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Forced Perspective - Part 3 (Commission for kobuldstuff)
🕑 Added 2020-06-20 16:48:40 +0000 UTCHow was that fair?!
Max had worked so hard to get to where he was, even if his original ascension was admittedly complete luck. Seeing as geckos like him weren’t exactly all that high up in the food chain, scurrying about looking for places to hide was just a fundamental part of life, and sometimes someone got lucky with what they found lying around an abandoned tunnel or collapsed access shaft. For him, it was this weird green goop leaking from a glass container bearing all sorts of weird symbols and sigils that he had no idea how to read; damn human chicken scratchings were always headache-inducing. All he really thought at the time was how it should help with how parched he was feeling, and so decided to drink the mixture like it was cool water.
That was his first mistake. Or not, really, as the end result was surprisingly enough a net positive.
The transformation took hold of his body only a couple of hours after he first drank the goop. Being a tiny gecko, it was customary for him to find shelter from the sun wherever there was shade to be had, and he happened to have found the perfect spot to fit himself into, just underneath an upturned vehicle whose seat had fallen to the ground, giving Max a fantastic bed to rest on. The first sign that something was wrong with him were his shoulders getting stuck in the window frame, nearly causing his head to bump into a metal plate from how harshly it was pulled back. Inspecting his body after that tiny surprise gave him enough of a shock to nearly stop his little gecko heart, as he saw his scrawny physique had somehow developed enough brawn that he could see his arm muscles bulging out against his skin! It was a wonder how he hadn’t noticed it before, but as soon as he brought his fingers to squeeze down on his biceps, it was as clear as day that he wasn’t hallucinating; those were real.
What followed were hours upon hours of self-indulgent madness, with the gecko finding the closest thing to him that he could lift in order to test his new strength, only to discover that the more he strained himself, the stronger he seemed to grow in response! Though hard to notice at first, what with him being extremely tiny, it picked up in intensity and rapidly built onto itself, and before he knew it, the gecko had grown to the height of an adult human and the width of at least three, with his musculature capable of lifting weights far in excess to his own… which just made him bulk up even more! Each pound lifted seemed to reflect in an extra pound packed away onto his body somewhere, until the skin glistening with sweat after the hours-long workout wasn’t flabby and draped over a pitiful reptilian body, but covered in rippling, bulging muscle and enough veins for someone to spend days gawking at. Even something as simple as flexing seemed to add even more mass onto him, along with forcing his new and improved body to creak like stretched leather every time it needed to expand itself even more.
And for a while, it was grand. Finding a mate with his own species was out of the question, of course; even the biggest females barely reached his waistline, and he was fucked if he was going to be wasting his time getting blowjobs from throats that could barely take a third of his cock, much less the whole, constantly-growing thing. Every day he woke up slightly bigger, ending up larger still by the time he went back to sleep, finding more obstacles to move, more weights to life, more challenges to overcome. Soon, even Deathclaws weren’t proper prey for him anymore, and Max progressed to hunting down Super Mutants out in the wasteland, until even they stopped providing any challenge. It was hard to feel entertained when their “overlords” and “behemoths” just became more things for him to pick up and throw away, all the while bulging out in all directions like it was a thing to do.
To be frank, it was kind of disappointing; Max had grown up hearing stories about how terrible the “mutant hordes” were, and the monsters that roamed the desolate landscape, just waiting to gobble up tiny geckos like himself. For years he lived in fear, running into hidey-holes and scurrying off into whatever darkness he could find whenever a suit of power armour walked nearby, or a pack of Deathclaws was on the prowl. And for good reason as well; tiny and insignificant as he used to be, what hope did he have to face off against such mighty foes?
But now? Two weeks had passed since he had first drank from the leak in the glass container, and he had become so powerful that nothing in the wasteland would ever be able to compete with him. Ten feet tall and twenty feet wide, head kept above his pectorals purely due to his neck being as absolutely massive as it was, and gaining mass with each step from how much any kind of movement strained his body. Wherever he went, low groaning followed, as his body was in a constant state of growth and readjustment, having to reforge ligaments and sinew at every waking moment. And for a while, after it was grand, it just turned… boring.
