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Ritual

Guardian Transformation

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Part one of two

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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“It wasn't my fault! I didn't mean – ah! No! There was no offence caused, this is a definite misunderstanding! Just listen to me."

Tyree gasped as he was hauled up the long staircase to the temple, rising within the deep forest. Heat clung to his skin, though perspiration slicked down his clothes to his skin, a curse snarling up from the back of his throat.

It had been a mistake, yes – but not quite in the sense that he meant. Visiting Pyroc, well… He'd been before and had been there more than enough to become comfortable with the locals, the natives speaking in a rougher, courser tongue, though they shared a secondary language with him too. Tyree usually spoke in that language, thinking that he didn't need to learn more, not when his language was by far superior anyway.

“This is a misunderstanding – heavens, you people!"

He growled as they hauled him into the temple, even though it should have been a splendour to witness on a normal day. His feet kicked out and he scrabbled, hissing through his teeth as he clunked his heel on a plinth at the top of the stairs, head throbbing where a pounding headache was already brewing.

Visitors were not usually welcomed into the temple, except at certain times of the day at certain times of the week and, frankly, he wasn't all that interested in it anyway. It was a grand old structure, that much was certain, but it looked too close to a ruin to him, with the long, winding vines, as if half of it was being reclaimed by the jungle. However, the temple was a well-maintained structure and cleaned daily, people of the civilisation, though they often seemed to be reptilian around the temple, sweeping and cleaning the pathways.

A raptor-like creature, each one different, guarded the temple, though those were something that Tyree was keen to avoid. Anything with sharp teeth that didn't seem to have anyone controlling it, well… He wasn't going to tangle with anything like that at all.

Yet the temple was hewn from a golden stone, some parts carved and other parts made of blocks of stone, some sanded smooth into curves, so they could form columns and more. The majority of the temple was under cover, with a ridged roof, with not a scrap of moss on it in the slightest, and Tyree heaved as he was finally hauled under the roof.

A lizard-man (well, perhaps he was appropriating to assume the tall, lizard-like anthro was a man) ripped with lean, vicious muscle gripped him by the base of his neck, pinching in roughly, and he cried out. It was not the sort of cry that should ever have broken his lips, not in the slightest, but, even then, Tyree's heart pounded far more swiftly than it should have been able to, grunting as he strained to bear through it.

Oh, how they would pay for treating him like that! The lizard people, Aurelian Taithes, should have been a friendly people! Didn't they know who he was? Okay, so, granted, his father was not all that well known, but he was still a dignitary travelling from land to land, known and regarded highly by those in higher circles.

And those there should have realised he was of the same blood, with the same look in his eyes, a narrow nose and a square, broad chin with a strong jawline. No wonder he had suitors practically everywhere, women throwing themselves at his feet…

But that was just his perspective and, well, sometimes that could be skewed. Even he admitted, sometimes, that he was not all as good as he made himself out to be, but that, in his opinion, was just how he had got as far in life as he was. He didn't simply live in the shadow of his father and had made his own name and business too – so he was most certainly someone worth knowing around Pyroc.

He sucked in a breath, drawing himself up tall, despite the grip on the back of his neck.

“Now, I assure you there has been some mistake here," he said roughly, fumbling with the language a little. “If you will be so amenable as to let me out…"

But the muscular lizard dragged him off, as if he was just something to be moved about, leaving him struggling, though he wasn't strong enough to rip himself free of the anthro's grasp. He cursed under his breath and heaved – but he wasn't the only one up there either.

“Ah – Siren? What in heaven's name are you doing here?"

He used a term referring to religion so easily when it was not a part of his daily language and lexicon, though his acquaintance, Siren, groaned as he was bound to a slab, flat on his back.

Although Tyree was not exactly close to Siren, there was a friendship there, of a sort. More often than not, they were drinking buddies, though Siren's trade business was not doing as well as Tyree's was, though that could have been simply because Tyree's connections were stronger than Siren's. It wasn't something he thought all that much about.

