Becoming Monsters

Miaka arrived to the compound late that night and dictated a list of things she wanted to cover in the morning before unpacking and turning in.

The next morning, after a good night's sleep for everyone and an early breakfast, the wives and Jaya were all back in the gym wearing various forms of combat gear. After a bout of puppy dog eyes from Jaya - which no one was sure how she accomplished with her snake head, but all the wives agreed they couldn’t fight against - the seven-year-old girl was put in charge of feeding Honoka each morning. No girl ever looked more excited to feed someone; she did a fantastic job shoveling all that food inside the black Ymirian, then the girl spent a little time bouncing on her mommy trampoline.

After breakfast, Honoka put on her old gi, which spent most of the last five years in her closet. It wasn’t anything fancy, but she was a fan of a particular anime. It was a magenta kendogi (loose shirt that resembled half a robe) over a white hakama (ribbed cloth pants that resembled half dress and half bellbottoms) and black jika-tabi (a form of sock/boot hybrid used in some martial arts). She even wore a white hachimaki headband with the red circle of Japan in the center and the kanji for Love and Peace on either side (because she liked other particular anime).

Under the thick fabric of the kendogi, Honoka wore modern body armor with strike plates and metal/kevlar mesh covering her chest and back, the entire form made of pieces held in place with lots of velcro. It was designed with the idea that it could be adjusted to many different sizes quickly if needed. Similar body armor was under her outer clothing on her forearms, shins, knees and thighs. She finished the outfit with a kendo styled helmet she wasn’t wearing at the moment and a pair of steel-plated gauntlets in the kendo style. At her belt was tied a beautiful gift from Diane, a katana made entirely of mithril, though she held a bokken training sword at the moment. On the other side of the belt was a Ruger Mk4 because unallocated, a .22 was probably all the gun she was capable of firing.

Diane didn’t think of herself as front line material, so her clothing was a set of tailored fatigues she fit into like a latex glove. Over the brown spotted fabric, she wore similar velcroed body armor and carried a specially designed backpack to ride over her wings and allow for free movement. Her replacement contacts had arrived, so her large kelly eyes smoldered - sans glasses - as she looked herself over with narcissism. Her modern military-style helmet sat on the ground next to a Combat CO2 Gun, or CCG. Essentially, a weaponized form of paintball gun. The backpack contained a lot of alchemical supplies she could quickly fill into special paintballs larger than typical and shoot farther with greater accuracy. A ranged attack potion. From the Tube-U-R videos, all the wives were impressed with burly rednecks shooting paintballs a hundred feet (30.5 m) away and exploding into twenty-foot (6 m) fireballs, then hitting another bleeding redneck with a healing potion and watching him quickly mend.

Banda wore the robes from yesterday. Apparently, Clerics of Teteoh were restricted in what they wore into combat, but the advantage was those robes would be as strong as foot-thick steel if they were all she wore. The only accessories she was allowed were grieves and shin guards that looked made of brass and stylized in strange scrollwork patterns. Weapons were permitted, though. At the suggestion of Miaka, she tried out the newly purchased scutum and gladius combo that fit her size. The tower shield with concave sides was seven and a half feet (228 cm) tall, five feet wide and weighed six hundred pounds (272.2 kg). The gladius style sword was four feet (122 cm) long and looked like a short roman sword in her large hands. At her feet was one of the guns from the wall, a chain fed modified M60 set on a collapsible tripod.

Eve was the least armed and armored person there, wearing only dark green shorts and a matching sports bra. At Miaka’s suggestion, she sported some wicked new gloves, weighted and spiked gauntlets along with a holdout Glock G26 Compact at her waist.

Quinn also wore little clothing. To work her magic, she needed her arms and legs free, so her combat uniform was a pair of jean shorts and a yellow bikini string bra. Her weapons came from her own collection, a well used and cared for bowie knife and a dinosaur-killing rifle - the overkill gun if there ever was one - the D’Arcy Echols .485 Legend Heavy Sporter. It apparently had been a gift from a rich uncle, the .458 Lott bullets alone were each three and a half inches (9 cm) long and as thick as a thumb. This was the kind of rifle people took with them when they hunted Tarasques.