He soon lacked the willpower to lift anything, even if he did gain a couple of feet just by walking around, trying to find something to do that would entertain him. The Super Mutant tribes had learned to give him a wide berth, and without any humans dumb enough to try and tackle him with how large he’d become, it was down to him and the very ground… and he was reasonably certain he couldn’t just lift the planet.
He did try, after all.
There was a thought in his mind though; in between the horror stories of geckos being used as stress relief by dominant Deathclaws daddies or spitroasted over an open flame by particularly hungry ghouls, there were always these weird, otherworldly tales, told by the oldest of the groups when they congregated. They were conveniently short on details, letting the younger ones fill in the gaps with whatever they felt like, and always ended before any kind of satisfying conclusion. But they were the kind of stories that only word-of-mouth could create, fit more for inspiring wanderlust than warning about danger; they told of great beasts wandering the wastes between cities, gorging on the fallout itself and whatever creature brave or stupid enough to leave the relative safety of the city wastelands. They were colossal creatures, capable of blotting out the sun if one stood at their feet, and to them, even the greatest of human weapons were nothing more than a joke.
At the time, Max found the concept to be terrifying. But possessed of the kind of body he had now? Well, it was a challenge just waiting for him, really; no point wasting any time.
He marched off towards the east, abandoning the wasteland for what he thought was for good. For days he saw nothing but the devastated ecosystem, the odd shrub or brush sprouting from the few tiny spots where the radiation hadn’t remained unbearably high in the years since the blasts. He even began thinking that the stories were just that: fanciful yarn, spun to make youngsters like him think about all the horrible beasties waiting to murder them if they didn’t follow orders.
Then one day, he saw the first one. And honestly?
Not as big as he thought.
Sure, the mutant was… rather large, and they would certainly appear to be absolutely gigantic and sun-blocking for a species as tiny as geckos were, but from where Max stood at that point, reaching twenty feet in height and about triple that from side to side, it barely even qualified as a fight. They were taller, but lacked strength and coordination, and the small fight that ensued was enough to make the mutated gecko overcome their quarry before outright devouring them in a single gulp, having grown big enough to do just that and barely notice the difference in bulk when their prey was consumed.
Utterly disappointed by the lack of any adequate adversaries, Max spent weeks prowling the outskirts of the wasteland, finding that the “mythical monsters” did grow bigger the further inland he went… but, by that point, he himself had become so ludicrously massive as to make any potential danger those things posed be irrelevant, and he’d soon progress to using them as light snacks whenever he crossed paths. To say he was disillusioned would be an understatement; the gecko was almost furious that he was denied his proper place, fighting titans for an eternity, always finding bigger and better foes to tackle with. Now, quickly approaching the hundred-feet mark and without a single adequate challenge in sight, it was time to return to his old home.
And there he remained until he found Clove.
His days were occupied with… nothing, really. Whatever the substance had done to him had rendered him able to derive nourishment from local radiation, and thus without needing to eat or drink conventionally, he could dedicate himself to further honing his physical body. Hours upon hours of exercise and workouts, designed to build more bulk and strengthen the one he already had, leaving him bigger by the day in ways he honestly hadn’t anticipated. Maybe that was his destiny: to just grow, become stronger… and rule.
Wasn’t a lot to lord over; some dust, a lot of ruins, maybe a few packs of Deathclaws… but it was his. Who was going to take it from him when he was so large the ground itself quaked with every step? It’d be madness to try and stand up to him, and Max made sure to get rid of anything that might replicate the effects the mutagen had on him all that time before. It was because of this that he heard about Clove before even his tribe did; a network of gecko informants had let him know that the young runt breached a vault that still contained some untested mutagenic agent, one that could potentially bulk him up enough that he might think about confronting the undisputed master of the wasteland. Max didn’t pay much attention to it at the time… but when he saw that bastard walk into his stomping grounds like he owned the place, he knew he had to do something about it, even if it was just a show of force.
