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Artwork (Digital) / Transformation
Species Jackal
Gender Male
Size 1200 x 1733
File Size 1.04 MB
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You realize too late that you're no archaeologist.
They'd cordoned off that hole in the wall for a reason, and the tour guide did specifically warn everyone not to stray from the group not once, not twice, but three times, in exceptional English. Then again, this vacation wasn't cheap, and you wanted something to show your followers on Insta, something they hadn't already seen a hundred times.
After wriggling through a dusty chute, guided by the pale white luminescence of your phone, you emerged on the other side, disgorging yourself into a dark chamber. Your light and camera drifted over walls of ancient hieroglyphs and rows of canopic jars. You were shocked by how clean it was. A thought crossed your mind: I'm destroying something important just by being here.
The sight of the sarcophagus stole your breath. How could it not? It's magnificent, pure gold richly decorated in black, green, and red, faded over the millennia but still clear. Two other peculiarities struck you right away: The fact that it stood with its back to the wall instead of laying on a plinth at the center of the chamber, and the distinctive shape of its face, that of a familiar canine-headed deity.
A sudden, subtle shift in the still air revealed something along the sarcophagus' edge: A seam. Out of macabre curiosity you wrap your fingers around the edge, but hesitate. Silly tales of curses aside, whatever was in here was no doubt incredibly fragile, and you'd be responsible for its destruction if it came spilling out, disintegrating all over the floor. Then you realized that you'd be the first person in eons to uncover what's inside, and you had a camera to record the event.
The golden sarcophagus opened with remarkable ease, swaying on cunning, smooth ancient hinges unaffected by time and decay with all the effort of opening a refrigerator. Given the enormous scale of ancient Egyptian construction, you had to concede that they knew a thing or two about leverage. However, once it swung about halfway it caught on the low hanging ceiling. There was still enough clearance to get a good look inside, but to get a truly intimate look at its contents you needed to extend your arm into the opening.
By the time your forearm was in the door you realized that the sarcophagus was empty. No gruesome mummy lurked within. Instead, the gleaming golden contours carved out a peculiar shape, something you were increasingly aware wasn't human. It made you wonder. Could it be that all those Ancient Aliens crackpots were on to something, that ancient Egyptian civilization's unique otherworldly outlook was more than just symbolic?
The invisible force that swept you off your feet didn't have to work very hard, not when you were standing tiptoe on one foot, leaning in. The sudden movement made your phone slip from your fingers, tumbling to the floor as the sarcophagus sealed you inside.
And now you're here, buried in gold.
You squirm and thrash, but the dimensions within are so limited that you can't raise an arm or a leg to push back. You're simply not strong enough. Hinges that were once so smooth that they let you open the door single-handedly now resist your every effort to escape. This is a trap, and given the Egyptian aspect of death on its face you realize that this will also be your tomb.
You calm yourself with the thought that this chamber is part of the tour. Just listen for the voice of the tour guide, then start calling for help. You got the door open easily enough, so they should be able to, no problem. If your phone fell light-side up, that will also make it much more obvious where you are. You wait. You rest. Then you begin to feel something.
It starts deep in your chest, a subtle squeeze, a tightness. You have every reason to feel stressed, but this is different from a cramp. You get the distinct sense that you're being evaluated. You didn't come here to steal. Curiosity and a dash of ego got the best of you, and while the splendor of the gold fascinated you it didn't fill you with greedy dreams. The tightness in your chest relaxes, followed by something else.
The inside of the sarcophagus feels wet. You get the distinct feeling that something is pouring into this vessel, warm and oily, yet as the sensation creeps up your neck and consumes our entire head you exhale the breath you hold and realize that you can still breathe. You realize there's no liquid at all, only the illusion of being immersed in it. Subtle pressure pushes against your skin, then sinks into it. You grow dizzy. The strength flees your body, making you grateful that the snug, form-fitting contours of the sarcophagus are there to support your weight.
