Todd wasn't at school. I caught up with Ric, and he said that the police were investigating Todd's father's murder. Jake had covered our tracks like I had asked. He said that some big biker types had come and ransacked the house. The cops were checking biker bars and other hangouts of 'asocials' to see if they could get any leads.

"But we know who really did it, don't we?" asked Ric.

"Maybe, I'm still not convinced," said Larry.

"He was the only one there. He had the power. He had the opportunity. It had to be him," insisted Ric, flexing his muscles, a slight grimace of pain crossing his face. Ric was acting tough, but he still hadn't recovered from the pounding he took yesterday.

"I want to hear his side."

"Ya, and if he doesn't have a side, what will you do about it?" Ric asked the question that I didn't want to confront.

I looked away, toward the ground. "I guess," I started, "I guess I'll have to deal with it."

"Ya," Ric touched my shoulder, "I guess you will. Don't worry bud, I'll be there for you."

"Thanks. You know," I looked him in the eye, "Todd is lucky to have a friend like you."

"Like us," Ric corrected.

After school, I went over to Joe's. I needed to talk to Frank. When I got there, Frank was sitting watching TV. He wore only a pair of BVDs, and his body was black and blue. He had two black eyes from where Ric had broken his nose. His nose was bandaged and there were cotton balls in his nostrils. He smiled when he saw me. His voice was hoarse. "Hey Larry, good to see you."

"Frank. How are you feeling?"

He looked at himself, then raised an arm and flexed it. "Strong. Maybe a bit sore, but nothing I can't recover from. Heh, that Ric is really something, ain't he! He's going to be a real asset to our team."

"I'm not sure we have a team anymore," I said. "Not after yesterday."

Frank's expression changed. "Ya, yesterday," he said softly. He looked down. "When I find out who killed Mark," he muttered.

"They think you killed Mark."

Frank snickered. "Ya, I kinda got that impression."

I sat across from Frank, and in my most authoritative voice, I said, "Frank, I need you to tell me what happened. I need to know what's going on with you. Where have you been."

Frank looked at blankly at me. "I don't know." He stood up and began to pace. "Damn it! I DON'T KNOW." He slammed a fist into his palm, making a loud CRACK. The veins in his arms dilated, the blood pumping into his muscles. "I can't remember anything from the last few days!"

Frank's face was red, his voice tense like he was trying to recall anything important. "I had left Mark's and was heading here when I felt someone grab me. I felt a pain in my arm, like someone stuck me with a needle. I turned around, fists flying at whoever was doing this to me. I felt a fog descend on me, and I felt tired and weak. I remember falling. The next thing I know I'm hearing screams. They seemed to wake me up, and I realized that there was some fight going on. I was sitting in Mark's kitchen. I jumped up, leaped into the living room as my mind began to clear. That's when I saw..." Frank stopped.

"You saw Mark?" I asked.

"Kid," he whispered. "I loved Mark. I love Joe, but Mark is different. He was my soul mate. People respect me, fear me, because of my muscle." Frank flexed, showing his power. "Mark, he respected me but he wouldn't take shit from me. I could have crushed his skull anytime I wanted, and he knew that, but he didn't care. I respected that, and I would never hurt him. I loved him." Frank actually let out a bit of a sob. "To see him like that," he shook his head. "I'll kill whoever did that."

"Do you know who took you?"

Frank shook his head. "No. I've lost the last few days. They must have kept me pretty drugged up. They must have planned this."

"Wayne's group?" I asked.

"Not their style. No, I think this is someone else. Someone worse." Frank sat down. I could tell, he didn't want to talk anymore.

I've been thinking about what he said. I believe him. Now, how do I tell that to Todd and Ric.

-- From the Journal of Todd Rothman, October 5

Every time I walk into our living room, I see it. Even if I close my eyes, I still see it. I don't know why, but I think I know how. It's the gift Claude gave me. I can sense morphs. I can sense Frank, and because of that, I can see what he did. In my mind, I see him killing my father. Oh god, I don't want to. I want my Dad back. I want to say, "I'm sorry. I love you. Don't leave me."

I hate Frank.

