Corruption of Conjuring
Corruption of conjuring is a magic spell that goes beyond of its user's depth, with unpredictable and strange results...
A well-lit antechamber, a late night in late fall, it's usually the sort of place where a mage student might be studying for the next day's spell exams, but Brendan had anything but studying on his mind.
Brendan, along with Vera, Mathias, Eliza, and Brandt were at the very top of their class in spellcasting, and were only now in their first year of adult mage studies, where the truly powerful magic happens. Among such gifted students, this is a time of oneupmanship, where each mage student seems to break the boundaries of possibility for the sole purpose of showing off to others. This horseplay is somewhat frowned upon by the adminstration, but also accepted that sometimes students have to learn things own their own.
Even now in his mind, Brendan was thinking back in a veil of jealousy how earlier that week Vera had shown them how she had learned to become ethereal, having shoved Brandt impetuously, and then giggling as he stumbled off-step to return her check and fell face-forward through her. Or how that morning, Mathias had caused a stone gargoyle to come alive for a moment and swoop down over Brendan. Brendan doubled back evasively, not sure what to expect, until the humiliation sank in and he realized that Mathias and Eliza were laughing at him. He'd reacted by temporarily turning their clothes to stone, but that was one of the easier spells...
No, Brendan had it in his mind to perform something that'd really stun his friends. He'd watched in awe at how Headmaster Magnus could effortlessly turn himself into a griffin and lecture them in the basics of flight, or how Mrs. Haversham had become a dolphin in mid-leap to swim laps around them in the lake during Physical Endurance class. Brendan wanted to know the secret of alteration, it seemed to him like this was the difference between the students and masters.
That's why he'd taken the grimoire from the school library. Brendan used the word "taken" instead of stole in this case, because it's difficult to steal anything from under the eyes of Archmage Willowloft, who ran the library and was almost always asleep. Brendan opened the yellowed pages of the tome until his eyes fell on the incantation he'd stared at a hundred times before, but never dared to perform. Brendan knew exactly what to do with this spell, the simple form of a wolf, something that could appear from behind an old log or creek bed to catch Mathias and Eliza the next time they attempted to fool around in the woods that surrounded the mage school. "Getting them to keep their hands out of each others' pants would be a true feat of sorcery," Brendan thought.
Brendan confidently firmed his resolve, and began to perform the invocation with his hands. A pale blue static seemed to build up around him from his feet, circling over his body. He knew the spell was taking effect. He closed his eyes, thinking, "Now comes the hard part..."
He saw the arcane symbols melting into place behind his eyes, the spell was beginning to take its course. He labored to unfurl and reform them as they appeared, the mental exercise taking its toll on him in the form of steady and unyielding exhaustion. "Just one or two more," he thought, but in reality, he had no idea whether this was true or even how many sigils of enchantment he had to unlock. The doubt began to creep over him, cold sweat as his attention started to fray and he badly misread a cue, and a glyph burnished fiercely red in front of him. Arcana stumbling backwards, stacking on top of each other, he feared he was in true danger of corruption of conjuring.
Corruption of magic is a strange and inexplicable thing, if it were explicable, it wouldn't really be magic, now would it? Brendan thought he'd known all the risks, but performing something as powerful as an alteration spell on one's self is worlds more dangerous than having a rope you cast to tie in a knot come undone from its cords, or having a green cloth you've wished into existence turn mottled mauve.
In this particular case, the corruption chose to remake Brendan not into a wolf with the mind of a man, nor a man with the mind of a wolf, but somewhere not quite in between. Something not quite in between is not as disastrously out of control as, say, becoming a giraffe with the mind of a snail, but still pretty bad on the order of being able to unravel a spell gone wildly out of hand.
Brendan knew that things had gone bad, but it wasn't until he started to hear the sickening and jarring sound of bones shifting, remolding, that his mind went into free form panic. He tore off his shirt to witness thickets of dark fur coursing their way over his chest. His own hands in front of him twisted into jagged and unruly claws. He felt the clarity of his persona being subsumed by baser and more subconscious animal needs. He struggled to assert himself over them, but they easily pushed aside his worn out and tattered psyche. The Brendan-wolf was overwhelmed by these new and staggering thoughts... which mostly loomed on the throb of his maleness and the building need for release.
He effortlessly tore open the pants he wore, and they fell to the floor in shreds, exposing a wolf-like sheath and the red tip of his aching prick. He tentatively trailed his clawtip from his orbs of masculinity then along the knot at the base at his shaft up along its length. The Brendan-wolf grasped at it with his claw, immersed in the growing intensity and need of his stirring phallus, tugging firmly as the sensations dug into him. He arched his back, tensing with the thrilling urgency of his flesh as his pace quickens. Brendan clenched his teeth, his cock ready to erupt with hot, sticky cum...
It's important at this point of the story to explain the implications of magic corruption. If the spell had worked its way through Brendan, then there was some measure of hope that he'd claw his way back into his mind and possibly even change himself back again. In fact, it was at this moment that his mind came back enough from waves of euphoria to watch in abject horror as Becca Morraine, the girl who sits two rows in front of him in Advanced Clairvoyance, walk into the antechamber and get hit directly with his load of wolfspunk. It sloshed over her dress in a way that made Brendan numbly ill -- and also fairly sure she hadn't been paying enough attention in class.