Siren, however, was moderately muscled, a little more so than Tyree, with blonde hair that came down around his ears. He had always struck Tyree as a little more on the messy, unkempt side of things, though Tyree tried not to judge someone too harshly, especially when it came to outward appearances. Tyree had been bad at that when he'd been younger, but even he could grow, despite what some people said about him.

He had a smaller face than Tyree, almost babyish, as if he had not quite grown into his own body yet, though Tyree thought Siren was a year, maybe two, older than he was. Some people just took longer to mature like that, in their twenties, and find their style. With the eclectic mismatch of clothing that Siren was prone to wearing, however, that could end up taking longer than expected. As always, Siren was dressed with a brighter, sharper red jacket that cut off across his stomach, showing a bare strip of skin, despite the shirt beneath, and long trousers with a ragged yet flared bottom.

Yeah, Tyree didn't really get his sense of style. He was dressed far more smartly in a jacket with gold-tone buttons and a pressed collar, his trousers showing off the slender nature of his legs. He'd heard the lizard-folk there, in particular, liked slender legs like that, so he was just playing up what he had to work with there.

He blinked at Siren for a moment too long, however, his lower jaw slack without his lips actually parting. And that was enough for the lizard folk, generally very fit with obvious, defined muscle, to heave him over to another slab, though that one was tilted a little, so his head would end up a little higher than his feet. It was still troublesome and he complained as they bound him.

Ah, but it was Tyree's own fault for not seeing the trouble in his binding, in understanding there was something terrible at play that would change the course of his life forever. Perhaps he should have been keener to see the bigger picture…

“Look, let me go now and there won't be any trouble…" He went on, turning his head, trying to call over to an elf with rich, brown skin. “Good sir, come now – now, come on. You know this is going to end badly for someone if you insist on proceeding with tying me up like this. My father will hear about this, but it will not do well for trade matters…"

They cast him a disparaging look, dark and chilling, that drew him up short, but only for a moment. He knew they understood them – there was that flicker of understanding in their eyes, a twitch of the lips and a look up and down that spoke tales of what their lips would not.

Two elves approached both Tyree and Siren at the same time, though Tyree flinched and balled up his hands into fists at the sharp flash of a blade. Yet there was only a grunt on his lips as his clothes were cut from him, a long, draping loincloth there to replacing them.

The “schick" of the knife sent a ripple of fear through him, cold and chilling. It was a primal reaction, something that told him he was in danger, worry finally stirring in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to acknowledge it, not even then, taking a deep breath and willing himself to stay still.

“Get…your hands…" He said through gritted teeth. “Away…from me."

The elf ignored him, though he was sure they knew what he was saying – they had to! But they did not deign to communicate with him, their white hair tied back while the other elf took care of removing Siren's strange clothes from him.

Tyree trembled bodily as his vulnerability was exposed – but only for a moment. That was something, at the very least, and he sighed faintly as the loincloth was whipped into place. Maybe it was something that they wanted to do so they could preserve the sanctity of the temple as a religious space, for they tied the loincloth around his waist before cutting away his underwear too. It left him feeling oddly chilled and exposed, while still technically being covered up.

“Please… Please, let me go! Don't do this to me!"

Siren wailed and Tyree rolled his eyes, puffing out his cheeks as he huffed shortly.

“Siren… Come on, they'll chant or something and they'll let us go," he tried to say, though it was not really in his nature to reassure anyone. “I've seen the displays, the festivals…"

Still, he could not say that in full confidence, as he did not know what they thought he'd done against them. In that matter, Tyree was well and truly in the dark, his arms bound with rough rope, the slab warming to the heat of his body, though it may as well have been a block of ice for how comfortable it was.