I see it clear as day. Frank comes in, and Dad greets him with a hug. They're glad to see each other. They go to the living room. Dad gets Frank a beer. They talk. Dad gets more animated. He doesn't like what Frank is saying. He starts to pace. Frank gets up, puts his hand around Dad. Dad pushed it off. The loud discussion elevates more. Frank begins to pace. He throws his beer to the ground, breaking the bottle. He punches the wall. Dad laughs at him, says something else. Frank turns to Dad and says something. Dad gives him the finger.

I don't want to see more, but I do. It's like slow motion. Frank grabs Dad's hand. I see his powerful forearm flex around Dad's fingers, crushing them in his vice-like grip. There's pain in Dad's face, but he refuses to scream. He flexes his arm, huge muscle growing, fighting Frank. He laughs at Frank. Frank's anger grows. With the single hand that holds the crushed fist, he twists. I see the muscles in Dad's arm resist, then burst from Frank's uncontrollable power. It didn't even look like it was hard for Frank to do. I think he enjoyed it. The joint rips and blood spirits from Dad's body as Frank yanks the arm off, tossing it aside.

Dad steps back, in shock. He reaches for his missing arm, trying to stop the blood. Frank lunges at him, grabbing his other arm. He screams something at Dad and rips the arm off of him. Frank drops the arm and grabs Dad's pants, ripping them off. Frank's body is bulging now, surging with his morph power. He fondles Dad's huge cock. Dad backs into the wall, and Frank pushes him to the ground. Then, Frank grabs Dad's legs and yanks them apart, breaking the him joints. Frank is pointing at Dad and laughing. He picks up the discarded arm, then rams it up Dad's ass. He strokes Dad's meat and says something. Dad has lost so much blood, he's nearly unconscious.

I can't believe what Frank did next. It's so vile, so hateful. I mean, well, he raped Dad with his own arm. Blood and a brownish red puss was oozing out of Dad's butt as Frank pulled the arm nearly out, then forced it back in. I could tell, Frank was getting off on this. He stroked his cock with his other hand as he raped Dad. Dad was crying. His mouth moved. I think he said Jakes name, then mine. His head dropped and he stopped reacting.

Frank seemed to get angrier now that Dad was almost gone. He grabbed his lifeless legs, the huge muscle useless against Frank's superior power. Frank ripped the legs off, tossing one out the window and the other into the room. He kicked Dad's lifeless torso into the room, then wiped the blood from his hands. He walked into the kitchen.

I know that Frank can be cruel. I know that his blood-rage takes over him, and nothing can stop him. I know that he thinks nothing of killing anyone who pisses him off or stands in his way. But this was my Dad. It was his lover! How could he.

I hate him.

I feel so alone. Ric is great, but I want something else. I don't want someone my age. I want someone with experience. I want someone to talk to who won't always agree with me, but will always be on my side. I want someone to protect me and love me, not as an equal, but, well, as a parent. I want my Dad. I never realized this until he was gone, but that's what I want.

I'm afraid. I keep thinking, maybe Claude...

Jake and I will bury Dad tomorrow. He's been handling the arrangements. Ric said he'd be there and he'd tell Larry.

No way will Frank be there.

-- From the Journal of Todd Rothman, October 6

We buried Dad next to Mom. It was a simple service, closed casket. Nobody wanted to see Dad the way Frank had left him. Ric and Larry were there. Ric kept his arm around me, protecting me. It was good to feel that strong body there for me to lean on. Jake lost it.

When the funeral was over, I needed to get away. I couldn't deal with anyone -- not Jake's sniveling, not even Larry and Ric's friendship. I need to be alone, to search out something else. I walked to the park. I went to the trail where I had been kidnapped and I saw him there. He was waiting for me.

"Hello son," said Claude.

I looked at him and started to cry. I don't know why. He stepped over to me and hugged me. Even through his clothes, I felt the hardness of his body. I felt his power. I felt protected.

"They killed him," I sobbed.

"Yes. They are violent. I know." He looked at me. "You've decided," he said. It was not a question. It was like he was reading my mind, knowing the truth that I had not yet admitted to myself.

