(Mass TF, People to Various, M to Dog)

Reade had trained his entire life for the chance to go to battle. He’d practiced with blades, and clubs, and even the rare shield. He was well-known in his village for his skill, though when it came to the truth of things, that skill was painfully average.

He’d come to Castle Harken along with so many other hopefuls, and had been cast aside as quickly. Even at the height of his skill, all he had was muscle and talent. He had no brain for command, no magical connection to the leylines. So they’d called him a ‘warrior’ and set him in the common ranks.

It didn’t grate on Reade. He liked the term. It wasn’t quite an additional name, but it felt nice. He was Reade the warrior, and after just a bit of service, he’d surely get a second, perhaps a third name. He’d be able to ride astride one of the kingdom’s horses, like the knight who kept pace with his battalion.

Reade glanced enviously up at Lady Kayla Armas D’Vien, but only just a glance. Even that felt like too much. He could have sworn that her mare’s eyes had met his for a moment, could have sworn he’d seen a quirk of her lips.

“Careful now, boy,” Sylas Evergreen hummed from behind him. “I hear that some of the knights have slain a man for less.” That came out as a whisper.

Sylas Evergreen grated on Reade. The man held no martial skill, but had a sharpness of the mind that Reade knew he couldn’t match. The man was assigned to be his ‘Battalion Leader,’ for all the good that title meant. As far as Reade was concerned, it was all talk.

“Oh? And what makes you think the good Lady is anything like them?” Reade did his best to retort, even if he was verbally outmatched. He considered it practice.

“For one, the good Lady has ears like a hawk,” Kayla Armas D’Vien hummed as she spoke, a metallic undercurrent to her tones. Reade wondered if it came from her helm, or if there was something different about her face beneath. “And for another, it’s because he cannot fathom the skill required to attain a third name.”

Reade smiled, and the next few steps felt a little lighter.

“Or perhaps it’s simply because we’ve shared a bed.” Sylas Evergreen picked at his nose with his pinky, finding something he didn’t approve of. He flicked it off with a dismissive sigh.

Reade gawped, but the Lady offered no reply. Even her mare seemed to stare straight ahead, as though wishing to be anywhere but here.

“Easy, lad. You’ll dislocate your jaw at that rate,” Sylas Evergreen hummed. “And don’t be too jealous. She might someday do the same for you, after-”

The man’s hand whapped against Reade’s chest, stilling him. The rest of their battalion clomped to a halt in the same moment.

Their glorious leader had chosen this moment to speak.

She was Duchess Katiana von Granthold Regina Paulette Willforthe Gale, and her voice was as firm as iron. Despite being at the front of the column, Reade could hear her as clearly as the irritating two-name next to him. She raised a muscled arm towards the sky, fist clenched. “Brace! Steel your courage, for we ride to war.”

Of course, Reade knew that much. Still, his heart soared as the men and women around him cheered. He clamped his own gauntlet against his chestplate, a little too hard. Quickly, he looked away from her to make sure his lucky pendant wasn’t broken. It was a gift from his mother, from her mother, from hers.

“Eyes up,” Sylas Evergreen hissed.

Reade realized his thoughts had been wandering, and looked up to find the Duchess’s eyes were focused on him. A cold sweat dewed along his spine, and for a moment he considered throwing himself to the ground and begging for mercy.

Then he saw she was looking at the man next to him, and the woman next to him, and the woman next to her… It had a hint of magic to it, and Reade dreaded what power could be held by someone with so many names.

“The Kingdom of Moravia has invaded our home. It has taken that which we love, and has driven us to-”

“Trespass.”

The Duchess’s spell was broken, and she turned to look down, down at the woman to her right.

She was a new arrival, with white hair neatly tied back into a ponytail. Her clothes were ragged, but had been tailored once and looked quite comfortable. Reade couldn’t place whether she was a farmer or a noble, fallen into disgrace.

“You’ve interrupted me.” The Duchess murmured.

