I pressed my back against the cold bulkhead, the rust-flaked metal digging into my shoulder blades as I caught my breath. The station groaned around me, its failing atmosphere cycling through vents that hadn't seen maintenance in decades. Somewhere in the dark beyond my helmet's limited light, something skittered.

I'd heard the rumors about this place before I'd ever set foot in its corrupted halls. They called it the Cathedral—a monastic station that had once belonged to the Order of Perpetual Vigil. The stories said its congregation vanished overnight. Said the station's automated systems, blessed and sanctified by generations of Tech-Priests, had developed an interpretation of "purity" that no living soul could satisfy.

I'd come for the relics. The Order's old archives would fetch enough credits to keep my chapel warm for a decade.

I hadn't counted on the security systems still having teeth.

A low hum began vibrating through the deck plates, and I felt it before I understood what it was—a warm, prickling sensation crawling across my skin like static electricity. My environmental suit's readings flickered. Unknown energy field detected. Localized exposure.

"Protect me," I whispered to the empty darkness, touching the small icon of the Martyr-Saint I kept hung around my neck. "Watch over your servant."

The warmth concentrated. Gathered in my chest, my hips. I'd always been... generously blessed. It had been a trial of humility my entire adult life, this body that drew eyes when I prayed for souls. The Order's robes had never fit quite right, and I'd spent years learning to bear the weight with grace.

Now that weight was increasing.

I felt it—the subtle tightening of my suit's fabric across my chest, the slight drag of my trousers' seams against my hips. I looked down and watched, horrified, as my breasts swelled against the reinforced weave. A soft gasp escaped me as my bra straps bit into my shoulders, the cups straining to contain me.

"By the Throne—"

The hum intensified. I stumbled backward, my boots scraping against grated flooring, and my back struck the opposite wall. The pressure in my posterior built next—a strange, deep ache of expansion as my backside pushed outward against the constraining fabric. I could feel the weight of it, the shift in my center of gravity, as my figure grew more exaggerated with every passing second.

And then the hum stopped.

I stood there, panting, my …