I shook my head yes.

He took me to a waiting car, and we drove off. We didn't say a word until we got to his mansion in the country. We got out of the car, and were greeted by three men. I recognized two of them as my abductors. Claude gave them instructions that we were to be left alone. He lead me upstairs, turning at the top of the stairs to instruct, "Have the prisoner prepared. I'll signal you when we are ready for him." The men nodded.

Claude opened the door to what appeared to be a bedroom. The walls were covered with portraits. I recognized several as portraits of Claude. I also recognized portraits of the three men that greeted us. A large portrait of a powerful looking man hung in the middle of the room. It caught my attention because there was a large, black bird sitting on the man's shoulder. I walked toward it.

"That is my first born," said Claude. "These are all my children," he said, indicating the other pictures.

"Where is he? I've met some of them, but I've never seen him."

"He is dead," said Claude. "He was murdered." There was a finality to his statement, like I shouldn't ask anymore questions. I think he was the one Frank and Joe killed.

I turned to Claude and looked at him. He was lighting candles, then turned out the lights. "That should set the mood," he said.

"Mood? I thought..."

"The power? No, it cannot be given to you. You must want the power. You must desire it." Claude stood before me, looking down at me. "Show me you desire the power and make it yours."

I looked at Claude. His white shirt stretched over his massive chest. His shoulder looked like they were ready to burst the seams. Eventhough his arms hung at his side, it was clear that they were full and powerful. The tailored shirt narrowed at his waist. His black pants were filled by his manhood, his massive thighs and his diamond-like calves. As I looked at him, I felt my mouth grow dry. I wanted him. I wanted his power. I wanted what he represented, pure strength and manliness.

"May I?" I asked, reaching toward his shirt. He nodded. I unbuttoned the top button. As his massive pecs became visible, I felt a longing in me. As I exposed more and more of his flesh, the longer grew. It was a thirst in me that I needed to quench. His chest was so large, so strong. I was used to seeing muscular men, but Claude was beyond anything I had experienced. I wanted him. His abs were perfectly chiseled, living marble. So hard, so ripped. My fingers brushed against them as I pulled his shirt from his pants. Slowly, I slipped the fabric over his wide shoulders, exposing his powerful back and massive arms. I let the shirt fall to the floor.

I looked up at Claude. He saw the longing in my eyes. He saw my lust. "Show me, boy," is all he said.

I placed my face to his chest. His pecs were so big, so strong, they engulfed me. I smelled his powerful scent. I kissed him. I extended my tongue and traced the contour of each muscle, following the line between the overhanging muscle and the firmness of his stomach. He raised his arms and I cleansed his pits, lapping at his sweat like a parched pup, desperate for life-sustaining liquid. His lat was so wide, his chest towering above me, his muscular arm over me. I was totally enclosed in his muscular body, one with him and protected from the outside world. For the first time in days, I felt safe.

I moved from his deep pit over his chest, marveling at his mountainous traps. I found the divide between the massive mounds and began my descent, tracing the valley to the top of his pants. I opened the button and unzipped them, spreading them wide. I put my hands on either side of his waste, and pushed the fabric over his powerful glutes. I saw his organ snaking down his leg. I reached inside his boxer shorts and freed it, allowing it to jump up along his stomach and into the crevice between his pecs. His musky smell was intoxicating.

I grabbed his pants. I knelt on the floor before him, a worshipper before this muscle god. I removed his shoes and socks and looked up at him, marveling at the thickness of his powerful body. His face was hidden by massive muscles, and only when he bent slightly could I look into his eyes. With my expression, I asked for permission to remove his pants. Claude nodded his approval. I reached up and grabbed the fabric at the waist. His thighs were snug in the fabric, and I had to tug to get the pants over the muscle. Even unflexed, the quads formed distinct muscles, two round ropes of muscle that thickened and split into three ridges as they traveled up his leg. The muscle belly of the hamstring bulged obscenely. Each of his thighs were at least as big as my chest. As I forced the fabric below his knees and over his calves, Claude lifted his feet. I removed his pants and tossed them aside.

