Fated Scales: Dreaming of Tomorrow
Fated Scales
A novel by Cheetahs(Aryn Storm)
Chapter Description: As his transformation into a feral dragoness begins, Alex is faced with the brutal reality of his dream.
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Chapter 5: Dreaming of Tomorrow
Alex wasn't asleep. Nor was he awake. He hovered somewhere in between those two states, riding a perpetual wave of numbness, uncertain whether he was alive, dead, or both.
And then, unexpected as always, it happened. That tremor, surging through his very bones. The abrupt gasp at being torn from his plane of lethargy and hurled into the world of the living in the most brutal, most sudden of ways. Every time his senses awoke, it felt like an electrical jolt, similar to the one everybody experienced while falling to their death in a dream.
Alex jerked to awareness, panting, blinking, sweating. He sweltered under the sheets that he tossed aside, allowing the cooler air to sail over his naked body.
"Ghah...hah...hah..."
He inhaled, then exhaled, forcing back the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Gods. Since when had sleeping become a chore? He dreamt no dreams, and at times, he woke up during a coughing fit, his throat dry, his eyes bulged in their sockets, his limbs more flaccid than his cock.
Blessedly, this wasn't one of those times, so Alex swallowed the droplets of moisture coating his tongue and raised his head to look towards the broad windows of his room.
Night time. Darkness everywhere, and for everyone who lived within the pine forest sprawling on the horizon.
Not for Alex. His sharp, draconic eyes adjusted to the slivers of moonlight creeping through the clouds, painting a serene landscape basked in silvery hues. To a dragon, night didn't resemble the dawn or dusk humans perceived, nor was it ever pitch black. Night looked like night, plain and simple.
"Ghhhm," Alex groaned, digging his face into the pillow. Drowsiness flowed through him. Everything felt stiff and unresponsive, with the exception of his tail stump and wing bones. Those always throbbed and hurt.
"Fuck this," Alex mumbled to himself. His hand sought the lamp sitting on the nightstand to his right, poking at it with his tapered, ivory claws, searching for the switch to turn it on. When he found it, he pressed against it, hard enough to push the lamp off its perch.
The soft thud tore at Alex' insides. It was the sound of yet another failure, proof that nothing ever worked in his favor. Right now, he had to sleep on his chest. Side positions added pressure onto the protruding swells of his future horns, the skin covering them sore and over sensitive. Sleeping on his back was nigh impossible thanks to his developing wings and tail, so that left him with only one option: To bury his face into the pillow and try his best to ignore the stiffness of his body, a droplet of water in a pond compared to the plethora of other aches afflicting him. They were too many to count, too many to keep track of.
And they all worked together in turning Alex' sleep into a travesty. For his entire life, Alex had known one thing, that some people were day persons, and others, night persons.
Alex, on the other hand, wasn't even a person anymore. The swishing sound of his flimsy, light grey scales rubbing against his pajamas on his way out of the bed reminded him of that every single time. And that wasn't even the worst of things! Alex could have lived with soft scales for skin. Pain was manageable to an extent, and the same could be said about his sleeping positions and patterns. No, no, no. What sucked the most--what made Alex constantly consider reverting his transformation-- was the state of exhaustion in which he perpetually lived.
Lately, his head pounded constantly, a thrum that only his now pointy ears could perceive. His legs shook and wavered when he put weight on them, forcing his toes to curl inwards and drive those sharp claws into the rug just to keep steady. Dizziness became an ordinary symptom, and his stomach always felt heavy, despite it being empty and rumbling.
Alex cupped his face in his palms and closed his eyes. Another breakdown threatened to overtake him. He fought against it, regulating his breath, trying his hardest to accept the reality of his situation, where pain and fatigue were a constant.
Somehow, he did it. His feelings successfully suppressed, Alex sat on a chair beside the window, on his side, keeping his tail stump out of the way. A quick glance at the clock revealed the late hour.
Three twenty-six AM, neither night nor morning. Something in between, just like Alex.
He clapped his hands twice to turn on the light, his pupils shrinking to narrow slits in a fraction of a second, no sting or tears involved. With the lights on, everything looked the same, only a tad brighter. What was the point in turning on the light if Alex' dragon eyes already pierced the thickest darkness? Why did he endure this transformation one exasperating, bleak day at a time, only to become something that was vastly different compared to his human self? More importantly, how would he be able to withstand this recurring torture?