Strange thoughts enter your mind. Without being explained to you, you understand intuitively that you're the first person to experience this in a very long time. As mortal clay goes you're not ideal, but beggars can't be choosy, and your heart seems earnest enough. Even though it's pitch-black in here stars manage to dance across your eyes. As the intangible liquid seeps through your pores every heartbeat pushes more of it through your veins, filling every crevice of your body. Unseen forces squeeze at you from all directions. Where once you could wiggle your shoulders and arms, you find the space getting tighter and tighter. You begin to fear that this sarcophagus is crushing you, then realize that the dimensions of it haven't changed. You're growing.
A comforting thought pops into your mind: Of course you're growing. That's the whole point. How do you intend to escape this if you're not fit? You flex your arms, and while you can't move them there's something satisfying about the way they just about nestle into the space provided, though you know you can get bigger. You draw in a deep breath, and while your chest presses the walls of the sarcophagus it doesn't feel crushing or uncomfortable. You worry that your clothes will get too tight only to discover that something has whisked them away. Your nude, perspiring body shifts around in fits and starts, finding the perfect center through simple, involuntary muscle movements, the smooth, soft quality of the gold lending itself well to the task.
There's a strange tautness to the changes. As the pressure to strengthen and expand pushes at you from within, something else pulls at you from without. Your nose won't stop twitching. You compulsively flex your toes as something pulls at your feet. There's a persistent tickle right above your butt. Your ears throb and creep. Your face is numb and puffy. Through it all you can hear joints crack and tendons snap. Your bones itch and ache, especially around your head and extremities. Despite the fear that grips you as your body succumbs to a directive that is not your own, you keep in mind the thought that this is almost over.
Your face feels strange, misshapen. You get the impression that you're rubber, or perhaps soft clay, that a lot needs to be done in a short time. You remember that there can't be much air in here. You'll suffocate long before you die of thirst. The dizziness and the headache are already creeping in on you. You've got to do something, quick. It's a risk, but you start to flex, to firm up, pushing back against the strange substances that sculpted your body. Your face feels like a narrow wedge, but you get the impression that there's a button at the very tip of this face mask, and there's only one way to press it. If you can manage it, your work is done. If not, this sarcophagus will be filled with just another corpse.
Somehow you manage to push your face forward further down the narrow, tapered mask. You squeeze. You sneeze. you whimper. Then, at last, your hopes find confirmation: An ancient button, stiff and stubborn, but you feel it at the tip of your nose. With one big push the strange mechanism relents, and all at once that tight seal around your body relents right along with it.
You tumble to the floor as the sarcophagus door swings open, wide this time, its movement unimpeded. You've never been more grateful to breathe in stale air. There's something strange about the heft of your body, however, not to mention the way it moves as you catch your breath. Your tongue finds a row of sharp teeth. Your ears twitch and swivel, something they've never done before. As you climb to your feet your legs bend differently and feel somehow more taut and sinewy. Try as you might, you can't seem to press your heels to the floor, not without bending your knees. And then there's that thing that seems to be wiggling behind you.
Your instinct is to think it's a snake, so you move slowly, methodically, then all at once, wrapping your hand around what you hope to be its neck. The sharp rebuke you get after trying to pull it informs you that this thing is attached to your body, and that if you put your mind to it you can control it. Fearing what other things have changed, you bring your hands to your face and discover exactly how you managed to push that button with the tip of your nose. In place of your face you find a long, graceful snout, and in place of your ears you find towering, pointy structures sitting atop your sleek skull.
You fall to your hands and knees, scooping up your fallen phone. It scans your face but doesn't recognize it. Tapping in the PIN number is more difficult with claws, and only after you've entered it successfully do you realize that you didn't have claws fifteen minutes ago, nor are you supposed to. The extent of the changes becomes clear once you at last manage to get the selfie camera working.
The sight of a muscular, silky-haired, golden-eyed man with the face of a sighthound strikes you almost as much as the fact that it looks just as surprised as you feel. Well, you think to yourself, if this doesn't do numbers on Insta, I don't know what will.
You always knew that Egyptian art was distinctive. You just never expected it to be so... literal.
*****
I thought about a different story for this piece, one more focused on the handsome effigy in question: Omar, the vessel (some say dogsbody) of Anubis. Perhaps I'll put that on the NSFW version...
This gorgeous YCH was done by
Behemoth89!
