growth Arcana Chapter 1

[Muscleace]

Chapter 1 – The Magician

 

            The streetlights flicked on, signaling the start of the evening. The clouds drifted over the cobalt sky and the moon made its presence known. A cloaked man sat down at a table underneath on of the dim lights. The table had an ornate blue tablecloth and a single deck of cards on top of it. He sat and began to shuffle the deck mindlessly. Humming a verses of a hymn to himself, he finished shuffling the deck. He straightened the tablecloth and carefully set down the deck.

 

            This man was by no means a hustler or gambler. He was a fortuneteller, a reader of the cards. He folded his hands on the table and sighed. With his face looking to the stars he murmured, “Let’s see if I can find someone tonight.

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     Malcolm was on his way to his debate team competition. His skinny body scurried along the sidewalk in a hurry. He was going to be late and it was already getting dark out. He waited at an intersection and waited for the ‘go’ signal. His backpack weighted heavily on his weak shoulders, so he set it down and rolled his shoulders in relief.

 

 

     The last sliver of sun slipped under the horizon as he waited impatiently. He checked his watch several times. After growing too impatient he peered around the corner and wondered if he could use that street as a shortcut. He glanced and his watch once again and made a decision. His hand grabbed his backpack by the top handle and he turned the corner. He tried to go at a jog but quickly tired himself. He dropped his bag and put his hands on his knees as he panted. “No wonder Rod and the rest of the wrestlers tease me during gym. I can’t run to save my life.”

 

 

     In truth, Malcolm was no athlete. Brains were his companion, specifically his knowledge of strategy. It was the reason he had decided to join the debate team, but he found no real comfort there either. Nathan, the captain of the Debate team, was no better to Malcolm than Rod or the other wrestlers. It is often said smarter people can be more damaging when they are the bully, and for Malcolm, that is true. Malcolm was used to the jeers from the wrestlers about his lack of athleticism, but his captain insulted him on an intellectual level. This destroyed most of his confidence, of what little he had. The only reason he stayed with the team was due to his belief that if he left, the bullying would become even worse.

 

     No amount of strategic planning could get him out of the mess he was in now. He planned to just take a quick nap to look refreshed for the debate, but ended up oversleeping. Rushed out of the house with his bag, but forgot to wear an undershirt and grab a tie. He knew just how Nathan would get onto him for this. He sighed and finally looked at his surroundings. A look of pure panic overcame his face as he realized the area looked unfamiliar. He was lost.

 

 

     His head frantically searched back and forth for some way to get him back on track. “I’m definitely going to be late now,” he thought as he mentally kicked himself for not waiting for the signal to change. The street was dark and no cars could be seen. All of the stores and building were closed, even a few were boarded up. The streetlights dimly illuminate path forward. He sighed again and began to walk forward hoping he could find somewhere to get his bearings. The only noise that could be heard was his backpack being dragged behind him.

 

 

     He somberly looked ahead and noticed a man’s shadow under one of the streetlights across the street. A little light of hope lit inside him. His pace quickened slightly, “Maybe I won’t be so late.” As he drew closer to the figure he realized the figure was sitting and cloaked. He slowed back to his original pace as some apprehension came over him. Beginning to wonder if it was safe to approach the figure, he came to a stop. He could hear his own heartbeat and he began to breathe hard, but as much as he wanted to, he could not approach the figure.

 

 

     “I know you are lost,” he heard out of nowhere and became startled.

 

 

     “Excu-cuse m-m-me…” he said softly.

 

 

     “No need to be frightened. Come over here and let me show you the way.” A voice that sounded like it came from the direction of the figure.

 

 

     Malcolm meekly walked forward and to the front of the table. Before Malcolm could say a word, the man took a deck of cards and laid some of them out in front of Malcolm. “Pick one,” he said in a gentle tone. Confused, he picked one up and showed it to the cloaked man. The card was not a playing card like he expected it to be; instead it was extremely ornate with an image of an infinity sign over fire with a male figure seeming to direct the flames. He looked up from the card and saw the man’s face was obscured by the shadow of his hood, but Malcolm could just make out a smile from the man.