In contrast, Padmava was decked in full plate armor, magically locked into place down the entire length of her tail. Every part of her was layered and relayered in metals that glowed with powerful runes. The naga smelled of sharp ozone, so much power floated around her. She carried no weapons. However, two round shields were strapped on her upper arms and blazed with thaumatic fire. Padmava assured everyone they were crafted by her late husband himself and retained the magical capability to level a mountain. Jaya, coiled next to her mother, while not as impressively equipped, wore some pieces of plate armor and carried an unadorned bamboo staff.

“I like what I’m seeing, shows me you girls are serious,” Miaka announced, wearing an identical uniform to the outfit she wore yesterday, simple black clothing that matched styles to Honoka’s garments with enchanted metal rods and a shotgun on her back, a tanto style mithril knife at her belt. She placed a battered helmet on the ground at her feet as well as identical sticks to the ones over her shoulder but made of wood. “I understand time is short. I’ll go over a few things about combat in general, and then I’m going to want to spar with you all to get a feel for your abilities. First, though, if it isn’t too much, I’d like to see everyone’s Status and understand everyone’s powers.”

Diane was prepared for this, the family numbers updated in her app an hour ago. It took only a few taps on her cracked tablet to throw them on the wall with her projector.

The most exciting thing about checking her Status this morning wasn’t learning she hit level six when she finished up with Eve the night before. Even though Honoka’s recent Class Feature offering was called Forging Of Mjölnir, she already decided that Gift of Yggdrasil would be her level six pick. Though the hammer of Thor gave the impression it was combat-oriented, knowledge won wars, not might. No, not even putting two more points into Wisdom got Honoka excited. She was now ninety-four pounds (42.6 kg) and grew an inch taller.

It made her want to delve straight into the dungeon and eat every magical thing she could kill and fit in her mouth to see if she would finally, finally, begin growing past her emaciated form. Honoka wanted to look like a proper woman, matching the body she only ever dreamed about (or allocated into). She was even starting on the path towards real breasts. The flat half-asian woman wasn’t sure if she had actual budding boobs or if they were simply her imagination. Either way, without the Status to explain in detail her changes, she didn’t notice much about herself that felt any different, though now her chest felt sore from all the excited groping.

Diane’s Status hadn’t changed much since her second round of Harmony and boosting her Perception by one. She went up a level, all those potions she brewed pushing her to nine. The Class Feature she chose was called Area Effects. It took a regular potion, when exposed to air, and dissipated it in a cloud effect that was only partially as potent but effected everyone caught in the AOE.

The rest of the wives were displayed without many questions from Miaka. Eve’s status hadn’t budged, much to the silent irritation of the energetic greenie. While Banda’s level up to five didn’t come with any Class Features or Attribute bonuses, the morning blessing on Honoka put her at 14% already, so she was well on her way to the level ten goal. Quinn confessed she cast spells in her downtime, using her Class Feature over and over to acclimate seeing through her swarm’s vision. While not much, it moved her progress to level six at 88%. Padmava remained the same and she showed no outward problem with it. Jaya was not legally able to participate in the guild or old enough to delve, yet she hoped to join some of the practice sessions and bashfully admitted she was a level two Varma, a fighting class specializing in the staff and targeting pressure points or nerves.

The other fun part of the Status information was the wives finally deciding on a name for the guild and emailed their application to the FDR this morning. It was bold and underlined at the top of the display.

“Becoming Monsters?” Miaka asked, nodding while she looked around at the menagerie of races around her. “That is a cool name. Thousand times better than Leeroy’s Chicken, which is where I guilded for two wasted years.” The owl woman’s face scrunched up in anger, but she shook herself and picked up the wooden sticks at her feet. “Good name for a good guild. Quiz time: does anyone know what these are?”

“Sticks,” Eve answered without inflection.

“Wood sticks,” Quinn followed just as flatly.

“Oo, I know! Bastons!” Jaya answered, waving her hand in the air. Everyone took a moment to smile at the burst of adorable.

“Color me impressed,” Miaka replied, holding up a hand that Jaya squealed and rushed forward for a solid high five. “Also called Eskrima sticks, they are a key weapon of the traditional martial arts of the Philippines where I have some family on my mother’s side. Now I don’t want to ruffle any Japanese feathers,” she said with a respectful head bow to Honoka, “I love my home country, but during World War II the Imperial Japanese Army wrongly went to war.”

