“Well? Why aren’t you reversing it?”, the mustard-colored scorpion clicked angrily. It shook a pincer at the wizard, who seemed largely unimpressed. “This wasn’t our agreement!”
“If you refer to the specific conditions in your contract, I believe you’ll discover this was exactly our agreement,” the wizard said. “You asked to become a scorpion, and I accepted payment.”
“I was supposed to be gigantic!”, the scorpion yelled–or so the wizard guessed. He had completed only a semester of Scorpion, and the clicking was surprisingly nuanced. “I’m six inches tall and I’m not even poisonous! How do you expect me to destroy my enemies or terrorize cities like this, let alone conquer Earth? You’ll be hearing from my attorney!’
“That’s fine, Chad.” The wizard sighed. Only four hundred and eleven years until retirement, he thought longingly as the perturbed arachnid furiously paced from one end of the table to the other.
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