 

     “Ah, the Magician,” once again Malcolm was taken aback by the man’s voice. “You see boy, I don’t read maps, I read the cards. I can see in your future lies confidence in both yourself and your use of knowledge.” There was a serious note to his voice that creeped Malcom out a little.

 

 

     Malcolm looked away and thought to himself, “What a waste of time.” But as soon as he said it the man pointed his finger down the dimly lit street.

 

 

     “Now go or else you are going to be late,” the man said, surprising Malcolm as he left with his bag in hand.

 

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            Malcolm walked down the empty street, extremely weird out by the encounter with the cloaked man. A shiver ran though him as he thought about getting a jacket, but the cold stopped bothering him a few minutes after. He reasoned it was because he was working hard enough just to lug around his backpack. Sweat began to form on his pasty skin. Stopping for a moment, he caught his breathe and set down his bag.

 

            “Whew. Why is it so damn hot?” He said, tugging at his collar. His watch felt tight and he loosened it back a hole, then two holes. He then noticed the time, “Shit I’m gonna be so late.” Malcolm had never been the one to cuss often, but this night was considerably stressful for him.

 

            He threw his bag onto his shoulders and moved at a brisk pace down the lane. He didn’t seem to realize that his backpack did not feel as heavy as it did before. His shoulders now had more meat on them than they had minutes beforehand. In fact, his shoulders also widened to match their new thickness. Because his shoulders were so wide, instead of a v-taper, they gave his torso more of a T-shape. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, he rolled his shoulders causing his shirt to stretch a bit. The shirt itself had become darkened by his profuse sweat.

 

            He wiped some sweat from his brow, thinking nothing of how his bicep bunched up in his sleeve. When he walked, his shoulders and arms now had a swing to them thanks to the new found muscle mass. The now dark blue fabric was pulled taught over his biceps, not to the point of tearing, but tight enough to easily show them off. Had there been no sleeve at all, one could see the veins begin to snake down the meaty limb.

 

            He came to a pause again to rub his shoulders. He could not remember why he was feeling so sore tonight. His right hand moved to his left shoulders and massage the pumped muscle. As he squeezed it, his knuckles cracked and widened. This was followed by each thin finger crack, lengthening, and finally thickening until they looked like the hand of a person who was well versed in the ways of weightlifting. His left hand mimicked the transformation when he rubbed his right shoulder. He shook his shoulders afterwards, forgetting about the momentum they now carried as his backpack swung from side to side. It did seem to loosen him up, but he still felt uncomfortable. As he swallowed he realized he had buttoned his top button in his rush to leave. Mentally facepalming himself, he undid the top button and let his neck breathe. He rubbed it as he cleared his throat. His adam’s apple was now prominently displayed on the column of corded muscle. He cracked his neck and realized how much time he had been wasting. “Fuck, I gotta get moving,” he said in a much lower voice than before. Even when he talked normally it sounded commanding and confident.

 

            The only words that could describe Malcolm’s current gate would be awkward and comical. With each step his shoulders moved in an exaggerated motion. His arms swung in a wider radius due to the motion of his shoulders. All the while, this did not bother him, his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking about where he was going and why he was so damn sore.  He grumbled to himself as his thoughts jumbled about in his head. He knew he was going to a competition, but a thought lingered in the back of his mind that he had just come from one.

 

He was contemplating how he would go into the debate. Would he charge straight at his opponent or let the opposition think they have the advantage and flip them over? He mulled it over in his head. Shaking his head, brown locks of hair grew out as he cleared his mind. He needed to get his head out of the previous match. “A match. Oh yeah! My match.” He grumbled to himself as he sped into a brisk jog. Each leg began to bulk up into strong pillars of muscle. His calves became firm and began to take on a diamond shape. Veins snaked in both directions from his calves towards his feet and thighs. As they spread, his legs lengthened from an average 5’7” to a more confident 6’ stature. The added five inches seemed to make him adjust his gait to show off more confidence.