“Not offended, I agree.” Honoka returned the bow with a smile to continue.

“Thank you. Japan controlled half of China, all of Korea, Thailand, Malaysia and most of the rest of the Oceanic nations. They were at war with - and for much of the time victorious against - the US, both Chinese armies, Russia and a dozen other countries. Their military technology was considered the second most advanced in the world at the time, and no one ever doubted the zeal of the Japanese soldier was the most fervent to possibly ever exist.

“Yet when they invaded the Philippines, out of forty-eight islands, they only conquered and held onto twelve of them. Japanese soldiers equipped with rifles, planes, grenades and swords, trained in combat and often veterans of other battles, outnumbering the defending forces by a factor of ten, lacked the ability to beat a guerrilla army equipped with rusty knives and a pair of sticks.

“Which leads me to my first rule of combat: Classes and Attributes don’t matter, winning matters. You might be a level 9000 Super Saiyan, but it only takes a lucky level one farmer with a pair of sticks to kill you. Never assume that a person’s ability to fight, survive or achieve victory is determined by their level, Class, Attributes or Race. With proper preparation, tactical surprise and luck, all combat is equal. For instance, if any of you were forced to fight me, without knowing anything about me, what would be the most effective way to kill me?”

“Riddle you with bullets?” Banda asked, looking down at her shiny gun. It earned some chuckles.

“Good idea, but think bigger: plenty of Classes can deal with bullets. If I needed to defeat me, I’d either call in an airstrike or set off a nuclear bomb under my feet, preferably while I slept. The best way to win a fight is with overwhelming force, far away from any collateral damage you care about and at the surprise of your enemy.”

“That doesn’t seem…fair…” Honoka, trained in martial arts instead of combat, couldn’t stop herself even though she realized what she was saying when she said it.

“Nothing fair about combat, women who fight fair end up dead.” Miaka was brutal but honest. “Survival is the top priority unless, in some rare circumstances, achieving victory is more morally important than survival. I don’t believe gaining victory through death is a noble option 99% of the time. However, the 1% happens. Everyone should find out for themselves what that 1% means to them. Nevertheless, as we are not in the middle of a war and you are a delving guild, survival should be your guiding mantra.”

Honoka wasn’t sure if she agreed with that philosophy, but she admitted it would be a good starting point for her family. While delving, these women needed to survive. The half-Japanese decided she would put more thought into it before coming to any hasty conclusions.

“The second rule of combat seems to contradict the first one, though they go hand in hand: use every part of the Status buffalo.” The kikiyaon took a copper coin out of her kendogi, flipped it, then before it landed in her taloned hand, it shot out perpendicular towards one of the walls, zipping loudly through the air. Just before it hit, it slowed and hovered in the air, then sped back and slapped loudly into her palm. “When I originally figured out what my Class could do, I found it weak and lacking any useful abilities in combat or any other type of application I thought of. It doesn’t even do much other than one thing: I can charge something I touch to attract to something, or to repel from something. That’s it. Can’t even charge something that big, just a couple of pounds is my limit. A man whom I met by chance gave me a few tips and taught me there was no such thing as a useless Class or Race or Attribute, only undiscovered potential. His name was Arun Nair.”

Padmava teared up and Jaya went in for another loving hug. After giving them a moment, Miaka coughed and returned to a more professional mien. “It is simple: there needs to be balance. No matter how powerful your enemies, there is always a way to achieve victory or survive. No matter how small or insignificant your Status is, it isn’t how big you are, it is how you use it. The same can be reversed: never overestimate your own abilities or underestimate your enemy’s. I call it Combat Zen.”

“Good ideas, but how do we apply them to us?” Eve asked, cracking her neck loudly and going through some light stretches.

“Individually. This isn’t a set of clear guidelines.” Taking one of the wooden bastons in each hand, Miaka walked a little apart and motioned for Honoka to follow. “Let's begin with Kenshin-chan here because I estimate your Class is the most complicated.”

Honoka gulped, taking her sword and gun off her belt and putting on her helmet, extending her wooden bokken in front of her. “How do you want to do this?”

“Don’t hold back, I want to see what you can really do.” The owl girl stretched a little and lightly flapped her wings, gaining a surprising amount of lift from a single flap. “We have a healer and a table full of recovery potions, so I expect some bruises.”