They'd cordoned off that hole in the wall for a reason, and the tour guide did specifically warn everyone not to stray from the group not once, not twice, but three times, in exceptional English. Then again, this vacation wasn't cheap, and you wanted something to show your followers on Insta, something they hadn't already seen a hundred times.
After wriggling through a dusty chute, guided by the pale white luminescence of your phone, you emerged on the other side, disgorging yourself into a dark chamber. Your light and camera drifted over walls of ancient hieroglyphs and rows of canopic jars. You were shocked by how clean it was. A thought crossed your mind: I'm destroying something important just by being here.
The sight of the sarcophagus stole your breath. How could it not? It's magnificent, pure gold richly decorated in black, green, and red, faded over the millennia but still clear. Two other peculiarities struck you right away: The fact that it stood with its back to the wall instead of laying on a plinth at the center of the chamber, and the distinctive shape of its face, that of a familiar canine-headed deity.
A sudden, subtle shift in the still air revealed something along the sarcophagus' edge: A seam. Out of macabre curiosity you wrap your fingers around the edge, but hesitate. Silly tales of curses aside, whatever was in here was no doubt incredibly fragile, and you'd be responsible for its destruction if it came spilling out, disintegrating all over the floor. Then you realized that you'd be the first person in eons to uncover what's inside, and you had a camera to record the event.
The golden sarcophagus opened with remarkable ease, swaying on cunning, smooth ancient hinges unaffected by time and decay with all the effort of opening a refrigerator. Given the enormous scale of ancient Egyptian construction, you had to concede that they knew a thing or two about leverage. However, once it swung about halfway it caught on the low hanging ceiling. There was still enough clearance to get a good look inside, but to get a truly intimate look at its contents you needed to extend your arm into the opening.
By the time your forearm was in the door you realized that the sarcophagus was empty. No gruesome mummy lurked within. Instead, the gleaming golden contours carved out a peculiar shape, something you were increasingly aware wasn't human. It made you wonder. Could it be that all those Ancient Aliens crackpots were on to something, that ancient Egyptian civilization's unique otherworldly outlook was more than just symbolic?
The invisible force that swept you off your feet didn't have to work very hard, not when you were standing tiptoe on one foot, leaning in. The sudden movement made your phone slip from your fingers, tumbling to the floor as the sarcophagus sealed you inside.
And now you're here, buried in gold.
You squirm and thrash, but the dimensions within are so limited that you can't raise an arm or a leg to push back. You're simply not strong enough. Hinges that were once so smooth that they let you open the door single-handedly now resist your every effort to escape. This is a trap, and given the Egyptian aspect of death on its face you realize that this will also be your tomb.
You calm yourself with the thought that this chamber is part of the tour. Just listen for the voice of the tour guide, then start calling for help. You got the door open easily enough, so they should be able to, no problem. If your phone fell light-side up, that will also make it much more obvious where you are. You wait. You rest. Then you begin to feel something.
It starts deep in your chest, a subtle squeeze, a tightness. You have every reason to feel stressed, but this is different from a cramp. You get the distinct sense that you're being evaluated. You didn't come here to steal. Curiosity and a dash of ego got the best of you, and while the splendor of the gold fascinated you it didn't fill you with greedy dreams. The tightness in your chest relaxes, followed by something else.
The inside of the sarcophagus feels wet. You get the distinct feeling that something is pouring into this vessel, warm and oily, yet as the sensation creeps up your neck and consumes our entire head you exhale the breath you hold and realize that you can still breathe. You realize there's no liquid at all, only the illusion of being immersed in it. Subtle pressure pushes against your skin, then sinks into it. You grow dizzy. The strength flees your body, making you grateful that the snug, form-fitting contours of the sarcophagus are there to support your weight.
Strange thoughts enter your mind. Without being explained to you, you understand intuitively that you're the first person to experience this in a very long time. As mortal clay goes you're not ideal, but beggars can't be choosy, and your heart seems earnest enough. Even though it's pitch-black in here stars manage to dance across your eyes. As the intangible liquid seeps through your pores every heartbeat pushes more of it through your veins, filling every crevice of your body. Unseen forces squeeze at you from all directions. Where once you could wiggle your shoulders and arms, you find the space getting tighter and tighter. You begin to fear that this sarcophagus is crushing you, then realize that the dimensions of it haven't changed. You're growing.
