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PATREON: Growing As A Leader
One more from last year's Patreon posts, Brooklyn is facing his first challenge as the leader of the Manhattan Gargoyle Clan, and facing it with a novel approach: bodybuilding. This story was posted back in July 2019, so if you want to see more stories like this, be sure to check out Big Stories Patreon, where Brock and I do stories like this, voted by our patrons, every month! Click here to see more: https://www.patreon.com/bigstories
Art ©
RockyTheProcy
Story © c'est moi
The Manhattan Clan were seated around a table in Castle Wyvern, their ancient home perched on top of a skyscraper in New York City. Brooklyn, Lexington, Broadway, and Hudson exchanged quick glances as they waited for their host.
Hudson, the eldest gargoyle, turned to Brooklyn. “Are you sure about this, lad?”
A lean, red gargoyle, Brooklyn was serving as the Clan’s leader in the absence of Goliath. He felt all eyes on him, as Lexington and Broadway turned with expectant looks. He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “Well… why not? Xanatos is, y’know, kind of on our side now.”
“Is he?” Lexington asked, his brow arched.
“Look, it’s not like we’re signing up for Xanatos Enterprises. We’re just asking for some help,” Brooklyn shrugged defensively. “Guys, trust me. I’d never do anything if I didn’t think it’d help the clan. You know that, right?”
The other gargoyles took a little too long to respond for Brooklyn’s liking, but eventually Broadway nodded. “Well, yeah, ‘course, Brooks.”
The door opened, and David Xanatos walked in. “Ah, hello, boys,” the businessman grinned, taking his place at the head of the table. “What can I help you with?” Behind him was his assistant, with his rectangular glasses and sharp business suit. Everyone at the table knew who he really was, but it saved time to just call him “Owen.”
“So… you know by now that with Goliath in Avalon, I’ve taken over as clan leader,” Brooklyn grinned.
“Mhm,” Xanatos nodded with a slight bow of his head. “Mazel Tov.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, and I want to take the clan in a new direction. I was hoping you could help,” Brooklyn said, choosing his words carefully.
Xanatos’ interest was piqued, judging by his cheshire cat grin. “Really? Well, I’m all ears. I’d love to be a good neighbor.”
“I’ll bet,” Hudson grumbled.
Brooklyn shot the old gargoyle a quick look before turning back to Xanatos. “We’ve had a lot of, uh, problems with our public relations. A lot of people don’t want us around. I want to change that, and I was hoping you could tell us how.”
Xanatos considered things for a minute. “Well, I have connections all over the city. I could get you in touch with Late Night hosts, academics, politicians… anyone you please, if you think you can turn it to your advantage. If you want my advice, however, I’d recommend you aim your sights on something truly neutral. Something inoffensive, like sports, or a contest.”
Hudson scoffed. “You want to turn us into The Pack, you mean. We’ve saved this city dozens of times, lad. What makes you think prancing about in some silly game will help?”
“And how many times has saving New York actually won you the approval of the people?” Xanatos responded. “Goliath had this problem, too. You think swooping down on muggers and supernatural baddies is all you need to win people over. Trust me; New Yorkers don’t remember cops until they get a traffic ticket. They do, however, remember Babe Ruth, George Cohen, and Lou Ferringo. New Yorkers don’t want to be saved, my friends; they want to be entertained.”
The other gargoyles turned to Brooklyn, wearing a knitted brow. “That’s not quite what we had in mind, admittedly…”
Xanatos held up his hand. “Well, like I said, it’s my advice. Think on it, and let me know what strings you want me to pull.”
“Wait…” Brooklyn stood as Xanatos did. “You never said what you want.”
The businessman shrugged. “It’s free, Brooklyn. Gratis. Whatever you choose, I’ll just trust you remember who helped the Manhattan Clan have its moment in the sun… figuratively speaking.” He winked, then turned to leave.
Lexington turned back to Brooklyn as they were left alone. “So… you got a blank check from Xanatos? That’s pretty good.”
“Aye, but there’s always something. We should think on this carefully…” Hudson glanced around suspiciously. “Preferably in a place where the walls don’t have so many ears. Let’s head back to the clock tower.”
The gargoyles filed out of the window one by one, spreading their wings and gliding out of the castle, until Brooklyn was the last one out.
“Oh, Brooklyn?”
The red gargoyle stopped, one leg on the windowsill as he turned to see “Owen.” Xanatos’ assistant cracked a smile that told Brooklyn he wasn’t dealing with the billionaire’s taciturn right hand, but Puck.
Watching him guardedly, Brooklyn stepped back inside. “What do you want?”