These questions became Alex' mantra, a cherished companion that was there with him every time he woke up. It seemed appropriate, to ponder upon the matters Doran always shoved to the side in private, to assess his capabilities without having his dear friend around to exaggerate the hell out of everything. No, this transformation wasn't beautiful. Yes, it hurt and it sucked. And maybe, just maybe, Alex did not want it, nor was he truly willing to be forced into something he might regret later down the road.
Why, why, why did everything have to become so complicated? Why couldn't things be simpler? He used to look forward to this, to laugh about it with Doran, to pet each other on the back and convince themselves that the only way to be complete was to go through this transformation. Every time they broached this subject, positivity encased them in a cocoon of eagerness and happiness, shielding them from the ugly truth of this situation.
Nowhere did it say that the metamorphosis process would be such a slow, tedious, anxiety-inducing, depressing episode of Alex' life. Doran seldom mentioned these things, and Alex--well, in his case, it was sheer ignorance that made him sign those damn papers.
He wasn't even mad. In fact, it was amazing, how a name scrawled with ink upon several papers sealed his fate. From here on now, everything became necessary, inevitable, irreversible, regardless of the lies Alex told to himself to feel better. He used to have a choice, but Gintec stripped him off it, putting him on a desolate path with no way back.
Armed with this epiphany, Alex strolled into the private bathroom that was part of his dormitory, one wobbly footstep at a time. The fluffy rug gave way to heated tiles, the transition quite pleasant to Alex' mostly human feet.
He stopped in front of the sink, hands placed on its sides, eyes fixated on the draining...thingy, the one through which water flowed out of the sink. Every time he came in here, apprehension gripped Alex' spine, rendering him unable to look into the mirror, to gauge the deformity of his features, to see his humanity fading away, bit by ugly bit.
To hell with this, man. You have to do it. Better to see it for yourself than have Doran point it out to you.
Even with the extra motivation, Alex' fingers still clenched and relaxed around the porcelain of the sink, his inner struggle making his stomach churn with renewed nerves. Rather than risk a full blown panic attack, Alex took in a deep breath and confronted his inner demon--or in his case, dragon.
It looked the same as it did yesterday, and the day before it, and the day before it, and so on. His skin traded its pink hue for a wan grey, crease-like webbing that had spread over every inch of his skin, outlining the diaphanous layer of scales that began forming over his skin--or started to replace it. Alex dabbed the tip of a finger softly at one of his cheeks, trailing it over his alien, makeshift skin to feel its overly soft but resilient texture.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg. During the past week, his nose began to retract into his face in that Voldemort type of fashion, soon to be gone completely. His chin stretched forward, same for his jaws, his bone structure shifting from his broad human head into the elongated, triangular shape of a dragoness' face. That made his brow look squat and his mouth to become long and weird. His teeth also started to undergo changes, turning slimmer and sharper, same for his tongue.
Gods, I look like a troll who has been clubbed in the head to hell and beyond.
A dozen jokes related to his face popped into Alex' mind, making him smile and reveal those too white, too sharp teeth in the process. Creepy!
But what freaked him the most had to do with the way his hair changed. It began to recede on the sides, most of it sticking to the area between Alex' growing horns, white, soft and luxurious. It had a fine texture, like snow leopard fur, and a similar thickness. His beard suffered the same fate, trading its roughness for a silky feeling. If his eyes retained their blue color, maybe Alex would have had the chance to look like Dante from Devil May Cry, but that wasn't the case. If anything, he had more in common with the deformed demons Dante came across.
His torso certainly looked the part, stretched out as it was, giving Alex the appearance of those tall, spindly basketball players. His ribs became more noticeable, their outline becoming more prominent with every passing day. His chest narrowed, acquiring a flat look that unnerved Alex greatly. True, he had never gotten into shape to boast a six pack and taut, manly pecks, but right now, he had neither, the rigid grey plates that began to form over his chest covering everything that made him a man.
No pecks, no abs, and soon enough, no dick to speak of. The signs stared Alex straight in that ugly, misshapen mug of his, in spite of the slow, undergoing development of that particular area. His testicles only shrunk for now, same for his pouch, his white pubes thinning with each day, until they would no longer conceal that shriveled cock and sack from sight.
