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Bucephalus stumbled over a broken chair and sprawled across the dusty floor, whimpering and panting. His frantic breaths blew clouds of dust into the air, and they glittered wherever beams of moonlight found a gap in the boarded-up windows.

With a panicked look behind himself, the horse scrambled to his feet and kept running. There was no sight or sound of anything following him, but that was no guarantee he'd managed to lose his pursuer. The stallion had no idea what else that...thing...was capable of.

A door caught his eye. Huge, heavy, and with a key in the lock. He skidded to a halt and grabbed the handle, heaving back on it until the slab of ancient oak ground opened. Then, tugging the key free with shivering hands and shooting a final terrified glance down the passageway, the horse pulled the door shut and locked it.

The echo reverberated around the room for a few seconds, then faded. The stallion panted, staring wide-eyed at the door, too afraid to move. It remained shut. The seconds ticked on, becoming minutes. There was no sound from outside, no movement of the door handle. His free hand felt sweaty, and he reached down to wipe it on his trousers before he remembered.

No more trousers.

A few more minutes passed. The horse's heart slowed, and he took a deep breath, looking around the room. An unused bedroom; diaphanous silk hung limply around a four-poster bed, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming in from a window high above. A low writing table was the only other furniture present.

Bucephalus tossed the key onto the bed and approached the table. A notebook sat on the stone top, leather cover cracked and broken as though it had been handled many times over many years. In the middle of the cover, a symbol: two thin slits, like narrowed eyes, above two fanged cuts.

The stallion, yet wary, opened the book with one finger. The first page was covered in meticulous, tiny writing. And the next. And the next. The notebook was full of it, in fact, until seemingly the very last page. Lists of names. Numbers. Descriptions of...acts. The stallion felt his heart race again, and his testicles--already withdrawn--pulled even further up. This creature was despicable. How had he not seen it before? Some spell it had cast, some perfumed breath? There was only evil in this place. Evil and death.

His finger turned the final page - and froze. The last page was not like the others after all. Blank, except for a scrawled message in a hand that differed from the one populating the other pages. A message that was appearing on the page even as he watched in horror, the ink bleeding out of the paper as though the notebook were a living thing and each word was being carved into its skin.

You are alone, stallion.

Darkness fell as something enormous blotted out the moon outside. The stallion screamed, turning to see the creature outside the window above. It gave a triumphant howl and thrust an arm through the leaded glass, shattering it and sending shards raining down. The horse sprinted for the door, pulling on the handle manically before remembering. The key. There had been a tiny window during which he might have escaped, but it was gone now. He stood for only a few heartbeats, frozen in fear, feeling his gut sink back down to his feet before forcing himself to turn and face it again.

The creature was crawling down the wall from the window, its claws treating the ancient bricks like so much trelliswork. The stink of it already suffused the room, making the horse cough and gasp. Its fearsome arms, longer than limbs had any right to be, moved with unreal smoothness. The long muzzle faced the ground, but the eyes were swivelled to watch the horse. Bucephalus heard a patter of liquid as he pissed himself in fear before sliding bonelessly down the wall to sit in his own filth, one hand clenching and unclenching impotently as he awaited his doom.

When the creature reached the floor and stood up straight, the horse could see how large it truly was. He'd believed his eyes misled in the drawing room, tricked by the smoke and the fire. But he could see now that he had, if anything, been mistaken. It was far taller than him, at least nine feet, and in the manner of its body and the form of its arms and legs, it bulged most bestially, with fearsome mass and awful strength. Its hands resembled a person's until one took note of the cruel talons tipping each one. Its feet, however, were nothing but a wolf's paws, large and covered with dark, stiff hair, like a bear, and apportioned with claws like vicious retractable daggers.

The same fur covered all the rest of the creature, but it grew especially thick and gnarled between its legs. It went about as an animal would, with no regard for its nakedness--or its obvious arousal. A prodigious crimson erection stood forth from the creature's crotch, as proud as Priapus. So vast was the appendage that even the veins that snaked across it looked like small rivers. There was nothing civilised about its proportions, neither in its length--which shamed even the stallion's birthright--nor in the size of the bulbous masses that burgeoned at its base like monstrous fruit. The devilish thing throbbed in time with its owner's heartbeat as if possessed by malice both similar and yet independent of its bearer. From the upright tip, an endless river of some cursed fluid flowed, its scent as pungent as a soldier's barracks. It overwhelmed even the reek that emanated from beneath that vile shaft, where a pendulous sack swung low in the close air of the room. With every motion the monster made, that overfull bag of flesh swung hither and thither as if the creature was attempting to mark the very air.