“I have a more… specific piece of advice than Mr. Xanatos, if you’re interested. An event I can guarantee you’ll win, along with netting you a genuine fan base,” Owen explained.
Brooklyn narrowed his eyes, but stepped closer. “I’m listening.”
The Child of Oberon produced his phone, the screen showing an ad for a bodybuilding contest. “The 14th Annual Mr. Hercules Contest, to be held in Madison Square Garden. It’s surprisingly popular.”
“Huh…” Brooklyn watched carefully; a bunch of hugely muscular contestants, smiling brightly and flexing, framed by Greek columns as an intricately ornate, gold statue of Heracles was handed to the most impressive looking one on stage. “Nice trophy.” He handed the phone back to Owen. “I don’t know, those guys look more like Goliath than me. I thought you said this was a guaranteed win.”
“You leave that to me,” Owen’s grin grew wider. “It will require hard work on your part, but… I think I can whip you into shape. Besides, Goliath doesn’t have the charisma, the showmanship to pull this off. You do.”
Brooklyn scoffed, though he did flip back his long, white mane. “I’m harder to butter up than that. What do you want from this, Puck?”
“I just want the trophy itself,” Owen explained. “On my honor. It’s actually quite an old artifact Mr. Xanatos has had his eye on. The owner wouldn’t sell, and I would be loathe to sink so low as to steal it… I’d like to win it, instead.”
Brooklyn was giving the man a hard look, then slowly held out his hand. “If you’re sure this is a win…”
“You put in the work, I guarantee it.” Owen held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Brooklyn hesitated, then clasped Owen’s hand. “We do. But I’ll be watching you carefully.”
“I’d be terribly disappointed in you if you didn’t.”
The gargoyle eyed Owen suspiciously, then took to the air. Left alone, Owen smiled wide and shed his mundane appearance; Puck was back. The fae was glad to see his true face again, reflected in the polished table. His skin shimmered as he slipped through the floor, and appeared below in the nursery of Xanatos’ living quarters. Puck’s face soured as he looked down at the toddler looking up at him from his toys. Alexander Xanatos was his charge, and he could only use his magic to educate him. For now.
“Ugh. Come on, you little tyke.” Puck cradled the boy in his arms. “It’s time for an alchemy lesson.”
With a snap of his fingers, Puck was back in the castle, high in one of its towers and surrounded by alchemical equipment and magic books. He began concocting a potion, and with a flick of his wrist, produced a giant tub of whey protein. “Now, this is a simple Quicksilver potion, Master Alex.”
“Kicksliver…” the toddler murmured, as Puck set him down and gave him a magical bauble to distract him.
“Quite.” Puck muttered, then up-ended the tub of protein powder into the cauldron. “Quicksilver potions are meant to be restorative to magical creatures, primarily gargoyles. But with a slight readjustment, well. Let’s just say it’ll have a strong taste.”
The following night, Brooklyn woke up from his old perch on the clock tower; he didn’t feel ready to take up Goliath’s old post, yet. Alone, he sighed, slumping his shoulders. “A bodybuilding contest. That’s the best I could come up with?” He shook his head. “What was Goliath thinking making me clan leader?”
“Probably that he wanted to make sure he was missed,” Puck quipped, appearing in a puff of smoke.
“Gah!” Brooklyn nearly lost his balance, then swiped his claws at Puck. “What’re you thinking?! I could have fallen.”
“Yes, if only you had wings.” The fae produced a strange looking concoction, sloshing around in an otherwise normal water bottle. “I’ve come to hold up my end of the bargain.”
Brooklyn’s snout wrinkled as he took the bottle. “With what, liquid cement?”
“Well, your head’s just as thick, I thought it suited you,” Puck smirked. “Oh, just drink it, already, it’s not poisoned. I need you healthy for this to work, don’t I?”
Brooklyn’s frown deepened. “So, I drink it, then what? Isn’t this stupid contest coming up fast?”
“Just go about your business. Find some bad guys to fight, and that’ll take care of the rest,” Puck replied, and disappeared in a puff of smoke before Brooklyn could offer a retort.
The gargoyle looked down at the bottle, weighing it in his hand. “I mean… yeah, I’ve done stupider things.” He opened it and downed the entire concoction, flinching a bit at the less than satisfying taste.
“Well… I’ve not turned into a frog…” he flinched again as an aftertaste rose up in his throat. “Swallowed one, maybe.”
“Lad!”
Brooklyn turned to see Hudson rushing towards him. “I’ve got the others ready to go. It was on the news; a whole gang of brutes is wreaking havoc on the West Side. Shall we? The clan needs to see you taking the lead.”
