The gym
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 13
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Blitzo strode down the sun-baked sidewalk with an evil, smug smirk carved into his lavender lips, seven feet of pure narcissistic triumph rolling like a sensual storm. The tiny black shorts and overstretched tank top moved like a second skin over his hypertrophied muscles, every step making the fabric creak and strain. His pierced nipples poked obscenely through the thin material, the gold earrings clearly outlined. His monstrous cock, half-hard and throbbing, pressed forward so aggressively that the twin piercings dented the front of the shorts like lewd metal studs. People still stared, phones recording, mouths agape, but Blitzo barely noticed anymore. He was beyond them now. A god on a mission.
The gym loomed ahead — “Iron Titan Fitness,” the place he used to sneak into almost daily. Back then he’d been the scrawny, desperate twink who drooled over the roid-monsters, peeking through shower curtains, whispering filthy offers in the locker room, only to get laughed at, rejected, or beaten when they caught him. Today was different. Today he came to crown himself king, to make every last one of them understand that the law, society, consequences — all of it was a joke to a man with infinite wishes and zero fucks left to give.
He stopped at the entrance, puffed out his already colossal chest until the tank top screamed in protest, seams stretching white. The fabric was one flex away from total surrender.
“Slave,” he drawled aloud, voice low and commanding, loving how naturally the word rolled off his tongue. He felt perfectly in control — Stolas wasn’t a partner, wasn’t even a friend anymore; he was property, a toy, a servant who existed to make Blitzo’s every depraved whim reality.
Stolas materialized invisibly right beside him, red eyes fluttering with shameless arousal. The genie’s long, forked tongue slithered out, dragging wet and hot along the shell of Blitzo’s ear in a slow, filthy lick. “Mmm, yes, Master… call me that again and I might cum just from the sound,” he purred, voice dripping aristocratic filth. “Your humble, eternal slave awaits your command. What delicious cruelty shall we inflict today?”
Blitzo’s smirk widened. “Wish: make me four times physically stronger than the strongest bodybuilder inside that gym right now. Dense. Rock-solid. Superhuman. And keep me this pretty while you’re at it.”
Stolas moaned theatrically, claws clutching his own chest as if the wish itself stroked his cock. “Ohhh, my glorious, tyrannical lord — your wish is my wettest dream.” He snapped his fingers.
Power slammed into Blitzo like liquid lightning. Any microscopic softness vanished instantly; his body became pure, razor-sharp definition. Veins erupted everywhere — thick, ropey highways snaking over every inch of muscle, pulsing visibly under drum-tight bronze skin. Abs sharpened into an impossible ten-pack so deeply cut they looked carved from obsidian. Every muscle fiber condensed, hardened, became denser than steel yet still sleek and androgynous in its sensual curves. His strength multiplied brutally — four times the current gym champion’s max. The tank top and shorts groaned louder, on the absolute verge of exploding. His belly-button piercing and nipple earrings pressed clearly through the fabric; the twin cock piercings dented the front of the shorts like angry metal eyes.
Blitzo rolled his massive shoulders, feeling the raw, unstoppable power humming in every cell. With a wicked, toothy smirk he shoved the gym doors open and stepped inside.
The receptionist — a fit girl in her twenties — looked up and froze mid-sentence, mouth hanging open, eyes wide as dinner plates at the seven-foot, vascular, shirt-straining god who had just entered.
Blitzo ignored her completely, striding past with sensual, hip-rolling confidence, flip-flops slapping the rubber floor. The main gym floor opened before him — clanging weights, grunting meatheads, the familiar smell of sweat and iron.
And there they were.
Four of the exact bodybuilders he had envied and lusted after for years. The same four who had laughed in his face when he offered to suck them off, who had dragged him out of the showers by the hair and beaten him bloody when they caught him peeking. All of them — 6’2” to 6’5”, 280–320 pounds of roid-bloated muscle — stopped mid-rep. Dumbbells clattered. Barbells dropped. Jaws fell.
Blitzo towered over every single one of them.
He took a slow, deep breath.
RRRRRIP!
The tank top exploded off his body in tatters, shredded fabric fluttering to the floor like confetti. His naked torso — ten shredded abs, vascular pecs the size of dinner plates, shoulders like boulders, arms thicker than most men’s thighs — gleamed under the fluorescent lights, every vein throbbing, every striation razor-sharp.
He lazily reached down with one long, manicured purple nail and began toying with the gold belly-button piercing, twisting it slowly, letting the motion make his entire midsection flex and dance. For a full two minutes he just stood there, letting them stare at the impossible, hyper-masculine yet femininely sensual physique that now dwarfed them all. No one spoke. The entire gym had gone dead silent.
Then Blitzo moved.
He sauntered to the nearest squat rack, loaded with what looked like 800 pounds — the current gym record. He racked it across his massive traps, smirked at the four stunned bodybuilders, and dropped into a perfect squat. Up. Down. Up. Down. Ten easy reps. The bar bent like a bow.
He moved to the deadlift platform. 1,200 pounds. He pulled it like it was empty — fifteen reps, laughing the whole time as the bar flexed and the plates rattled.
Then the absurdity began.
He walked over to the cable crossover machine, grabbed both handles, and pulled them together in front of his chest — the entire machine’s steel frame groaned, bolts popping, the cables snapping like guitar strings. He kept pulling until the two towers bent inward and collided with a metallic CRUNCH.
Next, the leg press. Loaded to 2,000 pounds. Blitzo sat down, pushed once — the entire sled shot upward, the safety stops sheared off, and the whole machine toppled backward with a deafening crash, weights scattering like toys.
He laughed — deep, megalomaniacal, echoing through the gym — and turned to face the four bodybuilders who were now backing away, faces pale with shock and dawning terror.
