Bob was on top of the world. He had just been assigned his first spell—Scorching Brown Blast. Now was the moment he’d dreamed of: the chance to prove he was a mighty fire mage. He stood tall, puffed out his chest, and took a deep breath. He felt like a hero about to unleash a world-shaking power.

“Alright, time to light it up!” he muttered, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

He looked around for a target. There—a big, round rock sitting by the edge of the riverbank. Perfect. It would be the first to taste his flames. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, legs wide like a true warrior. Raising one hand to the sky, he clenched the other into a fist and pointed it at the rock. His heart pounded in his chest.

“Scorching Brown Blast!” Bob shouted with all his might. He felt power surge through his body. Energy flowed from his arm, down to his hand. It felt warm, tingly, like something incredible was about to burst out. He imagined a massive ball of fire, swirling and crackling, ready to burn the world down.

“Here it comes... my great flaming inferno!” he said, almost in awe of himself.

A small swirl of brown light formed in front of his palm. It started spinning faster and faster, gathering energy. Bob’s face lit up with pure confidence, his grin stretching from ear to ear. The wind around him picked up, his clothes fluttering in the breeze.

But then... something didn’t seem right. The swirling light began to solidify into... a ball. A small, round, squishy-looking ball. And it wasn’t red or orange like flames. It was... brown. A deep, earthy, stinky-looking brown.

“What...?” Bob whispered, squinting at the ball forming in his hand.

The ball finished forming and, with a faint fizz, launched from his palm. It soared through the air... slowly. Way too slowly. Bob’s eyes followed the pathetic arc it made as it traveled toward the rock, his expression going from pure excitement to pure horror.

SPLAT.

The ball hit the rock and exploded—not in flames or heat, but in the wet, sloppy sound of something squishy smashing against stone. Brown, sticky goop splattered all over the rock and dripped down to the ground. A thick, heavy smell filled the air, making Bob’s nose wrinkle in disgust.

Bob stood there in shock, his mouth hanging open. “W-what was that?!” he cried out. “That’s not... that can’t be...”

But it was. A ball of poop. A simple, squishy, smelly ball of poop. That was his spell.

P.U.M.A.’s voice chimed back in, cheerfully. “Congratulations! Your first spell, Scorching Brown Blast, was a great success! Would you like to try again?”

Bob’s eyes twitched. “This is a joke, right?” he said, turning toward the screen. “I wanted fire! Fire! Not... whatever that was!”

“Oh, no joke!” P.U.M.A. replied, almost sounding proud of itself. “You have been permanently assigned the Fiery Fecal Flame! Your spells are designed to harness... poop. Quite powerful, really. You are... very lucky.”

Bob’s hands shook with frustration. He opened the spellbook screen, hoping it was some kind of glitch. But the only spell he could see was Scorching Brown Blast, locked in place. All the other spell slots were greyed out, with faint, teasing names like Poo-nado, Dung Defender, and Explosive Deuce.

“Are you kidding me?!” Bob yelled, trying to swipe the screen away. “I don’t want to be a... a poop mage! I demand a re-roll! A reset! I want to be a real mage!”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Sorry, Bob,” P.U.M.A. said, almost smugly. “The assignment is final and cannot be changed. But don’t worry! You’ll unlock more spells soon, once you start earning Stink Points!”

Bob’s face turned red with anger, and he felt the hot rush of embarrassment flood over him. He stomped around in circles, waving his arms in frustration. “This is so unfair! I don’t want to throw poop around like some... some... gross wizard!”

In his anger, he tried casting the spell again. “Scorching Brown Blast!” he shouted, aiming at the birds this time, thinking maybe if he did have a real target, something different might happen. But as soon as the spell formed, he misstepped on the muddy ground. His foot slid, and before he knew it, he was falling backward.

“NOOO—!”

Bob hit the ground with a thud, and the ball of poop shot up straight into the air. As he laid there, stunned, he could only watch in horror as the poop ball came back down, directly onto his face.

SPLAT.

It oozed down his cheeks, over his nose, and into his hair. The stench hit him immediately, making his eyes water. Bob gagged, wiping his face with his sleeve, only to smear the mess even more.

“Ugh! Gross!” he shouted, flailing around in the mud. In his panic, he tried to scramble to his feet, but slipped on the conjured poop again, falling back with a splash into the riverbank. More poop splattered everywhere—on his clothes, in his mouth—and he choked, coughing and spluttering.

The smell was overwhelming. Bob looked around, his face red with shame. He noticed birds flying away as quickly as they could, squirrels darting for cover, and the flowers around him drooping as if they couldn’t stand the stench.

Bob lay there, dripping wet and covered in poop, staring up at the sky, feeling like the most unlucky hero in the world. All he wanted was to wield a blaze of glory.

Instead, he got a heap of crap.

Bob sat up, dripping wet, and covered head to toe in sticky, stinky poop. He gagged at the smell. The mud was bad, but the poop? The poop was ten times worse. It clung to his skin and clothes like glue, and the more he tried to wipe it off, the more it seemed to spread. He frantically looked around for anything to clean himself up, but all he saw were trees, tall grass, and open fields. No towels, no soap, not even a scrap of cloth.

His heart sank. “I can’t believe this...” he muttered, shaking his head. “I thought I was gonna be a hero. A mighty fire mage! But I look like... like some kind of poop-covered peasant!”

He had pictured himself in grand robes, maybe a cloak with fiery designs on it, commanding respect wherever he went. Instead, he was wearing smelly, wet rags that clung to his body. No one would look at him and think "hero." They’d just run away. Or laugh. Or maybe both.

Bob’s face burned with embarrassment. This was all wrong. There was no way he was going to walk around like this. He needed to get rid of this “poop mage” nonsense and learn real magic. There had to be another way. He just needed to find it.

“Okay,” he said to himself, taking a deep breath. “Calm down, Bob. You’re not stuck with this. You don’t have to use poop spells.” He shook his fists at the sky, as if making a solemn vow. “I swear, I will never use that... Scorching Brown Blast... ever again! No one has to know I’m a... Poop Mage.”

Bob nodded to himself, as if agreeing with his own plan. He'd find some way to become a proper fire mage—maybe there were spellbooks in this world, or magic teachers who could train him. And most importantly, he'd find a bath. A big, hot bath with lots of soap.

He stood up, wiped off as much of the poop as he could (which wasn’t much), and looked out over the field. In the distance, he could see a small village. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was a start. He had no idea what he’d find there, but it had to be better than standing out in the open, stinking like a sewer.

“Alright, first things first,” Bob muttered to himself, starting to walk. “Clean up, get some new clothes, find a wizard, learn fire magic. Easy peasy.”

He picked up his pace, determined to make it to the village before anyone could see him like this. But with every step, the stench seemed to follow him. He could smell it in his nose, sticking to his hair, his clothes, even his skin. It was like no matter how far he walked, the stink of the “Fiery Fecal Flame” clung to him.

The sun was getting lower, and the village was still a long way away. As Bob walked, he saw animals in the fields running away from him, sniffing the air before bolting. Flowers seemed to wilt as he passed, and once, he saw a farmer in the distance wrinkle his nose and look around in confusion.

Bob grimaced. “Oh, great. How am I supposed to hide this smell?”

He knew one thing for sure—if he was going to make it into that village without getting chased out, he’d need to figure out how to hide the awful stench of his magic. Because right now, it seemed like the whole world could smell him coming a mile away.