If the horrific dimensions of the creature's endowments were any indication, it was the alpha of whatever loathsome pack it led.

It began to approach the horse steadily, making the stallion whimper in panic and feel frantically about himself for anything that he might wield as a weapon. But the long-abandoned room held only dust and decay. As soon as the creature was within reach, Bucephalus--panting, with his back to the wall for support--kicked out with both hooves, desperately trying to injure the thing. But the beast's hands moved with snakelike speed, catching one of his legs. The other hoof impacted its one thigh with a bone-cracking force made of fear and utter desperation, but the monster barely moved, and moments later the stallion's other leg, too, was entrapped.

The horse screamed in blind terror as the creature pushed his legs apart and stepped between them, the rank smell of his genitals making the close air unfit to breathe. The creature's crotch grew closer, the dripping tip of its horrific member now only centimetres away. The stallion clamped his mouth and nostrils shut, trying not to breathe. He attempted to press the penis away with a wavering hand but pulled it back as if burned; the heat of the thing was hideous, and the fluid oozing from the tapered end had given it a loathsome feeling. It also had an unexpected firmness which easily withstood his pathetic attempt to push it aside. With the creature's strength behind it, it could not be stopped. When Bucephalus tried to turn his face away to keep it from touching him, one of the vast, clawed hands released the leg it held and clamped itself to the top of his head instead, forcing his muzzle to turn and face the beast. Two claws dug in on either side, just beneath his eyes, making him whimper and open his jaw lest they dig full through his skin.

The moment his teeth separated, the beast was inside him.

The stallion's eyes bulged as fully half of the creature's gigantic erection thrust into his mouth, quickly filling his muzzle and making him gag at its overpoweringly alien taste. But gagging only made him clench tighter around its width and taste it more. Only the terror of the claws clasping around his head kept him from trying anything desperate. His screams could not find space to form, and he could merely half-retch and whimper as the monster started thrusting.

Small mercies: the thing only had an animal's stamina. In seconds it had climaxed, flooding first the stallion's mouth and then his throat with a hot, carnal fluid that felt as thick as honey and as suffocating as whale oil. The stallion was helpless to stop his throat muscles from continuing to clench, and in so doing cause him to swallow great gobbets of the stuff. He shuddered and choked on the feeling of it oozing down his throat like a living thing. Breathing grew harder, and his head spun, but the creature held fast. What oxygen had been getting through the tiny space between the dark red penis and the horse's abused mouth was now entirely blocked by the awful, gooey semen. The horse's lungs burned, yet he could only heave wordlessly, his one free leg kicking at empty air, his whole form made wholly subservient to the beast that now abused him.

Without warning, the creature withdrew. The clawed grip on Bucephalus' head vanished and the gruesomely shiny member was tugged from his muzzle. Sliding to the side, gasping for air, the stallion coughed up what little of the creature's emission still swirled in his mouth. The fullness he felt within betrayed just how much of it he'd been forced to swallow, and it sickened him. But he was at least still alive--though the beast stood not a foot away, evil yellow eyes locked to him, watching for something only he knew. The horse looked past him, to where the bed was - and on it, untouched, the key to the room's door. Perhaps he could--

A spike of pain erupted between his legs, and once more, the stallion screamed. His hands flew to his sheath, fingers digging into it to pull his penis free. It felt as though fire ants had been let loose across its sensitive length. But it was untouched...and yet the pain not only continued, but spread. His testicles were next: each orb becoming a burning sun inside his scrotum, an agony unwitnessed by mortals, and the horse's screams grew louder as he writhed upon the piss-soaked stones of the forgotten bedroom. He took his sack by its base, almost prepared to rip it free to escape the pain, but the size of his own endowment denied him that route. Seconds later, the pain spread to all the rest of him, and his existence turned to fire.

