Napoleon miraculously made it to round 2 of Stwumpo’s King of Iron Fluff tournament. Here is my entry against Vanilla, a white fluffy owned by labber24! The challenge is to eat as many pills as possible, but they’re all in childproof bottles. Oh, and while some give boosts/powers, some might just make you die. Due to the challenges Napoleon has gone from being purely comedy to acting more in his Smarty Friend role. Its less light-hearted, but still has stupidity in it. He is mad, though.
Napoleon frowns. Babies again.
“Dummeh hoomins! Stop huwtin’ babbehs!”
The “game” was easy enough to understand. Get the pretty nummies. But they weren’t nummies. Living feral Napoleon had seen nummies like these before. Humans ate them when they were sick. Sometimes fluffies would get them too but humans would give it to them. But some of them? Looked like the not-nummies humans would have. Not nummies that would make them silly. Or meanie. Or both.
Or forever sleepy.
Fortunately, there were still stickers on some of them. Thinkie-place bone-faces were bad. Others were had human talkie-pictures on them. Words. And while he didn’t know about Vanilla, Napoleon could read. Comics weren’t as enjoyable (human mares with big milky places aside) if you couldn’t read.
“Mae cawse dwosiness.” No, these weren’t good.
“Con-tains stim-u-wants.” Zoom-zoom pills. These could helpful, but some fluffies had the worst heart hurties after eating too much of these. Literally.
The noise from all the babies running around, trying to get into the pill bottles made it hard to concentrate. The black micro-fluff felt his face contort from scowling. Most of them were too small to really get into them. But some of them managed to do so.
The earth moving beneath his feet told him there were other problems.
“Babbeh hav suden uwge to… kiww”
Vanilla was being stared down by a baby several times larger than he was. Its head was too small for its grotesquely muscular frame, looking more like a gorilla than a foal. Bottles and flasks shook all around as it trudged closer to the white fluff. He’d be okay by himself, Napoleon thought.
A flask fell over and rolled Napoleon’s way. He started looking at the label.
“Dont jus stawe at it, we hav to num da piwws to get out!”
“Napoweon knu! No wet babbehs get piwws! Som ob dem nu good!”
Judging by Vanilla’s hoof-drunk burst of energy, it seemed he was experiencing that first-hand. But he was also having to deal with the Incredible Babbeh there so it was understandable, and with another one coming their way there wasn’t much time to do much.
“Wha dis du?”
The flask sloshed around, clear glass with a viscous neon liquid inside.
“An-thwo Sewum. Wawning: May cauwse Weddit tu Down-Vote yu. May attwact fuwwies.”
Napoleon’s brow began to sweat. This could work, but…
“Nu! Mus’ du fow da babbehs!”
He slammed against the flask, sending it beneath the hoof of incoming Hulk baby. It cracked open under its weight, sending the gigantic foal scree-ing, flailing ineffectually at the broken glass piercing its leathery hide. Napoleon’s feet furiously scrambled to the spilt liquid, lapping it up furiously as soon as he got to it.
“Feew… feew… fun… funneh…”
For a moment, the world faded as each part of his body demanded its agony be heard. Hooves split into shreds. Limbs extended, spilling out unnaturally. His chest exploded out but didn’t give up its contents.
Coughing, hacking, his ears picking up the words, “munstah,” “fuwwy,” “yiffew,” from around the arena.
How did he get up here?
Looking down he saw the pill bottles, the foals, the Hulked babies. He saw Vanilla triumphant over his foe. But there were still so many babies…
And not-hooves?
“Am… munstah.”
The Anthro-Napoleon wept aloud at his horrid form, seeing it in the jumbotron. He looked like a human but was a near perfect black, lean and muscular like a Cross-Fit Chad who spent his weekend at the protein smoothie bar talking about the WOD being too easy. His mane flowed like an anime protagonist’s.
And his no-no stick…
…
Okay, that was an improvement he thought.
Hippolyta blew him a kiss. “SPECIAL HUGGIES AFTAW!”
He grinned. But she was right. First thing was to help the babies.
Napoleon went around gathering all the pill bottles and flasks, flicking the noses of foals that refused to give them up. Pills with “reduces inflammation” were put down the throats of the remaining Hulk foals who mostly fell over, shuddering. Pills that caused sleepies were given to foals showing excessive energy.
A number of them were already dead though, boo-boo juice spilled out of their mouths, blood, shit and urine out their ends. He sighed. Too many of them.
The remaining pills were gathered up in one hand, the remaining flasks to his side. Napoleon knew the only way to win this was to consume the most, but the implied part being “without dying.” A few of the enhanced healing pills were gently placed in Vanilla’s mouth, his throat massaged to get the unconscious fluffy to swallow.
“Hey! Wacecaw! Yu wiking da show?” Napoleon yelled, fistful of pills clenched. “Yu gonna saw sumtin’ about aww dis cwap da hoomins doin’ to da babbehs? Ow did dey take yu wumps when dey take yu wegs?”
One mouthful of pills went down. A flask was chugged. Second mouthful. Another flask. Third handful. Last flask.
Napoleon’s vision went crazy, all the sound turning into colors, going fuzzy then ultra-sharp before the crowd turned into monsters then cartoon characters then melted into unrecognizable hues. His body began growing and convulsing, shaking, cannibalizing itself, oozing and bleeding, turning into a grand mass of flesh and fluff.
“Dis iz it?” he thought. The fluff-turned-anthro-turned thing looked one last time at the camera, raising three misshapen hands, each with a middle-finger standing high.
The flesh mass erupted, splattering all over the arena. Not even the nose-bleeds were untouched. And in the center of the bloody waste lay a single, matte-black mini-micro-fluff…
hope he is ok he burst that worries me but its napoleon we are talkin about.