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The Shadows Take Shapes
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The shadows listen.
And watch.
A fox and a dragon of black and purple chase one another through the woods, playing tag. The fox is named Exo, so the shadows learn, the dragon a dragon of poison named Sini. The shadows study language, study expressions, study mannerisms. As they do they writhe and twist and sprout tentacles, wings, claws, horns, the heads of fox and dragon. But all of these shapes are temporal: effigies that emerge from the surface of an ink black glob.
As the shadows practice imitating the fox and dragon, they assume more precise likenesses. Posture, anatomy, skeletal structure: these are studied with an innate skill not known to mortal sculptors of the world. The shadows become fox; they become dragon, color and chemistry and all. But the nature of the shadows, unlike the form of the shadows, stays solid, stays unchanged. The shadows are jealous, hungry.
What the others have, they require.
They must eat, the others be eaten.
Insects chitter around the lake cresting the Unoki Village. Two macaws, of head-feathers sky blue and phoenix gold and verdant green, sit on the bank of the lake with fishing poles canted and baubles idly bobbing.
“A nice reflection of the sun off the waters,” one of the macaws says, quirking his head ninety degrees toward the other.
“ ‘Tis,” says the other macaw. “Shame our guests would rather prowl and caper in the murk than enjoy the unfettered light.”
“ ‘Tis,” the first macaw says. “Then they’ll wish they did when the sun is down. There will only be shadows.”
“Hold on, Frairi!” Macaw two starts reeling in a powerful fish on his capering pole, hurling line over his spool. “I’ve got something!”
“Maddas! You got it?”
“Woah, get my back! Get my che—yu-wahhh!”
Frairi hugs the air, gasping. The macaw he just tried to catch flies forward without use of his wings, torpedoing after his fishing pole into the lake. The splash startles Frairi. One, because it soaks his feathers, and he’s afraid of baths. Two, because it was caused by a fisher instead of a fish. The macaw feels his feet levitate inches over the bank slope, for he frantically beats his wings, spraying mists only serving to elevate his fright while whipping up a tornado of technicolor feathers.
It’s the stillness of the lake for which he touches ground again. He shivers, and he hesitantly calls Maddas’ name. At a single point the lake’s surface stirs. Then, up comes the garbled motoring of an underwater belch. Bubbling circlets of water lash over the chattering lake. The swollen burp ejects an acid-chewed fishing pole out of it, followed by bones in slobbery swirls, bones which before Frairi’s feet smite the earth.
Gastric gunk sizzle over the bones and grass. It’s … Maddas’ skeleton? The maccaw jumps back, squawking in terror. The response he gets is an eerie burbling from below the waters which sounds like laughter. Then, from the surface of the lake emerges the ears of a fox. The fox casually wades up the underwater slope onto the bank.
Frairi’s mind grows as buttery as do his legs, his thoughts thickening and soggying. “Exo …” The fox Exo rubs his belly, a distended dome. It’s not nearly as full as it should be, since surely he swallowed Maddas whole … Yet his belly shrivels even smaller, becoming the equivalent of a beer gut, and he strokes and pats over it, the sounds of gurgling and sloshing fading into dormant states. One last glorrrp slims his cream furred gut into perfection.
“BurrraaaaaAAAAWRP! Hmm~ Having a high metabolism’s the best! Don’t you think?”
Frairi’s mind screams, RUN, but every backwards step takes the effort of trudging through knee-deep mud. “Who are you?” he moans.
“Sini’s friend. Your friend~” Even as the fox singsongs these words, acrid fumes from Frairi’s real friend smoke from his maw. “What, don’t you recognize me, Maddas? Surely I am more familiar in face than that insignificant heap of bones on the ground your gaze seems so obsessed with.”
Frairi shakes his head, feeling mushy and sickly. How is he not wet after being submerged in the lake? The fox’s coat of fur is dry, as if it’s coated with some sort of anti-water down. As if it’s not normal fur. The macaw’s body swivels dizzily. He begins fleeing in slow motion, gaining pace as time does too, and he snaps out of his fog of stupidity.
“Where ya goin’, birdy? Surely not into the shadows? Well, that’s my favorite place, actually, but if you insist~”
Panting, beak flicking, eyes darting. Shadows at every turn, past every fallen log, under every mossy oak. Where can Frairi hide? Not hide. Fly, stupid! The macaw takes off, flapping over the forest floor into the warm, ambient treetops. As he spirals up with the wind under his wings, he sees skylight creeping out of the canopy: pure energy from a plane untouched by shadow. Freedom!
The rhythmic fwoof of wings that aren’t his fades into hearability from down below. Mohawk ejecting into a triangle shape of fright, Frairi looks over his shoulder and sees a macaw of purplish shadow beating his long wings, his beak cracked open and excitedly flaring periwinkle with crackles of energy. Frairi loses a layer of feathers, accelerating, but the shadow macaw keeps eating up more of the distance between the two of them, until he’s lunging out with his talons, latching onto the colorful macaw with an unyielding strength, swooping through the hole of a grand tree hollow with the macaw and then releasing the grip of his talons on him. Frairi tumbles over the wooden floor, and the shadow macaw lands with back turned to him and his wings splayed.
When the predator whips around and paces toward Frairi, he comments, “Not such a bad flyer, am I? I may not have spent as much time observing you birds as the other two, nor did I copy down your rainbow aesthetic, but it’s the anatomy that counts, which I made sure to mimic to a T, save your obvious flaws. Flight speed is one. Incapability to ingest or digest birds of equal size is another.” With a subdued laugh the shadow macaw scratches with both hands his empty belly. A mushy groan squiggles the surface of the ink black gut. “You’re about to get a talons-on demonstration of the latter of my improvements to your body~ Care to massage me from the inside?”
Feigning hurt with a clutch of his flank, Frairi waits until the shadow macaw bends down to pick him up, presumably to swallow him whole. Frairi then lashes out with a wing. Alas, the predator catches it, yanking the wing to lift the macaw onto his knees.
“So predictable, pretty bird. You’re good for your looks, not for much of practicality, are you? Well, I’ll let you look pretty on my gut for a couple of moments before I make use of you. Heheheheh~”
The colorful macaw gulps. His gaze trails up the mildly broad chest of the shadow macaw, and the predator yawns open a beak that exudes a hot smog of darkness, painting red the cheeks of his macaw prey. Ropes of saliva that are black and shiny like the night sky ooze and steam down the beak of the shadow macaw, splashing on Frairi’s own beak, spreading over the coated areas a faint fog of darkness. The shadow macaw hefts Frairi up, dragging him over the firmly squishy substance of his chest before tucking his own head toward his beak and then stretching the beak over Frairi. The beak has almost the flexibility of gelatin, except instead of simply being a solid it’s … a gaseous solid, a gas of a superintended shape. As the shadow macaw gulps down his prey, his pliable throat accepts his prey with an easy, shuffling expansion of the shadowy flesh. The predator slurps the colored macaw’s body down quickly enough for his prey to appear to be slithering like a snake. The rainbow wings of the macaw slide into his yawning maw. Kicking feet follow them. Tail-feathers go next. Although Frairi’s journey doesn’t end yet; his frame seeps into the crop of the shadow macaw’s neck, a storage sac for food found before the belly.
The bulging neck of the shadow macaw, which is the size of a belly bulge, contorts with the shapes of wings and fists. The shadow macaw lets out a burp, rubbing over the neck with his own wing-arms. “Enjoying your trip yet, birdy? Are you ready to admit which one of us is the superior macaw?”
Thinking the shadow macaw will vomit him up should he say what most pleases the predator, Frairi whines, “You, you’re the best of us two! You can be the best of us all … Please, I asked for none of us this … You’ll let me go, now that I concede?”
“Now that you concede, I’m content that no words will leave your beak more pleasing to me before I gurgle you away. Hahah! Maybe your cries? But those don’t really count as words, do they?”
