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In the prologue, our ten adventurers discovered a strange vial inscribed in an ancient language.

In Part I, Connor the barbarian sampled it, finding its effects made him an even more bullish fighter than before.

In Part II, Stefan the fighter drinks from the vial in desperation; he regains perhaps a little too much vitality, and a change of focus onto a bigger picture.

In Part III, Elwin the mage discovered a new source for the contents of the vial, and decided that he was very into hanging around what he considered the new, improved Connor.

Thus we enter...

Part IV - Whoops

Most of the men in the party at least claimed to be experienced adventurers. Of the seven of them who were present, only two were arguably exceptions. One was Brent, Sir Paul's squire, who seemed to be along mainly as a belated initiation into manhood. The other was Elwin, who had the excuse of belonging to a profession requiring many years of being cooped up and doing chores for dusty old men to progress. At the sight of a monster - especially one as fearsome as a Minotaur - it might have been expected that they would be the ones to shrink back; even then, they had all helped contend with the rat-men they had discovered when they first entered the dungeon.

Morale, however, plays a big role in the lives of all adventurers, green and experienced alike. However, the party's camaraderie had not been stellar when they set out, and had only worn down after the rat-man battle. With two party members missing, at least one having been magically affected, it had dropped even lower. They had been arguing amongst each other, ranging from concerned to frightened over what had happened to Stefan, and had not been on the alert for dangers.

That's why they had all fled.

Still panting from the frenetic dash outside, the remaining men glanced from one another as they stopped outside the dungeons. Everyone expected someone else to speak: Marcus or Vernon were likely candidates for the person to take charge, or perhaps Sir Paul or Elwin. Elwin, however, was not amongst them. Realisation of this slowly dawned into their eyes.

Finally decided that someone needed to say something, Robin sneered at Marcus and Vernon, "Well? We're one more man down now. What are we going to do?" Some of the peevishness in his voice was directed at himself for being as cowardly as the others, but he was mostly mad at those two: their constant bickering had fucked things up good and proper, and Robin wasn't shy about saying so.

"What was that?" Nobody had expected Brent to have chipped in with anything. It didn't matter much, since everyone else chose to ignore the panicked, squeaky voice.

Marcus's eyes narrowed. "I scouted around in those tunnels for quite a while. I didn't see one pile of bullshit, one pile of bones, nothing that indicated that anything as big as a fucking Minotaur had taken up residence down there. I didn't run into him either, and you think a big guy like that would have been hard to miss, even in the dark."

"And yet you did," Vernon observed, his flushed face turning into a sneer. "Either that, or that was one fucking fantastic magic trick. But since we missed that, what else might we have missed?"

Marcus grabbed Vernon's collar, pulling their faces together so closely their noses almost touched. "I checked every fucking stone, every fucking crack. I'm good at what I do, it's the whole fucking point of you dragging me along on this shit-show. I found nothing of any other passages, and I checked them all. I set up tripwires along every passage I found, just to make sure nothing could have got past me. Nothing did. That fucking Minotaur materialised out of thin air! Speaking of magic bullshit, I seem to recall us talking about Stefan turning into a monster, are you going to blame me for something I wasn't even around for as well?"

While Marcus growled at Vernon, Robin glanced down at his hand. He'd felt a warm trickle against his palm. The accursed vial was still clenched in his fist from when he had taken it away from Stefan. The stopper had come out, the creamy contents oozing over his palm. Quickly, he pushed the stopper down tightly and wiped his hands off on his robes. Shoving the vial into the tight space between the two men, he demanded. "Argue later! First things first: what are we going to do with this?"

"We get rid of it," decided Marcus, pulling away from Vernon to reach out for the vial. "It's way too dangerous to be carrying it around if - "

"Not on your fucking life!" Vernon's outstretched hand smacked into Marcus's. "This artefact is extremely valuable, so it's coming back with us."

"You can't be serious!" Marcus exploded, spittle peppering Vernon and Robin. "It turns men into fucking monsters!"

"All the more reason why it's so fucking valuable! Could you imagine an army of monsters? That's a massive military advantage! We're taking that back for the king, and any argument to the contrary will be viewed as treason."

"And what are we going to do about Elwin?" Robin asked, wiping his hand on his cloak. For some reason, it still felt gooey.

Vernon shrugged. "Nothing. He's either dead, or wishing he was, since I'm sure I'm not the only one who noticed the Minotaur's third horn on display. We have other priorities: namely getting this vial back into the king's control as soon as we can."

