Poop Mage: Manure Mysteries

Bob took one last look at the rattling door before plunging down into the sewer tunnel. The slimy walls seemed to close in on him as he slid, the smell hitting him like a brick to the face. “This place smells worse than my spell failures,” he muttered, gagging as he picked up speed.

The descent wasn’t smooth. Bob bounced and slipped, trying to slow himself down but only managing to collect more slime as he slid. His hands slipped against the gooey surface, leaving him flailing and cursing the universe. “Of course... it had to be a sewer! Why couldn’t it be, oh I don’t know, a magical elevator?”

With a splat, he hit the bottom, landing in what could only be described as a pool of... something foul. It was thick, sticky, and immediately soaked through his robes. Bob struggled, trying to swim up through the muck. "Gross! Gross! Gross!" he yelped, finally managing to pull himself out of the revolting sludge.

He gasped for air and wiped the slime from his eyes, but as his vision cleared, his heart nearly stopped. Looming above him was a hulking Fire Golem, its molten core radiating an intense heat that made the sewage around it bubble. The golem’s massive hands churned magical waste into neutralized ash, its eyes glowing with fiery energy.

Bob froze, praying it hadn’t noticed him. The golem’s molten eyes shifted, locking onto Bob, and for a terrifying moment, he was sure he was toast. His brain scrambled for an idea—anything to get him out of this mess.

His eyes darted around the room, and then he spotted it. A mop. Floating lazily in the sewage.

Without thinking, Bob grabbed it. “Uh... just cleaning up! Real mess, you know how it is,” he said with a fake grin, making exaggerated mopping motions. His heart pounded in his chest as he nervously mopped at the air, trying not to look directly at the towering golem.

The golem let out a low grunt, its fiery gaze lingering on Bob for a moment longer before returning to its work, churning waste as if nothing had happened.

Bob’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I can’t believe that worked,” he whispered, sweat dripping down his face. “Guess being full of crap finally pays off.”

Bob inched toward the nearest exit, his feet squelching in the muck. He glanced back, the mop still in hand, and couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. Only I could survive a magical war, a poop explosion, and now a sewer run... by pretending to mop, he thought.

He wiped the slime from his hands and stole another glance at the Fire Golem, still hard at work. Bob crept further down the tunnel, determined to put as much distance between himself and the molten giant as possible. As he moved, something caught his eye: a massive, ancient pipe, rusted and half-buried in grime. He squinted at the worn-out label etched into the side. The only legible words were “High-Pressure... Exit.” The rest had faded beyond recognition.

"Exit?" Bob muttered, narrowing his eyes. "That’s gotta be it." He edged closer, trying to ignore the stench that somehow managed to get worse as he approached the pipe. A rusty lever was attached to the side, and it looked like it hadn’t been pulled in centuries. Bob hesitated, staring at the contraption warily. "Well, here goes nothing," he mumbled, gripping the lever with both hands.

With a grunt, he yanked it down.

The pipe rumbled ominously. Gears began to grind, and the sound of metal creaking echoed through the tunnel. Bob stood there, heart pounding, as the pressure built. He braced himself, expecting the pipe to open into some hidden exit he could crawl through.

But instead, the pressure kept rising.

Before he could figure out what was happening, there was a deafening whoosh. The pipe jolted to life, and Bob felt himself being yanked into it. "Wait, what?! I thought this was an exit!" he shouted, his arms flinging out in a desperate attempt to grab something, anything, as he was launched forward like a human cannonball.

He shot through the twisting, narrow pipe, ricocheting off the slimy walls like a pinball in a chaotic arcade game. Every sharp turn slammed him into another bend, leaving him gasping for breath. “This is not what I meant!” Bob's voice reverberated through the dark tunnel as he spun wildly, his body whipping around uncontrollably.

The pressure surged again, and before he could brace himself, the pipe spat him out like a cork from a bottle. He soared through the air, limbs flung in every direction, until he collided with something soft—or at least, softer than the pipe.

Leaves. Lots of leaves.

Bob lay still for a moment, catching his breath, leaves sticking to his slimy robes. He pushed himself up, his eyes widening as they took in the chaos of the courtyard.

Bob groaned as he untangled himself from the bush he’d landed in. He was completely hidden from view, save for the occasional rustle of leaves as he shifted. Covered in dirt, leaves, and still reeking of sewer, he slowly lifted his head, peeking through the foliage.

What he saw made his heart sink.

The courtyard, where he’d once flunked his entrance exam, was now a battlefield. Students were locked in magical combat, spells flying in every direction, while shadowy figures—clearly the Lord of Decay’s forces—wreaked havoc.

“Wow,” Bob muttered under his breath, “I’m smack in the middle of a magical war zone.”

He glanced around, trying to figure out his next move. His eyes darted between the chaos—students frantically casting spells, creatures roaring, and explosions lighting up the courtyard like fireworks gone wrong. "I asked for an exit," Bob grumbled, wiping some dirt off his face. "I should’ve been more specific."

The courtyard was a whirlwind of chaos, spells flying in every direction as students fought to keep the decayed putty people at bay. Bob stayed hidden in the bushes, watching wide-eyed as the battle unfolded before him. One student nearby was struggling to hold up a shimmering flame barrier, the edges flickering like a candle about to be snuffed out. Another was firing bolts of magic at the approaching enemies, but the putty people barely flinched. Their stiff, jerky movements made them look like broken toys being dragged across the battlefield.

Bob swallowed hard. “Great, zombie puppets. As if things weren’t creepy enough.”

Out in front, Frank stood trembling but determined. His face was pale, streaked with sweat, and he looked like he was about to keel over. Still, he was trying. He cast a weak barrier spell, shielding a younger student who had been knocked down. The barrier flickered weakly, but it was just enough to block an incoming blow from one of the creatures.

“Stay behind me!” Frank shouted, though his voice cracked from exhaustion. His helpers, Margo and Giles, were crouched behind him, wide-eyed and clearly terrified, but they couldn’t stop staring at Frank like he was some kind of hero.

Frank took a deep breath and swung his staff at one of the putty people. The impact barely did anything—it was like smacking a brick wall with a pool noodle—but Frank didn’t back down. He was panting, out of breath, but he still stood tall in front of the younger student, shouting, “I’ll hold them off!”

Bob couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Frank? Seriously? That guy can barely hold a staff straight.” But there he was, holding his ground, even if he looked like he was about to pass out any second.

Nearby, Cooper was a blur of motion. His hands crackled with magic as he conjured fireballs, sending them blazing through the air toward the decayed enemies. The fire hit with enough force to make the creatures stumble, singeing their rotting bodies, but it wasn’t enough to stop them completely.

Cooper’s usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found. His face was tight with concentration, sweat dripping down his forehead. He looked like someone who knew the stakes were high and wasn’t messing around. Fireball after fireball exploded from his fingertips, each one more intense than the last.

Bob peeked through the leaves, watching in awe. “That guy’s handling this like it’s just another day at the academy,” he muttered to himself.

As Bob shifted in the bush, trying to stay unnoticed, he heard the ground tremble beneath him. A low, guttural growl rumbled through the air, sending a shiver down his spine.

From the far side of the courtyard, a hulking figure emerged from the shadows, towering over the battlefield. Its skin was mottled with decay, muscles rippling under rotting patches of armor. The orc's eyes glowed faintly with a sickly green light, and the ground seemed to crack beneath its massive boots.

Bob’s heart sank. “Oh, fantastic... just when I thought things couldn’t get worse.”