite of Banishment. It was said perfectly, not a syllable out of place. But it was also said in the presence of an unbound demon. Elisa tried to warn her daughter, but her words were muffled by the sudden growth of her own tongue.

That, she did feel. It was like she’d stuffed dry pressed cotton into her mouth, and now was forced to feel it swell with the weight of her own saliva. It bulged against her cheeks, stuffing them. Much as she wanted to let it out of her mouth, the demon had magically clamped her lips shut.

“-and by my power, I hereby ba-aah-awlp. Baah-ah-AHH!? BAA-AAH!?” Layla clutched at her throat, eyes widening in horror. Soft wool rose to meet her fingers, and she pressed her fingertips against the new hairs.

“Well, as it seems I’ve been summoned for no reason,” Tamara’s gaze slicked towards Elisa, that cruel shine growing, “I suppose I’ll need to let the happy couple be wed after all.”

Still choking on her own drool, Elisa was forced to watch as her daughter’s humanity was stripped away, a bit at a time. One of her arms snapped to the side as though hit; rebounding forward as a furred limb adorned with a cloven hoof. Then one of her legs mirrored the action, kicking out and finding it impossible to hang naturally in a bipedal stance.

Off-balance, Layla fell heavily onto her side, a bleat spilling from her throat. She tried to slap a hand against the stage to help herself stand, but instead a hoof clopped against its wood. “Maaah-maaah!” She wailed, the round of her irises swirling out into distinctly ovine ovals.

Whatever words Layla had been planning to say next were lost as her eyes glazed over. She rose unsteadily to all fours, shaking out her body, letting thick wool explode her clothing. Her face looked so odd on a sheep’s body, which only made her next action worse.

Like a dimwitted animal, Layla started to chew at the tattered shreds of her clothing, her mouth working from side to side lazily. There wasn’t a scrap of the clever girl left, or of the dignity her noble birth should have warranted.

“Should I leave her like this? Who knows, a farmhand might recognize her and give her the care royalty deserves. Or maybe she’ll be sold to some carnival’s freakshow, as she sheep that shares the face of your kingdom’s vanished princess.”

Elisa’s mouth finally opened, spilling what felt like a tankard’s worth of drool onto the floor. Her tongue wetly flopped down to her neck, slapping against her collar. She winced at its impact, cheeks burning. “MGLLUUHH!” She sobbed, still choking on the outpour.

“I think you humans have a saying for this… ‘No need to cry over spilled milk’ or something similar.” Layla strutted towards the queen, who’d fallen onto her hands and knees in grief.

Elisa’s eyes widened as her drool thickened to a rich cream, spattering the floor with droplets of milk. She closed her mouth to try and stem the flow, realizing her mistake too late. As soon as she tried to pinch off the flow, a new pressure built between her legs. It was dense and sloshy, a bulging mass spreading her thighs from its sheer volume alone.

Udder. That was the word for it, though her mind still couldn’t quite grasp at it. She tried to squeeze her thighs around it, as though it would pop the thing like a blister. Instead, four sharp pains graced the new bulge, like being stabbed but in reverse. They were teats, long and sensitive. And from each of them, a stream of milk splashed against the ground, and her own calves.

“MUHHOOUH!” Elisa wailed pitifully, curling around her new udder and trembling with sensation.

“No, you’re right. Unlike humans, sheep don’t choose to live their lives in such a disgusting way.” Tamara sneered, moving its hands in slow circular motions like it was molding clay. Layla’s face cracked and popped as it warped out into a blunt snout. She didn’t seem bothered at all though, still chewing at the silk scraps of her dress with newly thickened teeth.

Somehow, Elisa seeing her daughter lose her face was worse than seeing her lose her body. She wailed out moo after moo, each sound bulging her frame more, until her arms and legs quivered just from the effort of supporting her form.

In seconds, she’d gained hundreds of pounds, but there was no end to it in sight. She felt her dress tear along her bulging back, a few threads stubbornly trying to keep the patchwork of tattered fabric together. The fur that slowly itched from her pores wasn’t quite quick enough to keep her from feeling each of these thread snap, one by one.

Elisa’s quivering frame let slip another horrified moo, and she looked to her side to find the floral pattern of her dress echoed in rosette-like spots along her black fur. No… If it was like that, then everyone would recognize her, just as they’d know the king from the crown hanging from one of his horns.

Her tongue flopped from her mouth listlessly, but that was the most protest she could summon. Instead, Elisa coughed out moo after moo, letting out a loud wheeze when her limbs finally gave up the fight and dropped her onto her massive stomach and her overinflated udder.

“That’s right. Your servants will find you soon enough… Maybe even mid-rut with that stupid bull over there. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Tamara chuckled, turning its back on the malformed queen. It wasn’t even going to watch the rest of its handiwork; that was how little it thought of her.

The latest insult brought an angry tear to Elisa’s eyes, but it wasn’t like she could do anything about it. She couldn’t even move, weighed down by her belly and udder alike. Her hooves scraped against the floor just like feet slipped against it, trying to crawl like some kind of worthless insect.

The wet slap of skin against wood grew duller and duller. That, and the fact that she couldn’t feel the stage against her skin were the only signs Elisa had that her feet were changing. Her ears twitched miserably, and she hiccupped out a sob from the fact that she hadn’t even felt them change.

So much of her had been taken away, and it had all been so casual. Would losing her mind feel the same way? Elisa struggled to focus on things that she knew to be true: the map of the kingdom, the face of her father, her first toys she’d played with.

Then her skull compressed, cracking down and squeezing around her brain. Her eyes unfocussed, drool slipped past the corner of her mouth and down her cheek. “Muh-moo?” She gasped, struggling to focus on-no, had she done that? Did she know how to do that? What was she…

It was like a vise, creaking around her thoughts, around her soul. She felt her arms and legs thicken, but didn’t know what to do with them other than to rise onto all fours. A long tail stretched out from her spine, swishing her scent into the air. That was good, because the bull nearby would…

She didn’t want that. Didn’t want to be taken by a bull. She was… Who was she? She didn’t know. Did she need to know? What was knowing? Nothing made sense to her. One of her hoofsteps stumbled, like she wasn’t used to walking on all fours. And why did she feel… Ashamed?

She didn’t have an answer, didn’t have a name. The only things she knew she had were a swollen udder that needed a calf, and an empty womb that could swell with calf. Beneath her fur, her cheeks burned with humiliation as she approached her bull. She wanted him after all. No, she needed him. But her cheeks still burned.

It may have been one final act of cruelty from the demon or perhaps even an act of kindness. The cow would never know why it could still feel Queen Elisa’s humiliation, nor would it truly care. It was an animal, nothing more.