Butcher, Baker... (Patreon)

I wrote this in December 2019. It was a pretty dark time for me. It got shared on one social media account, but that's it. So, here it is for you folks.

Baker stood a few feet in front of the bridge, resolute. In one hand, he held his rolling rod tightly. In the other, he spun a golden-hued muffin around in his hand, twisting and turning it every which way.

The Bloated Man galumphed forth toward the bridge and Baker, one overripe arm held out to indicate its army of horrors should pause.

Its voice was wet and terrible, like it needed to spit and clear its throat both at once, but never would.

"What are you doing, Baker? I thought you'd be long gone to the Pearled Shores by now."

Baker shook his head.

"Most of the others, those alive, have gone already, it is true. But I can't leave the mortals behind to your mercies. I won't let you cross the bridge, Bloat. If you try, I'll kill you."

The Bloated Man gurgled an amused, wet sound.

"It is true, oh Shining Baker, that only an Apotheosis can kill another of our kind. And so I have sought out and Drowned each of the killing Apothes. Those who were perfect at slaying, murdering, poisoning, fighting, plotting, even Caduceus, so he couldn't do a perfect job of failing to heal me. I slew Weaponsmith and Archer and Fletcher and Wrestler, just so there was no chance they could stretch their skills to overcome me. But you, Baker? I do not fear you."

Baker sighed. "You should, Bloat. I am equal to you in power and age. We stood together at the Edge of All and held reality together when the Yusothgis tries to unravel us. We both learned from Thought, and helped teach mortals about skills and dangers. I'm an elder, no less than you. And if you take one more step, I shall kill you."

The Bloated Man's laugh was like the cry of a dozen animals succumbing to the waves. Its wet, swollen form giggled, and in some places its bluish skin split, and trickles of damp pus drained out.

"An elder you are, Baker. But I have taken the final moment of hundreds of Apothes, and you have, what, helped fight one unreal threat, eons ago? And in a kitchen, I suppose I might give pause, given how much of our shared, raw, primal power you have never spent. But on a battlefield? No, Baker. it is a fine bluff, but I am calling it."

The Bloated Man heaved its more-bloated leg high, dramatically holding its quivering, pudding-like mass in the air, before dropping it forward in an exaggerated step.

Baker closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in, then out again. He began to walk slowly toward the Bloated Man, knuckles white on the haft of his rolling rod.

And then he threw the golden muffin, the perfect muffin from which all other muffins were envisioned, the ur-muffin that could most-do any muffinlike thing... into Bloat's open mouth.

There was a startled, wet sound, like someone corking a clown just as a joke failed to amuse. And then, the Bloated Man could make no sound at all. No air could it suck down into its lungs, nor force out again.

Baker walked right past the choking monstrosity, and faced its army of horrors. He hefted his rolling rod, the threat clear. The accursed forms that filled the army were slayers and things from the shadow, but they saw what was happening. An Apotheosis was the unquestioned power in its own area of authority. As long as the Bloated Man had Baker's golden muffin in his throat, any mortal force trying to dislodge it would be opposing the Baker's will regarding a baked good, and fall before him.

And so no creature moved, as the Bloated Man clawed at its throat. It punched at its own gut, tried to shove distended limbs into its own maw, flung itself on the ground again and again, each time weaker and slower, its eyes even more bulged out.

In time, it stopped moving.

And then, the Bloated Man died.

All in all, it took nearly an hour.