The Barafier: ZOAH (Part 1) - Roars Across the Road
Author's Note: Time for another installment in the Barafier series. This one is for my fellow Chrono Cross fans. Who else is our next victim going to be but our favorite helmet and metal thong wearing, CAPSLOCK TALKING Acacian Dragoon?
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It was a mellow afternoon in the suburbs.
Felix Marron had a mug of cold brew in one hand and his legs kicked up on a weathered lounge chair that creaked beneath his weight. He was shirtless, his pale chest catching the warm golden light, and his lab coat hung lazily on the porch rail. For once, the world felt calm. No humming experiments. No twisted transformations. Just the quiet buzz of insects, the faint rustle of tree leaves, and the comfortable presence of the chrome tablet—The Barafier—resting innocently on a side table next to his drink.
He didn’t plan to use it today. The device was dormant, its black mirrored surface soaking in the sun like it had its own tan to work on. Felix liked days like this. He liked seeing his successes—from Barret to Mario to Fujitora—thriving in the new realities he’d stitched for them. Today was about enjoying the silence.
That silence was shattered.
“OH MY GOD, I literally told her that I wasn’t going to the lake house if Trevor was there!”
The voice came from across the street. A young woman—college-aged, tall, and way too loud—was pacing back and forth in front of a neighbor’s house. She was dressed like she thought the paparazzi were nearby: tight yoga pants with sheer panels, a crop top that said Rich Bitch Energy, oversized sunglasses, and a Bluetooth headset that blinked obnoxiously every two seconds. She gestured with her hands like she was performing for a TikTok audience that wasn’t there.
Felix sighed, eyes twitching behind his sunglasses. He tried ignoring it. He really did. But the pitch, the volume, the sheer valley-girl shrillness of her voice—it sliced through his peace like a buzzsaw through a peach.
“She’s so fake, babe. Like, ew. And Trevor is totally not that hot. Like, have you seen his arms? They’re like noodles.”
Felix slowly turned his head to the chrome tablet.
“Fine,” he muttered, grabbing The Barafier. “You win. You’ll definitely see some arms now.”
He opened the interface with a flick. The glowing glyphs swirled into focus, and his thumb hovered over the transformation category. He usually hand-picked from his bara-themed templates. A fun one. A hairy one. A daddy fantasy.
But today? Today was random.
He smirked.
“Let’s roll the dice.”
RANDOMIZATION: ACTIVE Target: Confirmed – Female, early twenties. Executing transformation... Converting reality... Injecting memory schema...
There was no thunder. No lightning. No Hollywood flash. Just one moment of "OH MY GOD" and then—
“RAHHHHH!!”
A thunderous roar exploded across the street, deep and primal, like a monster being born mid-snarl.
Where the girl had been now stood an absolute giant. Felix sat up straighter, jaw slowly unhinging as he beheld the titan before him.
He was over six feet tall—at least 6’5”, if not more—and massive. No, beyond massive. His body looked like someone had jammed a demigod into a bulletproof locker room. The giant’s upper body was layered with slabs of rock-hard muscle, shoulders like boulders carved by war gods, and arms thicker than most people’s torsos. His torso was bare save for a leather chest harness and a single massive pauldron studded with steel spikes. His chest was a battlefield of scar tissue, brutal marks lacing across his pecs and stomach.
The codpiece was outrageous—a metallic jock that bulged obscenely and shimmered like chrome in the sun, slung low over black leather straps hugging tree-trunk thighs. Greaves ran up his calves and boots thundered against the pavement as he turned in a circle, taking in his surroundings like a lion who’d just been air-dropped into a new jungle.
Then his head turned.
The iron helmet. Smooth and featureless except for a horizontal opening where his golden eyes are hidden, and some holes to breath through. It was terrifying. It was hot. Felix almost dropped his drink.
Zoah threw his arms wide and bellowed, “IT IS A GOOD DAY FOR PAIN AND SUNLIGHT!”
Felix blinked. “Oh no. What have I done?”
The Barafier buzzed and displayed a new profile:
NAME: Zoah HEIGHT: 6’5" WEIGHT: 330 lbs ROLE: Underground Fighting Champion, Local Cult Hero OCCUPATION: Bouncer at "The Steel Fist", part-time cage fighter BODY STATUS: 8% body fat; multiple healed fractures; 38 surgical-grade battle scars KNOWN TRAITS: Loud. Very Loud. Philosophical. Obsessed with wrestling and combat. Loves cats. CURRENT MEMORY INTEGRATION: 100% PREVIOUS IDENTITY: College student. Totally replaced.
Zoah flexed casually, his traps rising like mountains, his enormous pecs bouncing as he turned to the passing cars.
“YOU, IN THE YELLOW COUPE! ARE YOU HERE TO WRESTLE? IF SO, PLEASE REMOVE YOUR SHOES AND SHIRT!”
The car sped off.
Felix covered his mouth to keep from howling with laughter.
Zoah turned and marched toward a mailbox, inspecting it like it might be a worthy opponent. Then he bent the steel post in half with one hand and nodded in approval.
“I RESPECT THIS METAL BOX. IT FOUGHT WELL.”
Felix stood, letting the Barafier slip back onto the porch table. He walked toward the sidewalk, still bare-chested, still trying to figure out what the hell he’d just created.
“Hey,” he called out casually. “Nice day for a transformation.”
Zoah turned, head tilting slightly.
“IT IS A FINE DAY INDEED. I AM FILLED WITH GLORY AND DESIRE FOR RAW EGGS. ARE YOU THE KEEPER OF THIS NEIGHBORHOOD?!”
Felix chuckled. “Something like that.”
Zoah nodded solemnly and stepped forward, his boots cracking the sidewalk. He stood face to face with Felix now, a full head taller, his chest heaving like a locomotive.
“I SMELL SCIENCE ON YOU. I LIKE THAT.”
“Appreciate that,” Felix said, eyeing the enormous bulge pressed against that ridiculous metal codpiece. The thing looked more like a wrecking ball hammock than underwear. “You, uh… settling in okay?”
“I DO NOT KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS. BUT I FEEL LIKE I HAVE BEEN REBORN. I SHALL CELEBRATE WITH BLOODSPORT AND ICE CREAM!!”
He turned, completely unaware—or uncaring—that his new codpiece creaked with every step. Several neighbors peeked from windows. One lawnmower shut off in fear.
Felix exhaled, both exasperated and heavily aroused.
The girl had been loud. But Zoah?
He was a goddamn war horn with legs.
Still… Felix grinned. “At least she’s not talking about Trevor anymore.”
To be continued...