A Weighty Case- Part 2 (Patreon)

Shirou tracks down the zealots responsible for his strange weight gain, but ultimately decides he might as well indulge a bit more. Enjoy!

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Shirou whined plaintively, the wolf feeling as if he were running a gauntlet instead of just traveling half a mile uptown through Anima City. It had been the strangest day for Shirou that he could remember; he had woken up with an extra four hundred pounds of soft, heavy fat packed on to his frame, with food appearing as if by magic, and he had been compelled to eat it. His only clue was a pamphlet from the Friends of Nirvasyl, who urged the beastmen of Anima City to give offerings to the Silver Wolf, the god-like figure that Shirou had manifested as a handful of times. 

They seemed to be a secretive group; there was no phone number, e-mail address, or street address listed on their pamphlets, merely an assurance that true believers would find themselves in good company. Happily or unhappily, Shirou knew of one person who might be able to help him… at least she would for a price.

The heavy wolf grunted as he squeezed into a narrow alleyway, his ears flattening as he felt his augmented hips gently press against both sides of the alley no matter how he maneuvered himself. He spotted a lean and wiry weasel, regarding him with equal parts shock and amusement. "Stop staring," Shirou growled, "and tell Marie Shirou Ogami is here to speak with her."

The weasel let out a silent chuckle and darted inside, returning with a tall mink in a long grey coat. Marie's expression betrayed her shock too as she spotted Shirou. "Oh my God… what happened to you?"

Shirou's lips curled as another tray of offering appeared, resting comfortably on his belly, and his thick arm had to squeeze past his own fat folds to reach and cram it in his mouth. "...I don't want to talk about it. I have a job for you."

"I'm afraid I don't do catering jobs, Ogami." Marie quipped, folding her arms.

"Would you just listen?" Shirou snapped, angrily tearing into a chicken leg that had seemingly materialized in his hand. "I need you to find a group called the Friends of Nirvasyl. They're meeting somewhere in the city, and I need to find them now."

He thrust one of their pamphlets into Marie's hand, and the mink gave it a quick glance. "I can do that easily enough. But I don't run a charity. What can you offer me? Besides free food, supposedly."

Shirou sighed in frustration. "I'll see your record's wiped clean. Any smuggling, counterfeiting, or fraud charges will be dropped from city records."

Marie arched her brow. "You can do that?"

"I'm on special assignment from city hall to get this sorted."

The mink held out her hand, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Alright, Ogami. It's a deal."

The fat wolf grunted, shaking her hand. "How long will it take you to find them?"

Marie shrugged softly. "Already done, pooch. They're in a rented warehouse down by the waterfront, on Third Street."

"Wait, what?" Shirou snarled. He paused as a plate of dumplings appeared in his hand, and he let out a small whine before snatching one up. "You already knew? It would've cost you nothing to tell me."

"Yes, but it wouldn't have profited me, either," Marie smirked. "No such thing as a free lunch— well, maybe for you there is. And… I can expect you to hold up your end of the bargain, right? A clean slate?"

"Urgh— this isn't over, Itami! Not by a long shot!" Shirou growled, shifting his weight to squeeze through the alleyway, his flabby rear jostling with each step.

"Oh, I think I'll be safe enough, Shirou. A few more snacks and I don't think you'll be able to reach me back here."

Shirou's ears flattened, but decided against it as another offering fell on his flabby chest. He had no time to waste. By the time he made it to the warehouse Marie had named, his clothes were bursting at the seams, his pants splitting along his trunk-sized thighs, and shirt riding up over the thick spare tire of his lower belly as it spilled over his waistband. As he squeezed through a warehouse door, he let out a long, rueful groan when he saw a winding staircase, leading up three stories.

Shirou heaved his overly hefty body, panting heavily as his belly sloshed and bounced with each step, until he reached the only occupied suite in the warehouse, throwing open the door. "Alright… Alright! Stop… stop in the name of the…" he held up his finger, pausing to catch his breath. "...Gimme a sec, here."

Shirou gasped, then stood up straight, looking around at the half-dozen or so shocked faces of beastmen. They were not what he expected— he saw a large and prominent Silver Wolf altar, but nothing else about them seemed terribly alarming or sinister. "...Are you the Friends of Nirvasyl?"

An otter beastmen in a turtleneck and blazer stepped forward. "We are… and who are you?"

Shirou grunted as he shuffled into the room. "Look… I'm not going to get into it. But the offerings you've been giving to the Silver Wolf? I keep getting them. And I can't stop eating them."

There was a stunned silence as the other beastmen began inching closer, viewing the now hugely obese wolf with a mix of confusion and awe. "But… if you're getting our offerings, does that mean…?" the otter left his question hanging, his eyes going wide.

