Chapter 6

Ben woke the next morning with an empty arm.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Fuku said as Ben blinked away the sleep.

He sat up and felt his muscles protest, a sensation he didn’t experience in the Labyrinth. He supposed bathing in the fountain's water almost daily had kept those types of aches and pains at bay.

“Good morning, Fuku,” he rumbled in his deep voice through a large yawn.

Before he could register what was happening, he felt something slip over his head, cutting off his vision.

“What? What is this? What’s going on?” he barked, bringing his arms up to stop the offending material from covering his eyes.

“Quit moving or your horns will tear the fabric!” Fuku yipped with a light, disapproving tap on his arm.

He still wasn’t sure what was happening, but he lowered his arms and closed his eyes, allowing the Tanuki to fuss with the material now tangled around his horns.

“These stupid horns… too long… how am I supposed to cover—” Fuku grumbled as he worked, tugging and muttering until finally the cloth slid down over Ben’s face and settled across his shoulders.

When Ben opened his eyes again, Fuku was standing mere inches from his snout, paws braced on his thighs, his round face split with a look of smug satisfaction.

“There. I think the hard part’s over,” Fuku said. “Lift your arms. Let’s do those next.”

Ben blinked, adjusting to the Tanuki’s very close proximity, but did as he was told. Within moments, he found himself swathed in a flowing floral garment. Calling it a “dress” was generous; it was more like a huge, formless robe—or perhaps just a giant sheet with holes hacked for his head and arms.

It was shapeless, oversized even on Ben’s massive frame, and mostly pink. The fabric pulled awkwardly around his powerful chest and arms, yet everywhere else it was so voluminous that the excess pooled around his seated form like a collapsed floral tent.

“Well, it’s not perfect, but at least your naughty bits are covered,” Fuku said, stepping back to admire his work. “I’m not sure what to do with those horns, though… maybe a bonnet?” He planted his paws on his hips, tilting his head.

“I suppose we could cut them off,” he added thoughtfully.

Ben’s nose twitched just before a sharp rap landed on it.

“No way!” Fuku barked. “Not only are those amazing weapons, but I’m not letting you mutilate yourself for some dumb disguise.”

Chastised, Ben dipped his head and shifted uneasily beneath the Tanuki’s glare.

“I just hoped we could make your appearance less… obvious,” Fuku went on, his tone softening. “Maybe with a mask and a cloak? Still, we’d probably need some professional help…” His words trailed off as his paw drifted up, absently scratching at his whiskers.

He withdrew another length of fabric from his tail—similar to the first, though this one was bright yellow with white and blue flowers scattered across it. With a quick rip of his sharp claw, Fuku tore it to size, then stepped toward Ben and tossed it over his head. This time, instead of wrestling it over the horns, he simply tied the ends beneath Ben’s chin in a neat bow.

“That might work,” he said at last. “Not ideal, but I’m out of better plans and fresh materials.”

“So… does this mean we’re going to a town?” Ben asked.

He wasn’t sure what the Tanuki had in mind, and he certainly wasn’t excited about his new look. Still, Fuku knew this world better than he did, so for now Ben would go along with whatever scheme his companion proposed—within reason.

“Yep. There’s a human city nearby. Since it’s so close to your Labyrinth, the Minotaur wandering free might cause a panic. But I need information, supplies… and you need clothes.”

Fuku’s ears twitched, his tail swished, and that mischievous glint lit his eyes. “And I know exactly how to get us in.”

***

That afternoon, after a crash course on acting from Fuku—a very large—and very pregnant-looking—bovine beast-kin approached the gates of Phylios.

Ben waddled sour-faced, doing his best impression of a woman about to drop a calf. The significant weight of Fuku strapped to his belly gave the disguise an uncanny realism—and made the swaying walk far too easy.

“Remember, act like you’re ready to burst,” came Fuku’s muffled voice from beneath the floral folds. “They’ll hurry us through the gates.”

Ben plodded forward, head shaking slightly at the absurdity of it all: the ridiculous gown, the fake pregnancy, and the magical raccoon-dog-fox-thing bound to his stomach like some unborn child.

It should have been funny. It should have made him laugh, or turn back toward the Labyrinth in utter disbelief. Yet here he was—sweating, heart pounding, a strange lightness prickling his head and a pressure tightening behind his eyes.

And beneath the nerves, something else stirred. Something deeper. Something in his blood.

‘Is my freedom really worth all this?’ he thought as he neared the large metallic gate.

***

It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable, per se; it was more that he was unhappy that this spot—which should have been very comfy—instead came with so many unfamiliar and unwanted obstacles. Like the strap holding him tight against Ben’s stomach, or the way the fabric of the dress tickled his fur.

Fuku was back-to-chest with Ben, a spot he rather enjoyed. But since he was pretending to be a pregnant stomach rather than a Tanuki enjoying his afternoon ride strapped to a hunky Minotaur, he was not thrilled with the situation. Even though this had all been his idea.

His Adapt-a-sack skill allowed him to encircle his entire body with his scrotum, which then would change its appearance—or rather his appearance—to whatever he envisioned. This was how he’d managed to appear as a Minotaur when first meeting Ben.

But the larger the change, the shorter the time he could hold it, so that form—especially since it hadn’t been one he’d taken before—hadn’t lasted long. Now, since he was just creating the image of a blob, he could maintain this form for quite a while.

