Ghostly Gains- Part 4 (Patreon)

Milton and Taran are pumped up to get their big revenge- the football team won't know what hit them, but maybe they'll learn something after all. Enjoy, and Happy Halloween!

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"Okay, dude— it all started when I was going for a world record. A whole. Fucking. Ton. Four dumbbells, nice, clean pump. One for each hand. It was going to be fuckin' beautiful, it was fuckin' beautiful! But, y'see," there was a sudden flash in Milton's head as Taran talked, seeing Taran alive and in his full glory, his magnificent, four-armed monument of a body on full display.

"That prick, Sam Jaeger. The quarterback with a bigger trust fund than biceps. He said that using four arms was cheating."

Milton gasped. "Sam Jaeger— Wait, the football coach?"

"Correctamundo, Mil-ton! He took my record, he got me called a fraud— my one shot, my one shot to prove everyone I wasn't a fraud or a cheat was to do the whole lift, one ton, with two arms, overhead."

Milton didn't see what happened next— but he heard it. Taran letting out a strangled cry, the deafening crash of a ton's worth of metal, then nothing. "Holy shit…"

"That's why we're gonna make 'em pay, Mil-ton! You and me. They made your life miserable, they set it up to end mine— let's. Fucking. Get 'em. Show those football dorks who the real kings are."

Milton caught his own reflection— Taran's influence had morphed him into a mass monster, an anabolic beast— so much beef packed onto a once-skinny, little frame… he was starting to feel like some kind of king. That ghostly, ectoplasmic blue flashed in his eyes. "Yeah, man. Let's do it."

The cat crashed his huge leg through the door of the football team's locker room, tearing through the metal door like it was paper. The jocks who used to shove him into lockers or dunk his head in the bathroom for swirlies were now paralyzed by fear, not just by the gigantic cat filling their doorway, but the monstrously huge phantom floating right behind him.

"What's up, losers?" Milton called out, cracking his knuckles as he tensed his enormous arms. "You guys are late for your tutoring session."

"And where's your coach?" Taran demanded. "I wanna go over his lifting form."

"C-c'mon, man! Milton, we're sorry, dude!" 

Milton smirked— the quarterback and linebacker looked almost like some of his minis in his meaty hands, with more beef packed on to his engorged arms than either of them had in their bodies. "No, no, Miller— See, I remember how you had me dumb down that physics paper you had me write? You need this demonstrative lesson. Now— When I do this," He flexed his mammoth arm, his tricep like a boat hull supporting the towering peak of his flexed bicep. "And you do… that…"

The tiger in his grip flailed helplessly, trying desperately to push back against the canyon-like swell of the cat's chest. 

"You are expending more energy than I am, which we measure in…" He glared down at the lion. "What is it, Thompson? Come on, we already went over this— or do you need me to put you in another headlock?"
"U-uh— K-kilos? No! No! Joules!"

"Very good, Thompson!" Milton smirked, jostling the lion as he squeezed him against his heaving flank. "Anyways, Miller— you might be expending more kinetic energy than me, but you are producing less force than I am when I do something that— for me, anyways— requires very little energy output… Like this."

"Dude, no, come on— mmph!"
Milton buried both the players against his unfathomably dense bulk, burying them against his armpits, smothering them with his own outsized biceps. "And that is a basic demonstration of Newton's Second Law of Motion."

"Wow, dude— That's actually really cool, I could never keep that straight when I was alive!" Taran said, "So… Who's making more force, me when I do this—?" Taran heaved up his own massive arm in an impressive curl, his bicep eclipsing the locker room lights. "Or this over-the-hill wimp doing pussy numbers with his barbell reps?"

Taran hefted up Coach Jaeger in his other hand, the middle-aged, now pot-bellied wolf desperately trying to curl a barbell. "Mason, I said I was sorry! I-I shouldn't have campaigned against you! I'm sorry!"

"Sorry? What's sorry, dude, is that fucking awful form. Come on, Jaeger! I thought you were an athlete! I want a perfect rep, perfect motion— we gotta get you up to snuff somehow, right?"

"And try to stop screaming, coach— Next up, I'm tutoring your boys in calculus. And I have some intensive lessons for them," Milton said, exchanging wicked smirks with Taran. Everything was going to change on campus— brains and a whole lot of brawn, as it turned out, was a very deadly combination.