Bonus: Miner League (Patreon)

By Pappy Wolf

Hank punched Lon in the shoulder. “Check it out,” he cried, pointing to the television. When Lon didn’t respond, he slapped the pizza out of his hand. “Fatass! Quit housing your food and pay attention to me for once!”

Lon stared at the overturned slice in his lap and then at the TV. “What’s so fucking important—holy shit.”

Over a news chyron, the screen displayed a security cam video, showing a cop chasing some dude in a mascot costume – the very same mascot outside the very same supermarket they’d visited that afternoon. In the video, the dude ran like hell, his arms flailing wildly. Then he tripped, landing on his belly. The costume head went flying. And then the suit appeared to deflate. The cop picked up the suit and held it upside down. A single small figure a third the size of the suit tumbled out and immediately vanished in a burst of flame. “Neither supermarket management nor the police department can explain what we have just shown you,” a reporter droned, breathlessly. The report zoomed in on the footage and slowed it down. It didn’t help to clear up anything. The person was a grainy blur, although there was a hint of a very long beard.

Lon helped himself to another slice and shot Hank a sideways look. “You’re fucking with me, right? What is this, like a YouTube prank?”

Hank honestly looked offended. “I swear it’s not, bro. But that was the guy, right?”

“Looked like.” He opened a fresh container of garlic parmesan wings. “Y’know, if I dip these bad boys into the marinara sauce…”

“I hope these hats are still on the level,” Hank mused. He touched the peak of the stocking cap that he’d accepted from the costumed weirdo. “They’re boss as fuck.”

“No shit,” Lon said, as he tore the flesh from a tiny chicken leg. “They go with everything.” He wiped the grease from his smooth chin and went in for another piece.

Hank chuckled. But he did wonder about them. Both he and his roommate had put on the hats as soon as the mascot had passed them out to them. And they were still wearing them. Neither young man wore stocking caps unless they were standing in a blizzard, but here they were in May with the hats covering their shaggy heads like they were a couple of skater boi idiots or hipster douchebags. Aside from their neglected undercuts, their looks were conservative. Clean shaven faces, no piercings or tats, understated clothes. But now, the hats. Next, they’d probably grow handlebar mustaches and go shopping for combat boots and wallet chains. He fingered the side of the hat and hooked his thumb underneath for a moment. His hand dropped to his lap again. He couldn’t bring himself to take it off.

They’d put the hats on right in front of the grocery store where the mascot had been passing them out. The guy had seemed legit. The mascot costume looked like a cartoony spelunker, exactly matching the one used by their local minor league baseball team, the Cavers. And the hats were gray, which was one of the team colors. Better yet, the hats were free. As soon as the hats were in their hands, both young men were struck by an urge to put them on. And as soon as they had done that, they were hungry. They must have looked comical, two tall, lanky guys pushing two carts full of food to the registers. When they got back to their apartment, they loaded everything into their cabinets even while snacking on some of it. There wasn’t enough space in the kitchen, so a third of it went into the walk-in closet. And then they were on their phones, ordering delivery.

They knew what they were doing was crazy, but they didn’t care. It was a Saturday, and they had no obligations. No serious girlfriends, no jobs to go to the next day. It was fun. They could kick back and just indulge themselves. As the hours passed, they stuffed themselves with pizza and enchiladas and Mongolian stir-fry, drank beer, and streamed horror movies. They’d never felt so happy, or so close. When Hank saw the news report in his Instagram feed, he pulled it up on their TV to show Lon. It was inexplicable but they shrugged it off. Right away, they went back to gorging themselves and watching movies. They dozed off right there on the couch at about the same time, with Lon’s hand resting on Hank’s.

Hank awoke in the dark, feeling achy, his body soaked in perspiration. The air was still. That meant the power was out. He grabbed his phone. No signal. But he could use the flashlight to see his way around. He hopped to his feet and was overcome by dizziness. Everything looked slightly out of proportion, just a bit bigger than it should have been.