The neck bulge of the shadow macaw bursts into bedlam, and the fierce squirms of the prey elicit an aroused trilling noise from the predator. He grinds his tongue under the roof of his mouth before gulping, sending a saturated glob of shadowy saliva down his throat, which pitches Frairi farther down into the last shaft of the G.I. tract, which precedes the shadow macaw’s belly. The sphincter of his stomach enlarges, spitting Frairi out into the glossy black confines, welcoming him with a chorus of garbled glorps and a rubberband rebound of the squishy floor beneath the shallow pool of ink black acids.
Though, the pool doesn’t stay shallow for long. With a moan and a shuffling of his constricted body Frairi attempts to get his knees underneath him to take them out of their uncomfortable juts, but the belly only moans and wobbles, and stomach enzymes pool over his neck. His breathing fills with despair. The jerks and pumps of his footpads against the stomach walls grow more urgent and desperate. The belly sloshes as his paws strike it in a pockmarking flurry. Humming with glowing shadow eyes which roll in arousal, the shadow macaw rubs faster over his stomach, feeling digestive juices and gases inflate it like a tankard. He burps and oofs, burps and pats it, slaps and lifts it up to let it flop. As his serotonin levels peak, so does the size of his bloated midriff along with the spasms of the bulge of his hefty bird prey.
Not long after the stomach inflates into a turgid sphere of meaty plashes and bassy groans, it starts grumbling away at the inferior macaw, crash after crash of its corrosive tides against Frairi’s feathery form. Frairi slowly melts into gas. Copious belches roll out of the predator’s beak, the shadow macaw happily waxing his paws over his gut. Proud belch after belch, his belly deflates with prodigious speed.
Mushy bones fly out of the tree-hollow, smashing into fine bits on the forest floor, skull included. Wiping the smear of saliva off his beak, the shadow macaw sighs with content. He twiddles a claw over the spot of his belly where the navel would be on certain beasts.
Finished eating the birds, the shadow macaw flaps out of the hollow, cycling in a leisurely glide down to the floor of the forest. He rolls his shoulders to a soft moan, feeling his skeletal structure change shape and shrink. His wings retract with a pleasant grinding sensation. He transforms back into Exo the fox. Not far from his spot of landing stands a second Exo behind the trunk of a tree, who is unsuccessfully holding back his whimpering.
The first Exo pivots toward the tree. “I see you,” he says, smiling evilly. “The shadows see all. They have seen that you have seen, for one. Did you like the show, Exo? Enjoy how I reeled your birdy buddy into the lake, and then how I—ah, well, you hadn’t the opportunity to spectate for my second meal, did you?”
I’ve got to warn Sini, Exo 2 thinks. Sini could defeat him. Sini would eat him. Exo 2 kicks off of the tree trunk, sprinting east, where he and Sini’s fort for playing was built and where Sini said he was bound earlier.
Little does the fox know that the shadows shaped themselves into a fox who cried for help in Sini’s audience. That led the dragon in the exact opposite direction in which he is bound. Exo bolts toward Sini’s exact location, crying, “Sini! Sini, over here!”
Far away, the poison dragon’s ears waggle. The vulpine shadow Sini was chasing darts off. Sini turns his head toward the source of Exo’s voice, face-whiskers drooping. “How’d you get back there, Exo?” He dashes through the woods, whisking his head, searching. The cries of Exo echo farther off, so Sini flies over the detritus of the woods before spotting the fleeing fox. Exo appears winded.
Sini lands hinds first before Exo, bowing his head with a concerned frown.
Exo sobs, “That thing back there—it ate Maddas and Frairi—”
“What thing?” Hot poison wisps curl out of his Sini’s nose protectively.
“It digested them. It spat up their bones—over there by the lake”—Exo points toward the speck that is the lake downslope, his voice choked with crocodile tears.
Poison plumes out of the dragon’s frame, and his nostrils fume with fangs gnashing. Exo hugs his stomach, and the dragon pulls his lips over his teeth, stowing his anger out of broad daylight.
“Tell me where,” he says.
“He went that way.” Exo points, and Sini starts trudging with vengeful purpose in that direction. “Sini, you mustn't listen to what he says. He’s a deceptive shapeshifter. I’ve seen him turn into them—even me—”
“A shapeshifter, eh? I’ll shift his shape, alright—hop on my back.”
When Exo climbs onto Sini’s back and grabs his neck, Sini rises up with wing-flaps to the rafters of the forest, head corked as he listens to directions from the fox. They see and glide toward Exo 2, who cries toward Sini’s name and runs toward them. Sini, he’s hesitant to fully descend to the ground, canting his body steeply to pull away from the second fox.
“Sini, he could turn into you if you stall too long,” the fox on Sini’s back says. “Do it, hurry!”
“Don’t you recognize me, Sini?” Exo 2 cries. “Sini, I’m authentic—he is such a phony—”
Alighting on the ground Sini bares his fangs, stepping with an air of threat toward the second fox. “Prove to me you’re real.”
“How?”
“Simple, Sini,” Exo says sternly. “He doesn’t know what we ate three days ago, does he?”
Exo 2 scratches his head. “Why would I remember that? It’s not important. Sini, you know I wouldn’t be able to say.” The fox raises his eyebrows at Sini, as if trying to send the dragon a hint.
Sini corks his head toward Exo, scrunching his eyes with impatience. “Well?”
“I ate just one doe. You, on the other paw, ate a whole village of Kitsurin to the southwest. You told me not to tell anyone and then you belched in my face.” Exo had been observing the fox and the dragon carefully for nearly a full week.
Raising an eyebrow, Sini turns to Exo 2. “Explain yourself.”
“That’s why I couldn’t tell you,” Exo 2 yells. “ ‘Anyone’ includes you, am I right?”
“I can do another test,” Sini says, eyes flaring a harsh violet as his head lowers to the shadows. “A taste test.”
The fox on his back grins devilishly at Exo 2, whose fur is bleached with fear. His poison dragon friend has been turned against him, a powerhouse of smogging poisons from the nose. The dragon’s muscles quiver as he prepares to pounce. The dragon flicks his slimy tongue over his terrifying fangs as he prowls forward, letting Exo 2 race ahead into the gloom the way a large cat lets a rodent scurry far enough to make interesting the chase. Rumbling Sini moves into the shadows with a gait that makes the earth nervous, taking the occasional pause at twists and turns, his eyes becoming hostile slits on a faintly outlined head that bobs as he sniffs for the scent of the vulpine. “You cannot hide from Sini, little shapeshifter. Hide, and I will find you. Change into a dragon, and your form will make me the fuller.”
Sini passes by a log behind which a whimpering ball of fluff hides, pretending not to hear him. When Exo 2 feels that the coast is clear, he quietly rolls then hobbles onto his feet, breaks into a sprint—
“Gotcha.” A paw snatches up the fox, lifting him by the tail to Sini’s face. Salivating rabidly with feral eyes wide on his meal, Sini swipes a ghastly, copiously drooling tongue over his lips, then snorts a gust of putrid poisons in Exo 2’s. He then tosses the fox up over his yawning maw.
The sight of that maw, denoting such gluttony and such pride and such a hunger … “Sini!” Exo 2 screams. The dragon’s ears flare and tingle with excitement the second before Exo 2 backflips into his expansive maw. Jaws shut down on him, carving into a cocky grin. Only the tail of the fox sticks out of the dragon’s lips. Sini swishes the bulge of the fox from cheek to cheek, coating the vulpine in slather stinking of sour toxins and stale, acidic, musky odors from regurgitations and belches of recent doe and kitsune and kirin meals. To the cries of his prey the dragon narrows his eyes with judgment. He tips his skull backward then pinches one eye shut, sucking up the fox’s tail with a sort of snarl of mirth from his throat, his fleshy esophagus, which disciplines the “shapeshifter” with its strong muscles clamping, squeezing, leaving the fox winded. Exo 2 gags on the awful stench and ropes of drool that seem to have thoroughly procreated around him by the time his bulge slips below Sini’s chest cavity.
