The book loomed in the air, its black hardcover like polished obsidian, which contrasted with the white spine that ran down its edge. Bold crimson letters were sprawled across the front in sharp jagged strokes. In the center of the cover, the piece that dominated everything else was a cartoonish bomb etched in blue, complete with a short, fizzling wick.

That was certainly a book about bombs if Alwin had ever seen one—which, of course, he hadn’t until today. His excitement was practically palpable as his heart leaped in anticipation at the prospect of learning how to cast such a spell. Why blast everyone to death when you could bomb everyone to death instead? Imagine the amount of devastation that could be unleashed on the humans—especially Gary Stew. Those no-good humans would stand no chance!

There was no time like the present! The avatar had clearly agreed with Alwin's sentiment because when he finally came out of his thoughts, a dozen bombs had been planted in a circle around him. Ever heard of a fairy ring? Well imagine that, but replace the mushrooms with big blue bombs with wicks shrinking faster than a man’s pride on a winter morning. Most importantly, within that circle of death stood everyone's favorite aspiring valedictorian —Alwin, AKA Winal, AKA the great pranking mastermind himself!

After a second or two of stunned disbelief, the Spirit Bombs exploded, creating a maelstrom of concussive force that washed over Alwin with incredible velocity. A torrent of explosive energy slammed into him, enveloping him in a brilliant flash of light. Blinding beams of blue danced across the whiteness surrounding him, drowning out all sound save for his screaming. Seconds later, the fiery storm dissipated, revealing the aftermath of his fate.

There stood Gus the FluffPaw and Flintlock the Powder Monkey, staring at him. Actually, Flintlock did most of the staring, while Gus was just being the same old Gus, eating a muffin. Darn it! The jig was up. They had found him. But how?

Then it hit him harder than a bullet to the face—his screaming. Of course. He had screamed his little gooey lungs out when he got caught in the explosion. The moment his consciousness had left that library plane, his screaming persisted. Alwin had become a sonic beacon for anyone with at least half-functioning ears. Now they were here to pounce on him. How stupid of him. How foolish of him. How utterly idiotic of him. Good thing he had an ace up his sleeve. Deny everything.

"Well, if it isn't Alwin. Haven't seen you in class for a bit. Are you doing okay there, pardner?" asked Flintlock.

"Nope," replied Alwin.

"Do ya need a muffin?" Gus extended a fluffy paw holding onto a cheese muffin.

"Nope."

"Well, alrighty, we'll catch up later, but have you seen an ant monster about our height? On fire. Has a real annoying attitude. Think his name was something like Wilfred or Wesley... Oh, wait! It's Winal. Weird fella."

Alwin was starting to sweat bullets—and the pun was most definitely intended. He gulped nervously before saying anything.

"Nope."

Flintlock fixed Alwin with a steely gaze, boring holes into him monster with those dark, powdery eyes. Did he suspect anything? That must be why he was looking at him with such skepticism.

"You're mighty sweaty there, pardner."

"Nope." Sweat poured from Alwin's face, forming pools on the ground beneath him.

"That wasn't a question, pardner. Hey, Gus, I think I know where that annoying little bugger is."

Gus didn't respond to Flintlock, but that was because he was too busy stuffing his face with food to give a reply. The furry creature devoured every morsel of the delicious meal with unbridled fervor, consuming each and every scrap in less time than it takes to describe the action.

Was this the end? Should he hold his breath and count to ten? Was the sky about to fall on him?

Before Alwin could finish pondering the intricacies of his doom, Flintlock summoned out his musket. Once more, he brought the muzzle of his firearm up to bear, pointing the barrel around the room searching for his target.

"Look at how much our friend here is sweating. That darn blasted ant must be nearby, heating up the place with his own nasty self. We spread out and search for clues," said Flintlock.

"Nope"

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"I wasn't talking to you, pardner, but wanna help us wrangle that bothersome buckaroo?"

"Nope."

"That's fair, pardner. We won't disturb you any longer."

"Nope."

"Can you say anything other than 'no', there, pardner?"

"Nope."

"Right..." said Flintlock, giving Alwin one last lingering look, before strutting away, shouting orders at Gus. "Come on, Gus. Let's go track down that pain in the derriere."

Alwin exhaled a long, quiet breath, as he watched them leave. Gus sniffed the air while he stuffed yet another muffing into his maw, crumbs tumbling down onto the floor, leaving a trail of literal breadcrumbs behind him. Flintlock had his musket half-raised, snapping the barrel toward every faint creak or shuffle that any library-goers dared to produce.

