Hecate surveyed the sacrifice critically. She was a weak looking creature, just a young undernourished girl from one of the poor mountain farms. She was shaking in fear, her skinny arms held easily by two of Hecate’s burly men-at-arms. The linen shift that she wore had grown damp in the cold air and clung to her frame, showing her ribs.

Hecate wondered if the girl was worth the ritual. Twenty druids had assembled at the great circle, their leader doing little to hide his disdain for their offering. “You are sure this girl is worth this, Hecate?” he asked.

Hecate frowned at his tone. “I’m paying you handsomely for this, Grettan, so don’t question my decisions.” Grettan scowled, but said no more.

Hecate did not blame his for his concerns. The girl hardly seemed worth the risk of assembling for the ceremony. The great stone circle stood on the edge of the wild mountains, dangerously close to crown lands. The local lord would have men watching the stones, ready to deal with those who still worshipped the dark gods. Any pagan they caught could expect a slow death.

The two men-at-arms dragged the girl to the Stone of Sacrifice. She struggled hopelessly in their arms as they forced her down onto the stone and clamped the bracelets of the chains around her wrists and ankles. They tightened the chains until she was bound, supine upon the rock, totally immobile. She was whimpering, tears running down her pockmarked cheeks.

Hecate wondered again if the soothsayer, Maghrul, was right about this girl. Maghrul had told her that the gods were bored of the settled kingdoms of the world, the great empires that held each other in check. The gods yearned for warfare, for powerful champions who would once again bring the terror of the gods to complacent mortals. Maghrul said that the gods would raise new champions, with terrible powers, and that they would fight for the gods’ approval and that the cities would burn and that the empires of men would crumble. The confidence of his words had shaken Hecate, surprising her with their certainty. Maghrul had always been vague in his predictions, but recently he had spoken as though the future was mapped out for him to read.

Maghrul had told her that the girl chained helplessly to the rock of sacrifice was one of the gods’ champions. Hecate thought this unlikely looking at the feeble creature. She would have demanded an explanation from Maghrul, but the soothsayer had vanished, leaving her with dwindling confidence in his assurances that this girl would give Hecate the power she would need to weather the coming storm.

“It is time,” said Grettan simply.

Hecate nodded, and began to move towards the stone of reward, moving unsteadily, using her staff to support herself. Grettan places a hand to her elbow, but she shook it off irritably. “I can make my own way, Grettan!” she snapped. The druid nodded and stepped back. Hecate hid the pain from her face as she hobbled to the stone. She was old, older now than she should ever have been, only alive because of vitality stolen from others. She was one of few dark witches left, a once noble and feared assembly, now reduced to one old woman who limped along with her staff as a walking stick.

She sat upon the edge of the Stone of Reward. The stone felt cold beneath her clothes, its rough edges pressing uncomfortably against her as she lay herself down. She did not flinch as she felt the cold iron straps of the chains fastened to her wrists and ankles. This was not the first time that she had been through the ceremony and she knew what to expect, though it all felt more painful and tiring than it had before. Hecate lay and looked up at the stars, waiting for the druids to begin their chant. She glanced at the sacrifice chained to the rock. The girl was still sobbing, though no more tears came.

At some unspecified signal the druids began their chant, a slow mournful ululation, a praise for the ancient gods. Hecate could feel the magic of the words, a tingling sensation at the nape of her neck. Grettan stepped towards the girl. He held a bowl of blood in his left hand and he used his right hand to daub symbols on her face. She squirmed beneath his touch, but he slapped her and then she lay still. He tore open her shift, revealing her sickly frame, and painted more blood around her chest and belly.

Grettan held the bowl to the sky with both hands, then poured the last of the blood over the girl. Then he laid the bowl on the floor and drew a knife of polished flint, its shiny blade reflecting the orange glow of the torches around the circle. He held the knife aloft with his right hand and screamed an incantation, then in one sharp movement he drove it down into the girl’s chest.

Hecate watched as the girl opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her lips twitched in shock, then she uttered a single yelp of pain as Grettan withdrew the knife. Blood spasmed from the wound in her chest and her feeble protests ceased.