Tongue flicking out to tap his nostrils, Sini gulps one last time, pushing his prey entirely through his gullet into his gut. The walls of the spacious tummy softly seizure as the vulpine plaps into the rancid purple swamp of the stomach. Bubbles filmed with grease bloat up and explode above the fox, and a gross, droning melody plays as they burst and spew their foul rot through the belly, drumming the pink walls. A groan rolls out of the poison dragon. His belly begins to balloon in size centimeter by centimeter, swelling up with horrid gases. Up gushes Exo 2’s head out of the acids, and the fox splashes his arms to stay afloat with little grace, heaving for breath but only managing to inhale the overpowering miasma that has percolated, given years and years, as an ugly purple haze throughout Sini’s belly.
“Sih—Sih—wheeze—Sini, it’s me—gag, gag—help me—”
Weakly the fox slaps his forepaws over the walls of the stomach, but he’s as doomed as a cube of butter in a frying pan. Already the whiskers of the vulpine sizzle away. The deathly brew of poisons pulls over his neck, then engulfs his head completely.
All the while, the fog of malodor only thickens and worsens in smell, inflating Sini’s scaly paunch to the shape of a trim bubble. With a lewd groan Sini draws back on his forelegs then rocks his body to bounce his burbling gut, pumping on it with one paw as it keeps slowly swelling with precious gas. “Bluuururrrrrrrwwwwrrrchhh!” The blurted belch has the crude, grinding quality of the noise of chalk drawing over a blackboard, and the purple malodors it expels have a stench no less horrid. “Uuubbeeelllllllllllluuuurrrrrooooooaaaaaaahp!” Levelling some of the more willowy trees surrounding him goes the bassy belch. Hazes pollute his radius. “Rrrghrrrrrrwwrrroooooaaaaaaaaaaaahhwp! Burrrrraaaaop! BrrrrRRRAAAAAAAP! BLAGK! HRAP! Buwwlch, hng, hurrrrrrRRrrrrrrrooooOooooaaaaooooooooooooaaaaackk!”
The master belcher takes cruel joy in gurgling away the “shapeshifter” as he performs his deathly solo, goaded on by belly rubs from the Exo who has slipped off of his back to show the dragon’s gut some love.
“That’s brilliant, Sini, brilliant!” Exo exclaims, and he giddily thrusts his paws at and slaps at the tummy, and its expansion has yet to reach its peak. “Keep going—quit holding back, and really show that shapeshifter the power of your belly~”
Sini snorts goofily and starts giggling, and twists and playfully bats the fox onto his back. Leaning over the fox, Sini murmurs, “You don’t think I know you want to feel every boom of my belly? Have another private session with the king of belching~?”
Crooning, the dragon bumps noses with the fox, who grins and smoothens his paws over the sides of Sini’s snout. Then the dragon backs away, letting his lower jaw come undone. Entranced eyes train on the fox. A breath of lingering belch blasts over the fox, before Sini squeezes the muscles of his stomach, neck lurching in order for him to summon up yet another belch:
“BREEHHHHAAAAAAACK!” It fizzes and boils and throws his eyes open, the kickback of the noxious belch followed by a snort. A stink of depravity billows up from the ravaged ground and the fox amid it, whose fur has been made scraggly by the wretched blast.
Fox claws twitch and curl. Clearly, Exo wants more, a signal Sini reads, sniggering. “Every last atom of that shapeshifter is gonna come back up in your face. Save his bones, if he has any.”
A pause in his burping balloons Sini’s belly back into a firm bubble. The poison dragon hunches down against the ground, as if he’s ready to pounce. He then bounces his gut over the grass and tucks his legs in against it, squeezing it and mounting pressure on the toxic gases. The fox whines to the foreboding murmuring and gnarling sounds of the stomach. The dragon’s hot muzzle almost draws close enough to kiss Exo’s. Except, the poison dragon briefly reveals his grit teeth before a lewd groan accompanies his maw flailing open, and the dragon tents his jaws over the fox’s face, before a deep whinnying and croaking in his craw finally forces up a monster of sound:
“BuuuwwwWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRGHHHHHHHRRRWWP!”
The virulent aero blast of belch puts a slingshot stretch to Sini’s lips and slicks his ears back and smears and intensifies the colors of the air in the blast with a bright aurora, before the noxious gases of the dragon’s gut catch up with the gusts and pitch and pelt themselves over the fox. Puffs and purple eddies of disastrous poison rise up and sully and smirch and damn the atmosphere.
Expertised in savory behavior such as this, Sini clenches his throat muscles in such a way as to lodge the fox’s bones in his craw until the end of the burp, so as not to destroy Exo’s face with marrow moving at meteoric speeds. Following the burp, he arcs his jaws to the side and lets out a “Bwrep!” of bone hail. Exo 2’s bony remains splatter next to Exo.
“Tada,” Sini says, and swishes his tail cheerily. “Now he’s nothing but yesterday’s news. Now you need not worry about any shapeshifter.” He noses the fox, offering a lick. “You’re perfectly safe.”
The fox gazes into his eyes, and suddenly, a chesty laugh bellows out of him. The wicked sound not only worries but scares Sini. The fox slips out from under his snout, prancing awkwardly onto all-fours. The fox turns toward Sini in a feral, predatory posture, and then his tail erects, fuzzing up with electrical jags of fur. Snarling with indulgence, the fox groans and suddenly begins to grow. Muscles writhe in expansion beneath his fur, thrusting his body into several imbalancing angles.
Patches of black scales blight the surface of his body, spreading and devouring his coat of fur. Gruff harrumphs and lurches of his head result in his vulpine nose turning black, dragonish and fanged. Purple horns crown his head. Neck barbs—tail barbs—wings—belly of purple …
A horrifying … handsome dragon blooms before Sini. He is Sini. Not really, though. He’s a doppelganger, a clone, an impersonator—the greatest of actors. Every detail of scale and of bone and of digestive system and almost all of Sini’s DNA has been copied into him.
A crippling pang hits Sini’s heart. He delighted in every second of digesting the real Exo. He had trusted the words of this phony over those of his own friend. The weight of guilt hangs his head below his shoulders. He mumbles in mental agony, trying to refute the truth, trying to find the faintest of reason or redemption for his cruel sin …
“Hmm-hm-hm-hm,” the doppelganger Sini chuckles. “Funny how that works, isn’t it? Friendship is so superficial to you, all it takes is for me to wear an ‘Exo suit,’ and you believe every fucking word I say!” Doppelganger Sini advances slowly. When Sini glares up at him he sees a monster … He sees himself.
Toxic breath breathes biting words over Sini’s snout: “Do you believe in the phrase ‘What you do you will be to you done,’ Sini? You ate the original, left the clone to live on. Only fitting that the same is done to you.”
Those words elicit a twitch of Sini’s blank face, and doppelganger Sini sees he has spurred the dragon’s attention, and he goes on. “Not only by that principle, Sini. The fact is, I am stronger than you. I am every studied strand of your DNA (and believe me, every strand was studied), except for your flaws.” A more stronger facial reaction of contestation from Sini—the doppelganger smirks. “You’re second grade to me, Sini. I’ve improved upon your strengths, too—not even your belches can compare with mine.”
The wound to Sini’s pride plants nausea in the pit of his gut, the fear that the doppelganger may prove his claim. Sini’s frame is wracked with a quiet tantrum. He will prove the doppelganger wrong. He has to. The dragon inhales a lordly breath, but doppelganger Sini is one step ahead of him, and his breath is kingly.
“BUUWLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOWWRRCH!”
The maelstrom of belch rakes Sini’s claws several yards backward. Sini’s limbs begin to quake with weakness. Although the poison nourishes him with energy, the brute force of the belch dizzies him. Before he can recover, a gaseous, power-flexing flurry erupts from the doppelganger’s maw: “UWwwWRRRAAAAaaaAAALALPH! RRuUUUAAaaLP! HUrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRooooOOOOOOAAACHhhhhhHGH!”