“Right… right, of course.” Brooklyn spread his wings as the others followed after Hudson. “It’s not even midnight and we already got trouble. Follow me, we’re headed for the West End!”
“Wait,” Lexington said. “Do we even know who we’re fighting?”
Brooklyn grinned. Maybe he just woke up in a good mood, but he felt like the fight was already won. “Does it matter? New York’s thrown the worst it’s got at us, and we always throw it right back. Let’s go!”
The gargoyles swooped down on a gang war in progress, each side armed with stolen, high tech rifles. The clan was more than a match for the thugs and gangsters causing havoc; just another night on the job. For Brooklyn, however, something seemed off the longer the fight went on. His body was slower than he usually was, and his limbs ached, but his punches were more powerful, he could shrug off blows that normally knocked him out, and he picked up men with ease, tossing them across the street to end the fight.
“Boy, that was easy!” Lexington chuckled as he dusted off his hands. “I’m starting to think the crooks around here are starting to slack off… uh, Brooklyn?” The gargoyle stopped as he looked over his new clan leader. “Are you okay?”
Brooklyn grinned, standing to his full height and puffing out his chest. “Yeah! Never felt better. Why?”
Lexington exchanged looks with Broadway as the rest of the clan gathered around. “You look… bigger.”
Brooklyn quirked his brow, then looked down at himself. “Oh… huh.” His body had filled out considerably; his arms had thickened with toned muscle, his shoulders had broadened, and his chest pushed forward with each breath. Broadway, pound for pound, was still bigger, but Brooklyn had never looked so impressive. “Well, I’ve been working out, y’know?”
“Oh, wow. Well… hey, good for you,” Broadway grinned.
“Anyways, let’s get moving, yeah?” Brooklyn turned his back to the rest of the gargoyles. “We’ll do a quick patrol to make sure we got them all.” He hid a smile as he started climbing up the side of a building. While the others in the clan seemed to accept his excuse, he missed Hudson narrowing his eyes, the old gargoyle watching him closely.
Brooklyn didn’t need to put two and two together; whatever Puck had given him, it was making him stronger and stronger. As the nights went by and the clan was sent out to one part of Manhattan or another to fight off criminals, Brooklyn grew in power and size. His arms surged with every punch, his back sprawled out every time he lifted another goon overhead, each one easier to throw around than the last. His chest inflated as he shouted orders, his rippling thighs like coiled springs every time he pounced on a foe. In a matter of days, he had closed the gap between his physique and Goliath’s own; and Brooklyn was starting to think he quite liked it.
After a week of fighting, finally, a calm night came over New York. Perched on the edge of the clock tower, Brooklyn was keeping his vigil.
“Lad, I need to talk with you.”
Brooklyn looked over his wide, rolling shoulder to see Hudson, his arms crossed. “What’s up, old timer?”
“Your wingspan and weight, for one.”
Brooklyn glanced at the two sail-like wings on his back, grinning proudly. They had kept up with his growing stature, flaring out as wide as Goliath’s to keep his chiseled, rock-hard musculature aloft. “Heh, yeah.” The gargoyle flexed an arm, a bicep the size of a melon swelling up as he flexed a wing to match; even they had grown more muscular, if only by virtue of carrying the rest of him.
“So… what is it, then?” Hudson asked.
Brooklyn ran a hand over his white mane, looking away as he pretended to be too engrossed with his own body, thumping his wide, meaty chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh yes, you do,” Hudson scoffed. “Don’t lie to me, Brooklyn. I’ve been around long enough to smell magic when it’s in the air, and those bulging muscles you keep admiring are lousy with it. What is it, then? Some spell you’ve smuggled out of the magus’ book? A ritual of sorts?”
Brooklyn looked over to the elder gargoyle, his one good eye boring into him. “I made a deal with Puck, alright?”
“You what? Have ye gone daft?!”
Snorting, Brooklyn stood to his full height, looming over Hudson. “I’m doing this for the good of the clan! I need to be just as strong as Goliath— maybe stronger, to keep us going. I’m going to win some trophy for Puck, and he’s promised to make us popular, welcomed in the eyes of the city.”
Hudson shook his head. “Lad, I’m not going to question yer motive. You’re a good one, that’s why Goliath chose ye. But I’m asking ye, consider very carefully just what you’ve promised Puck. If we thought Xanatos was crooked, Puck’d be a knot.”
Brooklyn slumped a bit, hunched down on his pillar-like legs. “Well.. maybe you’re right.”