A thin wisp of light rose from the girl’s heart, twisting its way lazily across the stone circle until it reached Hecate and formed a strand between them. Hecate smiled as the light spread around her body, a gentle warmth that made her muscles and bones feel refreshed. Yet to Hecate it was also a disappointment. She had stolen the souls of others before and all of them had felt better than this, the girl’s feeble strength barely rejuvenating the old witch.

And then something happened. From out of nowhere, from a clear and starry sky, a bolt of lightning arced into the girl lying prone upon the Stone of Sacrifice. The lightning played across her body for several seconds and the girl arched her back to meet it, her skin beginning to glow with celestial light, a grin of delight upon her lips.

The transformation seemed to begin at her chest, her nipples rising from her bony chest on rapidly expanding breasts. Then the power seemed to spread across her as her painfully thin arms and legs expanded with slender, toned muscle. Her scraggly hair became radiant and golden, her pockmarked skin smooth and flawless. In a matter of moments Hecate watched her transform from a malnourished skinny girl into a stunning, curvaceous woman. She was groaning again now, though with delight rather than pain or fear.

She drew her arms towards her suddenly massive chest, the chains that bound her creaking painfully as she strained against them. She gasped, and dropped her hands to her side, the chains jingling as she released the pressure on them. She closed her eyes and moaned, and as she did so Hecate could see another wave of growth wash over her already impressive body. She grew taller, her body fuller, her breasts larger, her features more defined and beautiful. She drew up her hands again, rubbing her fingers playfully over the nipples that surmounted her huge chest, the chains that bound her arms snapping as though they were made of paper.

“Restrain her!” Grettan yelled. The men-at-arms ran over to her, each grabbing an arm and pulling with all their might in a futile attempt to hold her down. She laughed as they struggled against her, her hands still playfully fondling her breasts. When she moved, it was so sudden that Hecate barely saw it. Suddenly the man on her left had been thrown clear across the circle, as effortlessly as though she was skimming stones. Then she grabbed the man on her right, placing her left hand on his shoulder and easily forcing him to the ground. There was a sickening crunch as she clenched her fist, armour and bone snapping beneath her delicate fingers. The man screamed, she smiled, then punched his head with her free right hand, exploding it in a shower of tissue and bone. She giggled, then struck a pose, flexing her right bicep, a small knot of hard muscle that rose impressively from her slender arm. She winked at Grettan, then gasped as another wave of power hit her, her bicep expanding before Hecate’s terrified eyes.

Hecate knew that she was doomed. She had no magic that would even hurt the girl now, even if she weren’t chained helpless to a slab of rock. She closed her eyes and tried to think of a means of escape, any chance, however small. When she reopened her eyes the girl was reaching down to the chains at her ankles, her fingers snapping the metal from her left ankle with excruciating ease. She tugged the chain free from its stone mooring and began to crush the links in her fist, the metal squeezing like liquid between her fingers.

Hecate had a desperate idea. Under her breath she began to murmur the words of the chant the druids had sung. Some of them were still singing, though most had stopped and some had already run away. Hecate just hoped that it would be enough.

The girl was showing off now. She had crushed the chain into a ball of hard metal, and was tossing it playfully in the air, a wicked smiled upon her lips, her eyes fixed on Grettan. To his credit Grettan stood his ground, his face cold and expressionless, his calculating mind doubtlessly having worked out that escape was impossible. Grettan didn’t flinch as she drew back her arm to throw the ball, instead he began to chant, the same words as Hecate.

If she’d have killed either of them then, it would have been too late. But she was riding a wave of delight, showing off her power in the belief that nothing they did could stop her.

She threw the ball, close enough to Grettan that he could feel it shoot past, decapitating a druid who stood behind him before sailing off through the night. There was a distant crunch as it struck some trees.

She reached down for the chain on her right ankle, pulling it up her slender leg until it was tight upon her calf. She winked seductively at Grettan, then tensed the muscles in her leg, shattering the thick metal band with breathtaking ease.

Hecate watched her as she stretched her powerful arms as though waking from a deep sleep, a gesture of her disdain for those around her and her confidence in her incredible strength. She was in complete control, her casual movements assuring the druids that she had no need to rush their slaughter. Hecate knew that she was doomed to die there, chained helpless to the stone of reward.

