To The Victor Go the Spoils (Patreon)

So, this month's poll story ended in a tie, so I got to pick! I hope you all enjoy this, and the first illustration Cedric Browning's done for me. If you like the art, please, let me know! And now, the story.

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Victor took a deep sigh, cracking his thick neck as he read over the dossier handed to him by his Guild informant. The massive striped rat hybrid was in a coffee shop, his sleeveless leather jacket a little bit askew as it clung to his engorged frame. Taking a deep drink of a piping hot, black coffee, idly scratching at his swollen pecs as he tried to wake up. He hated morning meetings. “So, let me get this straight… You want me to infiltrate a bodybuilding contest, because you think there’s a Pride Demon running around?”

The informant, a man of indistinct species and trying to hide the distinctive cross design on his jacket, scoffed. “We don’t just think, Agent Magnusson, we know. The Guild doesn’t make mistakes.”

Victor rolled his eyes. Unfortunately for the tigrat, fighting supernatural threats through the Guild often involved dealing with officious bureaucrats and supervisors as much as it did with the more satisfying part of his job, punching bad guys in the face. “You do know that I was officially banned from like, every single professional bodybuilding organization ever, right?” The huge hybrid crossed his arms, biceps digging into his chest. “A Rage Demon possessing you counts as ‘illegal substances,’ remember?”

“Agent Magnusson, the Guild can make those bans go away, if only temporarily. We just need you to go out there, and… do what you do best.”

The tigrat snapped his fingers. “Oh, I get it now,” he said with a smirk. “He’s a pride demon, right? And you’re hoping my ego while I showboat in front of all the other contestants will be enough to draw him out, is that it?”

The informant spoke in a tone so flat it could be shoved under a door crack. “We didn’t hire you for your humility, agent. If you must know, the higher ups agreed you also had the best chance of taking on the demon, seeing as your… partner is one of his ilk.”

“Heh.” Victor snapped his fingers again, summoning up a small flame that danced on his fingertips as he lit a cigarette for himself, smoke billowing out of his nostrils. “Azazel wouldn’t mind a crack at one of his own.”

A deep, booming voice only Victor could hear echoed in the tigrat’s mind. “Let the battle commence! Spill the blood of the Pride Demon, and send him back to the depths with tales of our overwhelming strength and glory! Blood and honor!” The hybrid grunted as he felt his arms tense involuntarily, his biceps surging in size as they wedged against his pecs, nearly spilling his coffee.

“Easy, big fella,” he muttered snappishly as the voice and growth subsided. Azazel was less possessing Victor’s soul as merely renting it, granting the hybrid unspeakable strength and power in exchange for a taste of adventure and danger. The job was tempting; Victor couldn’t deny that he loved the spotlight. Smirking wide, he held out his hand. “Alright, well, you twisted my arm enough. I’ll do it just to get you off my back.”

“Excellent.” The informant didn’t smile, but at least had the courtesy to shake Victor’s hand. “Your name will be cleared in a matter of days, and we’ll take care of any tests they may want to run. Just get down to San Diego and try not to expose the Guild on national television. Again.”

“Jeez, one little shirtless photo op, and you’d think I was inviting people to Area 51.” Victor downed the rest of his coffee, then blew a smoke ring in the informant’s face, his smirk widening even further as the sour-faced Guild member’s muzzle scrunched up further. 

The San Diego Mr. Universe Contest was packed to the rafters, especially after rumors that the notorious “Meathead” Magnusson had returned to the stage, with his charges of doping mysteriously dropped. Victor sauntered into the changing rooms, his smile tightening at all the looks he was getting. His short fur was oiled to a glossy sheen, his stripes shimmering like actual gold, just like his posers that rode his tightly around his thick thighs. With the oil, every monumental muscle on his frame rippled, from his shoulders like a mountain range and arms that he could wrap steel girders around, to brick-sized abs and legs wide and taut as timpani drums.

“Woah,” a tiger chuckled, looking Victor up and down. The feline was already an impressive specimen, with an almost artistic cut to his well-defined musculature, his stripes running down the contours of his swollen lats and marble-like adonis belt. “Look who finally slept with enough judges to get back into the pros. Glad to have you back, Magnusson; someone as clumsy as you on the stage, I can get measured for my Mr. Universe sash right now.”

