Poop Mage: Manure Mysteries

Bob and Cooper were making their way down the road to Emberfield when they spotted a small group of travelers up ahead. Well, not just any travelers. This group stood out like a peacock in a chicken coop.

In the middle of the road stood Xandor Flameworth III, his bright robes shimmering with gold embroidery and his flowing sleeves whipping dramatically in the breeze. Around him hovered a group of young men, all dressed in simpler but still fancy clothes, nodding along to every word he spoke as if he were the most important person in the world.

“And so, my dear followers,” Xandor was saying, stroking an invisible beard with great flair, “as the heir to the peerless Flameworth flame techniques, it is my destiny to rise above all lesser mages and claim my rightful place at the peak of power!” He waved his ornate fan in the air, making the feathers on it shake dramatically.

“Truly profound!” one of his followers gasped.

“So wise, young master!” another agreed, nodding so hard his head looked like it might fall off.

Cooper snorted in laughter, but Bob could already tell this was going to be trouble. The way Xandor strutted around with his nose in the air screamed “trouble.” And trouble was the last thing Bob wanted—especially with his “Overflow Release” just waiting to embarrass him at the worst possible moment.

But Xandor had already spotted them, and he did a double-take, looking at Bob and Cooper as if they were the most ridiculous sight he’d ever seen.

“Mere peasants, who dare block the path of Xandor Flameworth III?!” he declared, pointing his fan at them like it was a sword. “You, with your shabby clothes and foul... odor! You have sullied the air my noble lungs breathe!”

Cooper couldn't help himself. He nudged Bob, leaning close to whisper, “This guy’s perfect for a prank.”

Bob gulped, trying to stay calm. “Uh, maybe we should just let him go,” he whispered back, glancing nervously at the pompous noble and his posse.

“No way!” Cooper grinned, clearly excited. “This is the best chance! Watch, I’ll—”

But before Cooper could finish, Xandor interrupted with a loud, mocking laugh. “Look at you!” he sneered, wrinkling his nose at Bob. “The very sight of you is offensive, let alone the stench. Kneel and apologize, or face my unrivaled wrath!” He raised his fan to cover half his face, as if to look mysterious and intimidating.

Bob could feel the heat rising to his face. The idea of kneeling to someone like Xandor made his skin crawl. And to make things worse, P.U.M.A. chimed in with a ding!

“New Quest: Face-Slapping Showdown! Respond to the provocation of Xandor Flameworth III! Objective: Do not back down!”

Bob groaned inwardly. Why did it have to be a quest? And why couldn’t it be something simple—like running away?

Cooper nudged him harder. “C’mon, Pooper,” he whispered eagerly. “Do that thing you did before. Out-prank this guy. Show him who’s boss!”

Bob knew there was no way around it. He had to do something. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up, puffed out his chest, and in his best "pompous noble" voice, he shouted, “Foolish mortal! You do not know who you are dealing with!”

Xandor’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and his followers all stopped whispering to stare at Bob. Encouraged, Bob continued, “I am... Pooperus the Unstoppable, of the... uh... Brown Flame Clan!” He paused for dramatic effect, feeling slightly ridiculous. “I possess techniques so vile, so powerful, that even the greatest of mages tremble at my name!”

Xandor’s eyes narrowed, and he sized Bob up, frowning deeply. Bob waved his hand around theatrically, as if he were about to unleash some great magical power, hoping the noble would be intimidated.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Xandor let out a scoff. “You dare speak to me with such audacity?” he said, twirling his fan and striking a pose. “My Flameworth Family descends from the greatest lineage of mages! Our flame is pure, white-hot, and unrivaled! None can stand against the White Lotus Inferno Fist!” He swung his fan to the side, and his followers clapped and cheered like it was the grandest thing they’d ever heard.

“So powerful!” one of them shouted.

“Peerless!” another yelled.

Cooper, still at Bob’s side, was practically vibrating with excitement. “Go on, Pooperus!” he whispered. “You’ve got this! Make up something really wild!”

Bob knew he had to keep up the act, so he waved his arms around dramatically, trying to look as powerful and confident as Xandor. “You think your flames are unrivaled?” he shouted. “Ha! Then you’ve never faced the terrifying might of... The Unholy Fart Dragon Strike!” He pretended to summon some sort of fierce, invisible dragon, swirling his hands around like he was calling forth a great power.

Xandor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but his followers gasped and murmured to one another. Cooper, grinning like a madman, jumped in to hype up the tension. “That’s right!” he shouted. “And that’s not all! He also has... the Inferno Dung Lotus Wave! One swipe of his hand, and entire towns fall to their knees!”

The followers’ eyes went wide, and they whispered in awe. “Truly fearsome,” one of them muttered. “Such... creative names for techniques.”

Xandor, not wanting to lose face, stomped forward and pointed his fan at Bob. “Enough of your empty boasts, peasant!” he snapped. “You dare challenge the honor of the Flameworth Family?!” He huffed, waving his fan with a flourish. “If you are truly from this so-called ‘Brown Flame Clan,’ then prove it! Show me one of your... techniques.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he sneered. “Or are you nothing but a cowardly charlatan?”