Shirou slapped his forehead. "Alright— this is how we're going to do this. If I am who you think I am, then you should do what I say, right? If I'm not, then you'll want to handle this with as much discretion as possible."

The otter glanced to the others, and nodded. The other beastmen filed out, with most leaving a lingering look on Shirou. There was an awkward pause as the otter kept staring at Shirou with reverence that made him squirm, his body shifting and jiggling as he did.

"You're… bigger than I thought you'd be, great one."

Shirou rolled his eyes. "Look— what's your name?"

"Oh, just call me Alex," the otter nodded.

"Right. So, first question, are you with the Silver Wolf Order?" Shirou asked, folding his arms over his plush chest.

"Ah…" Alex rubbed the back of his head. "That would be, ah… no, no I'm not allowed back with the order."

"What do you mean you're not allowed back?!" Shirou snarled, stomping forward and instantly pinning the otter with his belly.

"Huh!" Alex gasped, hands plying at the thick rolls of fat hanging off the wolf's frame. "I-it's not what you think! Nothing nefarious, I just, uh, I was a little overzealous… A-and for that, O great one, I am very sorry, I never thought that… this would happen."

"How do you plan on fixing this?" the wolf demanded, hefting up thick reams of his belly for emphasis.

"I-I can talk to Brother Oscar, he's one of our group, and he's a dietician!"

"A dietician?" Shirou gasped. "You mean there's no way around all this? You can use some sort of magic to teleport offerings to me, compel me to eat it, but you can't get rid of all this bloody blubber?!"

The otter visibly winced. "A-as I said, great Silver Wolf, I am very sorry, I-I had no idea!"

Shirou put his hand to his forehead, massaging his temples. "Look, what was the point of all this?"

"Well… we're all true believers, and—"

Shirou put a finger to the otter's lips. "No, no. No one starts offering up to gods like this unless there's something they want. So, here I am— I am the Silver Wolf. What was all this for?"

Alex's eyes widened with reverence. "O mighty Silver Wolf, I-I am overwhelmed! Your wisdom is unfathomable— Well… there is something we had been hoping for."

Shirou leaned back, sighing as a bowl of honeyed fruit appeared atop his pillowy chest. "Go on. Tell me what it is."

The otter pressed his fingers together. "Well… Ever since the crisis with the Nirvasyl Syndrome, we have been thinking… it's time the true believers took matters into our own hands. We were hoping to appease you into manifesting, and then taking over the city— that way, you could usher us in to a bold new era for all beastmen!"

Shirou stared with wide eyes at the otter. "Right. Of course. Could you… give me the room? I need to… commune, with the spirits."

"Of course, my Lord, of course," Alex bowed, stepping out of the room. As soon as he was alone, Shirou swore under his breath.

"Okay, they're not… terribly bright or dangerous, but they are crazy," the wolf said to himself. He went over his options. Despite the immense weight packed on him, none of these beastmen seemed terribly physically imposing. He could probably take them… but there was no guarantee he could stop the offerings, and then what?

As another offering bowl appeared in his hand, Shirou whined like a spoiled puppy. Asparagus? Who offered asparagus to the White Wolf?

His ears flicked up as he snarled past the bitter taste, as an idea struck him. These Friends of Nirvasyl would do anything he asked them to do— he could keep them busy serving him. Doing anything he wanted— he could even turn them towards fulfilling his obligations to the city. And, most importantly, if the offerings wouldn't stop, he could at least get them to offer up some of his favorites.

"Alex! Get back here!" Shirou announced in a bit of a grand tone. The otter eagerly rushed back in. The wolf grinned, dimpling his cheeks. "I have heard your prayers and now accept your offerings— but the Silver Wolf is going to need a few more things before any plans move forward…"

Shirou did not take long to adjust to his new lifestyle after he had the Friends of Nirvasyl under his thumb, and more importantly, out of trouble. He kept anyone seriously looking to take over Anima City too distracted with serving him to get a plot going. The offerings were also much more to his liking, but it wasn't entirely without consequences, as his weight had erupted. His gargantuan boulder of a belly defied any attempt to envelop its sheer girth by any of his clothes, even his favored trenchcoats, as the thick reams of fat sinking down to the ground like a massive avalanche smothering the city streets. Every feature of his once angular and toned physique was buried under soft, doughy lard, the wolf now looking less like a serious Special Task Agent for the city and more like a parade float. His flabby arms were good for little more than raising another morsel to his greedy mouth, and his legs were thick around as truck tires.

The wolf assured his new followers that the Silver Wolf had many powers at his fingertips, but as he sank into his own folds of fat inflating bigger and rounder with each passing day, things like dieting, moderation, or even walking were increasingly out of reach of his portfolio.