He heard Lon snoring loudly. He aimed the light at him and gasped. It wasn’t Lon.

Or maybe it used to be Lon. He could see traces of his roommate’s features in the man’s face. But Lon was a tall, skinny, clean-shaven dude with relatively short and curling black hair, a pointed chin and an

upturned nose. The man on his couch was shorter and stouter, with thick arms, a broad, knobby nose, and a square jaw adorned by a week-old chinstrap beard. His curling black locks reached to his shoulders. And instead of Lon’s stocking cap, he wore a helmet. An old-looking one, “Lord of the Rings” style with a pointed top and a nose guard. Lon’s clothes were stretched awkwardly over his broader form. He wondered…

Now that he was fully awake, Hank realized that his own body had altered as well. He patted himself down. There was the same metal helmet, the same knobby nose and even some facial hair. Although he could tell that his auburn whiskers were growing out as “friendly muttonchops” like the fat psycho in that “Black Bird” show they’d seen on Apple. Basically, a beard with the chin part shaved off it. His mouth dropped open, letting out a little shuddering cry. He shuffled to the chair and sat down.

The mascot guy was magic. A gnome or an elf or something, passing out enchanted hats. He didn’t even believe in magic, but he didn’t have a better explanation. Unless he was tripping. He and Lon were big fans of mushrooms. They’d done some the previous weekend.

He wasn’t sure that “tripping” would be an improvement. He’d heard about burnouts doing too much LSD or whatever, and then their brains were fried. Even if he was physically okay, he might be crazy forever.

Light blinded his eyes. He could hear Lon yelp, “What the hell, man--?”

Hank sighed. “You’re awake. Get that flashlight outta my face, will ya?”

“Am I awake…? What the fuck is happening?”

Hank related his theory about the mascot. “Maybe we’re gonna shrink down like the dude inside the costume,” he added.

“Fuck that shit,” Lon snorted. “Power’s out here, but we can go to the ER or something and get some help for this.” He turned around and yelped again. Turning to Hank, he said, “You see that, right?”

Hank was on his feet again, walking toward their front door. It had changed, too. The cheap trim around it had been replaced by heavy timbers inscribed with crude-looking runes. Unsure of what he would find, he opened it.

“Oh, come fucking on,” Lon moaned.

On the other side of the door was a solid wall of rock. A quick check of the apartment showed rock blocking the patio door and the windows. There was no exit.

“At least we have plenty of food,” Hank said. It was gallows humor, but he didn’t know how else to deal with the situation.

“We’re gonna die here,” Lon said, softly.

Seeing his friend’s stricken expression hurt Hank’s heart. He rushed over to him and pulled him into an embrace. “No, we’re not,” he said, firmly. “Something weird is happening, but I don’t think that’s how this will end. We just have to ride it out. You and me, buddy. We’re in this together and we’ll see where it ends together. Okay?”

“Okay,” Lon answered, sounding close to tears.

Hank hugged him tighter. His knobby nose took in his friend’s scent, which was musky in the warm, still air. He couldn’t detect any sign of Lon’s body spray or deodorant. It was just a pure, pungent “man” smell, and it was comforting. He hoped his own musk was doing the same thing for Lon.

They found candles. Not the ones they had bought for emergencies. Those were gone. But new ones had appeared in the walk-in. Great spiraling things as thick and long as their forearms, set in heavy iron holders. They got those going and sat on the couch, holding hands and looking at each other.

Weirdly, Lon looked better like this, Hank thought. He wondered how much they would change. Probably, both of them would look like Gimli before this thing was finished. He had played a few dwarves in MMORPG’s. They were always tough little bastards. Not that Lon, with his tear-streaked face, looked all that tough right now. There was something else in his expression that was hard to parse. A note of appreciation for how he looked, maybe. Blushing, Lon looked away.