The king had arrived.
And revenge was just getting started.
1. Blitzo begins to confront the four bodybuilders one by one, reveling in the humiliation and physical pain he inflicts on them.
2. The bodybuilders attack Blitzo, not recognizing him and acting out of fear and jealousy.
The gym loomed ahead — “Iron Titan Fitness,” the place he used to sneak into almost daily. Back then he’d been the scrawny, desperate twink who drooled over the roid-monsters, peeking through shower curtains, whispering filthy offers in the locker room, only to get laughed at, rejected, or beaten when they caught him. Today was different. Today he came to crown himself king, to make every last one of them understand that the law, society, consequences — all of it was a joke to a man with infinite wishes and zero fucks left to give.
He stopped at the entrance, puffed out his already colossal chest until the tank top screamed in protest, seams stretching white. The fabric was one flex away from total surrender.
“Slave,” he drawled aloud, voice low and commanding, loving how naturally the word rolled off his tongue. He felt perfectly in control — Stolas wasn’t a partner, wasn’t even a friend anymore; he was property, a toy, a servant who existed to make Blitzo’s every depraved whim reality.
Stolas materialized invisibly right beside him, red eyes fluttering with shameless arousal. The genie’s long, forked tongue slithered out, dragging wet and hot along the shell of Blitzo’s ear in a slow, filthy lick. “Mmm, yes, Master… call me that again and I might cum just from the sound,” he purred, voice dripping aristocratic filth. “Your humble, eternal slave awaits your command. What delicious cruelty shall we inflict today?”
Blitzo’s smirk widened. “Wish: make me four times physically stronger than the strongest bodybuilder inside that gym right now. Dense. Rock-solid. Superhuman. And keep me this pretty while you’re at it.”
Stolas moaned theatrically, claws clutching his own chest as if the wish itself stroked his cock. “Ohhh, my glorious, tyrannical lord — your wish is my wettest dream.” He snapped his fingers.
Power slammed into Blitzo like liquid lightning. Any microscopic softness vanished instantly; his body became pure, razor-sharp definition. Veins erupted everywhere — thick, ropey highways snaking over every inch of muscle, pulsing visibly under drum-tight bronze skin. Abs sharpened into an impossible ten-pack so deeply cut they looked carved from obsidian. Every muscle fiber condensed, hardened, became denser than steel yet still sleek and androgynous in its sensual curves. His strength multiplied brutally — four times the current gym champion’s max. The tank top and shorts groaned louder, on the absolute verge of exploding. His belly-button piercing and nipple earrings pressed clearly through the fabric; the twin cock piercings dented the front of the shorts like angry metal eyes.
Blitzo rolled his massive shoulders, feeling the raw, unstoppable power humming in every cell. With a wicked, toothy smirk he shoved the gym doors open and stepped inside.
The receptionist — a fit girl in her twenties — looked up and froze mid-sentence, mouth hanging open, eyes wide as dinner plates at the seven-foot, vascular, shirt-straining god who had just entered.
Blitzo ignored her completely, striding past with sensual, hip-rolling confidence, flip-flops slapping the rubber floor. The main gym floor opened before him — clanging weights, grunting meatheads, the familiar smell of sweat and iron.
And there they were.
Four of the exact bodybuilders he had envied and lusted after for years. The same four who had laughed in his face when he offered to suck them off, who had dragged him out of the showers by the hair and beaten him bloody when they caught him peeking. All of them — 6’2” to 6’5”, 280–320 pounds of roid-bloated muscle — stopped mid-rep. Dumbbells clattered. Barbells dropped. Jaws fell.
Blitzo towered over every single one of them.
He took a slow, deep breath.
RRRRRIP!
The tank top exploded off his body in tatters, shredded fabric fluttering to the floor like confetti. His naked torso — ten shredded abs, vascular pecs the size of dinner plates, shoulders like boulders, arms thicker than most men’s thighs — gleamed under the fluorescent lights, every vein throbbing, every striation razor-sharp.
He lazily reached down with one long, manicured purple nail and began toying with the gold belly-button piercing, twisting it slowly, letting the motion make his entire midsection flex and dance. For a full two minutes he just stood there, letting them stare at the impossible, hyper-masculine yet femininely sensual physique that now dwarfed them all. No one spoke. The entire gym had gone dead silent.
Then Blitzo moved.
He sauntered to the nearest squat rack, loaded with what looked like 800 pounds — the current gym record. He racked it across his massive traps, smirked at the four stunned bodybuilders, and dropped into a perfect squat. Up. Down. Up. Down. Ten easy reps. The bar bent like a bow.
He moved to the deadlift platform. 1,200 pounds. He pulled it like it was empty — fifteen reps, laughing the whole time as the bar flexed and the plates rattled.
Then the absurdity began.
He walked over to the cable crossover machine, grabbed both handles, and pulled them together in front of his chest — the entire machine’s steel frame groaned, bolts popping, the cables snapping like guitar strings. He kept pulling until the two towers bent inward and collided with a metallic CRUNCH.
Next, the leg press. Loaded to 2,000 pounds. Blitzo sat down, pushed once — the entire sled shot upward, the safety stops sheared off, and the whole machine toppled backward with a deafening crash, weights scattering like toys.
He laughed — deep, megalomaniacal, echoing through the gym — and turned to face the four bodybuilders who were now backing away, faces pale with shock and dawning terror.
The king had arrived.
And revenge was just getting started.
1. Blitzo begins to confront the four bodybuilders one by one, reveling in the humiliation and physical pain he inflicts on them.
2. The bodybuilders attack Blitzo, not recognizing him and acting out of fear and jealousy.
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June 13
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