Honoka nodded, allocating a few Attributes, burying her younger feelings of inadequacy and nervousness and rushed forward, her bokken moving fluidly and low at her side as her knees bent. She brought the wooden blade up sharply to strike diagonal across Miaka’s body. Miaka’s large eyes widened, but she was up to the task and blocked with both her sticks. The owl woman got pushed backward and into the air five feet (152 cm) from the force of the blow. The crack of the practice sword hid some of the allocation sounds of Honoka as she gained two feet (61 cm) in height, two hundred pounds (90.7 kg) of muscle, and enough Agility and Dexterity to turn her into a dangerous swordmaster.

Quickly shucking out of the sleeves of the kendogi so that it hung off her waist, Honoka gasped for a moment before she rapidly loosened the velcro straps on her armor, eventually tearing off the torso piece entirely. All she wore now up top was a white lycra workout shirt, and it stretched to capacity with her still growing muscles. While Miaka rubbed her arms and walked back within range, Honoka shucked the helmet and tabi quickly, though she brought her sword up in a guard stance, the feel of the wood in her expanded hand like a jumbo pencil.

“Need to solve that clothing problem,” Miaka stated critically, eying the impressive mountain of woman in front of her. “No good if you need to adjust it in the middle of battle. I know an arachne tailor who can fix those straps to stretch no matter how big you swell. I’ll text her.” Looking over Honoka’s stance, Miaka stopped just outside of range and put her sticks up. “You didn’t take kendo, did you?”

“It is combat Iaido mixed with Aikido,” Honoka replied, cautiously inching her feet forward on the stone. “My mother competed in WOMAC thirty years ago and went home with four medals. I suffered through fifteen years of training, but I’ve never owned the physicality or mentality to apply the knowledge.”

“Looks like you got those now,” Miaka replied, a tongue coming out and licking her beak as she stared at Honoka’s expanded form. “If my ex-husband looked half as good as you, we might still be together.”

“Is that a come-on?” Honoka asked, leaping forward farther than humanly possible with a devastating overhead strike.

The kikiyaon would have broken an arm if she blocked it straight. Miaka dissipated by angling her sticks to slide the bokken away from her body and ducked into a roll. And whether high Agility or more likely training and experience, before Honoka even finished the strike, Miaka swept through the trunk-like legs of her opponent, then slammed both bastons into Honoka’s abdomen, ricocheting the black woman against the ground. All air in her lungs was forced out, leaving Honoka gasping for air, rolling painfully to her side.

“Not interested in a rebound wife after a deadbeat husband,” Miaka explained as she helped Honoka to her feet. “I am flattered. Think of it instead that I appreciate the copious amounts of muscled eye candy around here.”

Honoka nodded, leaning on her knees as she allocated back, only a few yelps squeaking from the sass salon as women readjusted to their Attributes. “…do you…want to go again?” the bruised and hurting black woman asked the ground.

“I like that kind of enthusiasm, but no: got all I needed.” Cracking her taloned knuckles, the owl woman smiled as she twirled her sticks and walked over to a group of women that resembled terrified children instead of capable adults. “Your wives are about to learn how pain is weakness leaving the body, and I love to beat me some weakness.”

The next hour was brutal. It wasn’t that Honoka’s wives were unskilled - even Diane looked like she knew some aerobic kickboxing - it was just Miaka proved so much better. It didn’t matter what anyone tried - some using bladed weapons at the owl girl’s insistence - they were each equally put on the ground with minimal effort. Watching Miaka move was like watching old wushu films, where some idiot decides to attack the great sage character. Miaka hardly moved to dodge a punch or deflect a sword by stepping inches to the side and snapping one of those sticks on some girl’s wrists. Never before had anyone in that room seen so much pain brought on by so little effort. When Miaka finished, everyone was sucking air, taking potions and generally groaning. The only one who remained safe was a very scared Jaya who received practical lessons on how to hold her staff and some simple exercises to increase her upper body strength. The little girl smiled as she went over to the weights section to practice. Honoka confessed silently she was jealous how the little girl was let off the hook so easily.

