I hit the ground with one knee and doubled over, shaking. Did it work? Did I change? Did I keep the corruption at bay? The hand holding me up certainly looked different, but not in a nasty, tarnished way. My fingers were lean and strong, with short, well manicured nails. My arm was thicker than mine used to be, but not too much so. The difference was in the slight curve of muscle and the faint arm hair. Where I used to have thick, black hairs covering my arms, now you had to actually concentrate to even see I had any.
Using one hand, I gently brushed my perfectly tapering fingers down my arm, marvelling at the smooth skin. How long had it been since my skin was this smooth? Six years? Probably. It made sense that an angel boy would have soft skin, though.
The hand on my arm slowed and my pulse hit the stratosphere. I was a boy angel, right?
Faster than I’d ever moved in my life, I reached for the tee I was wearing and stared down at my chest. Boobs. I had boobs! Oh god, oh god, oh god. Why did I have boobs? I was a boy! I’d never once questioned my gender, so why did I have tits? They weren’t small either, they were pretty damn big. Not stupid big though, at least not from this angle, but there was no hiding these things without a binder.
Even worse, though, was the change in equipment downstairs. I could feel it missing. My dick was MIA.
Oh, this was not good. I couldn’t let anyone know who I was while I was transformed like this, and I just had to pray to… well, someone, that I’d get my normal body back once I was done.
Wait, what would my friends think? The topic of queerness had come up in the past, and nobody had said anything to make me think there'd be problems, but… I mean, this was semi-rural Kentucky. We had a reputation here.
Oh god, did anyone else get powers? I wasn't special, so… probably. If other people had classes or whatever, I was in some real, legit danger if the wrong people realised what had happened to me.
I didn't even want to be a girl anyway! This was all that angel's fault! She… I glanced back to where she’d been lying, and my anger at her immediately faltered. Oh god. She just… she died. An angel, a freaking angel died. It still felt so, so wrong. Except she hadn’t just died. She sacrificed herself for me, she gave me power. Maybe there was a way for me to undo the girl thing. Magic supposedly existed now, after all. I could—
Something roared in the distance.
I whipped my head around, anxious, searching for threats. None materialised, but… On the sides of my head, I felt something shift.
Reaching up, I tentatively poked at my ears… oh. What the fuck? My fingers traced down the fuzzy length of my ears, and they just kept going, and going, and going.
I shuddered. Wow, that tickled! It felt so strange, and the sensation lingered for a while. Involuntarily, my newly enlarged ears flicked to get rid of the sensation.
Curiosity won again, and I reached back to feel around the base. The fur was limited to the ears and the base… I reached around — and squealed in surprise. Ah! Definitely ticklish!
Wait. Oh my god, my voice! The husky femininity of my voice sent a whole cohort of butterflies spinning in my stomach.
Deep breaths, Kai, deep breaths.
So my voice was girly — that wasn't a surprise, but what the fuck was on my head? Whatever they were, I could move them. They were a part of me. They felt like they were a little over a foot long, and when I relaxed them, they hung straight down. I could perk them up, though, sending them sweeping out behind me — or, alternatively, out to the side.
Wait, was that all? Strange ears?! I was supposed to be an angel! Where were my wings?
Spinning in place, I tried to look behind myself, but all I got was a face full of wavy silver-blonde hair. One small mercy, at least, was that the hair looked way more like shiny metal than old person hair.
Wait. I wonder if I was pretty…
The apocalypse could wait. I began running for the house before I'd even finished asking myself the question. I had to know if I was pretty. Plus, I could steal one of mum's sports bras and grab some shit to make a weapon. Hopefully my parents wouldn't mind if I stole a kitchen knife. Oh, and the attribute orbs in my pocket — I should deal with those.
Marc.
Icy anxiety doused my enthusiasm and my steps faltered as I opened the back door. My brother had better live through all the crazy shit going on. Maybe I could go and find him, once Theprin was safe. God, he was so far away, too.
So much was happening. Too much. My parents were in the city centre, my brother was hundreds of miles away, I'd just been transformed into some sort of angel-animal girl, and I was supposed to rush out the front door to save everyone I knew from, what, a storm? It had to be more than that. Probably monsters or demons.
