• Published 25th Jan 2013
  • 6,437 Views, 229 Comments

Someone Came With Her - chromewasp

You keep sayin' somethin' about bein' male and "human" before you showed up in Appleloosa...

  • ...

Vicious Frontier

Your hands are wracked by a spasm of pain as they transform even further. Your fingers blend together, forming one giant digit for each hand. The two digits flare out and flatten, morphing into hooves.

You had played around with these sort of fantasies online, but to experience it was...downright horrifying.

“Cute, aren't they?” says Trask, his smile widening.

Enraged, you take another swing at him. You would have connected had it not been for a horrific cramp in your back.

“Why do you keep standing up like that? It's not natural for you.”

That triggers yet another spasm. Your back contorts, and and it feels like your spine is being squashed in a trash compactor. A second later you feel the same horrible compression in the bones of your legs, and you cry out again. The clothes you're wearing are getting baggier and baggier as you shrink.

After the pain subsides enough for you to regain your focus, you find yourself staring into Trask's grinning face. Growling, you try to headbutt him.

All you end up doing is just bonking him lightly on the nose. He snickers at this.

“Trying to nuzzle me, now, are you? How adorable! You have such a cute little snout. And who couldn't love those big green eyes of yours!”

This is the worst one yet. The pain is outright blinding now as your head changes to accommodate his whims. Your eyes widen and shift, granting you a greater field of vision as they switch from “predator” configuration to “prey.” You want to scream, but your jaws are too busy stretching out into a short muzzle.

“And look at those cute little ears? They're almost as pointy as your horn!” he says.

Your ears are yanked upwards, morphing into more equine versions. A white-hot spike of agony stabs you in the forehead as a short spiral horn emerges from it.

Trask steps back, admiring his handiwork. “You're coming along quite nicely, if I do say so myself.”

You charge at him, knowing it will bring you more pain. But you just want to get one more hit in—one more, goddammit!

“Don't trip on that exquisitely long tail of yours,” he comments as you do just that. “Did I mention how well it matches your mane? Lustrous white with platinum streaks...truly stunning.” No sooner has he said that when your new mane spills into your eyes.

You left your pants behind when you charged at Trask, leaving you in nothing but a tent-like t-shirt. Now you try to pull the garment off, desperate to get untangled.

“Here, let me help you,” Trask says. He kneels down and lifts you out of your shirt. Looking down at your form, you gasp with shock. He's turned you into a little white unicorn!

You try to twist yourself free of his grip, but he's too strong. Besides, you're now only about half his size.

“Oh, don't try to leave just yet,” says Trask. “There's one more thing for you to see, young miss.”

You want to retch with pain and fear as your genitals twist and invert. Your manhood is swallowed by a growing slit, becoming a marehood. Your two Orbs of Dudeness are the next casualties, getting sucked in to become ovaries.

Two small mounds emerge from your crotch, and you gulp as you realize what they are.

“What do you think, little pony? Go on, speak up. I want to hear that wonderful voice of yours.”

“I think you should go fuck yourself,” you snarl. In an instant your hooves fly to your mouth, your eyes going even wider than they were before. Your voice...goddammit, your voice!

“So soft and melodious, isn't it?” says Trask. “I think it fits you quite splendidly.”

The horror of your transformation finally catches up to you, and your eyes begin to water. Your breathing is rapid and shallow: you're entering a full-fledged panic attack.

Trask smiles sadistically and sets you down on your unsteady hooves.

“Run away, little pony,” he says. “You should settle down and find yourself a nice stallion. I'm sure your foals will be precious.”

His voice sounds distant and distorted as panic strangles your mind. You need to get away; you need a place to rest. You need a place to scream and cry yourself to sleep.

Trask gives you a slap on the hindquarters. “Didn't you hear me?” he asks. “Run, or I'll hit you with a regression spell, too.”

Somehow your legs finally cooperate. Although your new legs cause you to stumble at first, you quickly manage to break into a respectable gallop. Fear has a way of teaching you to run.

You realize that it doesn't matter if you're dreaming or not anymore. As Trask showed, pain is quite real in this world. And no matter how hard you try, you can't wake up.

So that leaves you with only one option: keep running. Your vision blurs as your eyes flood with tears. You're beginning to sob, and the unmistakably feminine sound of your voice makes you want to cry even more.

Trask has made a mockery of you. He has twisted your fantasy into a nightmare. He has robbed you of your humanity and your masculinity, morphing you into a weak-kneed little unicorn mare. Now you're alone and afraid in a world you thought you'd be so overjoyed to see.

Never before have you hated someone so badly.

Cacti and eroded rocks pass by like film footage on an endless loop. Exhaustion creeps into your legs like a slow-burning fire, and your throat is drier than the sand under your hooves. But you don't dare to stop. You'll never stop until you're safe from that monster.

But your escape quickly proves to be a nightmare in itself. The desert floor is treacherous, bristling with jagged rocks and prickly pears. You trip more times than you can count, earning dozens of scrapes and cuts.

This torment goes on for what seems like hours. Your body cries out for water and rest, but it is nothing compared to your mental state. Your mind keeps replaying the trauma of your metamorphosis, locking every humiliating moment into your memory.

You're not even sure where you're running. For a while it seemed sufficient to simply run as far from Trask as possible, but as you become increasingly tired and dehydrated, a new source of fear arises: how are you going to survive out here? With the exception of your own tears, you haven't seen any water in this desert at all.

But then your luck finally changes. Squinting at the heat haze on the horizon, you can see a dark set of shapes materialize. It's a town!

Is it a mirage? You don't even care at this point. All that matters is that you finally have a place to set your sights on. Best of all, it gives you something you haven't felt in a long time: hope. It is a mighty boon indeed, for it lightens your hooves and dulls your pain. Maybe after you get some water and some rest, you'll find someone who can help you.

Someone with the ability to instantly reverse spells and provide a gun that shoots anti-wizard bullets, you think bitterly.

Finding a way back home was another goal, but it wasn't nearly as urgent. In a worst case scenario, you could live with being stuck in Equestria. But to be stuck as a mare...

You distract yourself by focusing again on the town. You're now roughly half a mile away, so the mirage theory is looking dubious. If you want to exert yourself to death chasing a settlement locked eternally in the horizon as a darkly poetic allegory for your life's dreams, you'll have to look someplace else.

Just as you start to allow yourself the faintest hint of a smile, fate gives you the middle finger. With a wet squish, your hooves sink into what feels like thick mud. You look down and find yourself knee-deep in what looks like a discolored patch of sand. You try to step out, but all you can do is wiggle your legs helplessly.

So close to the town...only to get stuck in quicksand. Of course.

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