The brown shit came crashing straight into Brent's sculpted face, transforming his blonde hair and pristine features into a nightmarish Jackson Pollock painting of brownish-green splatters.
He was thrown a few feet back, landing in a heap like a discarded mannequin.
"Wh-what the fuck is this??"
Brent screamed, frantically wiping his face, trying to rid himself of the vile substance. But it clung to him like an overzealous face mask from hell.
His brain was overloaded with the stench, threatening to shut down his consciousness if he didn't immediately scrub off whatever had attacked him.
"Krraaa thufff~"
Brent gagged, some of the foul gunk having made its way into his mouth. He retched and threw up a little, his face burning like he'd just kissed a bonfire.
What Brent didn't know was that the shit-bomb was laced with Carolina Reaper and other spicy horrors, turning his misery into a fiery torment.
And there he was: his hero, the 500-kilo human disaster with a yoga ball for a stomach, stark naked and angry as hell. Kris's chubby fists were clenched like he was ready for a sumo match, and his cheeks jiggled with every furious breath.
His eyes were red, bloodshot, and teary, looking like a mix between a pissed-off baby and a giant, angry tomato.
And of course, for some reason, there were two streaks across his face like a commando lost in the deep jungle, and Axel did not want to know how he got brown colors from the bathroom at all.
"You fatty!!"
Brent roared, using his expensive shirt to wipe off the poop from his eyes, mouth, and nose. As he cleared his vision, he finally saw who had attacked him. Since it was night and the light to the upper floor still hadn't turned on, all Brent could see was the man's upper body.
He did not see the lower body where the yoga ball belly ended in a pecker and two jewels swinging in the breeze.
"You bastard!!"
Brent screamed, charging towards the fat warrior like an enraged bull. At that moment, Kris was the strongest being in the world.
With his radioactive shit materials, he could practically invent a new type of deadly virus or something that could end the world.
Axel watched in disbelief as Brent dashed past his prone body and went straight into the nuclear power plant.
It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, only instead of trains, it was a furious man and a colossal, naked poop-flinging titan.
Brent was six foot six, a towering colossus, while Fatty was six foot three, a human wrecking ball. It was a battle of titans, but one titan had the home ground advantage, his natural habitat of chaos.
Brent swung his fist with the force of a sledgehammer, aiming straight for Fatty's face. But Fatty, in a move defying his girth, tilted his head to the side, letting the fist whoosh past him while maintaining an angry glare that could curdle milk.
Brent was momentarily stunned, watching in disbelief as this 500-kilo blob dodged his punch like a sumo ninja. It was like trying to punch a marshmallow and missing.
Then, with surprising agility, Fatty grabbed Brent's outstretched arm. His slimy hands, still glistening from God knows what, clasped Brent's arm and tossed him into the bathroom as if he weighed nothing more than a ragdoll.
Brent didn't even have time to react before his entire body was airborne. He crashed into the closet with a loud thud, his limbs flailing like a windmill caught in a hurricane.
Miraculously, the closet held firm, but Brent ended up sprawled on top of it, his legs sticking up against the wall like some bizarre art installation.
If Axel saw this, he would've said that Brent was saved by the grace of the gods themselves. It was as if a divine hand had plucked him from disaster.
Because if Brent had landed on the poop-infested brown tiles (which had been white just a little earlier), he would've been as good as dead. It wouldn't have been a simple clean-up job; it would have required a chemical decontamination.
He'd need to be washed in holy water, sprinkled with sacred blessings, and probably undergo a full exorcism to cleanse himself of that unholy mess.
"Brentttt!!!"
A voice pierced the chaos from behind, and Fatty saw Layla running towards the bathroom, now fully dressed. Best guess, Kayla had helped her out.
Kris's eyes softened at the sight of her; it was the first time he was seeing her clearly after all this mess had started.
And man, did he want to hug her dearly. He wanted to bury himself in her cleavage and stay there for the rest of his life, a dreamland far away from this poopocalypse.
But fate had other plans.
"Layla, I--"
He didn't even finish his sentence before she came running, shoving Kris out of her way like a linebacker. She stepped into the gooey mess of the bathroom floor without a second thought, her focus solely on Brent.
The floor squelched under her feet, making noises that sounded like a swamp monster gurgling its last breath, but she didn't care.
She was weak, and her push barely budged him, but the intent was clear. She wasn't here for a chat; she was here for vengeance.
Layla saw Brent sprawled on his back on top of the closet, and she clutched her chest dramatically, like a bad actress in a soap opera.
"You fat monster! What have you done to him? Why? Is it because he's better looking than you? Because he has more money than you? Is that why you attacked him, huh?"
She took another step inside and spun around, raising her hands to her sides like she was about to direct traffic, making it clear that Kris wasn't getting near Brent again.
"Maybe you should've acted like a man and not a fat loser who thinks he can have the picture-perfect life of marrying the most beautiful girl in town. You don't have money, you don't have looks or hotness or anything except your fat ass to even beg me to fuck you."
Kris, who just wanted a normal conversation, felt his anger bubbling up like a volcano ready to blow.
"Who do you think you are, acting like this in your poverty? Think again, fatso. Brent came for me because he knows what I'm missing out on with you.
"He knows I'm wasting my time. You can't even see your dick with that stomach of yours, let alone fuck someone like me. Brent can! Brent can give me everything I want to live a comfortable life, unlike you!"
She flashed a Cheshire grin as Kris noticed Brent stirring behind her. Kris closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool.
This woman—no, this cheating, lying bitch—had the audacity to cheat on him and then brag about it to his face without a hint of shame! It was like she was handing out insults from a buffet and had gone back for seconds.
It was clear Kris had been living in a fantasy. The past two months of their relationship had been nothing but a bad rom-com where he was the clueless fool.
Every moment spent with her was just a joke for her and her friends to laugh at. He'd heard all about the dare of Charlotte and the others, and he was sure they were all cackling behind his back.
He imagined them like a bunch of evil puppeteers, pulling the strings and making him dance to their cruel tune.
'These bitches... These stupid fucking pleasure meats dare to laugh at me, huh? These meatbags actually think I'm too foolish to realize they're laughing at my pathetic life? I'll show them! I'll fuck 'em all up!'
Kris's fist tightened so hard that his nails dug into his palm, drawing blood. Behind him, Kayla was checking on Axel, who was slowly rising to his feet like a wobbly newborn giraffe.
She had no idea what was going on with Kris or Brent, but hearing her sister's words, she was horrified. She never imagined Layla was capable of such pettiness, all for some laughs and giggles.
"Stupid fatty thinking he has a chance with someone like me..."
Layla's words continued to assault Kris's ears like a screeching chalkboard.
Each insult felt like a slap to the face, and Kris's anger simmered hotter. He had the overwhelming urge to grab her face and plaster it to the wall. If she kept bitching, he might just do it.
But, as always, fate had a different plan—this time, in the form of his former best friend, Brent.
Kris was so focused on Layla's barking that he didn't see the big man dashing behind her. Well, dashing might be an overstatement since the bathroom was just two big steps away, but nonetheless, Brent moved fast.
Before Kris could react, Brent pushed Layla aside, effectively smashing her into the opposite wall—a move Kris had been dreaming of—and then jumped onto Kris like an overgrown linebacker.