“Unff…"

Tyree clenched his jaw, shaking his head. No, he wouldn't complain, he'd be the man they all could not be, even with the afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows of the temple. Some of them were stained glass, casting colourful patterns across the floor. One of them was of a raptor in purple and blue, though it was rendered abstract in the design of the stained glass and how each individual piece of glass was connected to the next.

The altar rose before him and he took a breath, eyeing it up, though it was more foreboding than he had before given it credit for. The citizens swayed around him, murmuring words in a language he did not understand – for he did not even think it was the predominant language of the city and wider kingdom. It flowed around him like music, but he could not relax into it, even though Tyree had a penchant for music and even played some string instruments for himself.

The altar loomed and his breath came shorter and more sharply in his throat as he watched the elves take Siren in hand, forcing his head back and pouring a thick, purple liquid down his throat. It clung to Siren's lips where it did not flow seamlessly into his mouth, and Siren coughed and gagged as he tried to take it down, fighting it the whole time.

Tyree might not have known what Siren was fighting, but he knew Siren was no fool either.

Stay calm. This is your only chance.

Bound to the upright slab before the altar, Tyree twisted, his arms spread on either side of his body, though they were hooked “up" slightly, bent at the elbows, as if he was trying to hold his palms out for something. It was not a natural position to be bound in, not in the slightest, and he case a frustrated yet stomach churning glare at his somewhat-friend. Sometimes, frustration was a safer option than facing the reality of the situation as the changing rose around them, like morning birdsong in the air, yet at a lower tenor.

Siren, bound to the other slab, whipped his head back and forth, a drooling gleam of saliva at the corner of his lips.

“Tyree… Tyree…" He groaned, his jaw slack and head lolling forward. “Nnngghh… Get me…out…"

Tyree scowled and shook his head, somehow feeling above it all, even then.

“And what do you think I can do to get you out of this?" He scoffed. “They're just trying to frighten us, the Pyroc peoples are not aggressive…"

At least, they hadn't been in his experience, though the twinge of unrest in his stomach was quickly squashed. He had to be bold, had to be strong, lashed there, his legs splayed wide, only that decrepit loincloth between his legs to maintain his modesty in any form.

He took a deep, steadying breath. Tyree had to. He shook his head disparagingly at Siren, looking down on him, even then. Siren was such a loose cannon, always prey to his emotions; but Tyree wasn't like that. He'd hold his head high, talk to whoever seemed to be in charge and get everything straightened out again. Most likely, he'd even get himself an apology and reparations for the wrongs done to him.

Yet that was wrong, so very wrong… He was wrong and Tyree was not used to be wrong, not as the throng of people gathered before the altar, filling the space, vines twisting around the columns as if part of the temple had already been reclaimed by nature. They had a deity there – but Tyree had never looked into that one all that much. When he did not subscribe to a religion himself, it did not feel worth it to research what they worshipped.

Maybe Tyree should have done so. Maybe that would have stopped him from causing offence to the deity on the day of worship. Or maybe he would have found some other way to get himself into trouble.

Who could tell?

“What? No – please! Please, don't! No – gah!"

Siren heaved and tried to rip himself free of his bonds, yet he was tilted back, his head higher than his feet, desperation lacing every muscle in his body. Tyree was just about to tell him that there was nothing to worry about, that he was being a fool and he was going to get them out of there soon enough – when everything changed.

An elf with a dark edge of liner around his eyes that made them look strikingly fierce muttered in his own language, too low for Tyree to catch – and wrenched Siren's head back by his twist of blonde hair. Siren screeched, though there was barely a moment in which for either of them to react as the man's lips were forced open around the neck of a bottle. Forced to gulp it down, bright orange liquid drooled out from the corners of Siren's lips, his eyes wide and bulging, a gleam of moisture on his cheek that could have been tears. Not that Siren would ever get the chance to admit that.

Not as his body heaved and he gulped, the neck of the bottle taken from him. He whined and warbled, fingers twitching, though his words were lost in the slurring mess his voice box had become.

