Title: Final Fantasy Farty-Seven: Bubbles of Doom Once upon a time in the pixel-perfect land of Midgar, Cloud Strife, hero of many a battle and savior of Gaia, decided it was high time for some pampering - swords and materia aside. The weight of the world! The cries of the planet! They could wait another day. Today, the call of tranquility beckoned him towards a hidden glade, home to a crystal-clear pond framed by undulating wisteria and laughing lilies. Cloud, a man more notorious for morphing landscapes with his epic battles than leaving them untouched, made his way to the pond's edge with an awkward grace that seemed almost alien in such a peaceful locale. His muscular physique, honed from years of bashing baddies and running from actual responsibility, glimmered like polished mythril in the dappled sunlight, catching the eyes of nearby butterflies and causing a more-than-appreciative squirrel to faint clean away. Now, Cloud wasn't one for public displays of skinship, but with no one around except for the woodland critters, he succumbed to the siren's call of relaxation. Stripping off his SOLDIER uniform with a svelte economy of motion, he folded it neatly on a rock, placing the impossibly huge Buster Sword beside it with a reverence that verged on comical. At this moment, even the air itself seemed to gasp and whisper at the sight of Cloud's underappreciated glutes, for the legend spoke true: Cloud Strife had a butt that would make even the goddesses swoon. "Soldier First Class butt reporting for do-nothing duty," Cloud quipped to himself as he admired his own firm derriere in the reflection of the water, the corners of his stoic mouth creeping into a smile he saved only for victorious moments and unusually pleasant weather. With a gentle dive that betrayed a surprising affinity for elegance, Cloud slipped into the pond. Ah, the cool embrace! It was as if Leviathan itself had come to welcome him with a tranquil tidal hug. He floated languidly across the pond's surface, resting his head on his arms against the edge and letting out a sigh that rustled the reeds. Cloud's sky-blue eyes began to close as serenity enveloped him. For a few precious seconds, he was just a man, not a hero, an ex-SOLDIER, or an experiment - just Cloud. That's when it happened. Amid the silence, a ripple spread across the waters. Birds stopped their singing, the faint-fainted squirrel miraculously revived, and some philosophical fish caught amidst an existential debate paused midsentence. Cloud let out a long, sonorous fart, the likes of which had never been heard in the forests of Gaia. "Oooh, like a Gysahl Greens after-dinner treat," he mused with innocent relief, not realizing the catastrophic impacts his potent posterior would have on the local fauna. A swathe of bubbles escaped towards the heavens, no doubt to join Cosmos in her celestial abode--but alas, they were malevolent orbs of olfactory despair. The nearest fish, intrepid explorer of the pond's depths and lover of aquatic trivia, was the first casualty. Poor Finny McSplash breathed in the scent that followed Cloud's unsavory underwater outburst. The fish's eyes rolled back into its scaly head, and with a dramatic belly flop, he floated to the surface, succumbing to the toxic toots. "Oh dear," Cloud remarked sheepishly, doing his best to ignore the minor aquatic massacre occurring around him. "I don't remember eating anything particularly aggressive." The fish, spirits unbroken even in their final moments, formed a choir: "By the streams, we did abide, Every flip, every glide, Strife's backside, we did not foresee, Now in bubbles, our souls fly free." So they sang as they slipped away into the great Lifestream beyond--their scales glinting one last time in the sunlight like materia orbs, their demise a testament to Cloud's chemically imbalanced innards. Cloud, half-amused, half-mortified at the piscatorial passing, let out a resigned chuckle. "Guess I'll have to skip on the beans next time I pop by Tifa's bar," he sighed, making a mental note to apologize to the planet when he next used Aerith's flowers to converse with it. "Sorry, Mother Nature, I swear I'm not usually such a gas," he grinned at his unintended pun, the horrified faces of the fish a mere memory whisked away by the breeze. There he remained, floating on his stomach, the sun warming his legendary assets, and the pond--now slightly less vibrant--a reminder of the day Cloud Strife's derriere quite literally took the breath away from Midgar's most unsuspecting inhabitants.