Commission for  ryanr

He stopped growing. He tore of the shattered remains of his shirt with ease. Pity, he liked that shirt. Even despite the immense pain and property destruction he just endured and inflicted, he felt pretty good. He stood an easy seven feet now, equipped with enough muscle to pull one of the columns of the restaurant down and throw them across the street.

Looking over himself his mouth fumbled the words form his newly-grown muzzle, “Minotaur.” He flexed and he smiled, “Not bad at all.” In truth he resembled a giant walking bull a coat of mottled white and brown, with a golden mane, and mighty horns. Feeling content he walked out of the store.

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