Hindlegs collapse, and the dragon’s brought to his knees. Sini wheezes on the concentrated fumes. Doppelganger Sini laughs, stepping through the dense purple fog. “Kneel to me, pathetic dragon, just like that. I am the new king of belches. I am Sini.” Trying to absorb the dense poison smog in his lungs so as not to drown on it, Sini chokes out a plea for mercy. The doppelganger brings his nose an inch from Sini’s, smiling thinly. “You’re outdated.”
Three simple syllables—followed by the sight of his own maw stretching greedily over him, loaded with fangs, and salivating over the outstretched tongue and down the sides, down on Sini—his breath, a humid, putrid filth washing over Sini’s face and smearing the syrup of drool over Sini’s muzzle. Then, one simple syllable—NOMF.
Doppelganger Sini swallows Sini’s head, capitalizing on the original dragon’s emotional exhaustion to pull him through those burgeoning cheeks down his biggening throat with a tag team effort of his paws and gullet muscles. The distressed Sini tries to wriggle his head backward, but his drained mind lacks coordination, and the doppelganger only moans in arousal to his struggling. Enough adrenaline pumps through Sini’s body for his squirms to double in force. But it’s of little use; Doppelganger Sini already reaches under Sini’s ribcage, ramming the original dragon’s shoulders through his maw with a great distention of jaws. The predator sucks in on and and releases his belly muscles with terse jerks, moaning to the berry flavor trickling from his prey’s underbelly over his tongue and the savory, musky, meaty flavor of Sini’s black scales. Poisons plume about the doppelganger in his euphoria, and his jaws tip back enough for the hindlegs of the original poison dragon to be lifted off the ground, so that the doppelganger can slurp his prey up to such a level, his prey’s paws and a tail kick and pound against the surface of his belly. A greatly aroused rumble … His prey Sini is fumbling over his own swelling belly bulge, massaging it on the inside and the outside.
Doppelganger Sini’s cheeks grow flushed as he begins to hyperventilate, groaning and whining from the gruelling expansion of his gut, from the triumph he feels as the tip of Sini’s tail slithers over his tongue down his deflating gullet into his new paunch, a vulgar swamp of toxic bile. The bile is corrosive enough to break down other poison dragons, including the real Sini. Doppelganger Sini loses grasp of the ground as his belly hoists his feet into the air, so he’s seated atop a giant, temperate bean bag of purple, which subtly shapeshifts on the outside to the desperate squirms of the so called “best belcher,” his prey, who is about to learn how obscenely huge and gassy and smelly his own stomach can become when his stomach’s noxious booze breaks down the body of the best belcher himself.
Dragonish roars of agony are lost behind the crescendoing symphony of the rabidly frothing and bubbling lake of acids. Doppelganger Sini moans and he caresses and gropes over the actively floundering shape of his belly. It only bloats up more and more to the wavelets of expansion caused by his digestive process compounding more deathly gas to plump up his paunch, so much gas, the fetid wafts efface the sculpted bulge of his belly, drowning its owner inside a ballooning oval of scaly paunch.
“Ughngh~ T-too much … g-gas … Too many bwuuAAAAaarrRRRPHH burps that I’ve been urrrrwWOGHPH holding in … UrrwhhhHRRRWWWRRGHooooogh, I’m gonna blow … These rrrrrghhgghhrroAHWCKK belches are gonna be so big and so hard and so loud and so nightmarish, more—ggrrrooOOAAAAAWWP bigger and more grwwoooaahlp—gristly than the original Sini could ever dream of BWUURRRRWWRRRRWWWPing!”
The doppelganger moans to the labor of his own belching, the walls of his stomach jiggling and quivering from the sheer volume of poison gas being produced. Slowly the tides wash over the last of Sini: the tip of his nose. The bubbles of his predator’s belly mimic the raunchy tunes and choruses of his own belly, except with nearly twice the vigor. Doppelganger Sini bounces on his belly, encouraging uglier, rumblyer, greasier noises out of its depths. And he groans with fluctuations of intense arousal:
“But wait, there’s BURWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHTH! There’s HURROOOAAAAAGRRH more and more and HRRRROOP m—HRUGGHNCK moRRUUUURRPPPP URRRPPRUPUP BELACK BLEP UHGGHHP URROP moOOOOURRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGRGHHHHre!” What has so far been converted into poison gas explodes out of the doppelganger’s maw, mowing down trees, marring the atmosphere with purple death. The doppelganger’s belches are out of control. His stomach has not shrunk but balloons yet another size. “You’re only gonna get outBEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAOOCCCHHed even WOOUURRRWWWRRRSE SIUUUUURRRRRGHGHHNI … GROOOAAHWWWGGHHHHHHHHH!” Heavy breathing, three breaths without a single belch, which swells his belly dramatically. “BLWWWEGHP … Fuck yes, I’m GRRRRUGHNNA hold GRRWWHP hold it in … hold it in for a whole m-m-minute, ORRRRRRWGGH! Here … c-comes the biggest BUROOOOOOP ERRRRGHVWERRR, wait for it~!”
Doppelganger Sini manages to keep his belly sealed for a whole forty-eight seconds, but like trying to hold a tarp down in a hurricane he can’t handle it. Bones plop to the surface of his digestive juices, exposing meatless bones and darkened bones and spotless bones and a dragon skull, all drifting along the lake. But none of these can be seen because of the impregnable fog of gut gas, which can no longer be withheld.
“BELLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRROOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHWWWWWWWRRRRUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROORRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRROO OAAWWWGGGHHHHHHHHUUUURRRRAHHHHRRRRRRRRARRRHRARHRARHRARHARHRARRHHRAAAHHHHHWWWWWWWWWWWWPHHHPHHAWPHHH!”
The belch is catastrophic. Turbid gales of gas roar from the doppelganger dragon’s maw, the forestry and forest canopy creaking and groaning and then slowly collapsing inward in its wake. Purple fumes steam over Kitsurin Forest. The breeze carries the stench of digested poison dragon farther over the forest. Some birds suddenly spiral to the earth. Few escape the vile updraft.
Down on the forest floor, amid the deep violet hues of murky gas, Sini groans on his back, huffing out excess belch into the air. The poison dragon’s gut slows its metabolism just enough to be left with a slim bubble curve of pudge, and its borborygmi and sickly murmurs gradually dwindle in volume. The belly itself grows calm, save for a soft, rumbly lurch here and a bubbly ripple there.
Happily Sini rolls his tongue out of his mouth, idly smacking one side of his gut, which makes a harsh, meaty sound. “Burrwwrrrllp … Oof, I feel a little bit better now~ That dragon sure got me gassy. Who would have known a dragon could be gurgled away into so many godly burps? Urrrrph … urp … aah, there goes the last of his essence, I think.”
Wings splaying as he hums and eases into more comfort, Sini giggles with a giddy swish of his tail. For a brief second, his form intuitively flashes into that of a shadow dragon, given that nobody is around anymore for him to uphold his guise. But the shadow dragon pouts and shrugs off the shadows, returning to being Sini. Satisfied by the renewal of his form, he giggles and stands up, stretching his wings and his forelegs and his maw in a yawn to get his blood flowing. Then, he twists his head back, admiring his handsome shape.
“I think maybe I’ll keep this shape~” says Sini. “Yes, I think I’ll stay permanently in this shape. After all, it’s my favorite of them all, and I wouldn’t like to lose memory or practice of it. Besides, no one will notice any difference, will they?”
And so the shadows abandon their ability to take shapes, and assume a single one forever, the shape of Sini. From now on, everyone will think that the shadows in the shape of Sini are the original Sini. All of his friends will be so superficial, they will be fooled.
Will you?
FurryEngineer42
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The shadows listen.
