Lord of the Hammer: The Lost Chapter

Gerson Boom has had a long and storied life- but there are some pretty big stories and hefty anecdotes he'd rather keep hidden, no matter what his audience's appetite for some of his weightier adventures. Enjoy!

*************

It was a warm spring day in Hometown, as Father Alvin, newly ordained minister of the town, pored over a vast, scattered collection of documents and hastily written notes his father had left out on a desk. Alvin's father was Gerson Boom— the explorer and writer who had spun out the Lord of the Hammer series, a fantastically popular series of novels that were all inspired by his own adventures. Apparently, Gerson needed new material, and had asked his dutiful son to help him organize the mountain of journal entries, scribbled notes, and paraphernalia he had collected over a lifetime of exploring. The turtle's brow arched as he spotted something; a rather neatly tucked away group of pages in a leather folio, carefully bound with string.

"Hey, dad?" Alvin called out towards the kitchen. "I think I found something," Alvin carefully undid the string, glancing over the title on the front page inside. "I've never heard of this one before— what's this, a Report on the Idol of the Great Mother?"

"Couldn't hear you in the kitchen, I was making us some sandwiches. What's this, now?" Gerson asked, the older turtle tottering into the study with a tray stacked with a pair of plates, ready for lunch. When the one-eyed turtle spotted the folio in Alvin's hands, he let out a gasp, nearly dropping the tray. "Put that down, boy! Where'd you find that?!"

Alvin quickly let the folio drop on the desk, holding up his hands. "It… was right here in this pile of papers you asked me to organize."
"Oh, horsefeathers!" Gerson grumbled, snatching up the folio. "I thought I had hidden that better…"

"I don't understand," Alvin said. "Hidden? You've never been shy about your adventures. What's so special about this one? Something dangerous?"

Gerson scoffed softly, brushing back a strand of frayed purple hair. "Well… No, not… dangerous. Not anymore, anyways…"

"You… had to do something, then? Some sort of big sacrifice or… morally dubious act to contain a greater evil?" Alvin asked— he had heard a few of his father's stories like that before.

"Uh… No, no, not exactly…" Gerson rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding his son's gaze.

"Then what? Dad, what could possibly be so bad that you need to hide it?" Alvin gestured to the folio.

Gerson's mouth twisted, and he glanced down at the folio. "Ugh… It's nothing… dark, understand, son? I've not committed a crime or anything… but the Idol of the Great Mother was, perhaps, my most… ugh… humiliating experience."

"Humiliating?" Alvin perked up a bit, a bit of impish mischief showing on the smirk he wore— suddenly he was feeling much more like a smart-mouthed kid again as he took his lunch. "Well. I suppose I have to hear this."

Gerson smirked ruefully at his son. "Hmph. I figured you would, wouldn't you? Well… Get comfortable, then. I'll tell you everything…"

…It all started out when I was called up to a new dig, down in the old country. Now, way back in the ancient days, you had all these mystery cults, right? They were called mystery cults because their beliefs and practices were only for members— they didn't worship their gods in big grand temples, but underground, out of sight. The dig I was called to found a religious structure— a long, sprawling temple with winding paths and all kinds of religious imagery, and to our best knowledge of ancient runes, they worshipped someone called the Great Mother. Who that was and what her worship entailed, we didn't know yet. There were some clues, however— remains of sacrifices, mostly of food, could be found in lots of places. What would have been expensive spices like cinnamon were found everywhere.

The Great Mother seemed to be a home and hearth goddess, it seemed— responsible for tending the hearth, providing food and sustenance to her followers. Most commonly, she was depicted as a, ah… ahem, rather well endowed woman, with a, ah, ample frame…

"Yes, I uh," Alvin cleared his throat in between bites of his sandwich. "I get the picture, Dad."

"Oh, don't get your frock in a twist, sonny boy, I'm telling the story," Gerson waved his hand dismissively.

Anyways, all depictions of the Great Mother showed her with horns, too, and reference to an artifact that could apparently create rich, nourishing food, to be used by her followers in times of famine— the Horn of Plenty. The other members of the dig elected me to go first into the tunnels of their complex, and so naturally, I went. I was a cocksure young buck back then, unafraid of anything. The first level was already excavated and explored, but other tunnels led deeper, down underground. I made note of a certain passage— warned against taking advantage of the Great Mother's blessings. I didn't intend to do anything disrespectful, as I didn't even know what the Great Mother's blessings were to take advantage of in the first place. Unfortunately, I was quick to find out.

As I began exploring the lower levels, I found more references and warnings to gluttony. The walls showed all kinds of grotesquely huge bodies— I think I just didn't think it applied to me, but again, that's the problem with mystery cults— if you don't know what the rules are, you can hardly know when you've broken one.

I still don't know what I did that triggered it— maybe I stepped on a pressure plate, crossed a warding rune, tripped a wire— complete mystery to me. But all of a sudden as I rounded the corner, I started smelling the most tantalizing scents I had ever smelled. Not even your mother's turtle pie smelled so good.

"Puh, blasphemy!" Alvin scoffed jokingly.

"Yes, thank you, Alvin," Gerson rolled his eyes. 

Anyways, as I breathed in that delectable scent and started looking around for its source, I opened my mouth letting out a gasp— and I could taste it. Oh, my boy— I could taste some of the richest food I ever tasted. It was dancing on my tongue, and as I looked around the corners and peered in every nook and cranny for the source, I realized it— I twisted around, and felt my shirt and pants nearly burst apart.

I looked down, and my own body was blowing up like a balloon. I could see my middle rounding out into this… big, round gut. Oh, it was terrible— at first I thought it was… I don't know, water weight, something like that, but the heft I felt when it was in my hands and pushing out, this weight. I never felt so heavy, and I was only getting heavier. And bigger. You know the police chief, Asgore? You ever wonder what being as big as that guy would be like? Well I was quickly figuring out— filling space, you get me, boy? Every breath I took I was inhaling more of this strange magic that still tasted like the best food I ever had— and I couldn't very well just stop breathing, so I kept growing. 

Everything was getting bigger, softer, heavier— it was a wonder my shell didn't crack under the pressure. My clothes were certainly giving— by the time I felt my own gut spilling down past my thighs, and my thighs rolling off one another, I thought it was time I got moving. Not that you can move very fast with all of that packed on your frame. My hips were starting to brush up against either side of the corridor, and I saw there was one chance— an archway at the end of the corridor, and with my sharp eye, I could see there was a broad, wide cavern that I could at least move around in. I had to shuffle and waddle fast as I could, each gasp of breath I took added another ten pounds or more. I reached the arch, and blessed be, I could no longer taste anything in the air— but then I hit my next problem.

I had gotten so fat, I was wedged into the archway. My own belly was big as a boulder, and got me stuck. My hips were still brushing against either side of the corridor, and with the musty cold air, I could feel just how much of my new, flabby body was exposed to the elements and my clothes were in ruins. Everywhere I looked, I just saw more of me, it was… a surreal feeling. I could still taste some of the things in the air— even though I was very much aware of what it had just done to me, I still wanted more.

Gerson frowned as he looked down at his lunch. "Ugh… I'll stop there for a moment, I don't know if I keep talking it's going to ruin more appetite, or…"

Alvin arched his brow. "Or what, Dad?"

"Heh," the older turtle smirked. "Or make me hungry for more than just a sandwich."