The fairies regrouped, eyes gleaming with eldritch fury. Their wings shimmered with mana-charged light as they circled the party.
The mage slumped against a tree, panting. "I'm… out. That last fireball took everything."
Ash raised his sword. "We can't hold them off forever!"
Poffin crouched low on a rock brushing leaves off his fur, stubby limbs quivering with effort. "Okay. Okay, think, Poffin. You've got to have something. You were chosen by a Goddess, you're the most powerful being there is, surely there's—"
His fur began to spark.
He paused.
"…Wait what's that tingling?"
The rogue turned. "Is the furball… glowing?"
Indeed, Poffin's entire coat of fluff was slowly radiating a faint, golden glow—like someone had dipped a plush toy in a vat of divine glitter. The static in the air crackled audibly now.
"I don't like this," Poffin muttered.
"I do like this," Ash said, sword still raised.
Ash picked up Poffin by his torso, raising him above his head as he aimed towards the screeching fairies.
"W-wait! what are you trying to—"
There was a blinding flash as Poffin was thrown upwards into the air like a grenade, spinning uncontrollably and screaming the whole way:
"AAAAAH I REGRET THIIIIIIIS!"
Midair, the glow intensified—his fur standing completely on end—and then, with zero warning, Poffin exploded in a brilliant, concussive burst of energy.
It was like someone had detonated a ball of sacred fireworks made from static shock and righteous indignation. The light was blinding. The sound? Somewhere between a magical detonation and the world's angriest rubber duck.
The shockwave rippled outward, slamming into the swarm of banshees mid-flight, sending them scattering like dandelions in a hurricane.
One slammed into a tree. Two pinwheeled into each other. Another spiraled down like a dying Roomba.
The grass flattened. Leaves whipped into the air. Everyone stood in stunned silence.
And then—
thud
Poffin landed flat on his back in the dirt, smoking slightly, his fur puffed out in every direction like he'd just licked a live wire. His expression was vacant. His limbs twitched.
Kale approached carefully, sword still ready. "Is he… dead?"
"Give him a second," the tamer said, crouching.
A groan emerged from the cratered impact site.
He sat up slowly, eyes dazed. "Okay… WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT? DID YOU R—."
While Poffin was throwing out curses towards Ash, others stood there in shock from what had just transpired
Vix stared. "Did he just detonate… his fur?"
Seren nodded slowly. "He might be… the most dangerous pillow I've ever seen."
Ash sighed, rubbing his temples. "Not even an hour since you awakened something new and you already broke the sound barrier and the wildlife laws."
Poffin grinned weakly, his fur still sparking. "Yeah yeah, but you have to admit that was awesome."
"…I'm not saying it wasn't," Ash muttered, "but I am saying you owe me a new coat. You singed mine."
Poffin, still sparking faintly like a busted toaster, staggered upright from the crater. Ash crouched nearby, inspecting his singed cloak with a slow, unamused frown.
"You charred my cloak," he said flatly. "This was custom. Wolf-hide, triple-stitched. Do you know how expensive—"
"Shut up," Poffin snapped, fur frazzled and tail twitching like a live wire. "You're the one who yeeted me like a fireball! You literally threw me like a grenade at a cloud of banshees!"
"You said 'witness my power.' I improvised."
"You fucking weaponized me!"
The tamer raised an eyebrow. "And it worked, didn't it?"
Poffin jabbed a paw at him. "You don't get to 'it worked' me when I just got mid-air combusted! You owe me compensation—fur oil, snacks, a silk pillow to land on! Something!"
Ash held up the ruined corner of his cloak. "Do you know how hard it is to find someone who can re-enchant wolf-hide to breathe properly?"
"Breathe properly?! I'm pretty sure I lost a lung up there!"
"You don't even know if you have lungs."
"I'm an emperor, I can have whatever I want!"
Lyra wandered over mid-bickering, looking tired but amused. "Are they… arguing about laundry?"
"Something like that," said the hero. "Pretty sure he just exploded. Twice."
The rogue stared at Poffin. "So… does the fur just… grow back?"
"I don't know, I'm not his stylist." Ash squatted down to his level, exasperated. "Next time, warn me before you go thermonuclear."
"Next time, bring a parachute!"
The whole group stood in awkward silence as a leaf, gently charred, floated down and landed on Poffin's still-smoking head.
"…Okay," Kale said finally, "maybe we all take five."
"Or a week," Poffin muttered, laying back down and puffing out a tiny, singed sigh.
Later, while the group rested in a scorched clearing that smelled suspiciously of roasted banshee and regret, Poffin lay sprawled on his back, legs splayed, twitching occasionally.
"…So," he muttered aloud, staring at the sky, "can I do it again?"
Ash, sitting nearby, slowly turned to him. "Do what again?"
"You know." Poffin's eyes narrowed. "Boom."
Ash squinted. "You're asking if you can explode. Again."
Poffin rolled to his side. "It was kind of awesome. I mean, did you see that arc? The sparkle radius? Those mini banshees got evaporated."