“I know you are all hurting right now, and not just physically,” Miaka said as she opened a bottled water and sipped casually, smiling, “but this was actually both promising and productive. I’ll develop a workout and practice regimen for everyone tomorrow. Until then, I understand there is a tight schedule to keep. Honoka!”

Honoka recovered at this point and tried to think about baseball or other unsexy things because watching all this fighting made her horny (Honoka would admit, though, linoleum made her horny). Nodding, she came over to talk to the owl woman with a slight bow instinctively coming out of her, this whole adventure reminding her of training with her mother. [Yes, sensei?]

[I think your Class is broken beyond belief], Miaka replied in Japanese, finishing her water and motioning for Honoka to follow as she walked towards the stairs. [You would take me in a fight any day if you learned how to…allocate?…faster].

[It is difficult, actually, and not just because of the Status headaches]. Up the stairs they went together. It was only when they reached one of the baths that Honoka realized what Miaka wanted, and she lost control of her erection as the Beast grew harder and harder inside her loose pants. [I scroll down to the right menu, focus on it then move the points around. I honestly don’t know how to make it any faster].

Taking off her weapons at the door and putting them in one of the slots on a nearby cabinet, Miaka quickly shucked out of her sleeveless coat and pants, revealing a white fundoshi and tightly bound breasts with white wraps. The spotted blue patterns were mostly on her arms and back, leaving only a soft down of bright red on her chest, abdomen and thighs. Her knees naturally bent backward. Just below the knees, they went from red fluff to golden keratin scales, her calves meeting with three elongated clawed toes in front and a shorter clawed toe behind for balance. The bend of her knees wasn’t very distinct and underneath a hakama, it wouldn’t even be noticed. Now that Honoka saw her entire posture, it looked like the woman was always bent forward as if ready to pounce or take flight.

What the down of her body failed to hide - unlike the thicker feathers of her arms - was that this woman was built. Not the farmer’s muscles of either Banda or Quinn or even the sexy tone of Diane like a fitness model. The closest comparison Honoka could make was if you took a woman boxer who lived on a steady diet of protein and creatine, then sucked all the fat out of her body: this was the result. Even through feathers, Honoka saw an eight-pack that the black woman wanted to bounce quarters off of. Her neck, shoulders and arms were the only part of her body that didn’t quite fit the lithe fighter physique, those muscle groups bursting with mass and power and likely assisted the owl woman’s ability to fly.

[I think I know a solution for that].

Honoka flinched, realizing she had been staring and fantasizing even as the owl woman grabbed some soap and washcloths and headed over to one of the shower stations. “Hold up,” Honoka said in English, her breath gasping as she looked at the wall. “I don’t…did I miss when I got sucked into the fanservice onsen episode of a harem anime?”

“Nah, we’d need a bunch of horny guys trying to peep on us if that were the case.” Honoka didn’t notice before, but Miaka sported a small tail fan of feathers she must keep tucked in her hakama. “Relax, nothing wrong with a couple of Japanese girls taking a bath together. It is practically a cultural requirement.”

Which is when she unbound her breasts and slipped off the fundoshi.

In the back of her mind, Honoka took a moment of solidarity to bond with her fellow member of the A-Team, the most common problem of Japanese women striking down yet another genetically flat victim. They were still bigger than Honoka’s, little bumps covered in feathers as pert, blue nipples poked through the red. And although most of her womanhood hid under the arterial-red down, a tiny slit of blue hinted between her muscled thighs.

No amount of loose pants could hold back or hide Honoka’s erection at this point, and the young woman was black cherry red from her blushing.

However.

“I’m sorry, I’m not comfortable with this.” Honoka then spun around and fled the bathroom, beelining directly to her room and locking the door.

********************

*knock knock* [“Honoka?”] It was Miaka.

The embarrassed and guilty woman lay on her bed and didn’t respond. After a minute she rose and opened the door. Miaka wore clothing again, which Honoka was relieved to see. The owl woman also radiated a mien of conflicted guilt and seemed smaller in many ways.

“I’m sorry, I…” The usually formidable and forthright owl couldn’t find the right words. Clacking her beak closed, she just looked soulfully at Honoka with those giant eyes of hers.

Honoka sighed, deciding on maturity and motioned for the kikiyaon to come in, though she pointedly left the door open and went to some cushions in the middle of the room.