“Stripes Corwin,” Victor grappled with the tiger’s hand, slapping the feline on his wide back as the two bodybuilders collided with one another. “Got over your size envy yet?” The hybrid smirked, flexing a bicep roughly the size of the tiger’s thigh.

“Psht,” the tiger scoffed. “You know size ain’t everything, Magnusson. It’s all about form,” he declared, lifting his arm over his head, letting his heaving flank and diamond-cut abs ripple. 

“That’s not what I heard from your wife last night,” Victor shot back. 

“Hah!” Another voice was trying to suppress a chuckle. A large, hulking panda was trying to hide his blush as he looked at Corwin and Victor sizing each other up. He was large than the tiger, but he was also carrying more fat than some other contestants, banking on his impressive arms and pecs to see him through. “I, uh, it’s good to see you back, Victor.”

“And you weren’t this shy last night, Lee,” the hybrid said in a scandalous tone, reaching over to pinch the panda’s round glutes.

The tiger shook his head as Lee’s blush filled his cheeks, yelping at getting goosed. “Jesus, Magnusson, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” 

“What is this nonsense? Where is the blood, the fight? Give me a battle, Magnusson! I did not come here to see you lecherously tease these pitiful excuses for warriors. I hunger for war!” Azazel demanded in Victor’s head.

“Keep your horns on, hothead,” the tigrat muttered under his breath, before flashing Corwin and Lee a smile. “So, listen, fellas, you noticed any new faces around? I want to size up my competition.”

“Two new guys, wolves,” Corwin said. “The white one’s from Mexico. He’s a decent guy, but the other one,” the tiger shuddered. “He’s, well, you sized, but he’s a scary dude, Magnusson. Every guy that gets near him goes weak in the knees and pale, like he’s about to tear their faces off.”

Victor arched his brow. “Go on.”

“Rust-colored fur. He certainly isn’t the friendliest of people,” Lee murmured before shaking his head. “Just passing by him earlier I almost wanted to go home.”

Frowning softly the tigrat rolled his broad shoulders, traps brushing against his cheeks. “Well fellas, I’m just gonna go check him out...I mean, competition and all. I’ll just be back in a few.”

Before either bodybuilder could try to dissuade him the hybrid was already lumbering his way through the backstage, glancing around. One white wolf, sporting yellow posers and red wristbands, was already muttering frantically to himself, trying to squeeze his beefy pecs into a muscle shirt.

“Hey, pal,” Victor called, leaning against the locker next to him. “Where’s the fire?”

“This was a mistake,” the wolf mumbled. “I’m not cut out for this… woah.” He blushed as he looked Victor up and down, then his face fell. “I’m really, really not cut out for this… I-I mean look at me, and look at you…” 

“You’re Cedric, right? New guy?” Victor asked, nudging the wolf’s bulging arm, the canine’s cannonball bicep tensing. “You got some pretty impressive guns there, man. Size ain’t everything here, you should know that.”

“Oh… I-I mean, uh… thanks. And I am.” Cedric took a deep breath. “I’m sorry… going out on stage just terrifies me. I lost my nerve. I look so out of shape next to all these pros… and I thought I was feeling really confident when I came in…”

Victor frowned, then wore an easy smile, teasing the white fluff running along the cleft of Cedric’s pecs. “Look, I think you’ve got a rockin’ bod. You should totally go out and show people what you got. If you do, I’ll treat you to a drink after the contest. We can celebrate your first win.”

The wolf was now flustered, but at least he wasn’t panicking as he avoided the tigrat’s golden gaze. “Well… I don’t know.”

“I actually need a favor that I think will help you, too. You seen another wolf around here? Pretty big and intimidating?”

Cedric nodded. “Yeah… I didn’t think he was talking to me, but he said I was weak and pathetic, and he’s so much bigger and stronger, I… believed it.”

“Ah, forget about what he said. He’s just trying to psych you out.” Victor grinned, nudging Cedric’s thick flanks. “He was probably just jealous of your form. But, I’m actually with the contest management, see- I’m just going to track him down for harassing other contestants. Mind helping me out?”

The white wolf took a deep breath. “Oh, no problem. I saw him last near the weight room. He’s hard to miss; follow me.”

As Victor followed Cedric, it didn’t take him long to spot the offending bodybuilder, a good ten foot radius had been cleared around the rust-colored wolf. His body was swollen with thick, rippling muscle, looming over the other contestants giving him a wide berth. If anything he might have matched the hybrid pound for pound.

