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Spike's Unexpected Growth Spurt

by Ebony Horn

Chapter 4: Chapter Four: Blown Out of Proportion

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Chapter Four: Blown Out of Proportion

Spike felt numb. A pleasant sort of haze had descended over his mind, clouding his thoughts and filling him with a collection of warm, fuzzy sensations. More than anything else, he felt full; absently, he raised a clawed hand to stroke against the bulging mound that served as his stomach. An idle thought ran through his mind: I don't remember being that fat...

His eyes fluttered as a sudden throb of pleasure went down his spine. That felt good. What was it, though?

He felt it again: stronger, and with a longer duration. It felt like a sort of electric shock that dances along his muscles, quivering at the tips of nerve endings, and heating up his draconic blood. A small smile tickled at his mouth, his eyes still closed shut. He wanted more of it—he wanted to feel it again.

And so he did.

As Twilight and Rarity watched, his limbs began to lengthen, stretching out across the floor. For Spike, he had the oddest sensation of being stretched, with an odd tension filling out his joints and tendons. It was a pleasurable feeling that covered his muscles, rippling across his beefed-up biceps as his arms and legs inched across the floor. His spine grew out longer, too, his back arching as he hit nine feet in height and then passed it. Nine-foot-one. Nine-foot-two. Nine-foot-three.

He groaned, shifting on the floor and feeling his armsockets pop and moan with him. Already, his stomach was deflating, its immense store of calories slowly depleting in order to feed his growing mass of dragon bulk. Beneath his enormous, burgoning weight, the cement floor of the Carousel Boutique cracked and moaned as his growing, bulky tail lashed out behind him. His spines stuck out from his head, rock-hard and completely rigid, each one larger than a pony's head.

Twilight's eyes went wider as Spike stretched out his legs, his joints popping and a deep yawn emerging from his throat. His long-clawed toes actually reached across the room by now. Several hundred pounds of pure muscle made up his thick, powerful legs, thighs sculpted like marble reaching high into the air as his legs pushed against the opposite wall.

As the back of his neck rode up the wall behind him, head and feet pushing up into the air as the space between them got narrower and narrower, Spike's eyes fluttered open.

He gasped. The sudden intake of air was enough to send a current of wind through the ponies' manes, ruffling Rarity's hairdo and rippling across Twilight's clear-cropped bangs. His chest inflated impressively as another surge of growth pulsed through his system, his legs stretching out a little bit farther and becoming a little bit thicker.

"I—I'm growing!" he breathed. His deep voice was even lower—nearly as low as Big Mac's earthy tones. "I'm huge! Huge-er!"

"We can see that!" Twilight's mouth dropped as Spike's shoulders shuddered, the muscle actually rippling—visibly under his skin as he grew, and then grew some more.

The feeling was almost indescribable. The last time he'd grown, Spike had been asleep. This time, though, every bit of growth was made clear to him. His spine shivered as his fingers grew out, his hand broadening until he could hold a pony comfortably in the palm of his hand. His head inched upward—soon ceasing to "inch" and just speeding into the air instead. He passed eleven feet, and then twelve feet without breaking a sweat, but still, Spike grew on.

"My models!" Rarity shrieked, her hoof flying to her mouth as Spike's growing tail lashed out behind him, knocking over a full assembly line of mannequinns displaying her dresses. Spike barely heard her, though; all of his attention was fixated on that feeling of growth that suffused his mind, throbbing with power and heat with every new flex of his growing muscles.

The giant grew even bigger, his scales straining outward in a feeble attempt to hold in the mounds of muscle that wove beneath his skin. His biceps swelled outward—sixty inches, sixty five, seventy—until they bulged bigger than his head, unflexed, and resembled nothing more than two enormous pumpkins that bulged out on his arms. His triceps, perfectly shaped, made up the other side of his wide-flaring arms; his thickening forearms were of a size to nearly make Rarity's eyes roll up into her head alone.

He soon passed thirteen feet, his head riding up further toward the ceiling. He grunted in a mixture of pain and pleasure; with how huge his body had grown, he was pressed firmly between the two walls that made up this corridor of the Boutique. His wide, long-toed feet pushed against the opposite wall, the plaster cracking and straining as his huge, powerful muscles pushed against it. As another surge of growth struck him, he felt his head fly back against the wall behind him, a powerful roar emanating from his throat.

Pectoral muscles bulged out from his chest, their size only dwarfed by the rest of his muscled form. He flexed them on reflex, the two giant mounds of muscle and flesh growing a little bit larger at his command. He was almost floored by how good it felt—such power! Such strength! It filled his veins, flowing through his every thought, and he grew even larger.

Finally, the walls could take no more. With a few more cracks that grew into a shattering of wood and cement, his feet and shoulders broke through the sides of the room, collapsing the plaster around him as the house itself made room for his giant, godlike body. His wings flared out around him before returning to his back, and he groaned as they grew a few more inches in wingspan and thickness. His muscles rolled around his body like a protective shell; even as he watched, his six pack grew in both size and definition, becoming even sharper with each inch that he added to his incredible height. Abs like nopony had ever seen bulged proudly from his midsection, covering ever scale that hadn't been taken by his godlike pecs.

