Headed by a Snake

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, held out his fist in front of him.

He clenched it tight... the tightness equal or greater to the clenching of his sphincter.

He needed to see a doctor!

R e a l l y . b a d .

...But there were no doctors in Turrim Orientem!

...Or were there? He'd have to journey to the surface and ask around--

He wouldn't last that long, though! Even with all the training he'd done, he couldn't fight his own body!

--or could he?

Tres Leches made a pitiful whining sound. For a tiny fraction of a second, it looked like he was pitying him... but that was ridiculous. His partner wasn't like that!

Most likely, he was saying something like, 'you won't die if you poop immediately!'

And so, the Lone Shadowdark sprinted as if his life depended on it-- because it did.

He made it halfway down the hall before realizing something terrible.

Running in his condition made no sense! His stomach should be hurting like crazy!

He slid forward while clutching his gut, the crack of his knees echoing on the dungeon tile.

Was it going to come out?! No! He couldn't let that happen!

He. Had. SELF. RESPECT!!!!!!!

So much self-respect!!

Lone crawled down the rest of the hallway, then combat-rolled twice to reach a corner.

Quickly unbuttoning his trousers, he pulled them down and assumed the squatting position.

And then he--

⋖ HUUUMANNNN!!! ⋗

A voice called for him, loud, magical, and completely unwelcome.

Lone had needed to poop so, very badly-- but he was caught off guard by the weird shouting voice in his head.

...He was pretty sure 'it' was half-way out, but 'it' all went back inside.

"What... what do you want?" Lone asked. He tried to hold back his tears but failed miserably.

⋖ Now is NOT the time to defecate! The FATE of the REALM is at risk! ⋗

Lone lifted his head, "You're wrong. Now can ONLY be the time to def-recate!!"

A golden, star-shaped leaf appeared in front of him, lighting the corridor.

As strange as it looked, Lone wasn't surprised.

He was used to encountering sentient, speaking monsters in the Dungeon. He'd beat up hundreds, if not thousands of things like that.

Swiping his hand in front of him, he activated a swirling ⌈Flame Cross⌋ Spell. It was something he'd practiced so often, he could cast it without chanting.

"I've urGH-- I've earned this," Lone grunted. "You. won't. TAKE THIS FROM ME!!"

His magic shot forward, engulfing his target in a violent burst of flames.

The magic leaf seemed to... wiggle a bit, as if fighting to survive. Still, the leaf burnt away, bit by bit, until it had incinerated completely.

Lone kept watching for a few moments more before sighing in relief.

Finally, he was able to poop in peace.

"Bork! Bork bork!!!"

The sudden quick-clacking of wolf paws escalated Lone's wariness.

Tres Leches turned the corner...

"Bork?"

"O-oh... It's just you, Tres," Lone sighed.

That he could be scared of his own wolf made him feel a little embarrassed.

Tres Leches was a good dog. He even brought Lone a gift-- something to wipe with.

A... golden leaf?

⋖ LONE SHADOWDARK!!! ⋗

"What the HELLS DO YOU WANT?!?!?"

...

"(It's YOUU!!!)" Tres Leches borked.

He whipped his head around, trying to snap the neck of the enemy he held within his mouth. He even rolled onto his back-- but the enemy still made noises!!

⋖ Release me at once, cur! I WILL speak to thy master! ⋗

"(Over my DEAD BODY, RAWWRRRRR!!!!)"

Tres Leches tried to keep his jaws tight, but the magic power was too great. Spitting the poop-leaf out, he dashed over to his partner's side.

"(Lone! Listen to me! That thing is our enemy!!! It's TRAPPED us here for-- for at at least EIGHT!!)"

It had been a long time. It might have been even longer than eight... but Tres was fairly sure he got his point across to his--

"Tres, calm down. It's just a poop-leaf."

"(We must defeat the enemy here and now, partner!)" Tres insisted. "(We NEED you to get your body back! Let's split up. I'll nip at his heels-- then you wave your sword so he gets scared!)"

⋖ This King comes in peace. As proof, my appearance is as such. ⋗

"(Once he makes a mistake, Lone, I'll go in for the kill! I'll bite his belly! I'll rip his throat out! Come ON! We practiced this!!!)"

"Please just let me poop," Lone begged.

⋖ Stand down. My business is with thy human. Thou art a mere beast-- with no qualifications to stand against A GOD!! ⋗

The raw power that the poop-leaf was emanating was scarier than anything Tres Leches had ever experienced. He immediately transformed back into his dark iron form, but he still found himself shaking with fear.

He growled, deep and low.

Though he felt that deep, primal fear in every bit of his essence... as long as Lone was in danger, he wouldn't sit back and do nothing!

"(I may have been a coward in the past... and more than once, I might have accepted bribes and left my partner to face danger by himself... but I will not back down here.)

"(I do NOT FEAR YOU, monster! Even if you're the God of the Hunt, incarnate, I. WILL NOT. BACK DOWN!!!)

"(Hear my name and know my resolve! My name is MOON-MOON-MOON!! Face me AND YOU FACE DEATH, POOP-LEAF!!!)"

...

Lone closed his eyes.

He just wanted to poop.

...But no matter how much he willed for it, the poop didn't come out.

He was... a shy-pooper.

He couldn't poop when anyone else was near him. Even if he just *thought* someone was watching, it was impossible.

He swallowed his saliva.

He was too familiar with the euphoric feeling of desire in his heart... wanting something so, so very bad... and knowing he'd never be able to get it.

But it wasn't really impossible.

He just needed... a push.

He was an unworked piece of steel when he first met Tycon.

Then over the suns and moons... he was forged into a vicious weapon.

Time and time again, he was tested... by crooks and thieves, by metal-ranked monsters and superpowered villains.

--by 50-level Dungeons...

He was unstoppable.

And thus... him pooping... was an inevitability.

Ready to face his destiny, Lone opened his eyes.

...but he was no longer in Turrim Orientem.