Hudson grunted, patting Brooklyn’s broad shoulder. “Just make sure he’s not usin’ ye for somethin’ nefarious. That’s all I’ll say.”
“No, you're right. Thanks, Hudson,” Brooklyn nodded, then turned to the ledge of the building, his wings spreading out.
“Where’re ye headed? City’s quiet tonight— well, as quiet as New York gets.”
“Trick or not, I still gotta train,” Brooklyn responded, flexing his arms again, smirking at how his arm bulged. “I gotta feed these boys and find something heavy to throw around.” He leapt off the building, flying away into the night.
Hudson was left rolling his eyes. “No wonder the lad’s shoulders’re so wide, somethin’s gotta support that swollen head of his…”
Madison Square Garden was packed to the rafters for the 14th Annual Mr. Hercules Contest, and the throngs pouring in were buzzing over the rumors flying around that Xanatos Enterprises had sponsored a gargoyle as a contestant.
Backstage, two of the contestants had just finished oiling up, their bulging musculature shining under the stage lights. “Man, when did this contest become a freak show?” One of them muttered, a tall, blond man with a huge chest, his right pec stamped with a crown tattoo.
“Tch. Right?” The other contestant, tanned and with a mane of black hair, was still rubbing down his pumped, vascular arms. “Bodybuilding is supposed to be an art, y’know? It’s all about celebrating the human form.”
“Oh yeah?” A deep voice growled from the shadows, as two clawed hands clamped down on either bodybuilder. Brooklyn was sporting a toothy grin as he stepped forward. The gargoyle towered over them both, draping either arm around their shoulders and slamming them against his surging flanks, the overhang of his cliff-like pecs filling their field of vision. “So what happens when the gargoyle form is, y’know, just better?” He grinned tighter, bouncing his pecs as they pressed down on the two bodybuilders’ faces before he let them go. “Ah, I’m just kidding, of course. It’s not all about size, right? It’s about form, too.” Brooklyn raised his arms over his head, his lats flaring out like a second pair of wings, tensing his brick-like abs to show off the fine, diamond-cut definition.
The two humans were clenching their jaws, silently glowering at the titanic beast in front of them. “Yeah, well,” the blond bodybuilder muttered, unable to look Brooklyn in the eye. “Break a leg, pal.”
Brooklyn, still smiling, nodded. “Hey, you too.” He slapped the bodybuilder on the back, hard enough to make him stagger forward. “Pal.”
“Number 94!” The stage manager called out. “Number 94, you’re up!”
Brooklyn looked down at his speedos, strung taut over his thick hips and a bulge that proved literally every part of him had grown, and grinned. “Heh, that’s me.”
Puffing up his chest, Brooklyn stormed the stage with a confident look. He struck a pose, flexing one arm and letting a bicep big as his head rise up in size; powerful, earth-shaking legs tensed, the tear-drop of his quads billowing out. His chest raised up to meet his chin, and as he raised his free arm over his mountainous shoulder, his back sprawled out, a valley of swollen muscle. The crowd, at first shocked into silence from seeing a gargoyle so close up, began to cheer as Brooklyn went through his routine. He already knew it; that trophy was his.
Back in Castle Wyvern later that night, Brooklyn presented the trophy to Puck, a gold statue of the Greek god hefting a massive club.
“Ah!” Puck’s eyes flashed, matching his hungry smile. “It’s just magnificent. This idol is precious beyond measure, and it can grant the owner immense power. The Might of Heracles, it’s called— it can only be won, not stolen or bought.”
“And that’s why you needed me,” Brooklyn said, crossing his huge arms, mashed up against his chest.
“Exactly. Well, our deal is done. I understand there’s fan pages all over the internet that’s popping up for you and the Clan, and with that, I’ll bid you— hey!”
Brooklyn had plucked the statue right out of Puck’s hand. The fae instantly protested, leaping up to grab it, but was held at bay as Brooklyn held him down with one hand, tensing every muscle.
“You know, it occurs to me Puck, that this might be dangerous in the wrong hands….” Brooklyn smirked down at him. “Besides, you didn’t win it. I did.”
“You were my pawn, you meathead!” Puck protested, helplessly flailing his arms. “I won it by proxy!”
“I don’t think that’s how the idol sees it…” Brooklyn looked at the statue in his hand; the gold shimmered in the dark, and began to glow. The gargoyle groaned, feeling a rush of energy coursing through his veins. He flexed his arm, and his bicep surged to dizzying heights, veins coursing across the mountainous landscape as his arm continued to grow. “Don’t worry, maybe I’ll let you win it off me when I’m done. I don’t know what they’ll do for Mr. Hercules 15, but I’m not going to leave any chances. I got a title to defend now.”
