Disclaimer: This story contains content that should not be read by people underneath the age of 21. It is 100% fiction and has no bearing on reality whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. The author does not condone illegal and immoral actions described. If you feel rape in the real world is a good thing, bend over in a prison and whistle dixie. While I'm disclaiming, racism, homophobia and other bigotry of any kind are also really fucking stupid. I don't own Tomb Raider, or any of the characters and make no profit from this story. Please read the damn story codes. Flashfic written in reply to prompt, 'sheep'

Description: Lara's life ends in a way she never expected

Content Codes: M-Zoo, pwp, rape, silly, magic, morph, viol

Tomb Raider: Lara Croft's Sheep God Trials
by JD ([email protected])

Air conditioning cooled the club down to a much more agreeable temperature amidst the scorching Australian summer. Even near midnight when Lara Croft slipped in past the inattentive receptionist the heat outside was excessive. Despite the high level of personal fitness that gave the English aristocrat such a perfectly toned body, Lara still felt sweat drying across her bronzed skin as she moved silently barefooted down the corridor. The surrounding club rooms were full of very drunken members of the local and extended community, all involved in some way in the state's sheep trade.

Lara headed for the core of the building, dating back over 150 years to the early decades of local settlement. She had overheard two club members drunkenly discussing an ancient Mesopotamian statue, stolen from its Egyptian owner by a British Colonel, and hidden at the club. She intended merely a reconnaissance to confirm the statue's existence and value, as it sounded too heavy to appropriate alone. Wrought of black marble, the statue was of a previously unknown Sheep God. Besides the value of the statue to academics, her unwitting informers claimed it retained divine power. During times when there were more people than meat, the statue would supposedly accept terrible offerings and provide edible meat. Holding the stories in mind, Lara entered the central room and faced the statue.

The carving was amazingly lifelike, so much so that if it wasn't for small stylistic touches Lara wouldn't have believed it was truly Mesopotamian. She calculatingly admired the statue at the centre of the shabby temple-styled room. As her heartbeat sped up she had to feel the stone beneath her fingertips. Lara's breath caught in her throat as she gently touched the cold stone. For just a moment she held a vision of an ancient sculptor, near starved, carving the statue to earn a god's favour.

Then the pain started. At first a minor ache in Lara's joints, it quickly grew to a searing agony throughout her entire skeleton. She had been shot, stabbed, beaten, raped and even stung by multiple bullet ants in her career, but nothing in the Tomb Raider's experience compared to the divinely induced suffering that drove her to her knees with a wordless cry of terrified pain. Although she vainly attempted to psychologically control her pain, It seemed to Lara as if her bones were trying to burn free from the enclosing flesh.

Her hands began to change first. The tough material of her fingerless gloves tore like paper as her fingers joined together, merging into a hard mass. Her limbs shrank upwards, cracking and breaking with wet snaps that sounded sickly loud in the temple room, before reforming far shorter. Lara's shorts bulged as intestinal changes forced her to void her bowels and bladder messily; her pain and fear were so great that she didn't even notice. Then her shorts too were ripping as her hips changed shape, and her tight green leotard as her torso followed. The shredded material dropped away to reveal hair bursting out all over Lara's transforming body; not hair- wool.

The transformation took Lara's face last. The stunning beauty of Lara in her prime became the idiotic confusion of a terrified beast. Her constant cries took on a throatier tone until she was no longer screaming like a woman but bleating like a sheep. Her intelligence remained undimmed, but she couldn't speak through her new jaw even as the pain faded away. Lara's primary thought was to find a way to reverse the bizarre magic worked upon her, but that turned to escape as two club members entered the room,

"Thought you said some sheila was screaming! Don't you know difference between screaming and bleating you bleeding nong? Jesus, it's shat on the bloody floor, looks like it's tried eating clothing too!"

"Wait... this must be for the barby tomorrow - Ned and Mick kept arguing over who was going to supply the meat, right? This is Mick's idea of a joke."

"Need to butcher the bloody thing tonight then. I'll cut its throat here and teach them a lesson about making a mess. We can drag it down the kitchen when it's drained."

Lara's racket increased as she heard the drunkenly ill-thought plans for her. Unsteady on new legs, she managed to charge towards the door, but the two men were experts at controlling sheep no matter how much they'd drunk. The larger of the two had her by the back of the neck, and easily avoided her stumpy legged kicks. To his vague disgust his friend unzipped and pulled out a stiffening cock,

"I'd better marinate this mutton!"

"You miserable sheepchaser! Hurry it up!"

Lara fought against the two men as hard as hew new body allowed, but couldn't get her filth encrusted rear end away from the amorous Australian. She bleated at a higher pitch as he penetrated her roughly. The drunk didn't care for the sheep's discomfort; he just liked the hot warmth that gripped him. He held onto Lara's fleece, using the leverage to thrust hard inside her. Lara's humiliating transformation felt far more degrading as the stabbing pain of the rape grew until the grunting drunk managed to shoot his load inside her tender loins.

"Yeah, take it bitch ewe!" he cried, withdrawing his bloody prick from her torn ovine cunt.

Lara's eyes might have shown her true intelligence to anybody who cared to look, but neither man did. The larger man drew his knife and opened Lara's jugular. After the all-consuming agony of the transformation she barely felt the professional cut that sprayed blood across the scuffed floor. Her desperate struggles lessened quickly as her life flowed away between the wool-edged throat gash.

Eyes glazing as death took hold; Lara appreciated the truth of the stories and regretted her plans to take it from appreciative sheep herders to put it in some museum. She would have been better to let a sleeping sheep god lie.


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