"Abandoning a comrade-in-arms is not very charitable." Sir Paul sneered at Vernon. Robin found the paladin irritatingly pompous, but he was fine giving him credit for being something other than up his own ass. There were too many knights, paladins, royalty and men of the cloth who decided they needed to take themselves far too seriously.

"I'm not a charitable man." Vernon shrugged again. "If anyone's willing to stay here and find him, you're more than free to do so." He let the offer hang in the air.

Everyone else remained silent. Even, Robin noticed gruffly, the voluble Giorgio and the sanctimonious Sir Paul. Finally, feeling his blood boiling, he gripped his shirt and cursed. "You're all shit!" His heart was racing again, after a short dip after he'd finished running. Chalking it up to getting angry, he scratched at his chest. When had it gotten so hot? His legs trembled, and everything seemed to feel too tight.

"Is that an offer," Vernon quipped, "or just an observation?"

"You don't look well," Sir Paul noticed, his face draped with concern. That pulled away, as Robin could almost feel the horror dawning in the paladin's eyes. The paladin's surprisingly blue eyes.

"Don't be, gruh." Robin grunted, leaning over to cough up a globule of phlegm. It looked distinctly less yellowish than it should have - paler, and more whiter - but his burning mind didn't want to give it much notice. "Don't be stupid. Of course I'm fucking unwell! Every time any of you have had a dripping nose or a runny ass, I've been..."

Robin wasn't a particularly sexual man; one of the reasons he'd joined the church was that it had seemed the perfect place to escape certain questions. He still felt the same lust that men did occasionally, but it wasn't particularly powerful and he would just handle it himself when the need arose. He usually didn't have to: the body, he knew, tended to be good at rebalancing itself. That's what made him take so long to figure out that he was feeling horny. It was as though the lifetime of feeling almost nothing had caught up with him all of a sudden. Sweat dripped from his face; when he lifted his hand to wipe it off, he noticed the flesh seemed to be glistening, like a transparent ooze had slid over him. He put his hand promptly down, so the others wouldn't notice what he'd seen.

Robin's body seemed to provide a good excuse: pain spasmed through his body, and he bent over. The vial dropped from his hands as he brought his arms to his chest as he curled up. He felt the muscles inside poke out from him, like a sack of large snakes inside him. He grunted again, feeling his feet slide around in his boots.

The pain passed quickly, but Robin didn't want to uncurl just yet. The warmth of his body wrapped around itself was pleasant, and it allowed him to hide the throbbing erection straining the front of his breeches and soaking them in more hot, sticky fluids. The squirming continued, but not it didn't feel quite as bad. His arousal seemed to be spreading through him, as though the tenting organ in his pants wasn't the only thing becoming aroused. His fingers, his toes, all his insides: they all felt like cocks, straining and becoming harder.

As his cloak curled around him as he seemed to shrink into it, the scent coming off of Robin's body quickly invaded his nose. It was so strong, so potent; he seemed trapped in a never-ending loop where his cock or his body would ooze out more fluid, which would then turn him on even more, making his body even more slippery and excited. Finger-thick protrusions writhed against each other under his shirt, sticking out from his chest as more of his body seemed to transformed into engorged protrusions.

"Mister Robin?" He heard someone inquire, and vaguely knew it was about him they were talking about. His arousal trumped everything else, so he ignored them. He tried to slide his fingers underneath the layer of cloth around his lower body, but that didn't seem to be possible: even when he stretched them out, his fingers seemed to thicken. His hands seemed to be nothing but fingers, but what he'd gained in flexibility and lubrication from his dripping digits was countered by their growing heft.

A deep gurgle squirmed up from his guts, which were churning along with the rest of him. His bones seemed to have been absorbed into the pulsating flesh of the rest of his body, and he sagged in on themselves, each one of his growing, flexible cocks reaching out to stroke at one of the others. It was the only thing he found tolerable to do: it was that or go mad from the stuff churning through his body from his sack. That seemed to have bulged, the skin of his scrotum stretching to fill in all the space they could get as they groaned with fullness.

He suddenly felt very confined in the small round pocket under his cloak. It felt good to have all of his cocks rubbing up against one another, and the smell of his fluids was intensely invigorating, but there wasn't enough room. He felt something tearing open - his clothes, he slowly realised - and his throbbing, slimy tendrils finally joined into one wriggling mass. Even the ones that had slipped out of his boots had surreptitiously slipped into the tented area, one squirming up the throbbing, aching hole of his anus. How had he never tried that before? He remembered, vaguely, not always being like this, but as the lust continued to grow, it seemed to be bigger than his body.