Both seated, it took a couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence before Miaka got the hint this was her rodeo. “Ok, I want to be very honest here, I’m not looking for marriage.” She scratched the back of her head and hunched over like she wanted to disappear. “My first husband was a teenage mistake, we had it annulled a month later. I met my second husband while I toured the MMA circuit and, well, we were both fighters. He weighed a hundred pounds (45.3 kg) more than me and he was abusive.”

Honoka pursed her lips but didn’t say anything, letting silence be her response. Miaka continued, her voice sounded dull, flat.

“Then, the Change hit. I grew feathers, he remained human. Despite that, we actually stayed together for another two years and I thought things were improving. I retired from the ring and wanted to start a family. He told me he didn’t want any kid of his to be some kind of creature. I put him in an arm lock and broke his elbow. Left for the nearest dungeon the same day.

“I’ve kinda been focused on delving since then. Its easier to punch mindless dungeon monsters than face my feelings. I thought I found…not quite a family, but a team of people with Leeroy’s. Comrades. I wasn’t a woman, I was a raid leader and a hardas…cot.” She smiled shyly, catching herself there. Honoka gave a tentative smile in return.

“If I’d known they peddled in slavery and pedophilia, I’d have killed them all years ago. Not only do they keep it really, really well hidden, but they also have protection from government. Anything goes in a dungeon, right? They are lucky I only trashed their guildhall and broke most of their hands with a sledgehammer: I should have gone around the place with a pair of hedge clippers and made myself a necklace of bloody dicks.”

Honoka winced in a purely reflexive manner. Not because she sympathized with the degenerates, just a natural response from anyone with male equipment.

“For six months, I’ve been trying to scrounge work. I’m radioactive down here, and no one wants to even be seen near me. I can delve by myself, but delvers make money from selling what they find. If I can’t sell, I can’t eat. Figured the only way to escape was return to Japan and try the Osaka dungeon. Then I received a call from Eve and you took me in.”

Miaka paused. She wasn’t crying, but it looked like she struggled to keep a lid on it. When she continued, her voice trembled slightly. “I am thankful for you all and doubly thankful I received a chance to make things right with Padmava. So, call me crazy, but the sexual atmosphere is rather thick around here and my biological clock is still poking to put a baby inside me. I know you are all married, you’ve explained to me there is no one-night stands or friends with benefits here, but in a moment which I hope doesn’t end everything I wished to gain here, I thought, <what the heck.”

Kneeling, the woman swiftly brought her head down in a formal seiza bow. “I am sorry. If you want, I will pack my things and you will never see me again.”

Honoka still didn’t say anything, but she thought about today and hoped to make the right decision instead of something hasty or emotional. It was challenging. She had trouble even forming the correct words into something coherent.

“I want to make something clear,” Honoka said evenly, still trying to say this appropriately. “It isn’t that I don’t find you attractive or think you couldn’t join my family. If you wanted to make that step, I think we could move forward. I believe we could love each other. However, you don’t want that and I respect you and your reasons. Which is why I hope you can respect my morals. I know it looks like a constant orgy around here but everyone involved is not only consenting, they are committed to the entire family. It isn’t only about sex, it is about trust. And earlier, it felt like a betrayal. Not to you, but to me. I felt like I was about to betray my family and it hurt.”

Miaka seemed like she wanted to say something, but Honoka held up her hand.

“At the end of it all, I need to believe I’m a Christian, that I follow His example. Forgiveness is a big part of that. So is keeping His commandments. You’ve told me you’re sorry and you are willing to pay for your mistake by leaving. I don’t want you to leave and I want to forgive you. I also don’t want to betray my wives. Can you promise me this doesn’t happen again unless you are willing to commit to marriage?”

“Yes.” Miaka replied quickly, yet the conviction in her voice was like waves on a rocky shore.

“Good. Now,” Honoka stood and helped the other woman to her feet, smiling with a bit of mischief on her lips, “we can still get your needs taken care of. Because of Diane’s unique biology, she requires regular feedings and much like my necessity towards multiple wives, she requires more partners than even my harem can provide. I know it sounds contradictory after our little discussion, but to her, its like drinking water every day: it is Racial and we all deal with that.”

“Your family is so weird,” Miaka replied, yet she smiled while sagging a bit in relief.