Alex shuddered. His chest tightened, making it hard for him to breathe. Pain flared within the stump of his tail, the same ache afflicting the bony buds protruding out of his shoulder blades of his soon to be wings. What was he? Who was he? Still Alex? Or someone--something--else?
Although his torso had begun to stretch, his arms and legs retained their length--or hell, maybe they had shrunk as well while Alex wasn't paying attention. Whatever happened, it made Alex unable to reach his groin from an upright position. At first, it seemed rather comical, but now, it became downright demoralizing. Unable to touch himself, unable to jerk off and release his pent-up frustrations, Alex tossed a bath gown over his alien body and strolled out of his room. He kept his head down and his shoulders slumped as he exited into the long, narrow corridor of the second floor. Several rooms lined each side, the end opening into a balcony with a stunning view. Alex considered going there to be alone with his thoughts, but the roof of the house sheltered the balcony from the winds, and Alex had a burning desire to let the crisp air of the night caress his heated body.
He descended the staircase, his claws pattering upon the naked wood, hand trailing along the bannister on the way down to the huge living room stretching around Alex. The wide space rivaled with that of a mansion, the candelabrum above stretching its golden arms into infinite directions, casting dim light upon the sofas, armchairs, pool table, and every other crap that Doran had brought in here for the sake of a modern lifestyle.
The prospect of living in such an impressive house used to excite Alex at first. After all, in Doran's own words, this villa had everything: A pool in the back, a sauna adjacent to it, fitness room, gaming room, and even a cramped up place Doran called a sex room, the posters plastered upon the walls meant to titillate the senses.
Up here, a few thousand feet above sea level, Doran and Alex had everything a modern day citizen wanted, enclosed in a natural reserve secluded from the world. It used to be a dream...
Until Alex stopped dreaming, the tribulations of his transformation slowly chipping away at his sanity, making it impossible for him to enjoy himself. Playing pool with claws for nails wasn't fun. Game pads felt awkward in his grip, and his stubby fingers felt stiff and unresponsive at times. Spending time in the sauna amplified the throbbing pain of his tail and wing stumps, and swimming through the pool made his scales tingle and turn brittle once out of the water.
For every solution to a modern lifestyle, Alex' body came up with a reason not to enjoy it. This sapped his spirit, turned every single day into a slog through a swamp of pain, discomfort, and self-doubt, until it made Alex feel thin, like butter spread over a too large slice of bread.
He walked towards the entrance to the villa, the twin doors a rich auburn, made of cocobolo wood and adorned with swirling patterns, two of Doran's favorites. To Alex, wood was wood, and a door was still a door, regardless of its gaudy appearance. He pushed it open, a chilling breeze rustling his bathing gown. The marble steps felt icy to his bare feet, but Alex paid them no mind.
He followed a winding path towards a distant stone bench, rounding one of the several dragon fountains decorating the grounds of the villa. Since they had no garden or flowers, Doran settled for fountains, some built of stone, others metallic, each of them depicting prancing feral dragons.
Am I going to look like one of them? Alex thought, lowering himself onto the bench, careful with the tail stump. Adding weight on it hurt like a bitch, to the point where Alex learned to sit with great care.
To his hybrid body, the chill sailing upon the wind felt comforting compared to the stuffy air within the villa. Dragons might enjoy heat, but Alex' flimsy scales despised it.
He remained there for a while, staring at his feet, then at the fountains, and eventually, at the villa itself. It only had two stories, but made up for its short height in length. It could have been called a mansion as well, thanks to the many rooms it featured, but it lacked that touch of civilization that the term implied. Doran had no lamps or lights scattered throughout the grounds. They had no courtyard, garden, or cobbled paths. On the outside, the villa had a rustic yet modern aspect, and it seemed that Doran wanted to keep the appearance of a tame dwelling, meant for recreational retreats.
Alex hated it. To him, it felt like a gilded prison, whereas the wilderness around it filled him with strange serenity. It made him consider...
No,_Alex wrestled with that thought. _No, no no. I'm going to beat this. Everything is going to be a smooth sail from now on. The hard part is over.
To prove to himself that he had the power to handle his current situation, Alex strode towards the villa, regardless of the trepidation that slowly began to bloom within him.
** ***End of Chapter 5*****
End note: I admit to having snickered a little bit while describing Alex' looks and his opinion on them. At least he tries to keep a positive mindset right?
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