Dante Dyer, Innsmouth Springs, Texarcane
“Yeah, I’m all natural,” he says, gripping a dumbbell, his thick tendrils pulsing around his shoulders like part of his anatomy.
“I don’t touch the synthetic stuff. Wouldn’t dream of it. People just don’t understand what discipline can do, you know? No shortcuts, no magic pills. Just me, my gym, and…” he glances down, maybe catching sight of the slight movement under his skin, “…my routine.”
He leans in, like he’s about to reveal the secrets of the universe. “I don’t care about calorie maxing, or biohacking. You won’t find what I use in the supplement aisle. There’s this root… I can’t say where it’s from, but the effects? Insane. And, man, it changes a guy. I’m talking power, resilience, focus. Gains for centuries. Makes you feel… out of this world.” His chest flexes, veins twisting into patterns that look like runes under his skin.
“My chat are always trying to get me to ‘prove’ it. They’ve seen the change in me and assume I’m juiced to the gills. But nah, bro. This is… primal. Peak natty, as they say.”
His voice drops a bit lower, almost reverent. “There’s a ritual I do every morning. Part meditation, part… I dunno, spiritual recalibration, I guess? Gets me in touch with something deeper. You’d be surprised what the human body can achieve when you’re tapping into…” He hesitates, then finishes with a grin, “…let’s call it, ancient power.”
“I’d elaborate, but I can’t reveal everything, you know? Trust me, it’s old-school. Stuff they wouldn’t teach you in any gym. I could bench the weight of the world if I had to.” His biceps tighten, seeming to ripple with something slithering under the surface.
He turns away, gearing up for another set, the shadows deepening in the hollow curves of his muscles. “I get it, people want to believe there’s something else, but it’s just me, pushing myself to the edge every single day. You’ve gotta stay committed to the grind. It’s almost religious,” he says with a wink.
As he lifts, the room fills with the metallic clank of weights and something else—a whispering sound, like distant voices chanting. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, glinting with a strange light. “Like I said, all natural,” he says as if trying to convince himself. “Nothing more. Just loyalty to my goals and a devout love of the craft.”