They sat in silence like that for a while. How long, Hank couldn’t guess. He felt warm. His bones vibrated, growing denser as the magic made them more compact. Already, they had shrunk down another inch or two. Lon’s beard was looking bushier. He touched his sideburns and found that they were longer and denser as well. His mustache was growing past his upper lip. Their eyebrows were heavier as well, with fine hairs appearing over the bridges of their noses, threatening the advent of unibrows.

The apartment shuddered. The spiraling pillar candles shook, the flames sputtering momentarily. Hank had a sense of the place dropping downward a few feet, like a fitful elevator.

“We’re sinking,” Lon said, his eyes wide.

Hank nodded. “Feels like.”

“I don’t know how you can be so calm.” He clambered off the sofa. “If we’re going down into the earth, I guess that would explain the rock everywhere outside. I wonder, do you think it’s us or the whole building?”

“It’s gotta be just us. Unless one of our neighbors got one of those cursed hats, too. But think about it… have you heard anything through the walls? Ben next door, that dude plays his guitar all the time and it’s like he’s right in our living room. And then there’s old Mr. Naughton one floor down with his vacuuming and his TV going at all hours. We haven’t heard anything since we fell asleep.”

“Maybe. Fuck! What’s going to happen to us?” His body trembled, and then he began to shiver, apparently uncontrollably. “I c-can’t h-handle this, bro,” he wailed.

Hank shushed him. He reached out and stroked the sides of his head, running his fingers through his silky raven locks.

“I’m sorry,” Lon wept. He buried his face in Hank’s chest.

“None of that shit, now. I got you.” He cupped his friend’s furry chin, looking deeply into his eyes. What happened next felt more natural than anything Hank had done in his short life. He kissed Lon, tenderly and for a long time, savoring the feel of Lon’s bearded chin on his own bare chin, and the sensation of his bushy mustache rubbing against Lon’s bare upper lip.

Lon returned his affection, murmuring “Yes, yes… fucking yes, stud…!”

Lon pulled back and looked at his roommate with new eyes. Their whiskers had grown out another few inches just in the time they were kissing, and they were notably shorter, probably not much over five feet. And they were beautiful. Lon had some vague memories of fucking women, but that seemed ridiculous now. They were spindly things, bulging in all the wrong places, and all wrong for him. Lon’s formerly hairless arms had acquired a coating of short, dark hairs, and there were some attractive curls on his chest, judging from the tufts sticking over the collar of his t-shirt. “First order of business, these stupid clothes need to come off,” he declared. He clutched the collar of his own shirt and pulled. The fabric tore easily, hinting at a superhuman strength lurking in his changing body.

“Do me now,” Lon grinned.

“I’m gonna assume you mean the shirt,” Hank shot back.

“For a start. Fuck it, I’ll do it.” He tore the garment into shreds, revealing a stocky torso with bulging pecs and pert red nipples the size of thumbs protruding from areolae wider than coasters. The chest fur was thickest between the pecs, but it spread agreeably across his entire chest, with a broad trail on his modest gut leading downward and disappearing beneath his belt.

Before he could do anything else, Lon’s hands were on his own chest. The palms were calloused and scaly, making his touch that much more arousing. Hank looked down at his torso. He was even furrier than Lon, with a fatter belly that was absolutely covered in hair. Hank pulled Lon in for another kiss, keeping his hands on the back of Lon’s head and ordering him to pleasure his nipples. The apartment quivered and sank down again with a jerk. Let it, Hank thought.

When he tired of kissing, Hank pressed down on Lon’s shoulders until his friend was on his knees. “You know what to do,” he grunted. And Lon did.

As his roommate freed his cock from his straining shorts, he guffawed. “Fuck, bro…! It’s like an elephant drunk down here. I wonder… hang on.” After a moment, Lon added, “Yeah, same here. Maybe this dwarf shit won’t be all bad.”

“Less talking, more sucking,” Hank growled.

“You got it, boss,” Lon purred. His friend turned out to be an expert cocksucker. He wondered if Lon had been in the closet all this time and hiding a double life from him. But he had a feeling it was more like instinct. Their bodies were changing. Their minds were too, probably. Maybe dwarves were all male. Maybe turning other dudes into dwarves was how they reproduced. And if that was true, then they only had one another when it came to getting their rocks off.