“Guuuhhh… Nnngghhh…"

“Siren? Siren, what's the matter with you?"

The elves and lizard-folk, among other anthros, chanted, linking hands and swaying back and forth. The language was one of religion, binding and bringing them together, regardless of their culture, learning or upbringing, and there was no way for Tyree to understand it, not even then. It would not have saved him anyway as a breeze licked at his bare chest and, once more, he strove to tug fruitlessly at his tight, rope bonds.

But Siren did not fight them – not in any way that could have been considered conscious thought, after all. His olive skin lightened, strangely so, saliva bubbling and frothing at the corners of his lips. If Tyree had been able to recoil he would have done so – though the moment was far too late to even think of running away.

Not as he was forced to watch, blinking too rapidly, his eyes dry, as something happened to Siren. The chanting wove and wound around him, though Tyree did not take it in, not as Siren's face bulged forward. His lips strained and stretched as if they had become softer and a lot more pliable than normal – but what was pushing them out like that? Siren grunted and heaved, his jaws hanging open grotesquely wide, showing his teeth and the gaping darkness at the back of his throat.

“What the…"

Tyree whispered, not even able to complete the utterance, his throat tight with the clawing grip of fear. He hadn't really thought anything could happen, but the bubbling ripple and pull of Siren's skin over his body could not be denied.

It was like something was trying to claw its way out of him, pushing against his skin, but it was far worse than that. Especially as Siren's head lolled to the side, his chest swelling out into a rounder shape, narrowing and pressing in from the sides.

“Siren… Siren, are you…"

He tried to call out to him, he really did, even though he only knew Siren as a passing friend in that city. He didn't really know him, not on an intimate, close level, though perhaps that was his failing.

Siren let out a wet hiss as his body twitched and shuddered, pulling down and forward, away from the slab. It was as if all the energy he'd had in him was being drained, seeping away, moment by moment, his skin darkening again.

But it was not the same shade as before and Tyree stared at him, fascinated horror sinking deep. It was not as if he could go anywhere else, but his eyes kept going back to Siren, taking in how feathers sprouted from him in a blue and black sheen. It covered his nakedness, somewhat, though Tyree clamped his jaws shut as he bit down on his back teeth, a muscle jumping anxiously at the corner of his mouth.

It was the feathers that set his heart jumping, however, cold to his bones and heaving as if he was going to let the bile churning in his stomach loose. What did the feathers mean? What the hell was Siren turning into? Were they making him into some kind of monster…bird?

Tyree paled, but no one there noticed his fear, not as he swallowed hard, his lips gleaming with a delirious sheen of saliva. No one knew about his phobia of birds, yet he couldn't even get his breath to come evenly, taking short, sharp puffs of air, just doing all that he could to get oxygen into his lungs.

No, no, no… He stared, wide-eyed, horror gripping him. More feathers appeared, his vision going blurry, though he could barely even think of poor Siren, the one who was going through the horrendous transformation.

He strained at his bonds, fighting, heaving, his chest rising and falling more and more sharply. He couldn't do it, he wouldn't do it! Moisture pricked at the corners of his eyes from how viciously he was straining his eyes, yet no one paid him any mind and, of course, the bonds held fast, rope cutting raw and rough into his skin.

Hell…

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It was not hell, but worse. Or some would have seen his fate as a blessing, depending on their perspective on life. It was not such to Tyree and Siren, not as Siren gargled and gagged, the loincloth falling aside as his shaft was exposed.

And it was there that Tyree's eyes landed, eyes bulging in horror at how Siren's penis shrank. Of course, he had no idea what size Siren's genitals had been before – but he didn't have to know to see just how they pulled back up into his body. As the blue and black feathers swept down his body, covering his back and his hindquarters in bands of alternating shades, his genitals pressed back inside. It was quite as if unseen fingers were tucking them away, a softer sheen of grey feathers surrounding them, light and appearing almost fluffy like fur.

