One moment Shadowlord Necantis of Gorynath (known offline as Johan Metzger) was enmeshed in the frenzy of hand-to-hand combat with his sworn enemy, the raider chief Hrothkar Thirsty-Axe, and the next moment – this.

The last thing he remembered, he'd been slowly but surely getting the better of Hrothkar as they battled in the courtyard of the fortress Johan’s forces were defending. Then his enemy yanked a little carved wooden wand from his belt and yelled some gabble of incomprehensible syllables. A flash of brilliant purple blinded Johan as he suffered the sideways wrench and violent elevator-drop of zero gravity that accompanied a teleport.

Now Johan crouched on all fours in the grass, dizzy and nauseous, struggling to figure where in the total immersion virtual reality game world of Mortiferra he was and what had happened to him.

 Johan was no spellcrafter, but even he recognized that the spell Hrothkar’s wand cast wasn’t a standard teleport. The flash of light was strange, and the usual dislocation had stretched on for minutes rather than seconds, tumbling him in a violent free fall that had wrecked havoc on his stomach.

His in-game senses had been damaged somehow. Shades of muted blue and yellow overlaid his color vision and he seemed to be stuck in a wide-angle mode with his depth perception practically nil. The sounds of birds chirping, a nearby rushing stream, and his own breathing were also distorted and far too loud. His sense of smell had become so acute it threatened to overwhelm every other sense. His proprioception, the awareness of his body in space, felt so bizarrely skewed that he forced himself to remain absolutely still in fear of accidental injury. Even worse, he couldn’t bring up the game’s head-up display, which meant he was cut off from his inventory, his stats and any means of communication.

Forcing himself to focus, he scanned the area as best he could with his wonky vision. The spell had deposited him on a grassy meadow dotted with small flowers, cut by a stream and bordered by dark pine trees and snow capped cliffs. A herd of cattle grazed nearby, but no shepherd tended to them. No roads, fences or buildings were in sight. It could have been many places in the vast virtual world of Mortiferra, the sort of nondescript filler scenery Johan usually tried to hurry through with portals, super-fast mounts, teleports and other shortcuts. 

The only thing not dull or peaceful in view was Hrothkar, standing a few yards away with the little wand in one hand and his bloodied axe drooping in the other. He looked about himself, his scarred, hairy face crumpled into an expression of mild puzzlement.

 Johan took grim satisfaction that Hrothkar felt desperate enough to resort to an item - probably an illegal mod - to defeat Shadowlord Necantis. Johan played the character for several concurrent sessions now, the game equivalent of six or seven years, and he'd patiently, painstakingly turned the generic fighter with a slightly better than average intelligence and charisma into the Margrave of the Shadows, commander of a military force defending the border provence between the vicious armies of Avernax and the northlands of the generally peaceful and prosperous Montalirian Alliance. He’d become quite attached to Necantis, and the idea that he’d possibly been permanently damaged enraged Johan. With their big dumb brute of a character who happened to be blessed with superior physical stats and a run of good luck, Hrothkar’s player’s main goal seemed to be recklessly, gleefully destroying everything they could get their hands on to rack up XP. Johan snorted in disgust.

The sound came out much louder than he'd expected, a great slobbery blast of air. Dropping the wand, Hrothkar snatched up his namesake axe and whirled around. Johan stared at the gleaming wedge of metal aimed at his face, his battle hardened reflexes suddenly failing on him.

After a moment, Hrothkar relaxed his stance, rested his axe on his shoulder, and turned away, scratching under his helmet.

What the hell?

It was entirely unlike Hrothkar not to take advantage of an enemy in an awkward situation. Something was wrong here, badly wrong, and it wasn't just Necantis’s senses. As if slowly waking up from deep unconsciousness, Johan became aware that the warm breeze blew against his naked skin, and that he was not so much kneeling as standing on all fours, apparently balancing on oddly numb, stiff fingers and toe-tips.

He swung his head, which felt heavy as a concrete block, on a neck that bent much further than it should have. His body stretched out behind him, huge and boxy and covered in short fur splotched black and white. A bizarre sensation at the end of his spine proved to be a tasseled tail swinging of its own accord. His arms and legs were the bony, knobby-kneed limbs of a quadruped, ending in cloven hooves. He shook his head, feeling big flappy ears and the weight of horns on his forehead - if he rolled his eyes up, he could just see their tips.

 The wand's spell wasn’t merely a teleport, it was a baleful transmogrification. He’d been turned into an animal, a bull!

