CHAPTER 40: THE LOAF THAT BROKE THE MAN

The alleyway smelled like damp stone, regret, and a hint of cinnamon that clung to my coat like a clingy ex. My crew—Lilith, Vorren, Jex, and Mister Fog—huddled around me, panting from our sprint out of the palace’s secret tunnels. The glow of the First Loaf’s crumbs still dusted my sleeves, making me look like a human pastry fresh from the oven. I felt alive, like I could punch a dragon and win. Or at least convince it to share its hoard over a nice brunch.

I clapped my hands, sending a puff of magical flour into the air. "Right, team! Breakfast time! Who’s up for some victory waffles?"

Lilith’s glare could’ve curdled milk. "Cecil, you just ate the First Loaf, a sacred artifact that’s probably cursed. The entire Pastry Guild wants to turn you into a pie. And you want waffles?"

"Exactly," I said, grinning. "Nothing says ’I’m unstoppable’ like a stack of syrup-drenched carbs."

Vorren, the giant smuggler who looked like he bench-pressed oxen for fun, folded his massive arms. "The bakers said you’re marked now. Loafbearer or not, eating more bread might... I don’t know, summon a sentient muffin to kill us all."

Jex, still clutching a stolen dinner roll like it was his firstborn, nodded furiously. "They weren’t joking, mate. I’ve smuggled cursed soup before, and this feels worse. My beard’s tingling."

Mister Fog floated upside-down, sipping tea that smelled suspiciously like despair. "The First Loaf’s power is ancient. Chaotic. It could make you a god... or give you cosmic diarrhea. I’d avoid eating anything until we know which."

I waved them off. "You guys worry too much. I’m the Loafbearer! I’ve got gluten magic now! Watch this." I pointed at a nearby crate, focusing on the buzzing energy in my veins. CRACK! The crate exploded into a shower of splinters, revealing a perfectly baked sourdough loaf inside. The alley smelled like a bakery had a one-night stand with a lumberyard.

"Whoa," I said, stepping back. "Did I just... summon bread?"

Lilith pinched the bridge of her nose. "You’re going to get us all killed."

Ignoring her, I grabbed the sourdough and tore off a chunk. It was warm, crusty, and smelled like victory. I took a bite, and—ZAP!—a jolt of energy shot through me. My vision sharpened. My muscles felt like they’d been upgraded to premium. I flexed, and my coat’s sleeve ripped slightly, which was honestly more impressive than it sounds.

"See?" I said, chewing triumphantly. "I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m OP as hell."

Vorren raised an eyebrow. "OP?"

"Overpowered," I said, tossing the loaf to Jex, who caught it like it was a live grenade. "Now, let’s find a tavern, get some bacon to go with this, and plan our next move."

Jex stared at the bread, then dropped it. "Nope. I’m not touching anything you summon. I’ve got enough curses from my soup days."

Mister Fog drifted closer, squinting. "Your fingernails are glowing again. That’s... not a good sign."

I glanced down. Sure enough, my nails were pulsing like tiny disco balls. "Cool," I said. "Adds to the aesthetic."

Lilith grabbed my collar. "Cecil, if you glow any brighter, you’re going to attract every bounty hunter, baker, and sentient pastry in the kingdom. We need to lay low, not start a breakfast buffet."

But I was already moving, strutting down the alley like I owned the city. The Loaf’s power coursed through me, making every step feel like I was walking on a cloud of yeast. I pointed at a lamppost, and—WHOOSH!—it bent into the shape of a giant pretzel. The crew stared, jaws slack.

"Alright," Vorren admitted, "that’s... impressive."

"Impressive?" I spun, grinning. "I’m a walking bakery apocalypse! Watch this!" I clapped my hands, and a nearby cobblestone shimmered, transforming into a cinnamon roll the size of a wagon wheel. A passing pigeon took one look and fainted.

Lilith groaned. "You’re going to bring the entire King’s Guard down on us."

"Let ’em come," I said, flexing again. "I’ll bury them in biscuits."

That’s when my stomach gurgled. Not a normal gurgle, mind you. This was a deep, ominous GRRRRUMBLE that sounded like a troll had moved into my intestines and was redecorating. I froze, smile faltering.

"You okay?" Jex asked, stepping back like I might explode.

"Fine," I lied, clutching my gut. "Just... processing the Loaf’s power."

The gurgle came again, louder, like a thunderstorm trapped in my abdomen. My vision blurred slightly, and I swear I heard the faint sound of a baguette laughing.

"Cecil," Mister Fog said, floating closer, "you’re sweating flour."

"I’m fine!" I snapped, but the pain was undeniable now. It felt like my insides were staging a coup. "I just... need a moment."

Without another word, I bolted. The crew shouted after me, but I didn’t care. The Loaf’s power was incredible, but apparently, it came with a side of gastrointestinal rebellion. I needed a place to... handle this. Somewhere private. Somewhere epic.

I sprinted through Bramblehook’s twisting streets, dodging merchants and stray dogs, until I spotted it: the Grand Outhouse of Eternal Contemplation. Yes, that was its actual name. A towering, gilded privy built by some eccentric noble who believed "relief should be regal." It loomed over the square like a cathedral for the desperate, complete with stained-glass windows depicting heroic knights mid-squat.

I barged in, slamming the door behind me. The interior was absurd—marble floors, a velvet-lined seat, and a chandelier that jingled softly as I collapsed onto the throne. The Loaf’s energy still buzzed in my veins, but my stomach was waging a full-scale war. I won’t describe the next few minutes, except to say it was loud, chaotic, and smelled like a bakery fire in hell.

When I emerged, pale but triumphant, I felt... lighter. Not spiritually, just literally. I flexed my fingers. The glow was still there. The power was still there. I was still the Loafbearer, baby.

I strutted back to the alley, where the crew was waiting, looking equal parts annoyed and concerned.

"You done?" Lilith asked, arms crossed.

"Done and dusted," I said, winking. "Now, who wants to see me turn a fountain into a donut?"

Before they could protest, I raised my hand, and—POOF!—the nearby fountain erupted into a sugary, glazed ring the size of a small house. A crowd of onlookers gasped, then started clapping. A kid dove into the frosting.

"See?" I said. "I’m unstoppable."

That’s when the ground shook.