And watch.
A fox and a dragon of black and purple chase one another through the woods, playing tag. The fox is named Exo, so the shadows learn, the dragon a dragon of poison named Sini. The shadows study language, study expressions, study mannerisms. As they do they writhe and twist and sprout tentacles, wings, claws, horns, the heads of fox and dragon. But all of these shapes are temporal: effigies that emerge from the surface of an ink black glob.
As the shadows practice imitating the fox and dragon, they assume more precise likenesses. Posture, anatomy, skeletal structure: these are studied with an innate skill not known to mortal sculptors of the world. The shadows become fox; they become dragon, color and chemistry and all. But the nature of the shadows, unlike the form of the shadows, stays solid, stays unchanged. The shadows are jealous, hungry.
What the others have, they require.
They must eat, the others be eaten.
~Insects chitter around the lake cresting the Unoki Village. Two macaws, of head-feathers sky blue and phoenix gold and verdant green, sit on the bank of the lake with fishing poles canted and baubles idly bobbing.
“A nice reflection of the sun off the waters,” one of the macaws says, quirking his head ninety degrees toward the other.
“ ‘Tis,” says the other macaw. “Shame our guests would rather prowl and caper in the murk than enjoy the unfettered light.”
“ ‘Tis,” the first macaw says. “Then they’ll wish they did when the sun is down. There will only be shadows.”
“Hold on, Frairi!” Macaw two starts reeling in a powerful fish on his capering pole, hurling line over his spool. “I’ve got something!”
“Maddas! You got it?”
“Woah, get my back! Get my che—yu-wahhh!”
Frairi hugs the air, gasping. The macaw he just tried to catch flies forward without use of his wings, torpedoing after his fishing pole into the lake. The splash startles Frairi. One, because it soaks his feathers, and he’s afraid of baths. Two, because it was caused by a fisher instead of a fish. The macaw feels his feet levitate inches over the bank slope, for he frantically beats his wings, spraying mists only serving to elevate his fright while whipping up a tornado of technicolor feathers.
It’s the stillness of the lake for which he touches ground again. He shivers, and he hesitantly calls Maddas’ name. At a single point the lake’s surface stirs. Then, up comes the garbled motoring of an underwater belch. Bubbling circlets of water lash over the chattering lake. The swollen burp ejects an acid-chewed fishing pole out of it, followed by bones in slobbery swirls, bones which before Frairi’s feet smite the earth.
Gastric gunk sizzle over the bones and grass. It’s … Maddas’ skeleton? The maccaw jumps back, squawking in terror. The response he gets is an eerie burbling from below the waters which sounds like laughter. Then, from the surface of the lake emerges the ears of a fox. The fox casually wades up the underwater slope onto the bank.
Frairi’s mind grows as buttery as do his legs, his thoughts thickening and soggying. “Exo …” The fox Exo rubs his belly, a distended dome. It’s not nearly as full as it should be, since surely he swallowed Maddas whole … Yet his belly shrivels even smaller, becoming the equivalent of a beer gut, and he strokes and pats over it, the sounds of gurgling and sloshing fading into dormant states. One last glorrrp slims his cream furred gut into perfection.
“BurrraaaaaAAAAWRP! Hmm~ Having a high metabolism’s the best! Don’t you think?”
Frairi’s mind screams, RUN, but every backwards step takes the effort of trudging through knee-deep mud. “Who are you?” he moans.
“Sini’s friend. Your friend~” Even as the fox singsongs these words, acrid fumes from Frairi’s real friend smoke from his maw. “What, don’t you recognize me, Maddas? Surely I am more familiar in face than that insignificant heap of bones on the ground your gaze seems so obsessed with.”
Frairi shakes his head, feeling mushy and sickly. How is he not wet after being submerged in the lake? The fox’s coat of fur is dry, as if it’s coated with some sort of anti-water down. As if it’s not normal fur. The macaw’s body swivels dizzily. He begins fleeing in slow motion, gaining pace as time does too, and he snaps out of his fog of stupidity.
“Where ya goin’, birdy? Surely not into the shadows? Well, that’s my favorite place, actually, but if you insist~”
Panting, beak flicking, eyes darting. Shadows at every turn, past every fallen log, under every mossy oak. Where can Frairi hide? Not hide. Fly, stupid! The macaw takes off, flapping over the forest floor into the warm, ambient treetops. As he spirals up with the wind under his wings, he sees skylight creeping out of the canopy: pure energy from a plane untouched by shadow. Freedom!
The rhythmic fwoof of wings that aren’t his fades into hearability from down below. Mohawk ejecting into a triangle shape of fright, Frairi looks over his shoulder and sees a macaw of purplish shadow beating his long wings, his beak cracked open and excitedly flaring periwinkle with crackles of energy. Frairi loses a layer of feathers, accelerating, but the shadow macaw keeps eating up more of the distance between the two of them, until he’s lunging out with his talons, latching onto the colorful macaw with an unyielding strength, swooping through the hole of a grand tree hollow with the macaw and then releasing the grip of his talons on him. Frairi tumbles over the wooden floor, and the shadow macaw lands with back turned to him and his wings splayed.
When the predator whips around and paces toward Frairi, he comments, “Not such a bad flyer, am I? I may not have spent as much time observing you birds as the other two, nor did I copy down your rainbow aesthetic, but it’s the anatomy that counts, which I made sure to mimic to a T, save your obvious flaws. Flight speed is one. Incapability to ingest or digest birds of equal size is another.” With a subdued laugh the shadow macaw scratches with both hands his empty belly. A mushy groan squiggles the surface of the ink black gut. “You’re about to get a talons-on demonstration of the latter of my improvements to your body~ Care to massage me from the inside?”
Feigning hurt with a clutch of his flank, Frairi waits until the shadow macaw bends down to pick him up, presumably to swallow him whole. Frairi then lashes out with a wing. Alas, the predator catches it, yanking the wing to lift the macaw onto his knees.
“So predictable, pretty bird. You’re good for your looks, not for much of practicality, are you? Well, I’ll let you look pretty on my gut for a couple of moments before I make use of you. Heheheheh~”
The colorful macaw gulps. His gaze trails up the mildly broad chest of the shadow macaw, and the predator yawns open a beak that exudes a hot smog of darkness, painting red the cheeks of his macaw prey. Ropes of saliva that are black and shiny like the night sky ooze and steam down the beak of the shadow macaw, splashing on Frairi’s own beak, spreading over the coated areas a faint fog of darkness. The shadow macaw hefts Frairi up, dragging him over the firmly squishy substance of his chest before tucking his own head toward his beak and then stretching the beak over Frairi. The beak has almost the flexibility of gelatin, except instead of simply being a solid it’s … a gaseous solid, a gas of a superintended shape. As the shadow macaw gulps down his prey, his pliable throat accepts his prey with an easy, shuffling expansion of the shadowy flesh. The predator slurps the colored macaw’s body down quickly enough for his prey to appear to be slithering like a snake. The rainbow wings of the macaw slide into his yawning maw. Kicking feet follow them. Tail-feathers go next. Although Frairi’s journey doesn’t end yet; his frame seeps into the crop of the shadow macaw’s neck, a storage sac for food found before the belly.
The bulging neck of the shadow macaw, which is the size of a belly bulge, contorts with the shapes of wings and fists. The shadow macaw lets out a burp, rubbing over the neck with his own wing-arms. “Enjoying your trip yet, birdy? Are you ready to admit which one of us is the superior macaw?”
Thinking the shadow macaw will vomit him up should he say what most pleases the predator, Frairi whines, “You, you’re the best of us two! You can be the best of us all … Please, I asked for none of us this … You’ll let me go, now that I concede?”
“Now that you concede, I’m content that no words will leave your beak more pleasing to me before I gurgle you away. Hahah! Maybe your cries? But those don’t really count as words, do they?”