"Is anyone in he--OH GOD WHAT IS THA***GAHhhhh!"
Becca recoiled in full-scale shock, then looked down to find herself enveloped in the same familiar pale blue light that Brendan knew all too well. She scrambled fearfully to take off the dress, tossing it aside, but the magic had already made its way through and was already remaking her in its image. Brendan watched in a strange fascination as grey and white fur began to ripple along the lines of her undergarments, radiating out along the course of her demure body. Brendan's human mind lurched back at him, scolding him for his voyeurism, and he turned away.
Becca screamed as her face pushed out into a distinctly canine maw. Her bones creaked and reset, her mind dulling as she stared transfixed at the monster in front of her that she knew she was starting to become. More directly, she found herself honing in on the sticky netherfur and the erect male sheath in front of her which looks less and less terrifying, and more and more... promising. She sneezes, and a world of smells opens up to her, most importantly, the musky scent that the Brendan-wolf is seemingly awash in that stirs her thighs and makes her impatient with desire. She makes her way to him, and coaxes at the tip of his prick with her newly formed muzzle, her hot breath rippling over Brendan's sensitive skin in a way that nearly makes him double over.
Brendan turns back his averted eyes in surprise to see the lupine Becca intimately pressed close to his waist, her paws kneading gently at smooth pelt on either side of his new equipment. He blushes hesitantly, a voice from the side of his mind telling him he's wrong and sick. Instead of letting her taste him, he reaches down for her hand and pulls her up to stand beside him. Becca acknowledges this, and caresses his cheek, kissing at it lightly with her velvet tongue. Then, with a wild look in her eye, she bites him on the throat, teeth teasing the thick fur she finds there.
This reawakens something in Brendan, and he finds his claws moving along the side of the firm curves of Becca-wolf in longing. As a human, he thought her body was cute, but now finds himself wracked with need for the athletic frame she now possesses. He undoes the remaining undergarments that cover her, and lets them drop softly to the floor. The newly bare Becca slides her claws sensually along Brendan's chest and down his sides, sashaying a little so the base of his male sex meets the smooth skin of her slit, to remind him of what she came for. Brendan's reaction is telling, his musculature tense and his arousal full with anticipation.
Becca, her eyes keen on Brendan's flush response, brims with possibilities. She turns around in his paws and grinds next to him playfully with her rear and the thick of her tail. Then, looking back, she leans down, offering him her supple sex, glistening with readiness and open desire. Brendan mmms, his cock stiffening attentively, he reaches away with one of his hands, and guides it into the slick depths of Becca's warm passage. Becca mrrs breathlessly, writhing slowly against the feel of his hard flesh, the silky sensation of their mutual lust beginning to take hold. The spicy scent of her heat flows over Brendan like cinnamon. Brendan pants, gripping Becca's hips tight as he thrusts with his own, his knot pressing close to her opening, his intent to know her with every inch of himself. He cups at her breast with an idle hand, clawtips running in a concentric circle over the delicate bump of its pert nipple. Becca rocks in time with Brendan, the rapid beat of his heart next to her met with the wrought and absolute feel of his virile member within her. Brendan hastens his pace, the momentum and raw need surging through him like adrenaline, his other claw moving to ply the curve of Becca's ass. Becca reads this, and churns sensuously in his grasp, her own motions becoming dire and tenuous as the undulation seems to bring both of them closer and closer to the edge of climax...
Brendan gasps as the totality of their pleasure crashes over him, his cock filling Becca with what seems like loads of his sticky white hot seed. Becca shudders, her hips buckling with need as the world around her becomes far and mute with the flood of bliss she feels around her.
Brendan's eyes open from his post-coital haze. It's still dark outside, and he's still tangled with Becca, their forms still wolven as the magic had willed them to be. He anxiously places his hand on Becca's shoulder, she flutters awake and smiles at him with a palpable warmth. He finds the words come to him easily, though his heart is full of doubt. "Becca, it's me, Brendan. I... made this. I did this. It was a mistake." Becca's ears fold and she strokes his hair, her eyes glowing. "It was no accident. We're the same now, love." Brendan feels the last vestiges of what was slipping from him as he accepts this new self, this new mate, this new beginning. The two wolf-beings run out the chamber, far from the school, into the waiting black arms of the forest glens.
Headmaster Magnus closed the grimoire, and shook his head. "Such promising students," he thought to himself. While he could tell from the open book and a particularly thorough scry spell most of what had taken place, the academy didn't have the resources to chase down and undo all of the unpredictable magical errors that students created in their pursuit of forbidden knowledge. "They both knew that some students don't come back when they signed up...," he reminded himself.
Still, part of him hoped that Brendan and Becca might unlock the part of their minds someday to return. For now though, he knew they were wild creatures of the forest, bound to each other by instinct and ruled by animal motives.