Stuffed into a pair of gold posers the wolf turned his eyes on Victor as the hybrid approached, a smirk spreading over his muzzle. “Oooh, what have we here? Somebody getting close and not having a breakdown, definitely not mortal then.” Crossing his arms the wolf snickered, biceps mashing into his pecs as he shook his head. “How about you don’t horn in on my action, pal?”

“Or you could up and leave. Just drop out of the competition and slink your way back into the pit.” Victor held up his hands, grinning broadly. “Saves me time and I can just enjoy the competition.”

“You are trying to weasel your way out of battle! I was promised combat, a chance to ravage an opponent!” Azazel was roaring in his head, absolutely apoplectic at the prospect of having his fight taken away before it could even begin. The demon’s energy was surging through Victor, making his muscles tense and ripple as wisps of smoke started to curl up from the tigrat’s stripes.

“Easy, Azzy,” Victor muttered. “We’re trying diplomacy first.”

The wolf’s eyes widened before he let out a peal of laughter. “Oh you’re kidding me, right? You’ve got some hot head lodged in your craw and you’re telling me to step off? Damn, there are some hypocrites on a lower ring that would blush at that. So how about you take your offer and shove it? Azmodan doesn’t step away from a buffet like this.” The wolf’s grin grew wider as a wave of unease washed over Victor.

Shaking off the sensation his ears flicked at the sounds of discontent around them. A few nearby competitors had been flexing and posing in the mirrors, but cocky grins were now replaced by concerned frowns. They seemed to be muttering about losing, that confidence evaporating. Cedric was looking timid again, but Victor whipped his head back to look at the demon, eyes going a bit wide.

Azmodan’s body was growing thicker, heavier. Already large muscles were throbbing and pumping over his form as a wicked grin split his muzzle. “You mortals can’t help preening and lavishing yourselves, it’s irresistible!” Snarling he shuddered, his back growing broader as he hunched over, arms clutching at each other as his biceps rapidly grew thicker than Victor’s thighs. “It’s a feast and I can’t stop digging in!”

Growling deeply the wolf shook his head, fangs peeking out past his lips, looking more like tusks as spikes starts to pop up through his fur along his jawline, just barely curving away from the swell of his chest. Two wings burst from his back, more draconic than anything else about the canine body, a pair of tails erupting above a shelf of meaty glutes. A pair of pecs that looked like they could stop a speeding train on impact rose and fell as he let out a groan, licking his chops in a perverse display of hunger. “Ooooh, that’s better. I should have done this years ago!”

“Azazel, do your thing!” Victor muttered, losing his nerve as he felt his legs grow weak. He was actually starting to feel scared, his confidence shattered. He knew it was Azmodan, but he couldn’t shake it, the color draining from his face as the hulking demon took a swipe at him. “Azzy! Now!”

“I thought you wanted to sort this out ‘diplomatically,’” the demon’s voice rang acidly in Victor’s head.

“Of all the times you chose to develop a sense of sarcasm, you’re doing it now?” Victor snarled, Cedric pulling him away before Azmodan could take another strike at him, the demon’s long claws raking the hybrid’s arm. It didn’t cut deep, but it was bleeding, the metallic scent reaching his nostrils.

“Ah, yes! The smell of blood! Let us put this Azmodan in his place; I am the master of war, here!” Azazel roared, and Victor echoed that roar.

The tigrat hunched over, pushing Cedric out of the way. His stripes, warped over his surging, swelling muscles, shimmered like molten gold, as horns jutted out on either side of his  pompadour. Growling as he felt fiery energy shoot through his limbs, the tigrat grew, his chest pushing forward like an advancing army, arms doubling in size as boulder-sized biceps jumped and twitched, veins like rivers cutting through a growing landscape, his legs exploding in size, keeping up pace to support his enormous upper body. 

“I’ll punch you so far down, they’ll have to dig you up from the sixth circle!” Victor bellowed, fire consuming his fists as he and Azmodan collided with another, like two mountains clashing together in some type of cataclysm, the ground shaking from their impact. 

“I’m fuelled by pride, you filthy parasite!” the pride demon roared, a delirious smile on his face, landing a punch on Victor’s side that barely registered with the titanic hybrid. “These strutting louts will sustain me for centuries to come!”