When the changes began, he was arched against the stones, every muscle taut in suffering, mouth frozen open in an agonised rictus. Then, like droplets of cool water thrown upon a hot iron, pinpricks of relief appeared. They swept across him in waves, displacing the interminable cosmic pain with an ease that was only relief by virtue of its lesser intensity. A more negligible pain. Each pinprick grew hot, then seemed to pop like a bubble--and where they popped, new hairs burst forth from underneath the stallion's skin, utterly displacing the smooth, well-groomed fur with the same stiff, unkempt hair as that which covered the creature.

Barely had Bucephalus had time to accept that change when the others began. The pinpricks migrated, gathering elsewhere on his body: his jaws, his hands, his crotch. Howls of pain ripped forth from his throat as new teeth tore their way free of his gums, the old ones falling free to land wetly upon the floor. When he dared reach up with a violently shaking hand to touch his mouth, he found a new array of fangs and incisors under his fingers--but then held his hand itself out to stare at it in horror. His nails were growing, lengthening as he watched, into the same evilly curved claws the creature wielded.

And only then did he see what was growing between his legs.

It did not take the form of the creature's penis; indeed, it remained equine in every manner except in the dimensions, in which aspect it dwarfed any equine--any male--Bucephalus had ever seen. The flesh of his member swelled as though beset by buboes, thickening and lengthening unevenly in gargantuan measure. The stallion had been quietly proud to carry ten full inches before he had happened upon this cursed place, but that had already been transformed far beyond decency. Surely no fewer than twenty inches now lay extended along the floor, massively thick and still growing. His body, already so savagely mistreated on this terrible night, had become so confused that it believed him to be aroused and was making his flare grow fat and blood-filled in tandem with the unnatural growth. It bulged there at the end of his shaft, too big--it seemed--for the horse to even fit in two hands, and slowly retreated from him as more length grew in behind it. Twenty-five inches. Thirty. Thirty-five...

And that was all to say nothing of the stallion's balls, which--having been commanded to bring themselves forth in preparation for their reproductive duties--had themselves been magnified and expanded into monstrously heavy weights, the penis above them nestled comfortably within the crevasse of flesh that separated them upon the scrotum's upper surface. It was beyond reason, beyond usefulness. He had been changed--against his will!--into a thing that resembled nothing so much as the earth-bound form of some carnal demigod, some mocking demonstration of the crudity of lust, set loose upon the world to...to...

He sniffed.

The creature's awful scent was gone. Not the beast itself; that remained, watching him with a look that the stallion would have called a leer if he believed it capable. But the miasma that had suffused the air had vanished as if by a miracle, replaced by...something extraordinary.

The stallion's eyes dilated as he breathed it in. The final few pinpricks faded away, leaving him with a new form and new thoughts to go with it. He stared at the monster that had done this to him, seeing as if with fresh eyes. The demonic staff of lust between his legs was no longer a terror but a glory. Its size--how had he not seen this before?--was a testament to the creature's power and masculinity. The endless flow of fluid was a sign of its virility, its need. It deserved to breed, for it was an alpha. And he...he looked down to where his cock lay outstretched, fully erect and ready. He reached down with a hand to lift it, feeling its weight as it sat in his palm, claws curled loosely around its immense thickness. So much bigger than he had been before. So much more potent, in truth, than any mere person could possibly be...

Was he, too, not deserving? What separated him from this creature before him? The thing had deceived him, hunted him and taken him as a stallion takes a mare...but that was its right, as pack alpha. Until a new alpha came along and took its place.

Bucephalus met the creature's eyes and stood, his immense member rising with him. The creature made a sound, a low and wary growl, but the erstwhile stallion ignored it. He stepped close, breathing deep of the creature's musk and placing his member against the creature's own. There was no contest. The creature's growl trailed off and the stallion smiled, baring his fangs fully, bone-white in the moonlight, then sniffed the monster closely. It had another scent clinging to its hair, below its musk and sexual need. The smell of the world outside: of males spending their days sweating in the fields for their bread, and their nights cloistered in their homes against whatever terrors lurked in the darkness. Isolated from one another. Alone.

Well. Perhaps what lurked in the darkness was not so terrible after all.