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His only possible advantage was that Hrothkar seemed as unaware of the spell's transformative property as he was of the teleport's location. If his enemy had no idea that he’d become a helpless beast, Johan saw no reason to enlighten him. He might be able to buy himself some time to figure a way out of this ridiculous situation.

Act like a dumb animal! As nonchalantly as possible, Johan lowered his muzzle to the ground.

Two surprises – the first was that bulls didn't have front teeth in their upper jaws, just a sort of hard pad of flesh. He ripped out a clump of grass and used his tongue to push it back to his molars.

The second surprise was how absolutely delicious grass tasted. Fresh, crisp, tingling with subtle flavors! He usually found the fancy salads his real life vegan friends preferred about as appetizing as a bowl full of weeds, but now he eagerly chowed down. It took a few moments to figure out how to steer his bulky new body on four stumpy stick-legs, but Hrothkar was too busy staring into the distance – consulting his HUD's maps, no doubt, they probably still worked since Hrothkar had retained human form – to pay any attention to a mere farm animal. Munching studiously, Johan he drifted toward the herd, hoping to lose himself among the herd.

As he approached, the cattle left off grazing and stared at him. Were they surprised to see a new member of the herd, or was his imitation that poor? If they acted unusual, it might alert even someone as dense as Hrothkar to notice him. He paused, uncertain, as the cows fanned out to surround him in a wide circle. They didn't appear aggressive, but he had no skills in livestock handling and the closest he’d ever gotten to a cow in real life was a double cheeseburger.

The herd of cows parted like the Red Sea, letting one particular individual approach him. This cow was a bit larger and fatter than the others, its coat a soft gray shading to silvery white. The  horns and hooves were gilded, and it wore a wide, red leather collar inlaid with metal panels and gems, and a large, ornate bell that tolled softly with each step.

A woman's voice came into his mind, faintly accented and thoroughly regal, like some famous British actress , a Dame Someone-or-other. "I am Keroessa, Queen of the Range. Welcome to our herd, new sister, and peace be upon you."

These cows were sentient? And telepathic? And - sister? Johan bent his head down to inspect his belly. A plump pink udder with four jutting teats dangled between his hind legs.

For crying out loud! Hrothkar is definitely going to pay for this.

"Um, greetings, your Majesty." He projected the thought in the same way he subvocalized game commands, trying to sound polite and respectful. "Wh-where did you say this is?"

"We dwell on the Range, where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day," she replied, tossing her head so that her golden horns flashed in the sun. "A land where the bright diamond sand throws its light from the glittering streams, a place where no hurricane blows. Where the air is pure, and on the banks of the river no poisonous herbage doth grow, where the heavens are bright, the stars shine at night, and the mountains are covered with snow."

"Ah. Great. That sounds wonderful."

"Yes, this is the Paradise of cattle-kind, and we are blessed to dwell here in peace, harmony and love."

The rest of the herd closed in, mooing out loud and telepathically welcoming him to the herd, giving him friendly head-bumps before going back to the all-important task of cropping grass.

Inwardly, Johan groaned. Now he knew where Hrothkar's stupid wand had taken them. This was the cow level!

Back in the old days of keyboard-and-controller gaming, cow levels were an in-joke. And, like a Monty Python skit, the joke just never got old. Even modern programmers like to include them in their virtual worlds, and it seemed the brains behind Mortiferra couldn't resist the gag, either.

But he'd never heard of anyone’s consciousness being put into an actual cow! How was he supposed to get out of here and back into Necantis’s proper form? That wand might be the only thing that could reverse the spell, but if he let Hrothkar on to what happened, Johan would surely end up sizzling on a spit. And probably the laughingstock of Mortiferra. One of his companions back at the fortress was an incurable punster, and Johan winced to think of all the udder humiliation taunts he was going to have to deal with if word of this ever spread. What a legacy that would be! The bards would sing of it for centuries in-game, and the memes outside it would make his life miserable.

Johan risked a glance back at his enemy, who hefted his axe and strolled towards the herd. Did cow telepathy broadcast on wavelengths humans could perceive, or did Hrothkar finally figure out what his nasty little spell had done? Johan tried to disappear into the herd, nudging aside the other cattle, who merely gazed at him with calm, incurious expressions.

Hrothkar walked around the cows, rubbing his thumb on the haft of his axe and whistling off-key. It was all Johan could do to force himself to keep grazing and not make eye contact. He didn't know if his IQ stats would slowly sinking to cow level or not, but his mind blanked on ideas.

Hrothkar stopped in front of a cow and stood staring at it.

"Welcome, strange creature that walks on its hind legs," the cow projected.

Hrothkar swung his axe and brought it down on the cow’s neck with a bone-shattering thwack.