Some traitorous part of Tyree twitched, wanting to run his fingers through that thicker fluff of feathers, wanting to see if it felt as he thought it did. But it was an intrusive thought and not one that belonged in his head, not in the slightest, so he pushed it away. He would never have even wanted to touch feathers anyway, whether they were on a bird or something else. He still recalled, in vicious vividness, how that bird had attacked him, when he had been much, much younger, the flap of wings closing around his head.

It was ridiculous how one incident, with the air of the logical, could shape his life, having him avoiding even the waterfowl of the noble dignitaries that they did so enjoy having in the grounds of their large, expansive homes. He'd had to make up excuses to get away from interacting with them, back then, yet his fear seemed to race towards him as he sweated coldly, his underarms damp in the worst of ways.

The slick chill was not grounding for him, not as Siren's head twisted and his neck cracked, something happening to the bones. Tyree gagged and wrenched himself away, yet he could not keep his eyes from Siren, not even then.

More feathers covered Siren's belly and chest, his nipples sinking back into his skin. It didn't look like they would be needed anymore, not as his massive jaws elongated viciously, drooling through his teeth. Yet those very teeth could not remain in the facsimile of a human construct anymore, oh no, not when they could be sharper and sharper, drawing out into vicious points, so sharp that Tyree could feel the bite of them even from a distance.

What the hell was going on? Why was Tyree becoming a feathered monster? Something like a dragon-bird, with jaws like that, though his mouth had a beak-like look to it. All eyes were on Siren, ignoring Tyree for the moment, as his beak-like mouth exploded.

“No…"

The word was a whispered plea, though the only one Tyree would utter, considering all that was going on, not rooted in the moment. He huffed and panted, short, shallow breaths clawing at his lungs, yet all he could see was the straining of Siren's jaw, how the lower one cracked out for further than naturally was possible, extending three inches beyond the upper. The changes did not come in evenness or time with one another, jerky and uncontrolled, his eyes squeezed shut and then wide open, as if he was struggling with every aspect of it. And who wouldn't?

Yet the beak-like mouth snapped shut, teeth interlocking with one another even as they turned pointed, a little curved so they all slotted together neatly. He growled, strangled as if something was tightening around his throat, and snapped at thin air, bobbing and weaving his head back and forth.

The transforming creature, something between a dragon and a bird, with all those feathers, keening and warbled. There may have been words tangled up in there, though Tyree could not discern them.

Yet he did not know Siren well enough to comfort him, no, not in the slightest, not as his jaws settled, his nose rounding a little, so it was not tapered to a point anymore. His feathers smoothed out in a ripple of feathers and flesh, like clay being moulded by human hands, and Tyree shuddered, the man's ears sucking back into the sides of his head. Something about that made his stomach churn and lurch, feathers streaking down his arms, longer ones sprouting sharply, as if they were actively stabbing their way out from his body through the paper-thin barrier of his skin.

His arms didn't seem to want to stay bent at the angle they were, stretched out nearly straight, and the transforming man fought the moment, clattering his jaws as his teeth sharpened further, knocking against the others. A black snout offered him leathery skin across his nose and around the front side of his muzzle, lining up to his eyes, where a feathery deluge, with brighter blue splashes, began just between his eyes. The feathers framed him, but there was nothing soft about them, even as their brilliance caught Tyree's eye.

Where a flicker of colour should have brought with it a sparkle of beauty…it was despondent. A human body was never meant to twist and contort like that, the man's bones crunching and cracking, even though Siren seemed little a man anymore. His hips pushed back sharply against the rock slab and he grunted deeply, drooling.

Then and only then did Tyree realise what his somewhat friend was becoming, though the knowledge did him no good either. For Siren was no longer a man, nor either a dragon or a bird.

What the hell? Tyree blinked, his jaws parted. No… This is…no… This can't be happening!