One thing at a time, Kai. Get the sports bra so your new titties don't flop around.
My new, longer legs made short work of the stairs — even if my new gait had me stumbling a bit at first — and I strode into my parent's room, trying not to think about how weird this was. The dresser. I put their laundry away sometimes, so I knew where to find things. Don’t mind me, Mum, just going through your underwear.
Pulling out the first bra I saw, a black one with an elastic netting around the bottom, I whipped off my tee and… paused, staring down. Wow, that was a view. They were big, like, actually big. I watched as my blush reached down, feathering over the very tops of them. Goodness, okay.
Tentatively, trying not to touch my boobs, I tried to get the bra on, but my limbs were just… ugh. It was hard. My brain seemed to be adjusting quickly, but I was several inches taller than I used to be. My limbs were longer now, not to mention stronger. So when I tried to put it on, I got the strap of the bra caught between my fingers, because I misjudged the distance. Slow and steady, I guess. Concentrate.
Carefully, I got my arms through and the soft cups sitting properly, cradling my new breasts. Oh, this thing was snug. Breathing took just a tiny bit more effort. Still, when I did a test jump, my boobs stayed mostly where they were supposed to be. Honestly, I was surprised that I even thought of finding a bra. Maybe my friends, the girl ones, had managed to impart the knowledge into my brain by association.
Either way, I now had to find a weapon, oh, and I should probably throw on a hoodie. Maybe one of my dad's ones, since my own were definitely not going to fit me. I was a tall girl.
Where did he keep them again—
The mirror on the standing wardrobe caught me off guard, and I slowed to a stop, stunned. Holy fuck. So… I was definitely pretty. In fact, I was more than that. I had the sort of unattainable beauty that you only saw in photoshopped models. My face was perfectly, utterly symmetrical, with strong cheekbones, an artfully curving jaw, a cute but strong nose, and intense grey eyes. Then, of course, there were the ears.
They began vaguely where my human ears would've been, except maybe a little further up and backwards. They looked like… no, they were bunny ears. Big, fluffy bunny ears. What? Why? Why would an angel transformation give me rabbit ears? That made no sense.
At least they weren't top-of-the-head anime bunny girl ears. These things were bigger, thicker, and just… more. Also, I could droop them down and hide them in my hair.
My reflection drew me in slowly, and I reached out to place my fingertips on the cool glass of the mirror. This was real. This wasn't some crazy hallucination. For the first time in my life, I saw a version of myself that was undeniably good looking.
Laughing, I took a step back and watched as my gorgeous new face lit up. Ah! This was so weird! Amazing, too… goodness, it was amazing. I uh… wow. Why did I like this? I wasn’t supposed to like this. I was a dude, for fuck’s sake! I shouldn’t be happy to see myself as… as that. Even if she — I was undeniably gorgeous. Still, though… wow, god. My collarbone, my skin… I couldn’t help but stare.
Slowly, I became aware of a sensation that wasn't wholly pleasant. Something was digging into my thigh. Looking down, I realised that my moderately tight jeans were now so tight, they were slowly cutting off circulation. Shit.
I tried to pull them down, or shimmy out of them, anything. Nope. The waistband was physically smaller than my hips. It was… goodness, I was going to have to cut myself out of my jeans. Oh. My pockets had stuff in them.
Walking back to the bed, I carefully squeezed my wallet, swiss-army knife, attribute orbs, and phone out like toothpaste from a tube. Then, I flicked out the knife and began to carefully cut down the side of my jeans.
The waistband was tough to get through, but when I was past it, the jeans practically unzipped from the pressure of keeping my thighs contained.
I had to stop and stare up at the ceiling to centre myself, because… my word, the sight of my own thighs uncompressing slightly as I cut the jeans off… My mind was blank.
I should… oh, the attribute points! Yes, great idea. I should deal with those.
Hurrying to the orbs, I picked one up and rolled it around in the palm of my hand. Wow, it really just looked like a metal marble or something.