 

His thighs had begun to push against his pants as they widened. And with large thighs comes a matching set of glutes which promptly strained the back seams of his pants. Each pump of his veins added more definition and strength to his upper legs. This effect quickly trickled down his legs and sculpted his calves into pistons of hard muscle. One step forward caused his right foot to burst out of his shoe, lengthening and widening from its previous size 9 to a proper size 13. Another step had a nice Nike shoe reform around his larger foot. Two more steps and the process was repeated by his left foot. His lower body had been remade to push himself towards his opponent and knock them down. His underwear began to stretch and switch from being made of cotton to being made of Lycra. It snuck down each leg slightly and began moving up his abs and back.

 

As the lycra crept over his torso, new memories crept into his mind. He was coming from a match, but also going to one. The lycra moved over his pecs, his nipples now big enough that they evidently pushed against it. He was going to a debate match, but what match was he coming from? The material slipped over his wider back. The match had to do something with his pumped muscles, but what kind of match would do that? The lycra split and formed two straps over each of his arching traps. It was really bugging him; how could he forget something so soon? The material tightened over his muscles forming into a dark blue singlet with his school’s mascot on the front. He was the star wrestler of his high school varsity team.

 

The realization lit up his face as he finally figured it out and his confusion quickly left his mind. This realization also brought the transformation to his head. Melcolm’s neck thickened to one that was namesake to his sport. His jaw chiseled itself until he was almost GQ model worthy, but that was only a matter of time until it surpassed GQ model worthy in the coming years. Stubble poked its way out of his chin, giving him some designer stubble. It was a chocolaty brown, just like his hair that had begun to curl slightly at the end. His lips puffed out just slightly and adjusted to give him a slight cocky sneer.

 

Melcor pulled out his phone and texted a “Where r u?” to a contact named Rod on his phone, which had been his watch moments earlier. He slipped the phone into his pocket of his dress pants and readjusted his black tie that he didn’t have moments beforehand. Just a few moments later he received a text back from Rod that read, “Was still at the meet. Had to talk to coach about moving up a weight class. Plus had to pick up YOUR jacket that you forgot. Be at the crossing in a min.”

 

Meyer smacked himself in the forehead as he moved to the intersection a few feet ahead to look for Rod’s car. How could he have forgotten that he asked his boyfriend to pick up his jacket that he needed for the Debate competition tonight. He knew Nathan wouldn’t get on his best guy for being a little late, but forgetting to dress properly was unforgivable.

 

Sure enough, a once unfamiliar car pulled up beside Meyes as the doors unlocked. He got inside and Rod from the wrestling team in the driver’s seat. Rod’s face was slightly unfamiliar. I wasn’t the harsh look Malcolm had been used to, it had a kind demeanor that Meyer loved. Rod was no longer a bully, but instead protected the nerds from bullies, which Meyer loved. Meyer was still staring at Rod when he began driving again, but hit a red light.

 

“What?” Rod asked as he slowed the car to a stop.

 

“Nothing… Just looking at how beautiful you are,” and he moved over and planted a kiss on his boyfriend’s lips.

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The sun finished setting as the fortune teller smiled. He packed up his cards for the night and retreated into the shadows…

[hempmonkey]

Nice quick chapter, pretty much ticks all the boxes for a growth scene, in my opinion. I'm assuming that this will be a series of encounters with this fortune teller? Interested to see where you take this...

[Muscleace]

Yeah. I plan to make it a full series. And will actually be able to finish this one.

[Aronymous]

Why use a different font? It's pointless and makes it annoying to read to my sans-serif-eyes.

[Muscleace]

I use Times New Roman. That is the default for me. I hope my font didn't deter from your enjoyment of my story.

[Kamaswami]

Great story, can't wait for more.