How surprising, then, that he ended up nearly being outsized in just a few seconds, needing to push every tendon he had just to keep himself a tiny half-step ahead. The ground itself was struggling to hold the both of them without collapsing, and yet Max had the distinct impression the Deathclaw was mocking him; a wide, toothy grin, hidden away by the many layers of tits and bulging muscle mass, almost hinting at how he could grow so much more but chose to remain small enough for his would-be gecko rival to understand how outmatched he was.
But he wasn’t. Max knew he wasn’t. He was the ruler of that desert, he was the one who walked out and defeated the titanic beasts that hunted at its edges, he was the one who trained for weeks and months at a time so he could grow to be so large as to be visible from across the horizon. He alone had secured the secrets of godhood, and he’d be damned before he let an upstart like Clove get the upper hand just because they pumped themselves full of growth juice.
That was his trick, goddamnit! And he wasn’t about to let anyone upstage him with it!
But he was already going as strongly as he could; how would he be able to compete with that Deathclaw when he seemed to go pound for pound without breaking a sweat, while he himself was straining his body as far as it could go? Had everything been a lie so far? Had he completely missed the actual prize and been keeping himself busy with the consolation one? It was absurd! How could that runt be having such an easy time upstaging him with such a wide smile on his face?
It was time for some drastic measures.
His time training in the desert had given him a near-perfect memory of the spots with the most leftover radiation pockets, places where the world had never truly healed and where toxic, irradiating sludge was still the norm. He had always avoided them, thinking himself already perfect enough; but faced with a challenge like Clove, he couldn’t afford to be picky.
Within minutes, he had gathered enough barrels of sludge and enough metal scraps that he was sure something had to happen. Whether it helped or not would be a different story altogether, but his body was going to change, and if nothing else, he would will himself to make it change for the better! Mouthfuls of the stuff vanished down his throat before he even stopped to consider that maybe he shouldn’t be doing it, and immediately Max felt his form shift and twist itself into new and inventive forms, genes being radically altered to fit the demands of an increasingly-deranged mind.
The first thing to change was his physique, but rather than its shape, it was its consistency that felt the effects of the radioactive materials. Max felt his torso tighten considerably, the bulging muscle growing increasingly shinier as its surface was coated with an extra layer of skin, this one about as heavy as the rest of his body combined, so much flesh packed into such a (relatively) small space that he figured it would make his chest completely impervious to any kind of attack; bumping his fist against his torso made it resonate like a metal plate, knuckles actually hurting for the first time in gods know when. It was a good first step, but needed more.
Rubbing his pecs allowed him to make good use of the mutagen; it was weird seeing his hands shrink every time they touched them, only to grow back out the moment he broke contact. Lunging at Clove confirmed his suspicions, when the Deathclaw’s body began to visibly lose size the longer it remained pressed against Max’s! Unbeknownst to the both of them, the armoured plating on the gecko’s torso had begun to develop an immense coating of near-microscopic needles, constantly poking out through the dense layer of biological armor and eager to consume whatever happened to touch them. For the gecko, this was the Deathclaw in front of him, who seemed more than happy to find his mass stolen with abandon.
And at first, it felt like it could work. Clove was shrinking visibly, the gecko’s body was billowing outwards in equal measure, and there was no indication that the Deathclaw was going to do anything. Hell, Max even felt some of his rival’s attributes begin to transfer over to him, with his pectoral muscles starting to bloat out and feel a lot more like a pair of breasts than anything else. Though they kept the impervious coating on top, they were surprisingly soft and squishy, filling with… something, the gecko didn’t know what, that made him feel incredibly warm and fuzzy all over. It was a sense of power unlike anything he’d ever experienced, far eclipsing his journey so far; was that the secret of the Deathclaw’s growth? Was it the substance that he had consumed that allowed him to go toe-to-toe with the master of the Mojave?
