An abandoned ventriloquy dummy.

Azrael, was on his routine patrol in Gotham City's eerie corners when he spotted an object out of place. It was an abandoned ventriloquist dummy, peculiarly left in the darkness. Against better judgment, curiosity got the better of him, and he reached out to pick it up.

"Hm..?"

The moment Jean-Paul's fingers touched the ventriloquist dummy, he felt a powerful surge of energy, followed by a sudden icy chill that shot up his arm, originating from his fingertips.

A gasp left his lips, and he dropped the dummy onto the ground, staring down at his gloved hand with wide, alarmed eyes. His gloves dissipated, shredding away into nothingness to reveal his now dainty, manicured fingers.

"Wha—What's happening?"

He muttered, his breath hitching as the feeling spread up his arm, causing his strong, muscular forearm to tremble and weaken. Before his eyes, it slimmed and softened, taking on a much thinner and more delicate appearance. The muscles on his biceps shrank away, his costume dematerializing as it spread higher. His shoulders snapping inward,

He let out a gasp, his eyes widening as he felt a surge of warmth and pleasure radiating from his chest. The once flat and muscular expanse was expanding, a feeling akin to a gentle stretch enveloping him. His heart pounded as he lowered his gaze, a soft groan escaping his lips as he saw the undeniable mounds forming beneath his suit.

"Oh...Oh God," he gasped. The pleasure was intensifying, a warm buzz spreading from his chest throughout his entire body, making his skin tingle. His pectorals were not just reshaping but blooming, evolving into a full, round bust that strained against his body armor. It was a sensation so alien, yet so deeply entrancing, he found himself leaning into it.

His gloved hands lifted instinctively, touching the curves that now adorned his chest. A moan slipped from his lips as his fingers made contact, a current of pleasure coursing through him as his nipples expanded and hardened. His fingers explored the new sensitivity, tracing the outline of his new form, marveling at the soft fullness that had replaced his once beefy and muscular chest.

His suit was changing, shifting, the hard protective shell softening and receding, replaced with the soft fabric of a red dress. It clung to his new figure, highlighting the cleavage that his suit never had to accommodate before. It felt good, the fabric against his new form, enhancing the pleasure of his transformation.

He took a shuddering breath, his eyes closing for a moment as he embraced the bewildering pleasure of his transformation. His fear and panic were momentarily eclipsed by the intoxicating wave of sensation. His logical mind struggled to comprehend what was happening, but for now, he surrendered to the pure, indulgent pleasure coursing through him.

"No, no, no," he gasped, the reality of the situation beginning to dawn on him.

Simultaneously, his waist began to draw in, his once straight and sturdy torso narrowing into an hourglass shape. He could feel his waist contracting, cinching inwards like a corset being tightened. The soft sparkly red dress continued to manifest down his body, replacing his vigilante costume as it went.

As his waistline slimmed, he felt an uncomfortable pressure building around his hips. It was as though an invisible **** was pushing them outward, reshaping his formerly straight, utilitarian form. His strong, fighter's body was transforming into something softer, more curvaceous. His hips were widening, pushing out into a rounded, feminine shape. He groaned, not from pain but from some foreign sensation building deep inside of him.

The sensation didn't there; it continued down his legs. His muscular thighs, honed from years of combat training and vigilante work, began to lose their hard edges. The bulging muscles lessened, his thighs slimming down and gaining a more delicate, yet relatively thick appearance. Despite the loss of overall muscle, his legs retained their toned look, now sleek, smooth, hairless, and shapely, hinted at by the slit of the dress.

His usually flat, firm backside was not spared from the transformation. It was expanding, filling out, curving into a rounded shape that complemented his newly formed hips and waist. The once form-fitting suit of Azrael was now stretched taut over the pronounced curve of his bubbly ass.

"Oh God, what is happening to me?"

What remained of his vigilante attire softened to a vibrant, deep red as the fabric transformed into a silky, figure-hugging slit dress, baring his newly-formed cleavage.

A tingling sensation originated from his crotch, drawing a gasp from him. His hands instinctively reached down, clutching his member through the fabric of the dress as an intense, warm sensation enveloped him. It was a pleasurable feeling, confusing and alien but not painful. In fact, it felt.... good? His dick was fighting being encased inside a lacy thong beneath the garment. Realizing he was turning into a woman and his genitals would soon follow suit, he made a **** attempt to rescue his fleeting masculinity. He fished his hands through his dress's slit and tried to cling on to his shaft for dear life.

SCHLURP!

"Hrrrngh! God! WHY?!"

The Order would be so displeased to hear Azrael speak the lord's name in vain. Even under these trying circumstances. His dick had betrayed him, lodging itself deep inside of himself, grinding sensually against his forming clitoris.

"H-rnnmm-ugh!"

Azrael groaned, his fingers going in to chase after himself only to slip passed his freshly formed lips and graze against his now sensitive walls.

"GAh! Ahhhah-"

The Knight cooed.

His combat boots morphed into towering heels, forcing his posture to adjust. His balance, usually impeccable, was thrown off, and he stumbled backwards, leaning heavily against a wall. He cried out, grappling with the unfamiliar sensation of being top-heavy, still recovering from his intense orgasm.

Simultaneously, his facial features softened and altered, his jawline becoming more delicate, his eyes larger, and his lips fuller. His hair, usually kept short, lengthened, turning from its original dark shade to a bright, golden blonde that fell around his shoulders in soft waves.

His reflection stared back at him in a nearby window, displaying a woman dressed in a red slit dress with platinum blonde hair. Lips cherry red to match the dress, her eyes coated in mascara with false lashes. Mysteriously, her right eye seemed to be non-functional with a noticeable scar around it. Her blonde hair covered that side of her face likely to hide it. He sheepishly pulled his hands out from under his dress, blushing as he allowed the thong to snap comfortably into place, riding deep into his ass.

"I'm... a woman," he said aloud, his voice an octave higher than he was used to with a breathy, sultry lilt sprinkled on top.

"That's not all you are, toots! You're my right hand lady!"

"Who said that..?"

"Down here!"

In shock, he glanced back at the ventriloquist dummy on the ground. The inanimate object cold and lifeless.

"Well? Ya just gonna leave me here on the floor or what?!"

His deep, throaty Jersey tone accentuated his words.

"I-Impossible... You're... speaking to me...?"

Azrael furrowed his perfectly plucked brows.

"The hell's gotten into ya, Peyton?"

"Peyton...? Hrnnngh!"

Azrael gripped his head through the strand of luscious blonde locks. A sudden spark of pain coursed through his brain when he heard that name.