Growth Spurts
Now, look—I’ve played my fair share of Pokémon.
Hell, I don’t know a single person from my generation who didn’t, at some
point, want to catch ’em all. But watching a pixelated evolution on a tiny
screen? That’s one thing. Watching it happen in real-time, right in front of
me? That’s a whole different kind of nightmare.
At least, I that’s what’s happening
here.
Because the air? Yeah, it’s with
energy—the kind that makes your hair stand on end. Except this isn’t that
subtle, eerie tingle. No, this is standing-too-close-to-a-bonfire,
eyebrows-in-imminent-danger, kind of
energy.
Twitch and Sprocket—my once small, moss-covered
bundles of chaos—are practically vibrating, their tiny bodies pulsing with an
eerie glow. Like they just took a swan dive into a vat of that gooey sludge
that turned some regular-ass turtles into pizza-loving ninjas.
“Uh… guys?” I take a cautious step back. Last
time I saw something glow like that, it exploded.
Twitch lets out a high-pitched chitter, his usual
excitable energy now cranked up to eleven. Sprocket, on the other hand, just
stands there, stock-still, eyes wide like he suddenly remembered he left the
oven on.
And then it happens.
Their bodies stretch—limbs elongating, torsos
widening, fur shifting color and texture. The mossy green softens into
something sleeker, something alive with crackling, residual magic.
Then, just like that, the glow vanishes. And
what’s left standing in front of me is…
“Holy ,” I mutter.
Sprocket—previously a lazy little puffball—is now
a lean, wiry creature standing past my knees. His fur is a deep emerald,
streaked with jagged lines of lightning blue. He still has that laid-back
energy, but now it’s , like a predator sizing up prey. Deciding
whether to pounce. Oh, and he has glasses now. Because why the hell not?
Meanwhile, Twitch looks like he spent six years
locked in a dungeon gym, mainlining protein shakes and rage. He’s massive—his
once-adorable frame now armored in thick, bark-like plating. His tiny claws?
Yeah, not so tiny anymore. They’re curved, razor-sharp talons that could
probably gut a bear. His glowing amber eyes scan the area before settling on
me, and for one brief, horrifying moment, I swear there’s .
“...You juiced up, didn’t you?” I ask, pointing a
finger at him.
Twitch blinks. “What you mean, Boss?”
Then he flexes.
A squirrel. A —if I can
even call this hulking monstrosity that—just flexed at me.
Sprocket adjusts his tiny, wire-rimmed glasses
and chitters something under his breath. It sounds… articulate. Intelligent.
Mocking.
“My… does the mundane feel so .”
Oh great. He’s evolved into a .
I rub my temples. “Alright, so one of you became
a scholar, and the other became a bouncer. Fantastic.”
Twitch cracks his knuckles, and I swear the sound
carries through the damn trees. Sprocket chitters again, adjusting his glasses
like he’s about to start lecturing me on quantum physics.
I exhale. “You two, I swear. Just a couple of
jackasses. I—”
A nearby tree explodes. Not cracks. Not
splinters. Like it owed Twitch money.
Sprocket lets out a sharp, scolding noise. Like
the responsible one now.
“No, no, you barbaric fool.” He waves a tiny
claw, exasperated. “I said it, not it.”
“Oh. Right…” Twitch mutters, looking entirely
unbothered.
Meanwhile, I just stand there, mouth slightly
open.
“...Okay,” I finally say, slow and deliberate.
“We need to have a serious talk about self-control.”
Sprocket adjusts his glasses again. Twitch
flexes.
They both look at me.
“You say something, Boss?” they say in unison.
I’m so screwed.
Twitch flexes again, veins practically popping
under his mossy fur. His tiny squirrel chest ripples like he’s about to
challenge the nearest acorn to a bench press contest. His beady eyes stay
locked on the branch above—where three golden-furred lady squirrels sway their
hips like they’re auditioning for some woodland cabaret.
“Oh yeah… hey there, ladies.” His voice drips
with syrupy confidence, like he’s been training for this exact moment his whole
damn life.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is happening.
This is actually happening.
“Okay, buddy.” I sigh, activating my patented Dad
Voice. “I think it’s time for you to—”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
I reach down to scoop him up... and immediately
regret it. The little bastard is solid. Like, dense. My arms strain, muscles
flex, and—nothing. He doesn’t budge.
“Son of a bitch, you’ve—”
“—Gotten sexy,” Twitch finishes, flashing a
toothy grin. His pecs bounce. The squirrel girls gasp. One of them actually
fans herself with a leaf.
I’m in hell.
“Yo, Sprocket.” I glance over my shoulder. “A
little help here?”
Sprocket’s already sprawled out in the shade, one
paw behind his head, glasses perched on his snout. His nose twitches once,
twice—then he lazily flips the page of a goddamn manga. Where in the seven
hells did he even find that?
“I’m afraid,” Sprocket muses, not bothering to
look up, “there’s little you—or I, for that matter—can do in this situation.”
