Dzherard Vant had grown accustomed to stares over the past few years. Aetheric transmutation was still a relatively new breakthrough, and his choice to use himself as the subject was risky at best and suicidal at worst.

But when the opportunity came to splice his very being with that of a behemoth, the allure was too much for him to simply ignore or not even entertain. And then the next thing he knew, he was throwing himself into a jury-rigged device that may as well have been a rocket held together by duct tape.

It would either blow up spectacularly or make a giant leap to transcend the very boundaries of his mortal capabilities instead of being stifled by this vessel of inferior flesh.

By what he has equated to 'sheer dumb luck', the jump flung him across the gap of the abyss and somehow had him land on the other side. And leave a crater or two in the process.

The refined control he had of his body slid with such ease that the heaving musculature flared against his pelt with unreasonable amounts of bulk and power, vastly exceeding the make up of his physique to the point where he appeared more machina than alive as veins pulsed over his arms and chest like fuel lines to engines of destructive power. Even in subtle movements, he could feel the sheer amount of raw force he could impose or exert upon the world. One extra bit of push in his step to crack the stone of the road. A slight veering off course to bend and contort a street lamp. The casual relaxation of his immense weight to rest upon a tree, much to its agonizing and cracking protests and subsequent relief when he finally moved on to the next diversion.

To be an untouchable and overwhelming force of strength was not mere ambition but his very identity. And one that he embraced with the ravishing of a love-struck madman.

And as he held his pose for a picture for an Adventuring Plate, his determined yet calm face belied the effort he had made to cause his entire body to look impenetrable. To be the shield and wall that could have pushed back Dalamud itself if such an opportunity ever arose.

He was strength. He was might. He was power.

...and the moment the picture was made, he collapsed onto the ground with a heavy house-shaking thoom, dropping both of his swords in a hacking fit as he struggled to hold himself up, his mouth dry from the lack of hydration he had purposefully directed so as to further 'sell' the look. His near dry-heaving making it difficult to spit out words, much less spittle itself.

"'S-'Scoe! Hun! W-Water! P-P-Please!" He heaved, panted, trying to relax himself as his thoughts briefly sharpened and fixated upon regret he'd never thought possible.

Still, after his husband had managed to get him water and he looked at the results of his reckless endangerment, he appraised his work with a discerning, narrowed gaze. But as he turned to look to his husband for his opinion, the blush on Roscoe's face was more than enough to know the verdict.

"Heh, worth."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dzherard Vant, my player character in Final Fantasy XIV, was not meant to have this much background or story. He was designed as a sort of expy fusion between Tera and Gerard--in both design and tone.

What it instead resulted was one of the coolest and smoothest character designs I had ever had the pleasure of weaving together. Combined with a very heavy [redacted] scene, it made being able to cater my experience in Final Fantasy XIV a unique and distinct adventure.

You know, just like every other bara hrothgar furry player that did the same thing by making their character absurdly tall, buff, and inexplicably have horns because it looked hot.

Guilty as charged--max penalty--I'd fuckin' do it again.

Aside: it's also never not-funny for him to have the Miss Bellum treatment with having only his head and part of his shoulders cut off the screen in cutscenes.

Art by   CSFoxy

Alt without glow here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/62169773/
And the Line-art too: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/62169792/