The neck bulge of the shadow macaw bursts into bedlam, and the fierce squirms of the prey elicit an aroused trilling noise from the predator. He grinds his tongue under the roof of his mouth before gulping, sending a saturated glob of shadowy saliva down his throat, which pitches Frairi farther down into the last shaft of the G.I. tract, which precedes the shadow macaw’s belly. The sphincter of his stomach enlarges, spitting Frairi out into the glossy black confines, welcoming him with a chorus of garbled glorps and a rubberband rebound of the squishy floor beneath the shallow pool of ink black acids.
Though, the pool doesn’t stay shallow for long. With a moan and a shuffling of his constricted body Frairi attempts to get his knees underneath him to take them out of their uncomfortable juts, but the belly only moans and wobbles, and stomach enzymes pool over his neck. His breathing fills with despair. The jerks and pumps of his footpads against the stomach walls grow more urgent and desperate. The belly sloshes as his paws strike it in a pockmarking flurry. Humming with glowing shadow eyes which roll in arousal, the shadow macaw rubs faster over his stomach, feeling digestive juices and gases inflate it like a tankard. He burps and oofs, burps and pats it, slaps and lifts it up to let it flop. As his serotonin levels peak, so does the size of his bloated midriff along with the spasms of the bulge of his hefty bird prey.
Not long after the stomach inflates into a turgid sphere of meaty plashes and bassy groans, it starts grumbling away at the inferior macaw, crash after crash of its corrosive tides against Frairi’s feathery form. Frairi slowly melts into gas. Copious belches roll out of the predator’s beak, the shadow macaw happily waxing his paws over his gut. Proud belch after belch, his belly deflates with prodigious speed.
Mushy bones fly out of the tree-hollow, smashing into fine bits on the forest floor, skull included. Wiping the smear of saliva off his beak, the shadow macaw sighs with content. He twiddles a claw over the spot of his belly where the navel would be on certain beasts.
~Finished eating the birds, the shadow macaw flaps out of the hollow, cycling in a leisurely glide down to the floor of the forest. He rolls his shoulders to a soft moan, feeling his skeletal structure change shape and shrink. His wings retract with a pleasant grinding sensation. He transforms back into Exo the fox. Not far from his spot of landing stands a second Exo behind the trunk of a tree, who is unsuccessfully holding back his whimpering.
The first Exo pivots toward the tree. “I see you,” he says, smiling evilly. “The shadows see all. They have seen that you have seen, for one. Did you like the show, Exo? Enjoy how I reeled your birdy buddy into the lake, and then how I—ah, well, you hadn’t the opportunity to spectate for my second meal, did you?”
I’ve got to warn Sini, Exo 2 thinks. Sini could defeat him. Sini would eat him. Exo 2 kicks off of the tree trunk, sprinting east, where he and Sini’s fort for playing was built and where Sini said he was bound earlier.
Little does the fox know that the shadows shaped themselves into a fox who cried for help in Sini’s audience. That led the dragon in the exact opposite direction in which he is bound. Exo bolts toward Sini’s exact location, crying, “Sini! Sini, over here!”
Far away, the poison dragon’s ears waggle. The vulpine shadow Sini was chasing darts off. Sini turns his head toward the source of Exo’s voice, face-whiskers drooping. “How’d you get back there, Exo?” He dashes through the woods, whisking his head, searching. The cries of Exo echo farther off, so Sini flies over the detritus of the woods before spotting the fleeing fox. Exo appears winded.
Sini lands hinds first before Exo, bowing his head with a concerned frown.
Exo sobs, “That thing back there—it ate Maddas and Frairi—”
“What thing?” Hot poison wisps curl out of his Sini’s nose protectively.
“It digested them. It spat up their bones—over there by the lake”—Exo points toward the speck that is the lake downslope, his voice choked with crocodile tears.
Poison plumes out of the dragon’s frame, and his nostrils fume with fangs gnashing. Exo hugs his stomach, and the dragon pulls his lips over his teeth, stowing his anger out of broad daylight.
“Tell me where,” he says.
“He went that way.” Exo points, and Sini starts trudging with vengeful purpose in that direction. “Sini, you mustn't listen to what he says. He’s a deceptive shapeshifter. I’ve seen him turn into them—even me—”
“A shapeshifter, eh? I’ll shift his shape, alright—hop on my back.”
When Exo climbs onto Sini’s back and grabs his neck, Sini rises up with wing-flaps to the rafters of the forest, head corked as he listens to directions from the fox. They see and glide toward Exo 2, who cries toward Sini’s name and runs toward them. Sini, he’s hesitant to fully descend to the ground, canting his body steeply to pull away from the second fox.
“Sini, he could turn into you if you stall too long,” the fox on Sini’s back says. “Do it, hurry!”
“Don’t you recognize me, Sini?” Exo 2 cries. “Sini, I’m authentic—he is such a phony—”
Alighting on the ground Sini bares his fangs, stepping with an air of threat toward the second fox. “Prove to me you’re real.”
“How?”
“Simple, Sini,” Exo says sternly. “He doesn’t know what we ate three days ago, does he?”
Exo 2 scratches his head. “Why would I remember that? It’s not important. Sini, you know I wouldn’t be able to say.” The fox raises his eyebrows at Sini, as if trying to send the dragon a hint.
Sini corks his head toward Exo, scrunching his eyes with impatience. “Well?”
“I ate just one doe. You, on the other paw, ate a whole village of Kitsurin to the southwest. You told me not to tell anyone and then you belched in my face.” Exo had been observing the fox and the dragon carefully for nearly a full week.
Raising an eyebrow, Sini turns to Exo 2. “Explain yourself.”
“That’s why I couldn’t tell you,” Exo 2 yells. “ ‘Anyone’ includes you, am I right?”
“I can do another test,” Sini says, eyes flaring a harsh violet as his head lowers to the shadows. “A taste test.”
The fox on his back grins devilishly at Exo 2, whose fur is bleached with fear. His poison dragon friend has been turned against him, a powerhouse of smogging poisons from the nose. The dragon’s muscles quiver as he prepares to pounce. The dragon flicks his slimy tongue over his terrifying fangs as he prowls forward, letting Exo 2 race ahead into the gloom the way a large cat lets a rodent scurry far enough to make interesting the chase. Rumbling Sini moves into the shadows with a gait that makes the earth nervous, taking the occasional pause at twists and turns, his eyes becoming hostile slits on a faintly outlined head that bobs as he sniffs for the scent of the vulpine. “You cannot hide from Sini, little shapeshifter. Hide, and I will find you. Change into a dragon, and your form will make me the fuller.”
Sini passes by a log behind which a whimpering ball of fluff hides, pretending not to hear him. When Exo 2 feels that the coast is clear, he quietly rolls then hobbles onto his feet, breaks into a sprint—
“Gotcha.” A paw snatches up the fox, lifting him by the tail to Sini’s face. Salivating rabidly with feral eyes wide on his meal, Sini swipes a ghastly, copiously drooling tongue over his lips, then snorts a gust of putrid poisons in Exo 2’s. He then tosses the fox up over his yawning maw.
The sight of that maw, denoting such gluttony and such pride and such a hunger … “Sini!” Exo 2 screams. The dragon’s ears flare and tingle with excitement the second before Exo 2 backflips into his expansive maw. Jaws shut down on him, carving into a cocky grin. Only the tail of the fox sticks out of the dragon’s lips. Sini swishes the bulge of the fox from cheek to cheek, coating the vulpine in slather stinking of sour toxins and stale, acidic, musky odors from regurgitations and belches of recent doe and kitsune and kirin meals. To the cries of his prey the dragon narrows his eyes with judgment. He tips his skull backward then pinches one eye shut, sucking up the fox’s tail with a sort of snarl of mirth from his throat, his fleshy esophagus, which disciplines the “shapeshifter” with its strong muscles clamping, squeezing, leaving the fox winded. Exo 2 gags on the awful stench and ropes of drool that seem to have thoroughly procreated around him by the time his bulge slips below Sini’s chest cavity.