Art ©
RockyTheProcyStory © c'est moi
The Manhattan Clan were seated around a table in Castle Wyvern, their ancient home perched on top of a skyscraper in New York City. Brooklyn, Lexington, Broadway, and Hudson exchanged quick glances as they waited for their host.
Hudson, the eldest gargoyle, turned to Brooklyn. “Are you sure about this, lad?”
A lean, red gargoyle, Brooklyn was serving as the Clan’s leader in the absence of Goliath. He felt all eyes on him, as Lexington and Broadway turned with expectant looks. He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “Well… why not? Xanatos is, y’know, kind of on our side now.”
“Is he?” Lexington asked, his brow arched.
“Look, it’s not like we’re signing up for Xanatos Enterprises. We’re just asking for some help,” Brooklyn shrugged defensively. “Guys, trust me. I’d never do anything if I didn’t think it’d help the clan. You know that, right?”
The other gargoyles took a little too long to respond for Brooklyn’s liking, but eventually Broadway nodded. “Well, yeah, ‘course, Brooks.”
The door opened, and David Xanatos walked in. “Ah, hello, boys,” the businessman grinned, taking his place at the head of the table. “What can I help you with?” Behind him was his assistant, with his rectangular glasses and sharp business suit. Everyone at the table knew who he really was, but it saved time to just call him “Owen.”
“So… you know by now that with Goliath in Avalon, I’ve taken over as clan leader,” Brooklyn grinned.
“Mhm,” Xanatos nodded with a slight bow of his head. “Mazel Tov.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, and I want to take the clan in a new direction. I was hoping you could help,” Brooklyn said, choosing his words carefully.
Xanatos’ interest was piqued, judging by his cheshire cat grin. “Really? Well, I’m all ears. I’d love to be a good neighbor.”
“I’ll bet,” Hudson grumbled.
Brooklyn shot the old gargoyle a quick look before turning back to Xanatos. “We’ve had a lot of, uh, problems with our public relations. A lot of people don’t want us around. I want to change that, and I was hoping you could tell us how.”
Xanatos considered things for a minute. “Well, I have connections all over the city. I could get you in touch with Late Night hosts, academics, politicians… anyone you please, if you think you can turn it to your advantage. If you want my advice, however, I’d recommend you aim your sights on something truly neutral. Something inoffensive, like sports, or a contest.”
Hudson scoffed. “You want to turn us into The Pack, you mean. We’ve saved this city dozens of times, lad. What makes you think prancing about in some silly game will help?”
“And how many times has saving New York actually won you the approval of the people?” Xanatos responded. “Goliath had this problem, too. You think swooping down on muggers and supernatural baddies is all you need to win people over. Trust me; New Yorkers don’t remember cops until they get a traffic ticket. They do, however, remember Babe Ruth, George Cohen, and Lou Ferringo. New Yorkers don’t want to be saved, my friends; they want to be entertained.”
The other gargoyles turned to Brooklyn, wearing a knitted brow. “That’s not quite what we had in mind, admittedly…”
Xanatos held up his hand. “Well, like I said, it’s my advice. Think on it, and let me know what strings you want me to pull.”
“Wait…” Brooklyn stood as Xanatos did. “You never said what you want.”
The businessman shrugged. “It’s free, Brooklyn. Gratis. Whatever you choose, I’ll just trust you remember who helped the Manhattan Clan have its moment in the sun… figuratively speaking.” He winked, then turned to leave.
Lexington turned back to Brooklyn as they were left alone. “So… you got a blank check from Xanatos? That’s pretty good.”
“Aye, but there’s always something. We should think on this carefully…” Hudson glanced around suspiciously. “Preferably in a place where the walls don’t have so many ears. Let’s head back to the clock tower.”
The gargoyles filed out of the window one by one, spreading their wings and gliding out of the castle, until Brooklyn was the last one out.
“Oh, Brooklyn?”
The red gargoyle stopped, one leg on the windowsill as he turned to see “Owen.” Xanatos’ assistant cracked a smile that told Brooklyn he wasn’t dealing with the billionaire’s taciturn right hand, but Puck.
Watching him guardedly, Brooklyn stepped back inside. “What do you want?”
“I have a more… specific piece of advice than Mr. Xanatos, if you’re interested. An event I can guarantee you’ll win, along with netting you a genuine fan base,” Owen explained.
Brooklyn narrowed his eyes, but stepped closer. “I’m listening.”