But that didn’t make it any more comfortable. In fact, using this skill—since it used the incredibly sensitive skin of that area of his body to create a disguise—came with its own set of issues. 

The issue of the day now was not one he had encountered often before.

Normally a disguise transformed not only the soft furriness of his sack into another texture—skin, hide, whatever was needed… but this time, he hadn’t had any need to change the texture, or at least he’d thought. But what he hadn’t factored in was the dress's light touch—the fabric rubbing gently against his softly furred—very sensitive—pouch.  This was a different story entirely.

With every movement, every waddling step Ben took, the dress rubbed against him… and it tickled! The silken fabric was one thing, but the friction of Ben’s warm hide against his back was causing… other reactions as well.

It was all Fuku could do not to flop to the ground in a pile of giggles, paws clutched protectively over his crotch.

But he did have to commend Ben’s performance. He hadn’t seen a lot of the man’s emotional range thus far and had seriously doubted he’d be convincing as a pregnant woman. But the closer they got to the gate, as he waddled up to the guards, the more genuine his performance felt—almost as though he were actually feeling the pain of labor. Fuku had to admit—he was impressed.

“Next,” the guard yelled, boredom plain in his tone.

Ben waddled forward. In a strained, higher-pitched voice than usual, he said,

“Excuse me, Mr. Guard, as you can see, I am not far from calving… I really need to get inside to the doctor before—”

He cut himself off with a grunt, and Fuku took the cue—wiggling as though seized by spasms.

“Uhhh…” the guard stammered, taking in the sight before him.

Fuku knew this was a stretch. The city wouldn’t normally deny entry to a beast-kin, but they certainly wouldn’t be eager to admit one of Ben’s size. Hence the false pregnancy: make the guards believe this poor cow-woman was about to drop a calf, and they’d be far more worried about the mess than about who was really asking to be let in.

“Uhhh… miss? Do… do you know where you are? I mean, where you need to go?” the guard asked tentatively, clearly unsure how to address what he thought was a very pregnant bovine beast-kin.

“Foo… hee… foo…” Ben made a series of strange breathing noises that really sold the act. “Yes, I believe I know where I need to go. Now, may I pass?”

The guard stammered a bit more. Fuku heard his feet shuffle against the ground, followed by a hushed exchange with one of his companions.

“O-okay… right this way.”

Then the guard must have touched Ben’s arm, because Fuku felt the massive body beneath him jolt in a sharp, defensive recoil.

He knew that clench of muscle well—it was the same involuntary flinch Ben made whenever Fuku touched him. But this recoil, from the guard’s hand, was sharper, more violent.

A strange, selfish warmth spread through Fuku’s chest. Proof, however small, that Ben was already beginning to accept his presence.

But that was beside the point.

“I can guide you to the clinic if you need help… uhh… Ma’am?” the guard asked, clearly hoping the beast-kin before him would decline.

“No, I’ll be fine on my own. But please—may I pass?” Ben asked, then let out another grunt as if in immense pain.

“Y… Y… yes… go on, ma’am… uhh… lady… go right ahead.”

With that, Ben resumed his waddle, hands supporting Fuku’s stomach-like form from underneath to really sell the performance. He shuffled past the gate, away from the wall, and then swiftly turned down the street—each step an exaggerated, lopsided imitation of what Fuku imagined a woman in labor might look like.

Finally clear of the main gate and the watching crowds, Fuku felt Ben duck into a secluded alley and collapse to his knees.

Ben was drenched in sweat by the time he finally stopped moving. The scent in Fuku’s nose was pungent and strange—a mix of perspiration, damp hide, and Ben’s own musk. He wasn’t sure whether it disgusted him… or whether he enjoyed it.

But this wasn’t the sweat of strain. Fuku was certain the Minotaur could have carried him all day without tiring. No—Ben’s breathing had grown ragged, his steps unsteady, his body trembling with a weakness that didn’t fit the circumstance.

At first, Fuku thought it was just the stress of the performance, the nerves of pretending to be someone he wasn’t. But no—this was too much. This was a cold sweat born not of anxiety, but of genuine distress.

Something was wrong with Ben.

With a quick movement, Fuku slipped free of his sack disguise and untied the cloth binding him to Ben’s stomach. He dropped to the ground, darted out from under the dress, and looked up.

“Ben—what’s going on?” he demanded.

Ben’s eyes rolled back. He swayed for a moment, his massive frame lurching in a slow, drunken-like stagger… then pitched forward.

The Minotaur’s bulk crashed down with a bone-shaking thud. The pavement trembled. Roaches skittered from the cracks. Sweat dampened the stones beneath him.

Fuku leapt aside just in time, heart pounding.

“Ben!”

***

Hi, this is Reinventor!

I just wanted to say thanks for reading so far. “That’s amazing!” as Fuku would say.

If you’d like to help support their journey—make sure these stories hit shelves and continue on into perpetuity—please visit my website: www.reinventeduniverse.com. There you’ll find links to my other books, plus my Patreon, where I post chapters way in advance—almost daily.

So if you want to read ahead, or just make sure these three—oops, two 😉—keep carrying on with their special kind of affection and chaos, become a supporting member today.

Okay, enough from me—on to the next chapter! ➡️