But then the power hit her. The tiny, gossamer thread of light that had carried the girl’s soul to Hecate was suddenly lost in a vast torrent of energy, a great cable of celestial brightness stealing her vast new found strength and channeling it into the body of the old witch.

Hecate was lost in a vast ball of light. If the sensation had been pleasant before, it was now incomparable. She shook with orgasmic delight. She closed her eyes as a great wave of pleasure overwhelmed her senses. When she opened them, the girl was gone from the stone, but still the power coursed from her. Hecate watched as the girl lifted a druid into the air with one hand, then flung him against a stone, his body exploding in a mist of blood and bone. A druid on the far side of the circle turned and fled. Hecate did not even see the girl move, but suddenly she was in front of him. He ran headlong into her, his head smashing into her left breast, barely moving her huge mammary with the impact, but sending him reeling to the floor. She brought her delicate foot down on his head to finish him off, then laughed playfully like a child.

Hecate was lost in a sea of pleasure as the power coursed into her veins. She looked across at her own hand, chained near her head, and saw that it was no longer old. The brown, wrinkled, paper-like skin was gone and in it’s place was flawless pale flesh, beautiful and youthful. Hecate craned her neck to look down the length of her body at her feet, but the view was blocked by her breasts, rising like dough beneath her robes, stretching the fabric taut. Even as she watched, her expanding chest pulled her gown open, displaying a perfect generous cleavage that continued to expand before her eyes. She gasped with delight, allowing her head to fall back onto the rock, her eyes closed.

She could hear a druid begging for mercy, then she heard the girl’s loud clear voice. “Mercy, like the mercy you offered me?” Then there was a scream, cut short by a loud crunch.

When Hecate reopened her eyes she could see that only Grettan and one other druid remained standing. The druid had snatched up a sword from one of the dead men-at-arms. Hecate could see by the way he held it that he did not know how to use it. The girl walked towards him slowly, swinging her hips seductively, arms loose at her side. “Do you think that will stop me?” She stopped in front of him and put her hands on her hips. “Go on, then, see what you can do?”

The druid lunged, a clumsy thrust which the girl made no attempt to dodge. He drove the blade into her chest, which it struck with a metallic clang. “That tickled!” she giggled. She grabbed the blade and ripped it from his hand, took hold of the hilt with one hand and the blade with the other, then effortlessly folded it in half. She looked at the metal curiously, then, with a slight grunt of effort she twisted the blade back straight before driving it through the druid’s skull. Then she turned on Grettan.

Grettan had moved slowly across the circle until Hecate was between him and the girl. The girl seemed to see Hecate for the first time and her eyes widened at the sight of what the old witch had become. Hecate realised then that the girl couldn’t see the great flow of energy leaving her and flooding into Hecate, that she couldn’t see the currents of magic that coursed all around her.

The girl roared in anger as she finally realised what was happening, a tremendous crash of noise powered by inhuman lungs. She sprinted towards Hecate, her mighty fists clenched ready to deliver a killing blow.

But she was too late. The balance of power between them had tipped in Hecate’s favour. Hecate watched the girl run, no longer a blur of speed, but sluggish and clumsy.

Hecate moved fast, leaping to her feet, the chains that bound her arms and legs snapping as though they weren’t even there. The girl charged her, throwing a massive punch at Hecate’s face. Hecate caught the fist in her left hand, easily overpowering the girl and pushing her down onto her knees. The girl struck out with her free hand, which Hecate slapped aside with contemptuous ease. “It looks like you’ve left it too late!” laughed Hecate. With that Hecate thrust the girl away, tossing her easily across the circle. She hit a stone with an almighty crunch, shards of granite flying in all directions.

Hecate sprinted across the circle, relishing her own tremendous speed. The girl was still recovering by the time Hecate reached her. She clamped a hand around the girl’s neck and raised her easily into the air. The girl grabbed Hecate’s wrist with her hands and struggled to break her phenomenal grip, but her efforts felt feeble. She kicked out with her legs, her feet deflecting harmlessly of Hecate’s flawless stomach, though the deflected blows still smashed great shards from the stone.