Tongue flicking out to tap his nostrils, Sini gulps one last time, pushing his prey entirely through his gullet into his gut. The walls of the spacious tummy softly seizure as the vulpine plaps into the rancid purple swamp of the stomach. Bubbles filmed with grease bloat up and explode above the fox, and a gross, droning melody plays as they burst and spew their foul rot through the belly, drumming the pink walls. A groan rolls out of the poison dragon. His belly begins to balloon in size centimeter by centimeter, swelling up with horrid gases. Up gushes Exo 2’s head out of the acids, and the fox splashes his arms to stay afloat with little grace, heaving for breath but only managing to inhale the overpowering miasma that has percolated, given years and years, as an ugly purple haze throughout Sini’s belly.
“Sih—Sih—wheeze—Sini, it’s me—gag, gag—help me—”
Weakly the fox slaps his forepaws over the walls of the stomach, but he’s as doomed as a cube of butter in a frying pan. Already the whiskers of the vulpine sizzle away. The deathly brew of poisons pulls over his neck, then engulfs his head completely.
All the while, the fog of malodor only thickens and worsens in smell, inflating Sini’s scaly paunch to the shape of a trim bubble. With a lewd groan Sini draws back on his forelegs then rocks his body to bounce his burbling gut, pumping on it with one paw as it keeps slowly swelling with precious gas. “Bluuururrrrrrrwwwwrrrchhh!” The blurted belch has the crude, grinding quality of the noise of chalk drawing over a blackboard, and the purple malodors it expels have a stench no less horrid. “Uuubbeeelllllllllllluuuurrrrrooooooaaaaaaahp!” Levelling some of the more willowy trees surrounding him goes the bassy belch. Hazes pollute his radius. “Rrrghrrrrrrwwrrroooooaaaaaaaaaaaahhwp! Burrrrraaaaop! BrrrrRRRAAAAAAAP! BLAGK! HRAP! Buwwlch, hng, hurrrrrrRRrrrrrrrooooOooooaaaaooooooooooooaaaaackk!”
The master belcher takes cruel joy in gurgling away the “shapeshifter” as he performs his deathly solo, goaded on by belly rubs from the Exo who has slipped off of his back to show the dragon’s gut some love.
“That’s brilliant, Sini, brilliant!” Exo exclaims, and he giddily thrusts his paws at and slaps at the tummy, and its expansion has yet to reach its peak. “Keep going—quit holding back, and really show that shapeshifter the power of your belly~”
Sini snorts goofily and starts giggling, and twists and playfully bats the fox onto his back. Leaning over the fox, Sini murmurs, “You don’t think I know you want to feel every boom of my belly? Have another private session with the king of belching~?”
Crooning, the dragon bumps noses with the fox, who grins and smoothens his paws over the sides of Sini’s snout. Then the dragon backs away, letting his lower jaw come undone. Entranced eyes train on the fox. A breath of lingering belch blasts over the fox, before Sini squeezes the muscles of his stomach, neck lurching in order for him to summon up yet another belch:
“BREEHHHHAAAAAAACK!” It fizzes and boils and throws his eyes open, the kickback of the noxious belch followed by a snort. A stink of depravity billows up from the ravaged ground and the fox amid it, whose fur has been made scraggly by the wretched blast.
Fox claws twitch and curl. Clearly, Exo wants more, a signal Sini reads, sniggering. “Every last atom of that shapeshifter is gonna come back up in your face. Save his bones, if he has any.”
A pause in his burping balloons Sini’s belly back into a firm bubble. The poison dragon hunches down against the ground, as if he’s ready to pounce. He then bounces his gut over the grass and tucks his legs in against it, squeezing it and mounting pressure on the toxic gases. The fox whines to the foreboding murmuring and gnarling sounds of the stomach. The dragon’s hot muzzle almost draws close enough to kiss Exo’s. Except, the poison dragon briefly reveals his grit teeth before a lewd groan accompanies his maw flailing open, and the dragon tents his jaws over the fox’s face, before a deep whinnying and croaking in his craw finally forces up a monster of sound:
“BuuuwwwWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRGHHHHHHHRRRWWP!”
The virulent aero blast of belch puts a slingshot stretch to Sini’s lips and slicks his ears back and smears and intensifies the colors of the air in the blast with a bright aurora, before the noxious gases of the dragon’s gut catch up with the gusts and pitch and pelt themselves over the fox. Puffs and purple eddies of disastrous poison rise up and sully and smirch and damn the atmosphere.
Expertised in savory behavior such as this, Sini clenches his throat muscles in such a way as to lodge the fox’s bones in his craw until the end of the burp, so as not to destroy Exo’s face with marrow moving at meteoric speeds. Following the burp, he arcs his jaws to the side and lets out a “Bwrep!” of bone hail. Exo 2’s bony remains splatter next to Exo.
“Tada,” Sini says, and swishes his tail cheerily. “Now he’s nothing but yesterday’s news. Now you need not worry about any shapeshifter.” He noses the fox, offering a lick. “You’re perfectly safe.”
The fox gazes into his eyes, and suddenly, a chesty laugh bellows out of him. The wicked sound not only worries but scares Sini. The fox slips out from under his snout, prancing awkwardly onto all-fours. The fox turns toward Sini in a feral, predatory posture, and then his tail erects, fuzzing up with electrical jags of fur. Snarling with indulgence, the fox groans and suddenly begins to grow. Muscles writhe in expansion beneath his fur, thrusting his body into several imbalancing angles.
Patches of black scales blight the surface of his body, spreading and devouring his coat of fur. Gruff harrumphs and lurches of his head result in his vulpine nose turning black, dragonish and fanged. Purple horns crown his head. Neck barbs—tail barbs—wings—belly of purple …
A horrifying … handsome dragon blooms before Sini. He is Sini. Not really, though. He’s a doppelganger, a clone, an impersonator—the greatest of actors. Every detail of scale and of bone and of digestive system and almost all of Sini’s DNA has been copied into him.
A crippling pang hits Sini’s heart. He delighted in every second of digesting the real Exo. He had trusted the words of this phony over those of his own friend. The weight of guilt hangs his head below his shoulders. He mumbles in mental agony, trying to refute the truth, trying to find the faintest of reason or redemption for his cruel sin …
“Hmm-hm-hm-hm,” the doppelganger Sini chuckles. “Funny how that works, isn’t it? Friendship is so superficial to you, all it takes is for me to wear an ‘Exo suit,’ and you believe every fucking word I say!” Doppelganger Sini advances slowly. When Sini glares up at him he sees a monster … He sees himself.
Toxic breath breathes biting words over Sini’s snout: “Do you believe in the phrase ‘What you do you will be to you done,’ Sini? You ate the original, left the clone to live on. Only fitting that the same is done to you.”
Those words elicit a twitch of Sini’s blank face, and doppelganger Sini sees he has spurred the dragon’s attention, and he goes on. “Not only by that principle, Sini. The fact is, I am stronger than you. I am every studied strand of your DNA (and believe me, every strand was studied), except for your flaws.” A more stronger facial reaction of contestation from Sini—the doppelganger smirks. “You’re second grade to me, Sini. I’ve improved upon your strengths, too—not even your belches can compare with mine.”
The wound to Sini’s pride plants nausea in the pit of his gut, the fear that the doppelganger may prove his claim. Sini’s frame is wracked with a quiet tantrum. He will prove the doppelganger wrong. He has to. The dragon inhales a lordly breath, but doppelganger Sini is one step ahead of him, and his breath is kingly.
“BUUWLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOWWRRCH!”
The maelstrom of belch rakes Sini’s claws several yards backward. Sini’s limbs begin to quake with weakness. Although the poison nourishes him with energy, the brute force of the belch dizzies him. Before he can recover, a gaseous, power-flexing flurry erupts from the doppelganger’s maw: “UWwwWRRRAAAAaaaAAALALPH! RRuUUUAAaaLP! HUrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRooooOOOOOOAAACHhhhhhHGH!”