The feeling was indescribable: on and he grew, passing fifteen feet and still not slowing down. He was only partway there, and he loved it. Some bestial, instinctual part of his brain knew that even when this growth spurt was finished, there would still be more to come. There would always be more. He knew that he couldn't get enough—the feeling; the tightness, the stretching; the sensation of more and more and more

His mindless pleasure was only broken through, finally, by the sound of a high-pitched shriek. Spike snapped out of his growth-induced haze, his giant, bleary eyes focusing dimly on Rarity.

"Sweetie Belle!" Her eyes were wide and unfocused, panic covering her face. "She's upstairs!"

"The house is coming down!" A bright purple aura flickered around Twilight's horn. She looked so small, now, Spike realized. Like a toy. At the sound of her words, though, a sick feeling of dread clutched at his stomach and held it tight. "We have to get out of here!"

Sure enough, a low, sickly-sounding groan echoed through the house. The walls around them were cracking, with structural instabilities spiderwebbing across their weakened plaster. Bits of dried paint and old wallpaper fell from the ceiling as the floor above began to disintegrate. Spike's eyes went wide, and he swallowed. Hard.

"We can't leave my sister!" Rarity yelled. "She's taking a nap in her bedroom—she'll have no idea what's happening! She's going to—" Her voice choked off, and she made a mad dash for the stairs.

Before Twilight could react, Spike knew exactly what he had to do.

In one giant, clunky motion, he threw out his arms. At sixteen and a half feet in height, his lanky limbs were easily able to take a hold of Rarity—by now a good six feet away—and Twilight—who was sitting right below him, her mouth wide open in shock. He pulled them into his chest and stood up, power surging through his legs as he pulled himself into an upright position.

His head smashed through the ceiling as though it were made of nothing more than wet tissue paper. The roof of Carousel Boutique had only been twenty or so feet in the first place, and at his current height, Spike almost had to bow down to avoid breaking through the building entirely. His body felt tight—constricted by the too-small house around him, his limbs encircled by cracked plaster and broken wood.

Rarity screamed and shrieked in his grasp, her legs wiggling out of control as she struggled to escape his titanic grip. "What are you doing, you overgrown ruffian? I have to save my sister! I have to—"

"There," Spike said, quickly spotting her. Sitting in a bed not six feet away was a small, white-coated mare. Sweetie Belle looked up at the enormous dragon with wide, fearful eyes as specks of plaster fell down on her from the ceiling. Spike briefly debated trying to grab her, but she was too small, and with this amount of time, he didn't know if he could afford the time that it would take to seize a smaller, adolescent filly if his limbs were still too huge and unwieldy to use with any sort of precision. So, he settled for the bed. Taking the sides in between his right hand and switching Twilight over to Rarity's side—the former seemed too shocked to resist, her jaw still hanging wide open and a few useless sparks sizzling at the tip of her horn—he simply grabbed the bed, lifted it into the air, and hugged it to his chest.

"Let's go!" he roared, and leapt into the air, wings spreading wide behind him. He braced himself.

Crashing through a roof was not fun. It was made no more fun, really, by the three mares held tenuously in his grasp. He hugged them tighter to himself, trying to ignore Rarity's panicked screams and doing his best not to crush them against his bulging chest.

The plaster ceiling was the first thing to go, the wood splintering outward as his diamond-hard spines crashed into them and split them apart. He closed one eye tight, the other one staring unflinchingly into the roof ahead. The Boutique was structured like a real carousel, or perhaps like a tiered layer cake. He had a final layer to break through before they'd be home free.

Clutching his precious cargo even closer, his wings flapped once—twice—sending him soaring up through the crashing debris. He grunted in pain as splinters and nails raked across his scales, screws digging into the membranous flesh of his wings. He grunted again, but this time in pleasure, doing his best to ward off the warm haze that signalled another surge of growth. He could feel his limbs stretching, his muscles swelling, and his height growing with each fraction of a second. It was a struggle not to give into that beautiful, wonderful sensation—that feeling of power, of strength, and of sheer pleasure.

With a final flap of his wings, Spike crashed through the roof, his cavernous maw opening wide to roar in defiance.

However, they weren't in the clear yet. He roared again, this time in pain as a heavy construction beam fell down with a thunk on his head, squashing his ear and tearing across his wing. The roar was more guttural, the splintered wood cutting through unprotected flesh even as his growth resurged, weaving across the wing fibers and repairing them, even stronger than before. He managed to steady himself, keeping his friends protected under the girth of his enormous arms as they pressed against his chest.