The Child of Oberon produced his phone, the screen showing an ad for a bodybuilding contest. “The 14th Annual Mr. Hercules Contest, to be held in Madison Square Garden. It’s surprisingly popular.”
“Huh…” Brooklyn watched carefully; a bunch of hugely muscular contestants, smiling brightly and flexing, framed by Greek columns as an intricately ornate, gold statue of Heracles was handed to the most impressive looking one on stage. “Nice trophy.” He handed the phone back to Owen. “I don’t know, those guys look more like Goliath than me. I thought you said this was a guaranteed win.”
“You leave that to me,” Owen’s grin grew wider. “It will require hard work on your part, but… I think I can whip you into shape. Besides, Goliath doesn’t have the charisma, the showmanship to pull this off. You do.”
Brooklyn scoffed, though he did flip back his long, white mane. “I’m harder to butter up than that. What do you want from this, Puck?”
“I just want the trophy itself,” Owen explained. “On my honor. It’s actually quite an old artifact Mr. Xanatos has had his eye on. The owner wouldn’t sell, and I would be loathe to sink so low as to steal it… I’d like to win it, instead.”
Brooklyn was giving the man a hard look, then slowly held out his hand. “If you’re sure this is a win…”
“You put in the work, I guarantee it.” Owen held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Brooklyn hesitated, then clasped Owen’s hand. “We do. But I’ll be watching you carefully.”
“I’d be terribly disappointed in you if you didn’t.”
The gargoyle eyed Owen suspiciously, then took to the air. Left alone, Owen smiled wide and shed his mundane appearance; Puck was back. The fae was glad to see his true face again, reflected in the polished table. His skin shimmered as he slipped through the floor, and appeared below in the nursery of Xanatos’ living quarters. Puck’s face soured as he looked down at the toddler looking up at him from his toys. Alexander Xanatos was his charge, and he could only use his magic to educate him. For now.
“Ugh. Come on, you little tyke.” Puck cradled the boy in his arms. “It’s time for an alchemy lesson.”
With a snap of his fingers, Puck was back in the castle, high in one of its towers and surrounded by alchemical equipment and magic books. He began concocting a potion, and with a flick of his wrist, produced a giant tub of whey protein. “Now, this is a simple Quicksilver potion, Master Alex.”
“Kicksliver…” the toddler murmured, as Puck set him down and gave him a magical bauble to distract him.
“Quite.” Puck muttered, then up-ended the tub of protein powder into the cauldron. “Quicksilver potions are meant to be restorative to magical creatures, primarily gargoyles. But with a slight readjustment, well. Let’s just say it’ll have a strong taste.”
The following night, Brooklyn woke up from his old perch on the clock tower; he didn’t feel ready to take up Goliath’s old post, yet. Alone, he sighed, slumping his shoulders. “A bodybuilding contest. That’s the best I could come up with?” He shook his head. “What was Goliath thinking making me clan leader?”
“Probably that he wanted to make sure he was missed,” Puck quipped, appearing in a puff of smoke.
“Gah!” Brooklyn nearly lost his balance, then swiped his claws at Puck. “What’re you thinking?! I could have fallen.”
“Yes, if only you had wings.” The fae produced a strange looking concoction, sloshing around in an otherwise normal water bottle. “I’ve come to hold up my end of the bargain.”
Brooklyn’s snout wrinkled as he took the bottle. “With what, liquid cement?”
“Well, your head’s just as thick, I thought it suited you,” Puck smirked. “Oh, just drink it, already, it’s not poisoned. I need you healthy for this to work, don’t I?”
Brooklyn’s frown deepened. “So, I drink it, then what? Isn’t this stupid contest coming up fast?”
“Just go about your business. Find some bad guys to fight, and that’ll take care of the rest,” Puck replied, and disappeared in a puff of smoke before Brooklyn could offer a retort.
The gargoyle looked down at the bottle, weighing it in his hand. “I mean… yeah, I’ve done stupider things.” He opened it and downed the entire concoction, flinching a bit at the less than satisfying taste.
“Well… I’ve not turned into a frog…” he flinched again as an aftertaste rose up in his throat. “Swallowed one, maybe.”
“Lad!”
Brooklyn turned to see Hudson rushing towards him. “I’ve got the others ready to go. It was on the news; a whole gang of brutes is wreaking havoc on the West Side. Shall we? The clan needs to see you taking the lead.”
“Right… right, of course.” Brooklyn spread his wings as the others followed after Hudson. “It’s not even midnight and we already got trouble. Follow me, we’re headed for the West End!”