If it was, he wanted it.
Max pushed forward even harder, aiming to drain as much of Clove as he could before the Deathclaw could react. It was an astounding success, with his opponent becoming so small that the gecko could probably crush him underneath a single foot, already doing so with his enormous pecs-turned-tits. He correctly identified the substance churning inside of his chest as being some kind of evolutionary virus, already hard at work improving Max’s ability to process it. Before he knew it, his head would grow incredibly cramped when his cerebral mass began to multiply onto itself, becoming unbearably tight before the same virus simply moved the extra brain matter elsewhere on his body. It was the logical first step, the gecko presumed, to give him the additional processing power required to come up with an adequate approach for his Deathclaw problem, who despite being placed on the verge of suffocation, steadfastly refused to stop or give up.
Even in his shrunken state, Clove was still larger than he had been when first meeting Max; the two had been constantly swelling with size since that moment, even while the Deathclaw’s was being taken from him, and thus it wasn’t all that surprising that he refused to yield, at least from the gecko’s perspective. Max himself had become a literal colossus, sporting a body of large enough proportions that he could probably be seen from space without the need for a telescope, and only growing larger by the moment. The additional brains sprouting throughout his body allowed him to understand his position perfectly, but what they failed to account for was that his rival wasn’t as helpless as he made himself out to be.
Contrary to what Max thought, Clove had never been on the losing, nor had the shrinking been anything other than his plan all along. While the gecko had to resort to growing additional brain matter in order to suit their needs, the Deathclaw instead opted for quality over quantity, increasing the density of his neuronal connections until there was very little space even left inside of his cerebral cortex. If it could have a neural pathway, it did, and with so much room to work with the more he grew, Clove had a much easier time seeing their situation for what it truly was.
All Max had done was copy his own abilities, and in an inferior way as well; the gecko could probably make some use of the FEV, but not nearly to the extent the Deathclaw could. His body was still the same spectacle of depravity it had been before meeting that titan of the wasteland, still carrying the multiple pairs of tits constantly being fucked by Deathclaw-headed snakecocks and filled with his impossibly nutritious cum. It was only a matter of flipping a metaphorical switch and allowing his many balls to start producing FEV-laced cum again… something he did without even thinking too hard about it.
Up until then, Max had genuinely believed he had the upper hand. Forced to develop a pair of tits and some extra mutations on his chest? Yes, but still a good price to pay for getting rid of an upstart trying to take his rightful spot on the top of the food chain. It wasn’t until the tiny little thing he was smothering underneath a single nipple began to lift his whole tit off the ground that he started to panic; how was the Deathclaw managing to suddenly push him around?!
The answer would come soon enough, when Clove stopped being a miniature spec he couldn’t even see properly and began to take up far more space in his field-of-view than should be possible. Max tried to stymie his advance, forcing his own body to secrete more of the evolutionary virus and finding that not only did his breasts produce copious amounts of it, but the rest of his pecs did as well, absolutely flooding him with the stuff! And yet, despite the enormous amounts of mutagen his body was gifted with, nothing was happening to the size difference between him and the Deathclaw; the cloud layer was fast approaching and the curvature of the Earth had long-since become more than apparent, but as far as the two could see, the ratio between their bodies continued to be stacked in Clove’s favour, until the pair was back at similar sizes… right up until the Deathclaw happily barreled the gecko over and pinned him underneath his massive body, letting Max know just how wrong he had been about their own superiority.
It was… unfair wasn’t strong enough. All of that, overturned in just a few seconds? His body had literally sprouted extra brains just so he could find the best possible solution, and Clove just… made it not work? Just like that?!
He wasn’t going to stand for it.