The beam had done its job, though. Spike was thrown violently off to the side, breaking through the roof diagonally instead of straight up. He was sent flying, tumbling through the air as his wings flapped uselessly around him. The roof came down through the air all around his growing body, his limbs lengthening even as plaster, cement, and debris crashed all around him.

He hit the ground with a muffled grunt. His chin dug straight into the dirt, his eyes shut tight. He did his best, though, to corkscrew in the air so that his belly—and by extension, Twilight, Rarity, and Sweetie Belle—would be held above him instead of being crushed into the dirt by his mountainous, lethal bulk. He roared again as a collection of beams and cinderblocks came crashing down around him, each thumping against one of his bulging muscles, their surface area being too large to be missed, before hitting the ground and gouging out deep, violent holes.

Finally, it was over.

Spike swallowed, his eyes squeezed shut and his arms clamped tight over his chest. Finally, he allowed one eye to flutter open to gauge the destruction. As the dust settled, he was able to see clearly what was left of Carousel Boutique.

The shop had been utterly destroyed.

Where once a proud, beautiful fashion store had stood, shaped by the mind of a mare as intelligent as she was kind, now rested a pile of dead kindling, broken up and disintegrated into tiny, unusable pieces. It was like looking at the aftermath of a hurricane or a tornado, and yet Spike couldn't bring himself to look away.

He watched with dead eyes, dread trickling down his spine to replace the waves of pleasure and growth that had held it only moments before. Carousel Boutique was gone—Rarity's home was gone. Her livelihood. Her career. Her dream.

When the ponies in his arms started shouting at him again, he didn't resist. Instead, he let his arms fall to his sides, simply staring straight ahead at something that he had only seen in his nightmares.

"Sweetie Belle! Oh, Sweetie Belle—thank goodness you're okay!"

Spike's eyes flickered over to his stomach. The ponies he'd held there had tumbled off to the side, Rarity embracing her sister and holding her as though she'd never let go. Her lips were puckered, and her eyes shut tight. Rarity whimpered into her sister's coat, her hoof brushing against her mane as the other wrapped around her shoulders.

"Rarity!" Sweetie Belle was no longer the tiny, adorable filly that she once had been, but even as a younger teen, she was still smaller than her sister. She struggled futilely to escape. "Cut it out! I—I—stop it!"

"Spike!" Twilight's voice cut across Spike like a whiplash, scoring deep marks in scales that couldn't even be scratched by diamonds. With a gulp, he turned to face her.

"I don't know what happened," he whispered. His throat felt dry like the desert, and his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. "I just—I—"

"You singlehandedly destroyed Rarity's house!" Twilight shouted. Her eyes were wild, her mane unkempt.

"No."

Spike and Twilight both turned in a flash to face Rarity as her voice ran throughout the scene of destruction. Even amongst this place of crumbling wood and debris, Rarity still held her head high, her chin tilted up into the air ever so slightly.

"It—it was my fault," she murmured. "I knew, rationally, what the risks were, and I brought Spike into my house regardless. I was responsible for this—from Spike's growth, to the destruction of my shop, and to—" her voice choked up with a swallowed sob—"the endangerment of my Sweetie Belle."

"Rarity..." Sweetie Belle's voice was hushed and somber.

"But—"

"No buts about it. Rarity shook her head, glaring at Twilight. "Spike is not the one at fault here. I—I have been irresposible. Superficial. Foolish, even." She gave a short, harsh, bark of laughter and shook her head. "Rarity. Such a silly, stupid mare."

She looked up and met Spike's eyes, wider than cartwheels by this point. "S-spike? I'm so very sorry, but I—I must ask for a moment by myself. Can you forgive me?"

Spike swallowed again; her words rang out in his mind, but he didn't hear them. Instead, he only had eyes for the scene of destruction that he, Spike the Dragon, had caused. Smoke and dirt, crumbled rock and broken wood. And beneath it all, over a dozen dresses, the product of a brilliant mind and representative of so much more. All ruined.

Because of him.

"I—" His voice was hushed, and muffled beneath a half-frozen sob. "I did this. Me."

"Spike?" Twilight asked, frowning. "What are you doing?"

His wings flared out behind him. "I did this," Spike breathed. He put his hands against his face, deadly claws scratching along his cheeks. "I destroyed the Boutique. My size—my growth spurt did this."

His wings flared out behind him.

"Spike! Where are you—"

But he couldn't hear her. Instead, iamges flashed across his mind of a titanic beast: of a creature of scales and fire rampaging across the town, laying waste to everything in its path. A creature of greed and hatred and lust, without any sort of rational mind.

A monster.

Without another word, he leapt up into the air, wings spreading wide behind him.

"Spike!"

If he'd turned around, he would have seen Twilight running after him, tears streaming down her face. He would've seen Sweetie Belle watching him in shock, and Rarity sobbing quietly into her hooves. He would've seen the skeleton of Carousel Boutique, still smoking and covered in ash and dust and loathing.

But he didn't look back.

Next Chapter: Chapter Five: The Lonely Giant Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 11 Minutes
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