A comforting thought pops into your mind: Of course you're growing. That's the whole point. How do you intend to escape this if you're not fit? You flex your arms, and while you can't move them there's something satisfying about the way they just about nestle into the space provided, though you know you can get bigger. You draw in a deep breath, and while your chest presses the walls of the sarcophagus it doesn't feel crushing or uncomfortable. You worry that your clothes will get too tight only to discover that something has whisked them away. Your nude, perspiring body shifts around in fits and starts, finding the perfect center through simple, involuntary muscle movements, the smooth, soft quality of the gold lending itself well to the task.
There's a strange tautness to the changes. As the pressure to strengthen and expand pushes at you from within, something else pulls at you from without. Your nose won't stop twitching. You compulsively flex your toes as something pulls at your feet. There's a persistent tickle right above your butt. Your ears throb and creep. Your face is numb and puffy. Through it all you can hear joints crack and tendons snap. Your bones itch and ache, especially around your head and extremities. Despite the fear that grips you as your body succumbs to a directive that is not your own, you keep in mind the thought that this is almost over.
Your face feels strange, misshapen. You get the impression that you're rubber, or perhaps soft clay, that a lot needs to be done in a short time. You remember that there can't be much air in here. You'll suffocate long before you die of thirst. The dizziness and the headache are already creeping in on you. You've got to do something, quick. It's a risk, but you start to flex, to firm up, pushing back against the strange substances that sculpted your body. Your face feels like a narrow wedge, but you get the impression that there's a button at the very tip of this face mask, and there's only one way to press it. If you can manage it, your work is done. If not, this sarcophagus will be filled with just another corpse.
Somehow you manage to push your face forward further down the narrow, tapered mask. You squeeze. You sneeze. you whimper. Then, at last, your hopes find confirmation: An ancient button, stiff and stubborn, but you feel it at the tip of your nose. With one big push the strange mechanism relents, and all at once that tight seal around your body relents right along with it.
You tumble to the floor as the sarcophagus door swings open, wide this time, its movement unimpeded. You've never been more grateful to breathe in stale air. There's something strange about the heft of your body, however, not to mention the way it moves as you catch your breath. Your tongue finds a row of sharp teeth. Your ears twitch and swivel, something they've never done before. As you climb to your feet your legs bend differently and feel somehow more taut and sinewy. Try as you might, you can't seem to press your heels to the floor, not without bending your knees. And then there's that thing that seems to be wiggling behind you.
Your instinct is to think it's a snake, so you move slowly, methodically, then all at once, wrapping your hand around what you hope to be its neck. The sharp rebuke you get after trying to pull it informs you that this thing is attached to your body, and that if you put your mind to it you can control it. Fearing what other things have changed, you bring your hands to your face and discover exactly how you managed to push that button with the tip of your nose. In place of your face you find a long, graceful snout, and in place of your ears you find towering, pointy structures sitting atop your sleek skull.
You fall to your hands and knees, scooping up your fallen phone. It scans your face but doesn't recognize it. Tapping in the PIN number is more difficult with claws, and only after you've entered it successfully do you realize that you didn't have claws fifteen minutes ago, nor are you supposed to. The extent of the changes becomes clear once you at last manage to get the selfie camera working.
The sight of a muscular, silky-haired, golden-eyed man with the face of a sighthound strikes you almost as much as the fact that it looks just as surprised as you feel. Well, you think to yourself, if this doesn't do numbers on Insta, I don't know what will.
You always knew that Egyptian art was distinctive. You just never expected it to be so... literal.
*****
I thought about a different story for this piece, one more focused on the handsome effigy in question: Omar, the vessel (some say dogsbody) of Anubis. Perhaps I'll put that on the NSFW version...
This gorgeous YCH was done by
Behemoth89!
Category Artwork (Digital) / Transformation
Species Jackal
Gender Male
Size 1200 x 1733px
File Size 1.04 MB
I've seen worse. Imagine getting that makeup in your eye. Good thing being an avatar means the makeup does not need be applied manually.
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