Max snarled, shaking the Earth enough for earthquakes to emanate from where the two where lying on top of one another, before baring his teeth; Clove felt the need to pat the gecko on the head when he saw what the tiny boy had in mind, lengthening and sharpening his fangs until his mouth was so full of razor-covered chompers that he couldn’t even close it! The gecko probably thought that it would let him do anything, a notion the Deathclaw was happy to disabuse them of the moment Max tried biting down on one of Clove’s tits. Rather than finding soft flesh to mangle, the gecko instead saw several of his new teeth shatter and crack, the same protective coating that protected his chest being mirrored on his rival’s immense cluster of tits.
That still wouldn’t stop him. If one set of sabertooth-like fangs wasn’t enough, he’d just have to make two, nesting the second row behind the first one and making it just the right size that they could both bite down on anything easily. He hardened their composition, added minerals he extracted directly from the ground just to ensure they were unbreakable… and then immediately had to swallow them after the second bite proved to be just as useless as the first. Clove just kept smiling, like he wasn’t destroying the gecko’s dreams by just standing there, growing increasingly bigger and pinning Max down with sheer tit weight. Undeterred by his failures, the smaller giant not only regrew his twin rows of razor-sharp teeth, but added additional ones still and, with the sounds of bone cracking filling the air for hundreds of miles around, began producing a second jaw from the bottom of the first one. It looked precariously balanced underneath, hanging open with barely any ability to control itself; more instinct-driven than anything else, it was Max’s desperate attempt at trying to break through his rival’s defenses, lining this second mouth with just as many pearly whites as the original.
All to no avail; they still broke just as easily.
The gecko was about to give up. There was nothing he could do, really; whatever he threw at the Deathclaw just bounced back, unable to even leave a dent in the burgeoning god. A series of desperation moves ensued, the gecko’s body creating and multiplying multiple additional spit glands, each of which was loaded with a different liquid he could throw at Clove in the vain hope of hurting him: liquid magma, high-concentration acid, even supercooled nitrogen… with no results. It seemed like he wasn’t even there; the Deathclaw barely reacted to anything he did, giggling away and fucking his own breasts like the depraved slut he was. How could it be that he, Max, overlord of the wasteland, had lost his title to that… thing? It wasn’t even a Deathclaw anymore, it was just a bunch of tits and cocks all snaking around and screwing one another while their owner moaned like a breeder in heat.
It was infuriating! He had to do something about it!
… but what?
Max’s body already had all the resources it needed to do something about the weight smothering it against the increasingly-tiny planet below, but even its multiple brains couldn’t come up with anything that would work for more than just a few seconds. He could try and grow extra arms, even extending his torso in order to fit them all, but all that would accomplish would be letting him feel Clove growing even heavier. He could cover his entire body in spikes as pointy as his teeth, have them fire at his rival like millions of railguns, only to have the organic turrets fail at doing anything but plinking off the Deathclaw’s skin armor.
No matter what combination of biological and techno-organic weaponry he employed, it never seemed to do more than gently scratch at Clove, which itself provoked some giggling and… not much else. The Deathclaw was effortlessly beating him at his own game, and enjoying it to such a degree that it actually was insulting. So much so that all of Max’s brains, overwhelmed with rage and jealousy, could think of nothing else but to take it all from them, in as direct a way as possible.
Creaking loud enough to shatter the ground underneath him, thanks to the strain of moving so much bulk and mass in such a short time, the gecko wrapped his arms and legs around Clove’s body, taking advantage of his position to grab as much of the Deathclaw as he could. Up until that point, his absorption had been reliant entirely on the needles permeating his chest; they numbered in the billions, yes, but were woefully insufficient when so much of him remained to be used. His mutagenic production was diverted to encourage the development of similar structures all across his arms and legs, extending the everything-proof coating of thick skin in the process and adding quite a few more gland pockets meant to take advantage of his body’s heat to generate thermal energy. The end result was such a marked increase in his ability to drain Clove of his mass directly that the size discrepancy between the two stopped worsening, and his rival actually opened his eyes to look at him, for once!