“Wait,” Lexington said. “Do we even know who we’re fighting?”
Brooklyn grinned. Maybe he just woke up in a good mood, but he felt like the fight was already won. “Does it matter? New York’s thrown the worst it’s got at us, and we always throw it right back. Let’s go!”
The gargoyles swooped down on a gang war in progress, each side armed with stolen, high tech rifles. The clan was more than a match for the thugs and gangsters causing havoc; just another night on the job. For Brooklyn, however, something seemed off the longer the fight went on. His body was slower than he usually was, and his limbs ached, but his punches were more powerful, he could shrug off blows that normally knocked him out, and he picked up men with ease, tossing them across the street to end the fight.
“Boy, that was easy!” Lexington chuckled as he dusted off his hands. “I’m starting to think the crooks around here are starting to slack off… uh, Brooklyn?” The gargoyle stopped as he looked over his new clan leader. “Are you okay?”
Brooklyn grinned, standing to his full height and puffing out his chest. “Yeah! Never felt better. Why?”
Lexington exchanged looks with Broadway as the rest of the clan gathered around. “You look… bigger.”
Brooklyn quirked his brow, then looked down at himself. “Oh… huh.” His body had filled out considerably; his arms had thickened with toned muscle, his shoulders had broadened, and his chest pushed forward with each breath. Broadway, pound for pound, was still bigger, but Brooklyn had never looked so impressive. “Well, I’ve been working out, y’know?”
“Oh, wow. Well… hey, good for you,” Broadway grinned.
“Anyways, let’s get moving, yeah?” Brooklyn turned his back to the rest of the gargoyles. “We’ll do a quick patrol to make sure we got them all.” He hid a smile as he started climbing up the side of a building. While the others in the clan seemed to accept his excuse, he missed Hudson narrowing his eyes, the old gargoyle watching him closely.
Brooklyn didn’t need to put two and two together; whatever Puck had given him, it was making him stronger and stronger. As the nights went by and the clan was sent out to one part of Manhattan or another to fight off criminals, Brooklyn grew in power and size. His arms surged with every punch, his back sprawled out every time he lifted another goon overhead, each one easier to throw around than the last. His chest inflated as he shouted orders, his rippling thighs like coiled springs every time he pounced on a foe. In a matter of days, he had closed the gap between his physique and Goliath’s own; and Brooklyn was starting to think he quite liked it.
After a week of fighting, finally, a calm night came over New York. Perched on the edge of the clock tower, Brooklyn was keeping his vigil.
“Lad, I need to talk with you.”
Brooklyn looked over his wide, rolling shoulder to see Hudson, his arms crossed. “What’s up, old timer?”
“Your wingspan and weight, for one.”
Brooklyn glanced at the two sail-like wings on his back, grinning proudly. They had kept up with his growing stature, flaring out as wide as Goliath’s to keep his chiseled, rock-hard musculature aloft. “Heh, yeah.” The gargoyle flexed an arm, a bicep the size of a melon swelling up as he flexed a wing to match; even they had grown more muscular, if only by virtue of carrying the rest of him.
“So… what is it, then?” Hudson asked.
Brooklyn ran a hand over his white mane, looking away as he pretended to be too engrossed with his own body, thumping his wide, meaty chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh yes, you do,” Hudson scoffed. “Don’t lie to me, Brooklyn. I’ve been around long enough to smell magic when it’s in the air, and those bulging muscles you keep admiring are lousy with it. What is it, then? Some spell you’ve smuggled out of the magus’ book? A ritual of sorts?”
Brooklyn looked over to the elder gargoyle, his one good eye boring into him. “I made a deal with Puck, alright?”
“You what? Have ye gone daft?!”
Snorting, Brooklyn stood to his full height, looming over Hudson. “I’m doing this for the good of the clan! I need to be just as strong as Goliath— maybe stronger, to keep us going. I’m going to win some trophy for Puck, and he’s promised to make us popular, welcomed in the eyes of the city.”
Hudson shook his head. “Lad, I’m not going to question yer motive. You’re a good one, that’s why Goliath chose ye. But I’m asking ye, consider very carefully just what you’ve promised Puck. If we thought Xanatos was crooked, Puck’d be a knot.”
Brooklyn slumped a bit, hunched down on his pillar-like legs. “Well.. maybe you’re right.”
Hudson grunted, patting Brooklyn’s broad shoulder. “Just make sure he’s not usin’ ye for somethin’ nefarious. That’s all I’ll say.”
“No, you're right. Thanks, Hudson,” Brooklyn nodded, then turned to the ledge of the building, his wings spreading out.