“And you’ve set foot on my lands.” Something about her voice felt odd to Reade, and he looked to the left and right uneasily. The stranger continued. “Now, I realize that you may have a noble cause in mind, and I’m not without forgiveness, so if you just-”

The Duchess’s sword clove vertically through the woman. Reade hadn’t even seen her draw the massive blade. There was a dull thump as the woman’s dress fell to the ground in two neat halves. And another thump as the strange woman stomped her bare heel on the dirt.

“That was rather rude, boy.”

Reade realized what had been so unsettling to him. He could hear her perfectly fine, though she was just as far away as the Duchess.

“Witch,” he muttered, with a gulp.

“What?” Sylas Evergreen’s eyes grew round, panicked even. Of course he’d be. Reade had but one name and even he knew witches were unpredictable. The rest of society didn’t apply to them, they didn’t sport their strength through their titles. They simply were, and where they were, others were not.

There was a cry from the front, and the two returned their eyes forward to see the Duchess, for all her titles and glory, wilting away. Her arms grew skinny and frail, her bosom flattened into her chest as though struck by a hammer, and her long hair sucked back into her head.

It seemed the last part bothered her the most, because tears were dripping down her eyes as she cried out, with a voice that was softer, weaker, and yet more masculine. A distinct Adam’s apple bulged from her throat, and her hands widened, growing coarse. She whimpered, voice cracking as she-he went through a puberty in reverse.

Then it was done, and he was little more than a sniveling, feminine boy, armor still clattering from his frame.

“Tend to the fields, I’ve work to do.” The witch cracked her knuckles, pushing the boy off a horse that was suddenly much too big for him.

As he fell to the mud, the Lady Kayla Armas D’Vien drew her sword, and neighed.

Reade whipped his head towards her, in time to see her fall from her horse. Her helmet fell to reveal a pretty face distorted by transformation, and the rest of her armor creaked and bulged unnaturally. She pawed at it with hands that were stiffening into hooves.

A chestnut-colored tail burst from her rump, and she snorted through widening nostrils. Then something burst from the front of her armor, and Reade blushed, wondering whether to avert his gaze or not. It was clear that just like the Duchess, the Lady was hardly a woman anymore. Though unlike the Duchess, she’d found herself hardly human as well.

“Gn-GN-HUUHHUHHREIIIGH!” It was like she was trying to talk, but every word forced from her lips was a whinny. Her body grew massive, a frame fit for any stallion. The Lady… The Stallion, swiveled panicked eyes to and fro. But her body acted far more calmly.

Slowly, mechanically almost, it clambered atop its former steed, pressing its chest against her back, its hooves against her hips. The Lady’s eyes watered as he struggled to fight against his own motions. Then he stiffened, his entire body tensing, and turning gray.

It was like he was becoming stone, though this didn’t stop him from rearing his head back and letting out the loudest whinny yet, one of a pleasure beyond any human expression. Then he froze completely. The mare beneath him had turned to marble as well, a similarly contented look in her eyes.

It was then that Reade noticed the pandemonium occurring down the remainder of the line. The Lady Kayla Armas d’Vier wasn’t the only knight to have been changed, clearly.

One of the swordswomen was now a bloated white-and-black bear, gnawing at bamboo stalks that still wore the clothes of her squires. A few of the hammer-bearers had evidently turned into rabbits, judging by the one that struggled beneath the haft of its former weapon. In the distance, Reade was sure he saw a hedge sculpture that hadn’t been there before.

There was a crackling to his left, and he returned his attention to the marble pair of horses. The ground rumbled beneath them, forming a stone basin around the two, and water squirted up the new stallion’s throat like a fountain.

“A bit gauche, but it’ll fit in with the petunias.” The witch mumbled, and the hundred men and women before her disintegrated, leaving nothing but flowers behind.

That was when the panic set in.

Seeing the duchess and knights change was one thing. The very real possibility that it could happen to any of them was another. Yet there was nothing a single one of them could do about it.

Here, a woman clutched at her belly. She squealed in an inhuman pitch as her body shrank and shrank, fattening as it dwindled. Soon she was a tiny, handheld sow – evidently the perfect size for pleasuring a massive pigman that had once been a friend.

Here, a pigeon fluttered from the collar of its uniform. A goat-man set upon chewing the discarded fabric, bleating pitifully as he too changed more and more into little more than a feral beast. At least he wasn’t alone, a nearby group of goats had stumbled and fallen over themselves, fainting from the sound of the chaos.