Looks like he had somehow lived to tell another tale. Good thing denying everything was the miracle solution. Now all he had to do was defeat the book's avatar, learn how to bomb things, and hightail it out of here—occasionally moving at lowtail speeds if he even caught a whiff of Flintlock or Gus snooping near him.

When Alwin finished relishing his victory, he opened up the book again with the help of his Spirit Hands. Back to the book's Avatar world, he went.

This time, he had a plan. One that would make his previous strategy of denying everything seem like child's play. Don't. Think.

The avatar greeted Alwin with its usual greeting, but that was boring. What wasn't boring was going on the offensive. Alwin summoned out his Spirit Hands that launched him toward the book like a cannonball—except a lot squishier. Dark mana flooded out of his Core as his momentum was enhanced. Alwin's Dark Tackle crashed into the avatar of the Spirit Bomb sending the avatar flying back. Unfortunately, it remained unscathed.

The book soared into the air, flapping its covers as if they were wings. Its pages fluttered wildly—because this time the pages were made of paper instead of stone—as it took flight. It circled high above Alwin like a shark circling its prey, except now the shark was flying in the sky, also the shark had bombs. Lots of bombs.

Clusters of them—round, blue, and brimming with anti-Alwin powder—materialized beneath its flapping pages. They descended upon Alwin in a deadly hail, dropping like... well, bombs.

There were no thoughts put into Alwin's next actions—only pure, unfiltered instinct. He called upon his Spirit Hands, their wrists attaching to his rotund body. They looked toward the sky, hands outstretched. A separate pair of Spirit Hands were called out, they formed loops with their thumb and index finger, before affixing themselves over his eyes like a pair of oversized, imaginary sunglasses.

As the bombs detonated in a chain of thunderous explosions, rocking the void with flashes of blue light, Alwin just hopped away. A casual slow hop, like he was taking a stroll through the park. No flinching. No screaming. And definitely no looking back.

Cool slimes don’t look at explosions.

Unfortunately, the rule of cool didn't make him immune to damage. Alwin was consumed by the intense heat and pressure waves of the explosions, sending him reeling as his consciousness was forced out of the white void. It felt as if he had been beaten and burned all over his entire body.

Even though he was not supposed to think, Alwin had another ingenious idea. If the fiery explosions were the ones kicking him out of that weird white-void-book-avatar place thing—Alwin was good at names—then all he had to do was be immune to fire.

Back into the book his consciousness went, and back to that standard greeting line by the avatar. Boring. While the book was talking, Alwin took the opportunity to Devolve back into his Dark Slime form and Evolve back into that Fire Soldier Ant form of his. Now he was immune to the flaming explosions produced by the Spirit Bomb—probably.

Somehow, the book was still talking. Perfect. Alwin didn’t hesitate. He charged toward the avatar, setting his mandibles alight as he charged forth like an angry bull, his six legs pounding the ground against the ground. Within seconds he closed the distance between himself and the book, unleashing his Fire Bite attack at point-blank range.

But just as he reached striking range, the book’s pages fluttered violently, and a glowing sphere dropped out of its center. A bomb—blue, pulsing, and way too close.

The explosion swallowed him whole, fire and smoke erupting around his body. When the smoke finally dispersed, Alwin staggered forward, his body still on fire, but that was normal. Everything hurt, but it wasn’t that bad.

The flames covering his mandibles flared brightly as he clamped his mouth shut on the edge of the book, jaws straining against the sheer resistance put up by the floating hardback. For a moment it seemed like his attack wasn't going to work, but then suddenly the book's cover burst into flame. With a victorious snap, Alwin chewed through the ‘Spirit Bomb’ book, destroying the last remnants of its burning pages.

"You have proven yourself worthy to read the contents of 'Spirit Bomb'."

With that Alwin's consciousness was kicked out of that white void for one final time. When he came back to the physical realm, he came face to face with Gus and Flintlock again. Something was off, he could feel it in his body. They were looking at him differently now, more infuriated than before. Crap! Had they figured out that Alwin was actually Winal? It's okay, all he had to do was deny and things would all work out. But, maybe if he simply looked down and didn't acknowledge their existence they would go away on their own.

The moment Alwin looked down, he knew why they were looking at him like that. Remember how Alwin said that he recognized that something was off and he could feel it in his body. Well, 'body was the most crucial part of that statement. Instead of his round, half-white half-dark slimy self, it was his red flaming hot Fire Soldier Ant form that he found himself in.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we finally meet again, pardner," said Flintlock. His musket was aimed right at Winal’s face, and his finger hovered just a little too close to the trigger for comfort.