"You also blew off half your own fur," the tamer said, then reached over and lightly bonked Poffin on the head with two fingers.
"Ow! What was that for?!"
"Think, furball. What if you'd actually exploded? Like, no more smart-mouth, no more puffball. Just charred cotton candy and regrets."
"I'd go out in a blaze of glory," Poffin replied, then added, "literally."
Ash rubbed his temples. "You're not a magic firework. Stop trying to be one."
Poffin tried to flex—an act that only resulted in him puffing his chest slightly and falling sideways. "Fine, okay. Maybe it's on cooldown. Or I need to charge up. Get me some coffee. A goat. A power crystal. I'll take anything with legs and caffeine."
"You'll take a nap," Ash said dryly. "And if I hear even one more word about weaponized fluff bombs, I swear I'm stuffing you in a satchel like a squeaky lunchbox."
Poffin's ears drooped. "...Do satchels come with snack compartments?"
Ash didn't dignify that with a response. He just reached over and placed a small blanket over Poffin's back with the resigned grace of a man who'd accidentally adopted an eldritch powderpuff.
The party watched from a distance.
"Are those two… bonding?" Lyra asked, squinting.
"No," Ash said firmly. "This is management."
Poffin yawned, curled into a small ball, and muttered, "Next time I explode, I want theme music…"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As they trudged through the town gates, the sun now dipping below the rooftops, the hero party looked… well, crispy. Their cloaks were singed. Armor scraped. Vix's eyebrows were gone—again. Seren looked like she'd aged five years from sheer stress, and Lyra walked with the gait of someone who had poured the last dregs of her soul into one final, glorious kebab-inducing fireball.
And then there was Poffin.
Fluffy.
Clean.
Vibrantly glowing like a fresh load of laundry blessed by the gods themselves.
He bounced along ahead of them, every step full of energy, his fur not just back—it was shinier. Thicker. Almost… smug.
He glanced at his reflection in a shop window as they passed. "Huh," he muttered aloud. "Would you look at that. Regeneration. I'm basically a walking, talking shampoo commercial."
Ash, dragging his feet at the rear, gave him a side-eye. "You blew up twice. You were smoking. You had char marks. That's not normal."
"I'm not normal," Poffin said with a grin, fluffing himself up dramatically. "I'm an enigma. You people are lucky I'm even here."
"You're lucky we didn't leave you as a crater."
The others remained silent, partly from exhaustion and partly because no one had enough breath to argue with a puffball that had just self-detonated twice and come out softer than before.
As they reached the tavern, the door creaked open, and the innkeeper blinked.
"…What happened to you lot?"
Kale sighed, voice ragged. "Fairies."
"Banshees," Vix added.
"Fire," Lyra mumbled, still twitching.
"Trauma," Seren said hollowly.
Poffin puffed up proudly and chirped, "Victory."
The innkeeper looked at them all, then down at Poffin.
"…Did the creature get hurt at all?"
Ash answered without skipping a beat. "Only his ego. Briefly."
"Not true," Poffin muttered. "Someone threw me like a grenade. I'm pretty sure that counts as workplace abuse."
The party groaned and slumped into chairs as Ash herded Poffin toward the stairs. "Come on. Before you start trying to unionize."
"Too late," Poffin called over his shoulder. "I'm forming the Fluff Combat Workers Alliance. First demand: steak."
"Denied."
"Cruelty! Tyranny! I will explode again in protest!"
"Stairs, Poffin."
And up they went.
Upstairs, the group collapsed across the tavern room's beds, each one groaning as armor clanked, boots hit the floor, and souls collectively evacuated the premises.
Kale faceplanted into a pillow with a muffled, "World saved. Again. Probably."
Seren was already asleep mid-sit.
Vix chucked a dagger across the room at nothing in particular, then muttered, "Missed," before curling up under a blanket like a disgruntled cat.
Ash leaned against the wall with a sigh, arms crossed, watching the chaos settle.
And Lyra, ever graceful, gently sat herself on the edge of a bed—only to discover she had acquired a passenger.
Poffin had already claimed his spot in her lap like it was pre-reserved. He shifted slightly, wiggled once, then looked up with wide, innocent eyes that definitely didn't belong to a creature who had recently committed several war crimes.
"Alright, mage girl," he muttered, lifting one stubby paw with dramatic flair. "caress me."
Lyra blinked. "He's... purring?"
Ash translated flatly from his seat. "He says he wants headpats."
She paused. "…He says that?"
Ash's face didn't twitch. "More or less. I may be censoring."
Lyra shrugged, letting her fingers drift into his fur. "I mean, he did explode for us today. Twice."
Poffin exhaled with the weight of a hundred battles, eyes fluttering shut as he melted like butter in her lap. "At last… the only magic I need."
The mage just smiled softly and kept petting. "You know, he's kind of cute like this."
Poffin, barely conscious, gave one final mumbled reply. "Don't. Say. That."
But it was too late. The room was quiet. Peaceful.
And the most dangerous, unpredictable, utterly chaotic entity in the party?
Was purring in bliss.