Bob’s heart sank. He could feel all eyes on him, and P.U.M.A. was already flashing a notification in his face: “Quest Update: Show Your Power! Demonstrate your magical abilities to Xandor!” There was no backing out now.

“Uh... fine!” Bob said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “I’ll show you the power of my clan!” He glanced nervously at Cooper, who gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, clearly thinking this was all part of the prank.

Bob’s hands shook as he raised them, trying to look brave. “Okay, just focus,” he thought, feeling the familiar—and very unwelcome—bubbling of his magic in his gut. “Scorching Brown Blast... please don’t fail me now.” He could practically feel the sweat dripping down his neck as he channeled his spell.

A small, swirling ball of brownish magic formed in his palm. It looked like a strange mud tornado, spinning faster and faster until it wobbled like it could fall apart at any second. And then, with a shaky thrust of his arm, he launched it straight at Xandor.

The ball flew through the air like a catapulted cow patty, slow and wobbly but somehow still on target. Bob cringed as he watched it, praying it would do... something cool. Maybe burst into flames, or explode with a bright flash? He tried to imagine the poop magic turning into a real flame spell at the last second—a proper spell, not this stinky, sticky embarrassment.

Xandor, of course, was unimpressed. He yawned loudly, like he was watching paint dry. “Lotus Flame Palm!” he declared with a flourish, raising his hand dramatically. A burst of flame shot forward, ready to incinerate Bob’s pathetic little spell.

But then... things got weird.

The fire met the Scorching Brown Blast mid-air, and for a heartbeat, nothing happened. Bob held his breath. Then there was a wet splat sound, and the poop ball didn't just explode—it erupted like a manure volcano. A wave of thick, gooey muck burst outward, splattering everywhere. And the smell. Oh gods, the smell. It was like a rotten egg eating garlic in a sewer.

Xandor’s confident smirk disappeared in an instant, replaced by wide, horrified eyes as he was drenched from head to toe. The brown sludge clung to him, dripping down his face and soaking into his bright robes, which now looked less “noble heir” and more “mud wrestler after a bad day.”

“Wha—what is this?!” Xandor sputtered, flailing like a fish out of water, his feet slipping on the slick, smelly muck beneath him. He waved his hands in a pathetic attempt to clean himself off, but it only spread the mess further. He looked like a melting candle made of pure stink.

The stench hit next, like an invisible punch to the nose. Bob was used to it by now, but Xandor’s followers clearly were not. They coughed, gagged, and held their noses, but they still tried to stay loyal.

“So... potent, young master!” one of the followers managed to choke out, his face turning a shade of green.

“Such... unmatched power!” another gasped, barely getting the words out between dry heaves.

Bob stood frozen, his mouth hanging open. This wasn’t what he’d meant to do. Sure, he knew his spell was a bit... unconventional, but he’d never expected it to blow up like this. Literally. It was almost like the Scorching Brown Blast took on a life of its own—one that really, really wanted to make a mess.

In the middle of the chaos, Cooper was on the ground, rolling with laughter. He clutched his sides and wheezed as tears streamed down his face. “That... that was hilarious, Pooperus!” he cackled, barely able to breathe. “Did you see Xandor’s face? He looked like he just got slapped by a dragon’s butt!”

Bob half-smiled, feeling a strange mix of relief and mortification. At least someone was enjoying this. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just dug himself into an even deeper hole.

Xandor, on the other hand, was in full fury mode—well, as much fury as one could muster while covered in brown goo. He tried to strike a threatening pose, raising his fist to the sky, but his feet slipped, and he fell flat on his back with a loud squelch. It was hard to take him seriously after that.

“You... you’ll pay for this!” Xandor yelled, sitting up and shaking his fist, sludge dripping from his fingers. “My father is the Great Lord Flameworth! Do you hear me? The Great Lord Flameworth! He’ll hear of this insult, and he’ll make sure you and your... Brown Clan are extinguished!” He attempted to stand again, but every time he got halfway up, he'd slip and stumble back down into the muck with another undignified splat.

Bob could hardly believe what was happening. Here he was, trying to stay under the radar, and now he’d accidentally dunked some noble jerk in poop magic. “Great,” he thought, “because that's exactly what I needed—to make enemies before I even get to Emberfield.”

“Uh, yeah, good luck with that!” Cooper shouted, grabbing Bob by the arm. “C’mon, Pooperus, time to go!”

“Right,” Bob said, snapping out of his thoughts. They turned and sprinted down the road, Xandor’s angry shouts fading into the distance behind them.

As they ran, Cooper let out a triumphant whoop. “That was legendary!” he said, slapping Bob on the back. “The greatest prank I've ever seen! Xandor's never gonna live that down!”

Bob forced a laugh, trying not to think too hard about what just happened. “Yeah... legendary,” he said, his stomach still swirling with nerves. He only hoped this "legendary" prank wouldn't come back to haunt him.

And as they ran toward Emberfield, the city of flames, one thing was certain: life as a “Brown Flame Clan” mage was going to be a whole lot messier than Bob had ever expected.