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That's not real_!_

He was a raptor. That mildly assuaged his avian fear but didn't make things any less horrendous as his stomach lurched humiliatingly, the transforming Jaguarhawk snarling and drooling, saliva gleaming off the dark skin of his snout.

Snarling and heaving, fighting his bonds, eyes wide and wild even as they migrated, very slightly, closer to the sides of his head, allowing him a wider range of vision than before. It wasn't about to do him any good, of course, the rope cutting into his arms as they transformed into strangely feathered appendages: not quite wings but better than mere arms too. Tyree exhaled in a puff of breath, eyes flicking to the side where a second orange bottle of fluid, the potion that had transformed Siren, was being decanted.

No… This isn't right, this is screwed up! The lizard people… No!

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No, no, no – he couldn't turn into a raptor! Not like Siren! Not like that! Tyree screamed and heaved, fighting madly, maniacally, single-minded in his intent to free himself. Arrogance stripped from him in a spray of spittle, lazy eyes turned towards him, even though Tyree was not the focus in that moment, not as the raptor's legs re-set themselves.

After all, Siren, from what it looked liked, would remain as a biped, even though he would run tipped forward, like the raptors he had seen around the temples. They'd come in all sorts of colours, bright ones and more muted ones too, but they hadn't been a threat to anyone, except if they'd tried to approach the altar or place of worship with aggression. Thieves were the ones most likely to fall foul of the raptors, the guardians.

He groaned, shaking his head, though the raptor's transformation all fell into place now that Tyree knew what was happening to his friend. The shift and change to Siren's hips made sense, along with the toenails curling out into wicked, black, hooked claws came quickly, scraping into the stone and leaving white marks in their wake.

“Unff…"

Was that a chuff from Siren? Tyree wasn't sure if he'd imagined it, his heart drumming a beat in his ears as a tall, slender lizard-person with long, elegant limbs approached him, the potion delicately cupped between two hands. Tyree panted and tried to twist away as much as possible, even as it was lifted to his lips.

He couldn't let them. No… Not to him! No feathers… Even if a Jaguarhawk was not a bird, he couldn't let it happen to him!

“No… No, don't…"

Even then, he did not beg. He couldn't be, not even when he knew he was far, far out of his depth, that he had to find a way, any way, to get them to understand he didn't want to be transformed. The mostly transformed raptor, looking like the Jaguarhawk he'd seen depicted in their paintings and writings of the artistic side of the city, twisted in their bonds, something pink and fleshy looking protruding, ever so slightly, from the slit that their genitals had retreated.

Oh, and he so very much didn't want to consider what had happened to the raptor's balls, where they were, what even was behind the shiny yet uncomprehending eyes of Siren's. Was that even Siren in there still?

Resolve settled, chilling, into Tyree's bones.

They're not taking me too, no! No, they're never going to make me like that!

Tyree would never know, not as they fought him to get his head up and back, ignoring him snapping at them, heaving and twisting, fear giving him fresh strength with which to fight back with. Yet another pair of anthros, a hyena and one of the lizard folk, framed him on either side, helping force the neck of the bottle between his lips, his head back and liquid spluttering from his mouth.

And yet he swallowed, against his will, someone rubbing his throat, a teasing claw tracing down his neck. They encouraged him to swallow even as he tried to pull away, heart pounding, horror melding with fear as he fought the urge to retch.

“Do you not wish to join your friend?" The lizard said in a low, gravelly tone. “You are honoured… And all for your misdeed. Many would be fed to the raptors for such a sin."

“But… I…"

He tried to protest, the liquid oddly warm as it slipped down his throat to pool in his belly, his stomach sloshing uncomfortably from the weight of too much in there, all at once. Opposite him, the raptor twisted and broke one of their bonds, though Tyree wasn't sure it was even right to consider Siren by that name anymore.

Was he human? Could he see him? Or would he hunt him as a temple miscreant, as the other raptors were trained to do?

Continued in part two of two.