Lon took all of Hank’s load and even licked his shaft clean. His devotion was a far cry from the slacker attitude that had always pissed him off before. Hank used to have to remind him to empty the dishwasher and pick up his wet towels. But everything was different now. And maybe in recognizing Hank had the stronger character between the two of them, Lon was ready to obey.

As they shrank further, their noses grew bulbous, their nostrils flaring and filled with coarse hair. The tips of their ears turned pointy, eventually getting so long that they flopped over, like goat’s ears. Their locks grew past their collar bones and then down to their puffy nipples. Their beards and mustaches followed suit, attaining nearly a foot in length. Hank could hardly keep his hands off Lon’s handsome whiskers. As he stroked it, his thick fingers suddenly grew nimble and began weaving the strands together. Within seconds, he had created a beautiful braid right down the center. Lon parted Hank’s enormous mustache in the middle and wove the two strands into braids as well. Their clothes were long gone by now. The burgeoning dwarves were about four-and-a-half feet tall now and nearly as wide, with rippling muscles covered by a generous layer of fat, and hands and feet larger than those of the tallest human man.

The apartment had changed beyond recognition, with sturdy beams stretching across the high ceiling. The cheap furniture transformed into strong wooden benches with plush cushions. The kitchen stove was a fireplace with a great kettle hanging in it. There was a wood-burning stove and a storeroom filled with root vegetables and cured meats. Ventilation holes in the ceiling drew the smoke to an unknown destination. The floor was stone, strewn with furs. On a whim, Lon searched for his vape pen. He found an elaborate full-bent pipe some three feet long and looking more like a saxophone than anything else. A tinderbox and a jar of tobacco were near it. He got the thing going and exhaled clouds of fragrant smoke, looking more relaxed than he had in a long time. Hank tapped a cask of mead and drank several draughts from a huge wooden mug. They didn’t know what lay ahead, but they were comfortable. And their memories of life on the surface were feeling more like strange dreams.

The pair relaxed on their cushions, holding hands, toying with each other’s constantly hard horse dicks, roughly kissing and tumbling onto the rugs to screw. Hank always took Lon’s ass, and when he didn’t, Lon begged for it. They found a second pipe and Hank joined in. He shotgunned smoke into Lon’s lungs and watched him cum all over himself. They shrank down to under four feet in height. Shaggy hair covered their bodies like animal pelts, leaving only their fingers, toes, palms, and soles untouched. And their faces, of course. Their facial hair, already impressive, doubled in density and hung down to their giant cocks. They lovingly braided each other’s hair as it continued to grow. Their unibrows were shaggy and wild, casting their eyes in shadow. Their pupils glowed like cats’ eyes in the reflected candlelight.

Their closets were replaced by trunks. They had new clothes. Heavy leather boots, crotchless breeches, fur cloaks, suits of plate armor. The posters and prints on their walls were replaced by weapons. Axes, broadswords, daggers, a crossbow.

They fucked again. Hank stroked Lon’s dick until he was almost ready to cum, then bent him over a cushion and plunged his own shaft into Lon’s furry ass. He rode him slowly while Lon fingered his own cock. The start of this journey had been startling, even scary. But he was acclimating. And helping Lon to do the same. He felt like they were almost at the end of this. The patio door and windows had gone away, but there was still their front door. And sound had finally begun to filter back through again. There was the din of hammering, and men chanting a work song. As the apartment sank deeper, they heard a clash of weapons and shouts of encouragement. Not a battle, but training. The apartment sank deeper still. The heavy clatter of weaponry was replaced by singing. A drinking song. There were drums and string instruments and a crude sort of trumpet. The apartment trembled in a way that seemed different than before. A sense of settling into place. Hank grunted as he shot another load into his brother, his lover, his one true partner. “We’re home,” he said, merrily. And then he took Lon’s hand, to lead him into their new world.