Here, a woman clutches at a long, gray nose that seemed to trumpet with her every breath. Here, a bear growled, as it messily fell upon nearby honeycombs. Here, a pair of lovers kissed each other goodbye, their blocky buck front teeth clacking as they brayed into each other’s mouths like asses.

Reade looked to Sylas Evergreen to find a toad hopping from the man’s oversized clothes. That was almost a pity, Reade had hoped if anything, he’d be able to watch that much.

Then there was an appalling stillness to it all, as the last of the human panic ebbed away. Reade became keenly aware that he was one of two left. It was just him, and that witch.

He blinked, and she was next to him, studying the charm around his neck. This close, he could tell that she smelled like flowers, if flowers could leave an aftertaste of smoke. Her eyes flitted up to his. “Hm.”

That was all the warning he had before his family’s pendant cracked. Reade staggered back, attempting to ask what she’d done. To his surprise, a low, rumbling growl emerged from his throat.

“Well, I was in need of a familiar…” The witch mused. She winked at him, pushing him onto his back. “Now, be a good boy, and speak.”

Her fingers tickled at his sides, pressing through what should have been sturdy leather armor. It dissipated at her touch, revealing his tunic beneath. She pressed a little firmer, tickling his ribs. And in the echo of each tickle came an itching, a prickling burning along his body.

Reade shuddered, feeling his tunic and pants growing tighter, less comfortable. They weren’t shrinking, though. He was growing. The area around his throat felt the tightest, and when he tried to tilt his head, he felt soft, thick fur.

With an almost audible puff, thick dense fur burst through the seams of his clothing. It was warm for the season, and he started to gasp for breath. Everything felt so stifling, so hot.

“Wow, you’re such a good boy,” the witch repeated herself. “Consider yourself lucky. Not every witch respects those old tokens.”

She tickled him more, and Reade tried to beg for mercy. “HuhWROOF!” was the only sound that he could make.

“Hm, but I probably should have at least learned a little about you before stealing away your words. Oh well, no worries. I’ll just call you Russ, anyways.”

“Ruh… Ruhrrff…” He tried to say his new name, it already imprinting on his mind, erasing thoughts of his old life. He tried to curl his tongue to make that hissing last ‘s,’ but that only served to thicken and swell the muscle.

“Hlk. Umlp.” His eyes widened as he started to literally choke on his own tongue, then another tickle from his mistress forced his mouth open. A long, thick, wet tongue spilled out from his mouth, accompanied by a feeble “Gluh.”

“Aww,” his mistress rubbed at his sides, rolling him from his furry back onto his belly. She dropped down atop him, straddling him like she intended to ride him. Maybe she did, because he could feel his body aching with the pressure of growth.

“Good boy. Be a good boy, and fatten up those paws for me.”

Russ panted, looking down at his hands. His fingers puffed up one at a time, and thick, fat pads pressed out from where his palms should be. They were so fat and useless, he couldn’t think of a single use for them besides simple locomotion.

Dimly, he was aware of a similar sensation happening with his feet. His big toes and his thumbs creaked as they slid up his towards his wrists and ankles, losing their dexterity and range of motion in the process.

“Ghhrhhrhuuh?” A pressure weighed against his brain, like a pile of dense, comfortable blankets. He started to drool as his mistress pressed her plump thighs against him. He could feel her warmth, her weight against the small of his back.

Russ rose to all fours, wagging his backside as a thick, dense tail erupted from it. His face creaked out as he started to wag his new tail, happily feeling his mistress’s back against the hair.

“Now to put you to the test. Go rein in that sheep,” his mistress commanded.

She gripped the fur at the base of his neck, and he bounded towards the fluffy, white animal. He didn’t know what ‘sheep’ meant, but as her familiar he was fully able to grasp her intentions. A tingle at the back of his brain told him that the sheep was still wearing the robes of a holy maiden, but he couldn’t find too much use to the knowledge so he set it aside.

He didn’t need to think. That was his mistress’s job. His job was to make sure that any of the animals who’d wandered into her realm stayed there, for all time.