Hecate laughed, knowing it was her turn to enjoy the power and that there was no one who could take it away from her. She pulled the girl towards her, massaging one of the girl’s massive breasts with her free hand, admiring their size and firmness. She pulled her closer still, ignoring her struggle, to run the tip of her tongue around the girl’s nipple, enjoying the tingling sensation of power transfer as the tip of her tongue caressed the pert flesh. “You have such wonderful breasts, so big and firm. Almost as big as mine. But nowhere near as firm!” With that Hecate tensed her shoulders, ripping what remained of her robe from her body. She brought the girl down, so that their nipples were touching, her own breasts were now significantly bigger than the girl’s, and almost infinitely firmer. She squeezed the girl closer to her, watching as the girl’s large breasts were flattened against her own amazing chest. The girl screamed in pain. Hecate laughed.

The girl was growing weaker now, no longer smashing the solid rock with her bare feet. Hecate carried her, still squirming, across the circle. She forced the girl to lie once more upon the stone of sacrifice, then she took two of the broken strands of chain, twisting them tightly around the girls wrists, bending the inch thick metal rings together to hold the girl still. The girl fought, but was no longer strong enough to break the chains.

Hecate casually walked over to the Stone of Reward, her hips swaying seductively, the beam of energy from the girl still coursing into her. Hecate lay back upon the stone, relishing the dying moments of the awesome power transfer. Her hands traced the wonderful contours of her new body, her breasts, her nipples, her belly, her thighs, her clitoris. It had been many years since Hecate had pleasured herself, and she was sure it had not felt like this before. Orgasm after incredible orgasm wracked her mighty body, her deft fingers skilfully exploiting her already sodden quim.

The power coursing into Hecate stopped more abruptly than she had expected. She opened her eyes and let out a great sigh of pleasure, then looked across at the Stone of Sacrifice. The chains were empty, though they remained unbroken, every last physical essence of the girl was now Hecate’s.

Hecate stood up and looked around her at what remained of the stone circle. Several of the stones were cracked or crumbling. Dead druids lay all around, some more mangled than others. The armour of the two dead men-at-arms glistened in the torchlight. Only Grettan remained alive, and he had dropped to his knees, prostrate before her.

She approached him, enjoying the feel of the cool night air against her heavenly skin. She stood before him, totally naked, totally invulnerable. She ran her fingers delicately through his hair and she could feel him tensing with fear at her tender caress. “Oh, Grettan. You questioned whether the girl was a worthy sacrifice. Yet here we are, having achieved something we will remember for the rest of our lives!”

“Majesty!” Grettan replied, looking up at her. His eyes were full of tears, he seemed genuinely moved by what they had done.

“It is a pity, though, that the rest of your life will not be very long,” she said, snapping his neck with casual ease. She lifted his body, the weight of it barely registering against her power infused muscles as she raised his corpse one handed over her head, then tossed it away like an old rag doll.

Hecate looked around for her staff, though when she found it she didn’t recognise it at first. A wizard or a witch’s staff reflected the traits of its owner. Hers had been a twisted, hard knotted old stick for as long as she could remember. It had served her well, easily disguised as old lady’s walking stick.

Her staff now was not something which could be hidden from anyone. It was a shaft of glistening metal, six feet long and crowned with an obsidian skull with two large diamonds set in its eyes. It was a staff that screamed power. She held it for a moment, feeling the comforting warmth of it in her grip, the familiar sensation of magic being channeled into her.

She cast a fireball first. A ball of flame leapt from her fingers and struck one of the stones with a great roar. It was a good fireball, but Hecate was disappointed. Her physical strength was so dramatically enhanced that she had assumed her magical powers would expand exponentially as well. She cast two fireballs, each more powerful than she could have achieved before, but neither the unstoppable inferno she had hoped for.

Hecate was disappointed enough that she cast herself a magic mirror to admire her new beauty. This at least was completely satisfying. Before her in the glittering mirror stood the most beautiful and sensual woman that she had ever seen.