There was a gnawing feeling in the back of his head. Shapes appeared from his memory. People. Men. Yes, there were men - he remembered them - and he could feel them around him. The thought of them made him intensely aroused, his cock squirming over themselves more vigorously as he remembered. Men had holes, one in the head and one between their legs. He could fit at least two of his cocks into them: one in each hole.

The image seemed so perfect that he wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner. Grab on to one of the warm bodies of the men around him, seize them. Feel their warmth grow as you wriggled your cocks over their body. Make them slick with your fluids, then slide in and thrust thrust thrust. He would enjoy doing that, and he was sure the humans would enjoy that feeling too, after they got used to it for a while.

He seemed to remember a lot about what made humans feel bad. And good.

Flinging his body backwards, he felt a shudder as the thick creamy goo oozing from his long, wriggling, muscular cocks sprang into the air. He heard shouting as he sprayed the air with his fluids. He knew what he needed - room to grow, and the fuel to help make him grow that only came from claiming another warm body for himself - but try as he might, the flailing mass of tentacles extending out of his body couldn't find a target fast enough.

He closed his eyes - he didn't need them with all of his cocks swinging around, telling him what was nearby - and felt a hot rush pump out of his mouth, bubbling and salty. Realising he needed to move, he flailed about, swinging his sticky cocks through the grass and the air around him, reaching for anything nearby. He felt something hard, and his body shuddered. Rolling over himself, he felt the toughening flesh of his back, wriggling with what looked like tiny flailing tentacles, as his longer, stronger tentacles lubricated the ground between them.

His tongue thickened in his mouth as his head distorted, the thick rubbery skin that had popped as his old skin had torn painlessly away, sloughing off as he slid out of the sticky pool of clothes his now naked body left behind. He shifted around, turning over until he could shoot out the thick tentacle that had grown from his tongue, spraying the air as he felt the vibrations of a shout. He lunged at the sound, throbbing in exultation, until his tentacles wrapped around the trunk of a tree.

Pulling himself along, he felt his body shuddering as magic made it swell and grow. His tentacle-cocks glistened with greens, blues and purples as his skin continued to thicken. Leaving a thick trail of slime in wake, he wrapped stretched tentacles from tree to tree, pulling himself through the forest. He couldn't see - his head had become one more tentacle, blistering with suction cups like the others did - but he could certainly feel the vibrations of everything around him.

Where had the humans gone? Why do they want to miss out on the exultation?

He flailed his many tentacles. The sticky fluid covering his body had started to dry, helping to tear off more of his old skin as he pulled and slid his way between the trees. As he did, he started to plan.

He first admitted to himself that he was slow: that the humans who had fled were too fast, and had been alarmed when they noticed him. They used eyes a lot - that seemed to be a key point - and seemed to not like being penetrated, even though he knew they would enjoy it. No: he would have to get somewhere where their eyes were less affected, somewhere where he could hide and wait.

He needed to go somewhere dark.

Thinking of a plan is one thing: execution is quite another. He certainly had plenty of time - he only seemed to hunger for one thing, and that was to penetrate bodies with his many tentacles - but he also felt quite impatient. The quivering mass of tentacle-cocks pulled itself along, sensing the environment around it.

He needed to go somewhere dark; he could tell which places were darker than others by how much warmth came in from outside. He writhed disapprovingly. That heat made it harder to sense his prey. He needed to go somewhere dark, so he sifted through all of the fragments of human thoughts that were left in his head.

The idea that down was dark had occurred to him, so he travelled around, checking around for places that felt cool against his skin. Some sense drew him - he couldn't remember if it was memory or instinct - but his tendrils came across an opening into the ground not too far away from where he found the start of his own trail. The opening seemed small - he had been putting on a fair amount of size as he wandered and probed and oozed - but he was nothing if not flexible.

One tentacle-cock followed another down into the depths, his body stretching out and his body slowly oozing through one tentacle at a time. As more of him moved in, he found humanoids, but these ones were cold and gross, so he only touched them enough to move them out of the way. The chamber he found himself in was certainly a good size, but it was too near the outside. He could still feel the cold air on his trailing, drooling tentacles.

The narrow passage further on was even tighter than the entrance had been. With each undulation, he filled his trail with slime as he went deeper into the blackness. Turning was bad; dead-ends were the worst. He continued sliding along the passages, until eventually his tendrils found something interesting: a place where the floor fell out, into the opening of a large chasm.

His mind conjured up a plan. Once the laborious task of squeezing himself into the hole had been completed, he concentrated his ooze to fill in the hole he had crawled through. It took some time down in the dark hole for it to harden, but he had time.

Now all he needed was for someone to come walking along, and he would be happy.