“Where’re ye headed? City’s quiet tonight— well, as quiet as New York gets.”
“Trick or not, I still gotta train,” Brooklyn responded, flexing his arms again, smirking at how his arm bulged. “I gotta feed these boys and find something heavy to throw around.” He leapt off the building, flying away into the night.
Hudson was left rolling his eyes. “No wonder the lad’s shoulders’re so wide, somethin’s gotta support that swollen head of his…”
Madison Square Garden was packed to the rafters for the 14th Annual Mr. Hercules Contest, and the throngs pouring in were buzzing over the rumors flying around that Xanatos Enterprises had sponsored a gargoyle as a contestant.
Backstage, two of the contestants had just finished oiling up, their bulging musculature shining under the stage lights. “Man, when did this contest become a freak show?” One of them muttered, a tall, blond man with a huge chest, his right pec stamped with a crown tattoo.
“Tch. Right?” The other contestant, tanned and with a mane of black hair, was still rubbing down his pumped, vascular arms. “Bodybuilding is supposed to be an art, y’know? It’s all about celebrating the human form.”
“Oh yeah?” A deep voice growled from the shadows, as two clawed hands clamped down on either bodybuilder. Brooklyn was sporting a toothy grin as he stepped forward. The gargoyle towered over them both, draping either arm around their shoulders and slamming them against his surging flanks, the overhang of his cliff-like pecs filling their field of vision. “So what happens when the gargoyle form is, y’know, just better?” He grinned tighter, bouncing his pecs as they pressed down on the two bodybuilders’ faces before he let them go. “Ah, I’m just kidding, of course. It’s not all about size, right? It’s about form, too.” Brooklyn raised his arms over his head, his lats flaring out like a second pair of wings, tensing his brick-like abs to show off the fine, diamond-cut definition.
The two humans were clenching their jaws, silently glowering at the titanic beast in front of them. “Yeah, well,” the blond bodybuilder muttered, unable to look Brooklyn in the eye. “Break a leg, pal.”
Brooklyn, still smiling, nodded. “Hey, you too.” He slapped the bodybuilder on the back, hard enough to make him stagger forward. “Pal.”
“Number 94!” The stage manager called out. “Number 94, you’re up!”
Brooklyn looked down at his speedos, strung taut over his thick hips and a bulge that proved literally every part of him had grown, and grinned. “Heh, that’s me.”
Puffing up his chest, Brooklyn stormed the stage with a confident look. He struck a pose, flexing one arm and letting a bicep big as his head rise up in size; powerful, earth-shaking legs tensed, the tear-drop of his quads billowing out. His chest raised up to meet his chin, and as he raised his free arm over his mountainous shoulder, his back sprawled out, a valley of swollen muscle. The crowd, at first shocked into silence from seeing a gargoyle so close up, began to cheer as Brooklyn went through his routine. He already knew it; that trophy was his.
Back in Castle Wyvern later that night, Brooklyn presented the trophy to Puck, a gold statue of the Greek god hefting a massive club.
“Ah!” Puck’s eyes flashed, matching his hungry smile. “It’s just magnificent. This idol is precious beyond measure, and it can grant the owner immense power. The Might of Heracles, it’s called— it can only be won, not stolen or bought.”
“And that’s why you needed me,” Brooklyn said, crossing his huge arms, mashed up against his chest.
“Exactly. Well, our deal is done. I understand there’s fan pages all over the internet that’s popping up for you and the Clan, and with that, I’ll bid you— hey!”
Brooklyn had plucked the statue right out of Puck’s hand. The fae instantly protested, leaping up to grab it, but was held at bay as Brooklyn held him down with one hand, tensing every muscle.
“You know, it occurs to me Puck, that this might be dangerous in the wrong hands….” Brooklyn smirked down at him. “Besides, you didn’t win it. I did.”
“You were my pawn, you meathead!” Puck protested, helplessly flailing his arms. “I won it by proxy!”
“I don’t think that’s how the idol sees it…” Brooklyn looked at the statue in his hand; the gold shimmered in the dark, and began to glow. The gargoyle groaned, feeling a rush of energy coursing through his veins. He flexed his arm, and his bicep surged to dizzying heights, veins coursing across the mountainous landscape as his arm continued to grow. “Don’t worry, maybe I’ll let you win it off me when I’m done. I don’t know what they’ll do for Mr. Hercules 15, but I’m not going to leave any chances. I got a title to defend now.”
Category All / Muscle
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1250 x 1250px
File Size 476.5 kB
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