She stood, pouting at her reflection, her now gorgeous, youthful face. The sparkling green eyes, the ruby lips, the delicate nose and chin, the lustrous jet black hair that fell in torrents to her shoulders. Then, below the shoulders, the awesome body. The breasts, each nearly as big as her head, so firm and pert, perfectly symmetrical and crowned by lustrous pink nipples. Her belly, flawless, toned with the awesome muscles that lay beneath. Her hips, rounded and inviting. Her legs, slender, graceful and alive with power.

For a moment she just stared at her wondrous reflection. Hecate knew well the power of beauty, though she had never possessed it herself. Now she had the kind of body that would drive men to do anything she desired, with the strength not to need men at all. She flexed a bicep, watching the small hard knot of muscle rise from her slender arm. It seemed impossible that such delicate muscles could contain such power.

She strode over to one of the stones and punched it with all her might. There was a satisfying crack, shards of stone flew in all directions, and the great stone snapped in half.

The stone next to it was bigger, one of the biggest in the circle. It was nearly twenty feet tall, a vast slab of granite that must have weighed close to a hundred tonnes. She squared herself up to it, her feet planted apart before it, her hands burrowing easily into its solid surface for purchase. She heaved with all her might. The massive stone shook beneath her fingers, earth rose from around its footings, it trembled in her grasp, but she could not wrest it from the earth’s embrace. She sighed as she relaxed her grip.

Then she remembered a spell. It was a spell she had not used in a long time, since it required so much energy. But now she was overflowing with energy.

It was called The Fibres of Might. A relatively simple, if tiring spell, that made the caster a few times stronger. She had used it with good effect a few times in her younger days, surprising adversaries with sudden bursts of unexpected strength. She wondered what effect it would have on her now.

Smiling with anticipation she returned to the magic mirror and again regarded her reflection. She held her staff aloft and whispered the words of power.

She felt her body begin to tremble, as muscles already engorged with power began to feel the rewards of the spell.

It happened in a few seconds, but to Hecate it was delightfully drawn out. First the spell lifted her about a foot into the air, arms thrown out, head tilted back, mouth open in delight. Then her body grew taller, stretching downwards until her feet were once again upon the ground. As her feet struck the earth energy flooded her body, her already massive breasts nearly doubled in size in a single heartbeat. Then it was the turn of her muscles.

Every muscle in her body expanded at the same time. A split second of earth shattering power. She gasped with delight as she flexed her newly huge biceps, great boulder sized muscles rising from her swollen arms. Her fingers traced the outline of her powerful abs, her mighty thighs, her impossibly powerful flesh.

She strode across the circle to the largest stone. Even with her new growth it towered above her, a hundred tonnes of densest granite. She placed her hands on the rock, squeezing, feeling the rock yield and crumble with delightful ease. This time, when she strained to lift it, the rock rose easily, plucked from the ground as easily as she would pluck weeds from her herd garden. She raised the enormous stone high above her head, turning it horizontally so that she could hold it high on one flat hand. She flexed the bicep of her free arm again, laughing as the massive muscle rose until it almost touched the stone.

She stood for some time, admiring her new form in the mirror. She was still sensuous, but now the sensuality was behind the raw power. In her other form she was still powerful, but the power was hidden behind the sensuality. She wondered which she liked more.

She tossed the stone easily into the air, a hundred tonnes of rock lauched hundreds of feet into the air with a casual flick of the wrist. She held her arm straight above her head, the fist clenched, watching as the rock hurtled back towards her. It struck her fist and exploded in a shower of dust and stone fragments.

Hecate took up her staff once more, uttered a few words beneath her breath. Mist rose from the ground around her awesome form, mist that drew into her skin, delicately bonding together into robes of the finest silk, cut tight to her magnificent curves, low on her huge breasts. Her nipples tented the fabric as she gazed wontonly at herself. In deep purple robes, trimmed with gold and cut more skilfully than any tailor could ever achieve, she looked unbearably good.

She held her staff above her head and leapt into the sky, her hugely powerful legs propelling her hundreds of feet upwards. The ground hurtled away beneath her, as she brought her staff in beneath her thighs so that flight took over. For a moment she held her place, high in the sky above the circle. Far below her stretched out all the lands of men, their mighty fortresses, numberless armies, immense cities.

And now none of them could stop her.