I lowered my body to the floor at his feet, waiting for permission to proceed. Claude was the master, and I the insignificant slave. No one was his rival. Not Frank. Not Eric. Not even Larry. He was the one with the power, and only by his grace could I proceed. Moments past as I genuflect before he said, "Now, son, show me." I crawled to him and kissed his toes, licked his feet, climbed up his calves, bathing him with my tongue. I wrapped my arms around his right thigh, barely able to reach around the tree-sized leg. Claude grabbed the corners of his under shorts and ripped them, freeing is low-hanging balls.

"May I?" I pleaded.

"Yes," he replied.

My tongue found the sensitive underside of his balls, and I licked. They were salty and smelled like raw manliness. I wanted him, and I wanted the power he promised. Slowly, gently, I sucked one of his egg-sized testicles into my mouth. I heard my god exhale approvingly.

My own cock was painfully hard in my pants. I didn't care. Only Claude's happiness was important now. There would be time enough for me later.

As I pleasured his manhood, I began to perceive a change in him. It was like the ghost of a man encasing Claude. For all of Claude's huge size and powerful muscle, this ethereal form was bigger and stronger. The ghost's pecs were rounder and fuller, his waist more ripped. The ghost's traps were higher, and his shoulder's were more ripped and striated. The ghost's arms were as large as Claude's legs and its legs where redwoods. I looked to the ghost's face and saw that it was Claude's.

"Yes, son, you see it, don't you," he said. "Take me now, and make it yours."

Claude offered me his magnificent cock. I swallowed inch after inch of the only dick that could rival my own. I forced it down my throat, fighting the reflex to gag. I could barely breath, but breath was unimportant. Only Claude's pleasure mattered. Only the power he offered.

"Oh, yes! Take it all. No one has ever..." he said as I swallowed the final inches, embedding my face in the hair forest that surrounded his pole. As I took the final inch, I felt the cock suddenly thicken, then shoot a volley of man juice into my stomach. His ejaculation was powerful, and went on for seconds. I felt its warmth inside me, becoming one with me. When he finished, he gently pulled out.

As I looked at him, I saw two of him. One, that masculine god I had just worshipped. The second, a larger, stronger phantom that seemed to shimmer and fade as I watched it. "What is it?" I asked.

"That is the power, boy. You see it. You smell it. Your senses are now attuned to it." Claude walked to the other side of the room and pulled on a rope that hung from the ceiling.

Claude walked over to me and began to remove my clothes. When he removed my pants, my freed cock jumped up to my chest. The relief felt good. Claude held my naked body against his, pressing our huge dicks together. I heard sounds from outside the door.

"Enter!" Claude demanded.

There were three men there. I recognized two from before. Like Claude, they had ethereal forms -- muscular phantoms that surrounded their bodies. Their phantoms were significantly smaller than Claude's, and I knew this meant they had less power. They brought in a third man. He was naked and different from the other two. This man had no phantom, but his skin shimmered in the same way as the ghosts.

"You see it, don't you? You see the power in him," said Claude instructively.

"Is he a..." I started. I breathed deeply, and my nose tingled with a scent that I had never smelled before.

"Yes, he is a morph. He is for you."

I walked toward him, and touched him. I felt the power. My nose and tongue tingled, like I could smell it or taste it on him. There was something else. I felt like I could take it from him. I felt my mind reach into him, searching for his power. Then I felt it. Yes, I could take it. I felt my body become strong. The man began to slump, trying to run from me. He couldn't. He was powerless as I sucked his energy. His muscles shrank. His bodybuilder physique withered into a swimmer's build, then into nothing. Muscle tone vanished as I took it from him, becoming stronger. I felt myself growing, and I wanted more. I knew my muscular body was becoming firmer, harder, stronger. With his dying breath he cursed me. I didn't care. I was strong now.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was encased in a phantom form, more muscular and stronger than my normal one. I had the power now.

"Soon, you will bring the others to us," Claude said.

"Yes," I said, then thought, "but not Ric. I love him. May I have him for my own?"

Claude smiled. "Of course, but the others? Larry? My son's executioners?"

"They are yours, Father." •