Hindlegs collapse, and the dragon’s brought to his knees. Sini wheezes on the concentrated fumes. Doppelganger Sini laughs, stepping through the dense purple fog. “Kneel to me, pathetic dragon, just like that. I am the new king of belches. I am Sini.” Trying to absorb the dense poison smog in his lungs so as not to drown on it, Sini chokes out a plea for mercy. The doppelganger brings his nose an inch from Sini’s, smiling thinly. “You’re outdated.”
Three simple syllables—followed by the sight of his own maw stretching greedily over him, loaded with fangs, and salivating over the outstretched tongue and down the sides, down on Sini—his breath, a humid, putrid filth washing over Sini’s face and smearing the syrup of drool over Sini’s muzzle. Then, one simple syllable—NOMF.
Doppelganger Sini swallows Sini’s head, capitalizing on the original dragon’s emotional exhaustion to pull him through those burgeoning cheeks down his biggening throat with a tag team effort of his paws and gullet muscles. The distressed Sini tries to wriggle his head backward, but his drained mind lacks coordination, and the doppelganger only moans in arousal to his struggling. Enough adrenaline pumps through Sini’s body for his squirms to double in force. But it’s of little use; Doppelganger Sini already reaches under Sini’s ribcage, ramming the original dragon’s shoulders through his maw with a great distention of jaws. The predator sucks in on and and releases his belly muscles with terse jerks, moaning to the berry flavor trickling from his prey’s underbelly over his tongue and the savory, musky, meaty flavor of Sini’s black scales. Poisons plume about the doppelganger in his euphoria, and his jaws tip back enough for the hindlegs of the original poison dragon to be lifted off the ground, so that the doppelganger can slurp his prey up to such a level, his prey’s paws and a tail kick and pound against the surface of his belly. A greatly aroused rumble … His prey Sini is fumbling over his own swelling belly bulge, massaging it on the inside and the outside.
Doppelganger Sini’s cheeks grow flushed as he begins to hyperventilate, groaning and whining from the gruelling expansion of his gut, from the triumph he feels as the tip of Sini’s tail slithers over his tongue down his deflating gullet into his new paunch, a vulgar swamp of toxic bile. The bile is corrosive enough to break down other poison dragons, including the real Sini. Doppelganger Sini loses grasp of the ground as his belly hoists his feet into the air, so he’s seated atop a giant, temperate bean bag of purple, which subtly shapeshifts on the outside to the desperate squirms of the so called “best belcher,” his prey, who is about to learn how obscenely huge and gassy and smelly his own stomach can become when his stomach’s noxious booze breaks down the body of the best belcher himself.
Dragonish roars of agony are lost behind the crescendoing symphony of the rabidly frothing and bubbling lake of acids. Doppelganger Sini moans and he caresses and gropes over the actively floundering shape of his belly. It only bloats up more and more to the wavelets of expansion caused by his digestive process compounding more deathly gas to plump up his paunch, so much gas, the fetid wafts efface the sculpted bulge of his belly, drowning its owner inside a ballooning oval of scaly paunch.
“Ughngh~ T-too much … g-gas … Too many bwuuAAAAaarrRRRPHH burps that I’ve been urrrrwWOGHPH holding in … UrrwhhhHRRRWWWRRGHooooogh, I’m gonna blow … These rrrrrghhgghhrroAHWCKK belches are gonna be so big and so hard and so loud and so nightmarish, more—ggrrrooOOAAAAAWWP bigger and more grwwoooaahlp—gristly than the original Sini could ever dream of BWUURRRRWWRRRRWWWPing!”
The doppelganger moans to the labor of his own belching, the walls of his stomach jiggling and quivering from the sheer volume of poison gas being produced. Slowly the tides wash over the last of Sini: the tip of his nose. The bubbles of his predator’s belly mimic the raunchy tunes and choruses of his own belly, except with nearly twice the vigor. Doppelganger Sini bounces on his belly, encouraging uglier, rumblyer, greasier noises out of its depths. And he groans with fluctuations of intense arousal:
“But wait, there’s BURWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHTH! There’s HURROOOAAAAAGRRH more and more and HRRRROOP m—HRUGGHNCK moRRUUUURRPPPP URRRPPRUPUP BELACK BLEP UHGGHHP URROP moOOOOURRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGRGHHHHre!” What has so far been converted into poison gas explodes out of the doppelganger’s maw, mowing down trees, marring the atmosphere with purple death. The doppelganger’s belches are out of control. His stomach has not shrunk but balloons yet another size. “You’re only gonna get outBEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAOOCCCHHed even WOOUURRRWWWRRRSE SIUUUUURRRRRGHGHHNI … GROOOAAHWWWGGHHHHHHHHH!” Heavy breathing, three breaths without a single belch, which swells his belly dramatically. “BLWWWEGHP … Fuck yes, I’m GRRRRUGHNNA hold GRRWWHP hold it in … hold it in for a whole m-m-minute, ORRRRRRWGGH! Here … c-comes the biggest BUROOOOOOP ERRRRGHVWERRR, wait for it~!”
Doppelganger Sini manages to keep his belly sealed for a whole forty-eight seconds, but like trying to hold a tarp down in a hurricane he can’t handle it. Bones plop to the surface of his digestive juices, exposing meatless bones and darkened bones and spotless bones and a dragon skull, all drifting along the lake. But none of these can be seen because of the impregnable fog of gut gas, which can no longer be withheld.
“BELLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRROOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHWWWWWWWRRRRUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROORRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRROO OAAWWWGGGHHHHHHHHUUUURRRRAHHHHRRRRRRRRARRRHRARHRARHRARHARHRARRHHRAAAHHHHHWWWWWWWWWWWWPHHHPHHAWPHHH!”
The belch is catastrophic. Turbid gales of gas roar from the doppelganger dragon’s maw, the forestry and forest canopy creaking and groaning and then slowly collapsing inward in its wake. Purple fumes steam over Kitsurin Forest. The breeze carries the stench of digested poison dragon farther over the forest. Some birds suddenly spiral to the earth. Few escape the vile updraft.
Down on the forest floor, amid the deep violet hues of murky gas, Sini groans on his back, huffing out excess belch into the air. The poison dragon’s gut slows its metabolism just enough to be left with a slim bubble curve of pudge, and its borborygmi and sickly murmurs gradually dwindle in volume. The belly itself grows calm, save for a soft, rumbly lurch here and a bubbly ripple there.
Happily Sini rolls his tongue out of his mouth, idly smacking one side of his gut, which makes a harsh, meaty sound. “Burrwwrrrllp … Oof, I feel a little bit better now~ That dragon sure got me gassy. Who would have known a dragon could be gurgled away into so many godly burps? Urrrrph … urp … aah, there goes the last of his essence, I think.”
Wings splaying as he hums and eases into more comfort, Sini giggles with a giddy swish of his tail. For a brief second, his form intuitively flashes into that of a shadow dragon, given that nobody is around anymore for him to uphold his guise. But the shadow dragon pouts and shrugs off the shadows, returning to being Sini. Satisfied by the renewal of his form, he giggles and stands up, stretching his wings and his forelegs and his maw in a yawn to get his blood flowing. Then, he twists his head back, admiring his handsome shape.
“I think maybe I’ll keep this shape~” says Sini. “Yes, I think I’ll stay permanently in this shape. After all, it’s my favorite of them all, and I wouldn’t like to lose memory or practice of it. Besides, no one will notice any difference, will they?”
And so the shadows abandon their ability to take shapes, and assume a single one forever, the shape of Sini. From now on, everyone will think that the shadows in the shape of Sini are the original Sini. All of his friends will be so superficial, they will be fooled.
Will you?
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Category Story / Vore
Species Western Dragon
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 225.7 kB
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