Abruptly, the impressions from before presented themselves. Strength, which felt like muscles straining, was first. The second one felt like urgency, or wind dancing through my hair — Speed, I was pretty sure.
One after another, the impressions hit me. A paintbrush held steady as paint was applied to a model, a callus blunting the friction of repeated use, and the density of thought, holding measurements and equations steady in the mind’s eye. I scrambled to translate and name them — Precision, Toughness, Intelligence. There were more, though — eight, as far as I could tell. There was quickness of thought, which I named Wit, and then Perception, or the granularity and throughput of the senses. Finally, there was the last one, and it confused me for a moment. It felt like power, or lightning, contained in a bottle. Mana? Magic? Energy. I’d just call it Energy.
My head was spinning by the time I was done naming them, but as I had given them those labels they folded up into just the words.
When my brain no longer felt like it was going to pop, I contemplated the three orbs. Three increases to my attributes. How did I want to do this?
Strength felt like a good idea, at least initially, but… I didn't know how often I could use my angel form. She said it would stick around for a while, but then it would leave and I'd be back to myself. My actual class was Tinker. I should probably use these attribute orbs with it in mind.
What would I need as a Tinker? Probably Intelligence, and if I had any good qualities before all of this magic stuff, one would be that. I might as well buff it further. Yeah. Two in Intelligence, because it might help me do any fighting, too.
Then… Precision, maybe? I was feeling pressure to choose quickly. In the distance, I could hear screams now, along with more inhuman howls of rage. The clock was ticking.
Taking one orb, I held it out to the impression of Intelligence. I waited for perhaps half a second before a stomach-turning bout of dizzy euphoria sizzled over the surface of my brain. It felt like a thousand dancing ants soaked in LSD were crawling through it. Immediately, I could tell that the clarity of my thoughts was… sharper, or deeper.
“Holy moly,” I whispered, eyes wide. Okay… so I was going to do that another time?
Bracing myself, I repeated the process with the second orb. The LSD-ants sensation was less intense, that time, but still somewhat overwhelming.
When I could concentrate again, I examined my thoughts — as well as you can do that, anyway. I didn't feel that different. Deeper, I think, was more accurate than sharper.
Before my internal monologue could get too recursive, I picked up the last orb. Okay. Did I still think Precision was the right choice?
Yes. I did. Fight smarter, aim better. That's what I'd do.
I offered the third to the impression of Precision, and immediately regretted it. The nerves all throughout my body fizzed like I'd poured acid over them directly.
Whimpering, I dropped to one knee and braced myself against the bed with my forehead. Good god, that was a wild sensation.
I started to laugh. Then, I stopped and raised my free hand to touch my throat. My laugh was… amazing. I sounded lovely. Geez, I really was an angel. An actual freakin’ angel. Sure, I was a baby one — first level or whatever, but still.
A thought occurred to me, and I felt the butterfly grand prix in my tummy go absolutely mental. Since I wasn't going to tell my friends who I was, what were they going to think when this beautiful stranger came bounding down the street to save them? Oh, I actually couldn't wait! This might end up being fun, despite how morbid it would also end up being, if people were dying.
Ohh boy. Today was going to take a lot of mental effort to unpack.
I really needed to get going. First, I needed new jeans, which I found in Mum's drawer. They were tight, and only made it halfway down my calves, but I snagged her leather boots and pulled them up to bridge the gap. Mum, thankfully, had big feet, and using a pair of thin socks, I made them fit.
Finally, I snagged one of my dad's hoodies and threw it on. There. That was probably the best I'd get. Now, I had shit to do — people to save.
I rushed back down the stairs, taking care not to let my unfamiliar new body send me tumbling, and burst into the kitchen. Shit was strewn everywhere, but at least the knife block had held onto the knives — even if it did end up on its side. I picked the biggest, sharpest looking blade out of the lot and leapt out the hole in the wall again. I stumbled, but this time, I didn't hurt my legs. In fact, I barely felt the shock of the landing.
