The city’s pulse had slowed to a low thrum, a mere whisper of its daytime roar. Streetlights, like tired eyes, cast long, watery shadows that danced with the chill midnight breeze. It was precisely the kind of hour when common sense dictated one remain indoors, especially with the global horror that had gripped every corner of the world. Yet, here they were, their anthro-animal paws padding softly on the cracked pavement, drawn by an inexplicable urge for a solitary walk. The air was cool, carrying a faint, unidentifiable scent that was almost… yeasty?

They knew, of course, about the Bread Nagas. Everyone did. The silent stalkers that moved like shapeless dough in the periphery, their movements fluid, unnatural. They never spoke, never made a sound beyond the faint rustle of their shifting forms, until they struck. And when they did, they didn't kill; they inflated. People turned into grotesque, immobile blobs of fat, often bursting through their clothes, sometimes even their homes, leaving behind only the bread-like residue of their transformed flesh. The thought sent a shiver down their spine, a thrill of forbidden fear. Foolish, perhaps, but a thrill nonetheless.

A flicker of movement caught their eye in a darkened alleyway, too quick to properly register. Just a shadow, they told themselves. Just the wind. But the faint, yeasty smell seemed to grow stronger, clinging to the air like a phantom baker. They quickened their pace, a prickle of unease finally settling into their gut. This wasn’t just a thrill anymore. This was the real thing.

The shadows around them began to deepen, stretching and writhing as if alive. A sudden, almost imperceptible shift in the air, a warmth that wasn't there a moment ago, washed over them. Then, they felt it — a subtle change in the atmosphere, a barely-there sweetness that seemed to seep into their very thoughts. The fear, sharp and cold moments before, began to warp, distorting into something else entirely. A strange flutter ignited in their chest, a confusing mix of apprehension and… something undeniably warm. Their mind, which should have been screaming warnings, instead drifted towards unusual thoughts of rich pastries and warm, soft dough.

Suddenly, a soft, yielding mass pressed against their back, startling them. There was no sound, no struggle, just the sudden, almost gentle envelopment. Fear tried to surge, but it was quickly swamped by the pervasive gas, twisting into a powerful wave of dizzying arousal, mingled with a profound, aching hunger. A warm, spongy limb, impossibly soft yet firm, wrapped around their waist, holding them in place. Another slid up their arm, its surface textured like a perfectly browned crust, yet disturbingly pliable.

They looked down, their eyes widening in horror at the sight. The limb around their arm was undeniably bread, a light, almost golden brown, stretching and reshaping itself with eerie silence. It pulsed, a slow, rhythmic beat that seemed to echo in their own veins. The thing pressing against their back swelled, pushing them forward, its silent presence suffocating.

Then, the touch came. A patch of their fur-covered skin, where the bread-naga's limb made contact, began to tingle. A warmth spread, quickly turning into a strange, itching sensation. Underneath their fur, their very flesh felt… different. It was softening, expanding, becoming impossibly pliant. Their clothes, initially loose, started to feel snug. The belt, cinched tight around their waist, bit into their burgeoning flesh.

A silent, impossible form began to coalesce around them, a towering, shifting mass of pale, unbaked dough and golden crust. Limbs, thick and rope-like, sprouted and receded from its central mass with disturbing speed, each one gently stroking, kneading, subtly reforming them. A long, slender appendage, tipped with a swirl like a brioche bun, traced a path along their side, and where it touched, their skin felt hot and swollen.

Their belly, the one place they’d always been able to keep trim, began to swell with alarming speed. They were about to POP.