VEYRIX sipped calmly, like the soup didn't just steam — it smoldered with malice.
Across the table, Ren stared at his own bowl like it owed him money.
VEYRIX (wiping his mouth neatly):
"This city has enough fire already. If you want to survive here, Partner of the Deliverer…"
(leans in just slightly)
"Don't get involved in political matters."
REN (raising a brow):
"What if political matters get involved with me?"
VEYRIX (soft smile, no humor):
"Then I'll have to be involved with you too."
(beat)
"And I promise, that's less fun than lunch."
The king stood. The crowd parted like frightened soup ingredients.
He gave one last nod, then vanished into the street like he was never there.
Ren exhaled.
REN:
"Well. That wasn't terrifying at all."
SNARKSTEEL (from his back):
"I'm not afraid of him.
I'm afraid of whatever's in that bowl."
BLAZE (somehow materializing just to mock):
"Do it. Taste the pain. Impress the spicy gods."
REN (muttering):
"Can't be that bad…"
He picked up the spoon.
It bent.
REN (grimacing):
"…Okay, that's fine. Warped cutlery is totally normal."
He took a spoonful.
Blew on it.
Sipped—
Reality cracked.
The flavor hit his tongue like a volcano uppercut.
It bypassed his mouth.
Punched straight through his soul.
REN (choking, eyes watering):
"Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohsh—"
His stomach twisted like it owed the soup money and the soup brought goons.
He stood up too fast.
The world tilted.
REN:
"Nope. Nope. Gotta go. Emergency exit, bowel edition."
He felt it coming before he could stop it.
The soup twisted something ancient in his gut —
as if a ghost from a previous meal came back to avenge its digestion.
He clenched.
He hoped.
He lost.
Ren shat.
Mid-step.
In a magical city.
While people were still finishing their lunch.
It hit the stone like shame wrapped in sound.
The smell hit second.
PASSERBY #1 (approaching the scene, then freezing):
"...Whoa. Did this guy seriously shit himself?"
He stepped back, waved his hand in front of his face.
PASSERBY #1 (to the crowd):
"He SHAT.
RIGHT by the soup fountain.
IT SMELLS LIKE A DEAD WIZARD'S OUTHOUSE."
Laughter broke.
Like wildfire.
PASSERBY #2 (older woman, arms crossed, staring with wide eyes):
"Really… that's… embarrassing."
She waved a silk fan slowly, as if that'd somehow erase the mental trauma.
PASSERBY #3 (young guy whispering loudly):
"Is this a ritual or something?
Like… did he bless the street with his ass?"
PASSERBY #4 (cackling):
"Nah man, I saw it. That wasn't no spell. That was surprise bowel regret."
A group of teens nearby leaned in, giggling.
TEEN GIRL:
"Is he crying?"
TEEN BOY:
"No, he's just leaking from the other end."
Ren, now squatting awkwardly behind a narrow street pillar that did absolutely nothing to hide him, had both hands over his face.
REN (muttering):
"I'm gonna find whoever made this soup.
And I'm gonna mail them my pants."
FROST (trying not to laugh, failing):
"Would you like me to freeze your dignity solid so we can bury it?"
BLAZE (barely standing from laughter):
"I've been in wars. I've watched stars collapse.
This. Is. Better."
A city cleaner cautiously walked up, holding a long stick and a glowing sanitizing glyph.
CLEANER (to no one in particular):
"Not even the alley trolls shit this close to the soup stand."
Someone took a picture with a crystal-capture charm.
Someone else pointed and said,
"Is this what they call foreign diplomacy?"
Ren stood up.
Slowly.
Trying to maintain what microscopic shard of dignity he had left.
He nodded at the stunned crowd like he meant to do it.
REN (deadpan):
"...Spicy. Would recommend."
And then he walked away.
Not ran.
Not portal-hopped.
Walked.
Like a man who'd already lost everything and couldn't be robbed twice.