He scratches his fuzzy ass cheek like some kind of woodland philosopher. “When
nature calls, who are we to deny her?”
I blink. My eyebrow twitches.
“Well, that’s just fantastic. One of you turned
into a furry, hormonal meathead, and the other’s a pompous little—”
“Master,” Sprocket interrupts, finally glancing
over the top of his glasses. “You wound me.” He places a paw dramatically on
his chest. “I fought bravely—”
“You didn’t even lift a paw.”
“A warrior’s greatest battle,” he says, voice
dripping with smug self-importance, “is often unseen.”
I open my mouth. Then close it.
I… I can’t.
I cross my arms. “Yeah, I’ll make sure not to put
any points into Charisma.”
Sprocket gasps, clutching his chest like I just
smote him with divine wrath. “Master, please! Such cruelty! After all we’ve
been through?”
I narrow my eyes. “We? Oh… It’s We now?”
Sprocket flicks his tail dismissively and turns a
page. “A true tactician understands the value of delegation. And yes, as of
this moment, given the current conversation, ‘tis we.”
I stare at him. Hard. He stares right back,
completely unfazed, adjusting his glasses like some kind of furry intellectual.
Meanwhile, Twitch is still flexing at the lady
squirrels. His tail fluffs, his chest puffs out, and—yep, there it is—he’s
bouncing his pecs again. The girls titter, tails swishing.
“I hate this,” I mutter under my breath.
Twitch tilts his head back, basking in his
newfound sex appeal. “Boss, I gotta say… evolving? Best decision of my life.”
He runs a paw down his sleek fur, admiring his reflection in a puddle. “I’m
practically a god now.”
The lady squirrels sigh dreamily. One of them
actually squeaks.
Sprocket flips another page. “You’re embarrassing
yourself.”
Twitch ignores him. “Hey, ladies,” he calls up to
the branch, winking. “You ever seen a squirrel do one-paw push-ups?”
He drops into position. Starts going at it.
Fast.
One of the girls faints.
Sprocket doesn’t even glance up. “You disgust
me.”
I exhale through my nose. Deeply. I have actual
problems to deal with—monsters, survival, my godsdamn killer adopted demon
daughter—but instead, here I am, supervising a squirrel thirst trap and his
deadbeat brother.
I turn on my heel. “I’m leaving.”
Twitch barely acknowledges me, too busy showing
off his gains. “Yeah, yeah, see you later, boss.”
Sprocket yawns. “Bring me snacks.”
“I hope a hawk eats you both.”
I take maybe three steps before Shaq’Rai’s voice
slithers into my ear, thick with the kind of exasperation that says she’s
seconds away from smacking me upside the head.
“Do not leave.”
I freeze mid-step. “What? Why?”
She sighs—long and suffering—like I’ve personally
ruined her entire day. “Really?”
I blink. “Yes, really.”
“The bonding process. Hello? You are the Beast
Lord.”
Ah. Shit.
I groan, rubbing my temples. “Dammit.”
“Look,” she says, and I hate how amused
she sounds. “Take your mind off things. You’ve got loads of stat allocations to
go through.”
I pause. “Wait… really?”
“Yes, really.”
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Sweet! So I
finally leveled up?”
She hesitates. Never a good sign. “Not… per se.”
I don’t like the way she says that. But I open
the Stat Allocation Menu anyway.
And then—
“Son of a bitch!”
My eyes nearly pop out of my skull.
Twitch and Sprocket, my two insufferable little
monster squirrels, are now level ten.
TEN.
They skipped right past baby-mode and went
straight to territory.
I exhale sharply and start with Twitch. First, I
glance up at him—he’s still flexing aggressively at his adoring groupies, tail
fluffed up like a goddamn peacock. His biceps—**because apparently, he has
biceps now—**pulse with every over-exaggerated movement.
Yeah. No way in hell I’m giving this guy
ANY points in Charisma.
Without hesitation, I slam all his points into
Strength, Stamina, and Vitality. No Dex. No Agility. Just raw, unfiltered
muscle and endurance. If he’s gonna be a meathead, he’s gonna be a useful
one.
A notification pings.
[Congratulations! You have received +10
Loyalty Points from Twitch.]
Huh. That’s—
Wait.
I slowly look up.
Twitch is standing inches from me. His
usual rebellious, smug-ass expression? Gone. Instead, he’s looking at me
with actual respect. The kind of serious, wide-eyed,
kind of respect that makes my gut churn.
“Sup, boss,” Twitch rumbles.
I squint.
Behind him, his entire entourage of lady
squirrels watches with rapt attention.
Something clicks in my head. A slow, creeping
realization.
Wait a damn minute.
I’m the Beast Lord.
A wicked grin tugs at my lips. My eyes flick
toward the female squirrels, who shuffle nervously under my gaze.
“So, Twitch…” I say, voice dripping with
amusement. “Who are your new friends?”