“Yeah? Well, here’s a bit of news,” Victor said through gritted teeth, raking the demon with fiery claws, sustaining blow after blow as it struck at his leathery hide and rock-hard, bulging muscle. He threw an arm around the demon’s thick neck, his massive bicep pinning Azmodan’s snout against his cliff-like chest, wedging him between a practical rock and a hard place. “I loved bodybuilding until it was ruined for me. And getting back here and seeing you mess with guys that are trying to work hard, just for a shot in the spotlight, it doesn’t fill me with pride. It just pisses. Me. OFF!” Victor snarled, punctuating the last three words with flamed fists directly at the demon’s maw, punching out a fang. 

“Augh!” Azmodan hissed. He broke free of Victor’s grasp, raking at the tigrat’s massive plateau of a back. “Bodybuilding? That’s your great cause? What a pathetic, petty distraction! Your pride is still there, I can taste it. And I want all of it!”

The pride demon tackled Victor, trying to knock him down. The hybrid’s massive legs almost buckled, but he buried his head, hunched over as he headbutted the demon with his horns, stabbing his chest. It did little more than superficial damage, but enough pain to give Victor the upper hand. Grappling with Azmodan, biceps grinding into the demon’s engorged flanks, triceps rippling and surging as he used all his strength to heft Azmodan up over his head, his sides shoving out to the sides as his arms tensed, his legs rippling as thighs like monster truck tires supported him. With one last roar, he slammed the demon into the concrete ground, leaving a crater as he tackled Azmodan, landing on top of him like a meteor as the gargantuan beast grappled the demon’s arm, his own surging arms like raging bulls, ready to tear Azmodan’s arm right out of its socket. 

“Shocking, right?” Victor grunted, twisting Azmodan’s arm until he heard the crack of bone. “I ain’t got that much pride. I’m just real good at acting like I do. So, you going to go crawl back in your pit, or do I have to send you back, some assembly required?”

“I yield!” Azmodan hissed, squirming in the hybrid’s iron grip. “I yield!”

“Then get. Out.” Victor growled. The demon evaporated into a haze of sulfurous smoke, leaving only a crater as evidence that he was there. The hybrid took a deep, relieved sigh as he stood up, shaking the kinks out of his burgeoning, hulking body, then realized that every pair of eyes was on him as his horns slowly slipped back beneath his hair.

“Oh, uhm. Okay, so…” Victor forced an easy smile, slicking back his hair. The smile faltered when he saw Cedric had his phone out, recording the whole fight. “...Ced, you recorded all that?”

“I-I thought you were with management, that you would need it! But… woah. You’re like a superhero, there!” the white wolf gushed.

“I am… not a superhero,” Victor muttered. “So…” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together as his biceps teased his peaked chest. “You guys all know me. This really, really can’t get out. Like. At all. I don’t have a lot of money, but hey, I can show ya’ll one hell of a night.” He clicked his tongue pointing a finger gun at the panda. “Lee over there knows what I’m talking about.” He was laying it on obscenely thick; even he was a little intimidated by the prospect of a date with… twelve, fifteen… crap, he lost count. Way too many bodybuilders.

The PA system then crackled. “All contestants in Group A to the stage, all Group A contestants, to the stage!”

“Alright, so!” Victor grinned even wider. “Think it over. But if you tell anyone about this, hah, let’s just say that if you thought I was brutal to that red guy, well! I’ll put you in the ground. Permanently. Seriously, don’t test me guys.” There was an awkward pause as shocked silence was all Victor got from the other contestants. “So… let’s put on a good show, why don’t we?”

The hybrid carried himself with confidence again as he marched out, bulging thighs rolling off one another as he was forced into a swaggering gait. He was right next to Cedric as he fell into a champion pose, holding out one arm straight, tricep rippling as he curled the other, his clenched fist digging into his swollen, meaty bicep. “So I really, really need to see that phone of yours, Cedric,” Victor said through his teeth.

“You promised drinks, right?” Cedric returned, smiling through a double bicep pose, pumping his two massive guns. “Maybe you can see my phone over dinner…?”

“Glad to see you got your confidence again,” Victor forced a chuckle, swinging to the side to give the judges a shot of his vast, striped landscape of a back. “My God, the Guild is going to rake me over the coals,” he muttered, enjoying the applause while he could.