The Magical Mechanics of Shapeshifting

Image taken from mythology.net (https://mythology.net/mythical-creatures/shapeshifter/)

An icebreaker I often see in social media is some variation of “What superpower would you choose for yourself?” What I’ve learned is that a lot of people would like to be able to fly, and that most people consider invisibility to be a little cringey. Super strength is a frequent choice, but although it would be convenient, I think it’s dull. Same with super speed, unless it can take you to the moon and back in a single breath. Laser vision sounds cool, but when it comes down to it, it really isn’t that useful. It’s more of a “Hey, look what I can do!” (Unless you’re an ophthalmologist specializing in laser surgery, and you’re looking for a marketing gimmick.)

The superpower that intrigues me most—and it isn’t close—is shapeshifting. More specifically, the ability to transform into an animal, or, better yet, a group of animals linked by a collective consciousness. Now, THAT would be WAY cool!

I’ve included a lot of shapeshifters in my stories: were-rats, were-snakes, were-crows…. I’m open to pretty much anything except werewolves. Werewolves have been done to death, and I have no intention of inflicting yet another example on the reading public when so many more creative options are available. One of my characters shapeshifts into a giant preying mantis. Another is a traditional Native American skinwalker who transforms into a cougar. And the main character of my new Shade the Collector series—Benedict Shade—transforms into a dozen black cats, each with a name and distinct characteristics. I’ve had a a lot of fun personalizing each one of them while maintaining a collective identity. Needless to say, shapeshifters hold a special fascination for me.

The shapeshifters in my stories are subject to specific rules and common experiences. First: no wild gains or losses in physical mass. A 200-pound human shapeshifter can’t transform into a 500-pound bear, or into a single 20-pound fox. The mass of the animal, or group of animals, must equal the mass of the human. No “hulking up” and no “shrinking down.” My 90-pound were-rat transforms into more than a hundred rats, who collectively weigh 90 pounds. My 170-pound were-cat transforms into 12 cats, each weighing about 14 pounds (more or less). And no human can transform into a 20-ton dragon.

If my shapeshifter can transform into a group of animals (and most of them do), then the human can release one or more of the animals at a time from their human body. The shifter’s body then loses the mass of the released animals, shrinking in size accordingly. When Shade releases three of his 12 cats (one-quarter of the total number), his human body loses three-quarters of his body mass. The shrinking is proportional (no losing just an arm while everything else stays the same size, for example). If Shade releases all 12 of his cats at once, then his human body disappears entirely until at least six of the cats merge. If fewer than six cats merge, it takes the shape of a really big cat.

When the shapeshifter transforms into an animal, or animals, the clothes don’t go along for the ride. Neither do possessions. This often proves to be wildly inconvenient. Just another challenge for the poor shifter. And you thought it was all going to be smooth and easy.

The animals released from the body of the shapeshifter are linked by a collective human consciousness as long as they stay within range of the majority of the collective. This range varies according to the individual shifter, but typically it’s about 50-100 yards or so. Let’s say that Shade releases six of his 12 cats. As long as those six cats are within range of Shade (now half his size), he can sense what they sense and share their thoughts. If they are out of range, he can start to pick up their memories when they return. These memories become clearer and more focused as they draw closer, and they become distinct when they reintegrate with his human body.

When shapeshifters are in their human form, their animals are present throughout the shifter’s body in a kind of metaphysical soup, much like individual drops of water in a pool. The distinct animals and the totality of the human body exist simultaneously as both the drops and the pool. One of the advantages of this relationship is that if an individual animal is wounded, the damage from the wound can be spread amongst the collective and thereby diluted. If the human is wounded, the shifter can spread the damage among their animals, thereby diluting the effects of the wound. This makes the shifter tough to hurt badly or kill. Even a mortal wound, if it doesn’t kill the shifter instantly, can be concentrated into one of the shifter’s animals, which would absorb all of the damage and leave the rest of the collective unharmed (but, henceforth, one animal short).

Shapeshifters in human form can draw upon the characteristics of each individual animal. When Shade wants to see more clearly in the dark, for example, he pulls the sharp-eyed Blackjack to the forefront of his consciousness. When he’s running away from danger across the top of a fence, he draws upon the skills of Void, who has almost supernatural balance. And when he needs to throw on the charm, he summons up Newmoon, his most bewitching cat. Shade’s 12 cats are twelve elements of his own personality, talents, and skills, and he can call upon the ones he needs most, depending on the situation. He is each of them and all of them, but as long as he is in control, he is more than the sum of his parts.

Which brings up the idea of control. A shapeshifter’s greatest challenge is maintaining control over their animals, and each shapeshifter has to figure out their own solution. Shade named his individual cats. Crawford, a were-rat, did not name his rats (there were too many of them), but he figured out a way to call upon specialized groups of them. For example, when he needs to hunt something down, he calls upon his hunting skills, and the same subgroup of unnamed rats shows up. Some shapeshifters lose control of their animals, or never attain control of them in the first place. These shifters lose their sense of identity, and the individual animals lose their human intelligence. They disperse to live their own lives. Shade’s greatest fear is that his personality may fragment, or that one or more of his cats will overcome his will, and he will cease to be Shade.

Typically, shapeshifters become shapeshifters somewhere near the onset of puberty. The change is sudden and traumatic, and no one has been able to discover why a normal-seeming adolescent suddenly becomes a shifter. It isn’t genetic, and there is little or no warning. As far as anyone can tell, it just happens, probably through some sort of random magic. If a powerful spirit somewhere determines who becomes a shapeshifter and who doesn’t, no one knows who or what it is. When the change occurs, it is usually an unwelcome shock to the shapeshifters and their families. The new shifter, unprepared for the change, often goes a little (or a lot) crazy. Their personality breaks into pieces and becomes more bestial as the animals try to overwhelm the shifter’s humanity. Not every shifter makes it through the initial change, and none come through it unscathed. It is always best to assume a young shapeshifter is at least borderline insane, and to avoid them. Few shapeshifters remain with their families for long, although after a successful period of adjustment, many will reach out to try to reestablish contact.

If the human shapeshifter is killed, or dies of natural causes, all of the animals die, too. If half of a shapeshifter’s animals are killed or mortally wounded outside the body, the shifter will lose their ability to control the rest, and they will lose their collective consciousness and human identity. Essentially, the human dies and permanently fragments into the remaining animals. The animals, having lost their human intelligence, become fully bestial and scatter to live their animal lives.

The life of a shapeshifter isn’t easy. The change is unexpected and traumatic, and it brings separation and insanity. Shifters are shunned by most people, especially if they shift into something disagreeable, like slugs or spiders. And the shifter has no say in what they become. They either have to find a way to deal with it or succumb to their bestial natures. But for those who manage to find a way to cope—it’s pretty danged cool!