Kidnapped

As George's body began to contort and shift, the beautiful witch's emerald eyes widened, a mixture of fascination and trepidation flickering across her features. She took a step back, her wings of verdant mist curling protectively around her form.

George's legs swelled first, muscles rippling and expanding beneath his skin until they resembled tree trunks more than human limbs. His arms followed suit, bulging grotesquely as his fingers elongated, wicked claws erupting from the tips. A guttural roar tore from his throat as his spine arched, bones cracking and reshaping.

The witch's gaze darted between George's transforming body and the surrounding area, her posture tense despite her earlier bravado. She seemed torn between curiosity and instinctive caution, as if uncertain whether she had unleashed something beyond her control.

As the metamorphosis neared its completion, George's eyes snapped open, now glowing a fierce, blood-red. The scent of the witch's blood filled his nostrils, drowning out all other sensations. With a snarl of hunger and rage, he launched himself at her, claws outstretched.

But the witch was prepared. Her arm shot out, finger pointing directly at George. In an instant, he found himself suspended in mid-air, unable to move. Beneath him, a yellow rune materialized on the forest floor, intricate magical symbols pulsing with eldritch energy.

The witch's lips curled into a triumphant smirk as she gestured to the tree where she had earlier pierced her finger. A faint, glowing yellow mark was now visible on its bark.

She let out a peal of mocking laughter, her earlier apprehension vanishing like mist in sunlight. "Oh, you poor, predictable creature," she cackled, circling George's immobilized form. "Did you really think I'd be so careless? I suspected you might try something like this, which is why I prepared my spell while we talked. You may be stronger now, but you're still so very, very naive."

George snarled and struggled against the invisible bonds, but to no avail. The witch's laughter echoed through the night, a chilling reminder that in this game of eldritch powers and dark transformations, she was still very much in control.

George continued to struggle against the magical bonds, the witch's triumphant expression slowly morphed into one of concern. Her emerald eyes widened as she noticed hairline fractures beginning to form in the glowing rune beneath him.

A nervous chuckle escaped her lips. "Well, well," she said, her voice less steady than before. "It seems I may have underestimated what you're capable of,"

With a swift, almost panicked movement, she reached into her coat and withdrew a small pouch. Her hands shook slightly as she fumbled with the drawstring, spilling some of its contents - a fine, white powder - onto her palm.

As George's bestial form continued to strain against the weakening spell, the witch took several steps back. With a sharp exhale, she blew the powder directly at him, her eyes never leaving the cracking rune trap.

The mark on the tree began to flicker and fade, its glow becoming erratic. The witch's face paled as she watched her magical safeguard dissolve before her eyes. With a final, audible crack, the rune shattered completely, and George dropped to the ground.

The moment his feet touched the earth, George launched himself towards the witch. His powerful legs tore deep furrows in the soil as he charged, driven by an all-consuming hunger and rage.

Gone was the witch's earlier swagger and bravado. Her face drained of color as she beheld the monstrous form barreling towards her. For the first time, genuine fear flickered in her eyes, as if she was truly regretting her decision to antagonize this creature.

Frantically, she plunged her hand back into her coat, searching for something. Her expression turned to one of horrified realization as she came up empty-handed.

"No, no, no," she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't have forgotten it. Not now!"

George was mere steps away from her now, his red eyes fixed on his prey. But suddenly, his charge began to falter. His vision blurred, the world around him narrowing to a pinpoint of light. His legs wobbled, no longer obeying his commands.

With a confused growl, George stumbled, his massive form swaying like a felled tree. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the witch's face, a mixture of relief and lingering fear etched across her features.

As George's consciousness faded, he collapsed to the ground with a thunderous impact, leaving the witch standing over his prone form, her chest heaving with ragged breaths.

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Some time later, George's eyes fluttered open, immediately assaulted by the opulence surrounding him. He found himself lying in an enormous four-poster bed, its sheets silken and cool against his skin. The room was spacious and lavishly furnished, with ornate antique dressers, plush armchairs, and gilt-framed mirrors adorning the walls.

A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the richly patterned carpet. Heavy velvet curtains framed floor-to-ceiling windows, hinting at a view beyond.

As George sat up, a sharp pain lanced through his skull. He groaned, clutching his head. "Feels like I've been hit by a truck," he muttered. His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him of a gnawing hunger he couldn't quite place.

Gingerly, he rose from the bed and began to explore the room, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Where am I?" he mumbled to himself. "Last thing I remember... there was a witch, and then... nothing."

He approached the bedroom door, reaching for the handle. It wouldn't budge. "What the hell?" George tugged harder, but the door remained firmly shut. A wave of panic washed over him. "Am I... kidnapped? But by who? The witch?"

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*Author's note*

Please, let's get more support on here.

Powerstones, comments and suggestions would be very much appreciated.