“What are you doing?!” the Deathclaw shouted, parting the clouds with his words.
“Getting even!” Max bellowed back, creating hurricanes from the amount of wind displaced by his hot breath.
Indeed, it seemed like the gecko was going to get his wish, as his brains resolved to increase the density of his absorption needles until his skin began to darken, billions becoming trillions and then doubling over until all of his surface area was entirely dedicated to the sole, mindless task of stealing as much of Clove’s mass and mutagenic properties as it could. The gecko’s opponent, meanwhile, was flailing about trying to escape, causing earthquakes and breaking open small canyons whenever a part of him hit the ground, flooding miles of coast when his snakecocks began to fail at their nipplefucking duties. Clove was truly in panic mode, scrambling to fix a problem he himself had created.
For unbeknownst to Max, who had at that point succumbed entirely to the allure of endless, uninterrupted growth, the vast landscape of needles that his skin had become had progressed past the point where it was simply draining away mass from whoever they stung. Their two bodies had begun to fuse together in certain parts, skin melting into one another and stretching out painfully whenever Clove tried to pull himself away from the mindless gecko. He could feel his nervous system being hijacked by the swelling giant he himself had created through his endless teasing, seriously regretting every choice that hadn’t been just crushing and consuming the horny colossus when he had the chance.
Now it was Clove going through the same kind of inner turmoil he’d just put Max through, albeit from a much different perspective; he knew he could outgrow them if he really wanted to, but now that their bodies were beginning to become one, what would even happen? He could feel the faintest electrical jolts whenever the gecko tried moving one of his titanic arms, the distant whispering of the chorus of brains inside of his ascension partner. He could tell that there was very little of Max left in there at all, having been reduced to a mindless machine, designed purely for maximizing pleasure even at the expense of its own durability. The gecko would carry on until they were both turned to goop if he had to, and without any way to get rid of him, the Deathclaw had to deal with it somehow.
The more he struggled, however, the less headway he was making; in fact, it seemed that any attempt to dislodge the gecko from underneath him only ended up worsening the problem, with the still-rising number of microneedles succeeding in keeping their two bodies in a precarious balance. It was enough to force the Deathclaw to stop growing altogether, hoping to trick his rival into doing the same, but to no avail; halting the process for even a single second was enough to give the gecko a headstart that took Clove several minutes to match without going overboard, and by that point the Earth was starting to become far too tiny for the both of them to occupy at the same time.
It was time for desperate measures; Clove knew it was a possibility, but had refused to consider it due to its irreversible nature. With the fusing of their flesh and the precariously small amount of space left between the two of them, though, it was either that or risk being jettisoned into space while still unstable, and goodness knows what would happen to the solar system if the two of them didn’t resolve their issues… then again, Max wasn’t in any fit state to have a conversation, and Clove had no inclination to beat any kind of sense into him.
The Deathclaw sighed, letting his musky breath fall onto the gecko’s face, further deepening their lust-crazed state; it was a necessary step for what he wanted to accomplish, albeit one that he found distasteful to the point of disgusting. He would’ve much preferred that the two of them mutually agreed to such a fate, not to have been forced into it due to the gecko losing control. Taking a deep breath, Clove relaxed his muscles and began to break down the organic armor coating his skin, allowing the needles puncturing him to find even more purchase than before. It hurt, immensely so, and only spiked Max’s pleasure to such an unbearably powerful degree that the gecko completely lost control, climaxing right there and then; the ensuing flood lapped at Clove’s back and only worsened the agony he was in, with Max’s cum having inherited some of the acidic properties that his blood had since developed.