The basement entrance was just around the side of the house, while the key was under a stray brick nearby. When I had the door open, I took the stairs three at a time, then burst into the basement and grabbed my mum's old broom with the wicker bristles from a cobwebbed nook. It was one of those junk heirloom items that was passed down from parent to child simply because it was useful. Today, though, it would find a new purpose as the haft of a spear.
Despite any neglect I could accuse my parents of, the one thing they always indulged me on was my desire for tools to fill the basement workshop. One side of the space was still storage, but the other held metal cabinets, rough wooden shelving, and a nice workbench with a large vice on one end and a smaller one on the other.
Grabbing the handle of the large vice, I unstuck it and then spun it around with one finger. Gosh, usually it took more effort to get it moving when it was tightened like that. My angel form had muscles.
Once the new haft was secure in the vice, with the sweepy part of the broom sticking out a little, I grabbed a saw and quickly lopped it off. Again, the ease that I did the quick physical labour was intoxicating. The saw chewed through the wood like it was nothing.
It made me wonder what my angel stats were…
The idle thought sparked a new mental impression, and a sort of system profile popped up. There was an area with odd, fuzzy, imprecise sensations, then my attributes, and finally, my class. I noticed something out of place immediately — my class was different.
I got the impression that my Tinker class was still there, but greyed out and somehow inside my new class? Overriding it, or enveloping it, was my angelic class. When I focused on it, I got a barrage of sensations too dense to parse, and an impression, like anger and kindness, all mixed up.
The class didn't just feel intense, either — it was influencing my attributes somehow — increasing them all by one. Wait… there were nine attributes now!
Curious, I focused on the new impression. It gave me odd vibes. It felt almost like anger, but with the satisfaction of victory, the feeling of crunching something underfoot, and the balm of a soothing touch, all rolled into one. It confused the heck out of me, especially because it didn’t seem to have slots for an attribute sphere thingy. Instead, it was just… there on its own?
There was another thing too, I could sense some sort of… power level that influenced everything else. Gah, all this mystical vibes and synesthetic impressions bullshit was so hard to figure out. Just give me a number!
Level One Fallen Angel.
Oh. Okay. Fallen Angel. That was one hell of a class name. Kinda fitting, though, since I got it from an angel that literally fell — not morally, though. My angel fell in battle, fighting to the last. Thank you… shit, I didn’t even ask her what her name was. I should’ve… nevermind. Focus. I only knew her for a short time, but I could practically hear her gently chiding me, telling me to focus.
So… what about this whole other section of fuzzy vibes? What was that?
Abilities.
Abilities? Did that mean skills, or spells? Eagerly, I examined that section.
Let's see… alright, there were three little blobs of thought. The first was… an empowerment thing. I could imbue an attack with holy fire— no, not just holy fire. There was something else, something more sinister. Corrosion. I could corrode the very flesh of whatever I hit with that spell.
After interpreting the first ability, the second was easier to parse. I could touch someone or myself and heal any wound that wasn't infected with interfering magic. The third was… some sort of aura. I think it made my enemies weaker? It was harder to understand than the first two.
I didn't have any choices, at least not yet, but… I had spells! Magic! Hopefully it would, like, work. The first one would be easy enough to test, once I had a weapon.
Oh, yeah, spear time! I'm sure this new storm order game system thing would throw more curveballs at me before long. God, I was wasting so much time. Since I had a game system, I should've gotten a quest. It could say something like — Challenge: Concentrate on one task for long enough to complete it. Difficulty: Impossible.
Making the spear shouldn't be too difficult, since I had the tools and a head ready-made. It was, at that point, still in knife-form, though.
I fixed that by smashing the wooden handle off with a hammer, until the inner metal was all that was left. Then, I cut a notch down into the haft, and slotted the knife in there. Two screws went through the haft, then the knife handle, then through the haft again.
For added durability, I wrapped it all in a nice thick layer of duct tape. It wasn’t how a proper spear head would be fixed to a haft. The knife didn’t have the socket thingy.
Ah, well. Since my life was about to become a ridiculous facsimile of an rpg game, it was nice to have room for improvement. Lots and lots of room — silver linings for a silver angel.