Illustration for a story commissioned from DaLolf - chapter found here.

“Well…” Yves sighed, looking at the angrily worded letter. “Davus is a more creative writer than I thought he’d be…” he muttered, counting the number of times the Prefect described how he would have the canine torn in half. There were nearly a dozen.

Steeling himself, Yves lumbered across town and into the garrison, and pressed himself into the Prefect’s office. “Davus?”

“You!” The stag shot up from his seat, stomping over to Yves. “You blubbery, weak, gluttonous fat…” Davus faltered when he stood mere inches from Yves, and realized the weak, little shepherd he had first met now stood at least an inch taller than him. “....fatling?”

“You wanted to have a chat, Prefect?” Yves filled the doorway as he crossed his arms, now built like a particularly powerful and overfed gorilla. A constant stream of rich food and Jidou had done its work; his gut was taut and vast as a timpani drum, his arms thick and heavy, roped with particularly excessive muscle. His shoulders scraped against the doorposts, mountainous and a perfect frame for a vast, meaty chest, his mammoth torso supported by tree trunk-thick legs and wide hips.

Davus snorted, tensing his muscular arm and palming his fist. “I have had enough of you!” He roared, and swung his fist right into Yves’ gut; he might as well have been punching a mountain, as the canine didn’t even budge an inch, and Davus staggered backward from the reverberation.

“What… no. No!” the Prefect raged. “Come on, come on! Fight back like a man!”

Yves idly flexed his bicep, now swelling bigger than the stag’s head. “Gladly.” He wound up his arm, balling his fist tightly, and then smirked at the last possible second; he had a surprise for Davus, as he summoned a cream pie, and hurled it at the Prefect’s face.