Still, the Deathclaw persevered, pressing through the curtain of pain and deliberately sinking his body into the gecko’s. It was an odd sensation, becoming one with another individual while trying to keep one’s individuality; as his neurons wrapped around theirs, it became harder to distinguish what he was feeling from what was going through Max’s system, their combined brain matter reacting much in the same way to the same stimuli. The gecko’s cerebral clusters in particular were responding surprisingly well to the sudden intrusion of Deathclaw matter into them, welcoming the change and commanding their newly-shared body to produce even more of the delicious viral compound that had led them there to begin with.
To any outside observer, it would look as if Clove was vanishing into a body that grew bigger in equal measure to the amount of Deathclaw being poured into it, the point of contact being miles upon miles of near-rubberized skin and leather that had taken on a life of its own, tugging at the willing sacrifice and pulling him ever deeper into the warm embrace of his soon-to-be other half. Most of Clove’s brainpower was focused on preventing his mind from being subsumed by Max’s, instead attempting to enact some kind of “mind meld” between the two. They were after the same thing after all, were they not? The complete domination of the planet and all of its inhabitants. So why were they fighting?
The gecko was certainly having his fun; with the planet underneath straining to keep in one piece, he had begun absorbing and repurposing as much of the wildlife that he’d trampled as possible, recreating aspects of it on his insanely-mutated body. Ursine, feline, vulpine and lupine, bits of human here and there and even some Super Mutant nonsense thrown about for good measure; if anyone were to look at them, it would be impossible to tell what species he even was, let alone what he started as. It only worsened when the “transfer” was complete, the last vestiges of Clove’s back disappearing into the mess that was the needle-infused torso of that country-sized gecko.
That was step one. It was time for step two.
Clove had been very careful not to actually turn into just more of Max; though he had bloated the giant up, he himself was still there in one piece, carefully displacing his rival’s insides and making good use of their ability to adapt to anything in order to keep his own form intact. From his privileged position, the Deathclaw began extending pathways to as much of the gecko’s nervous system as he could reach, attempting to line up their electrical impulses so they fired and flared simultaneously. It was hard work, taking long enough that Max’s head and feet were dipping into separate oceans by the time Clove got the hang of synching up their thought patterns. From there, it was a relatively small jump to hijacking both of their conscious minds and melding them into a single one; Clove’s hyper-dense brain and Max’s distributed clusters would still exist as independent entities, preserving parts of their old personalities and selves, but it would be nothing but an artifact of a bygone age. They wouldn’t be allowed any independence or ability to act on anything but maintaining lower-level body functions, freeing up the rest of their processing power to sustain the glorious creature being crafted from scratch right before everyone’s eyes.
The Deathclaw and gecko’s unique mutations were thoroughly scanned, analyzed and decommissioned by their brand new, combined mind; it was powerful enough to remake reality as it saw fit within the confines of their body, and as such took little time to simply add everything up until their shared body had it all. Everything that Clove had ever sprouted, everything that Max had developed, it was all reconstructed in perfect detail, scaled up to fit their ocean-displacing frame. Streams of FEV-infused cum dwarfing all of the world’s rivers combined flowed freely from each of his Deathclaw-headed nipples, even with a dozen or so snakecocks constantly plugging them, their tips reformed to become perfect copies of Max and Clove’s faces, for no one else had the the right to enjoy a body like theirs.
Muscles bulged and rippled, taut and stretched under the light of the sun, drowning everything underneath them in the tidal waves of sweat glistening off of them. Max’s head was pushed to the side, their enormous neckbulk splitting open so Clove’s own could sprout right beside it, the two immediately locking their muzzles together in a kiss while a dozen pairs of arms erupted from their sides and back, going to work on their several rows of tits much like Clove’s had before.
The last thing to go would be the needles, no longer necessary once their brain functions aligned and their body completed its fusion. No more size theft was required now that they were already the biggest living thing in existence, and with how quickly they were approaching the size of the very planet that birthed them, whatever was left down there that could still endanger their status as unquestionedoverlords of reality would soon be chomped down.
Their heads bumped into the shores of Europe, their feet just barely reaching Japan.
It had just begun.
