Once upon a time in the mystical world of Gaia, under the generous light of a particularly charismatic full moon, Cloud Strife, the hero known for his colossal sword and gravity-defying hair, found himself feeling a little worse for wear after an arduous battle against a herd of mischievous Malboro monsters. Seeking a brief respite from his valiant endeavors, Cloud stumbled across a serene, moonlit pond hidden away from the weary tread of adventurers and chocobos alike. Noticing the tranquility of the place, Cloud felt a rare compulsion to embrace nature in its purest form. After ensuring he wasn't followed by a nosy Cait Sith or an overly curious party member, he disrobed with the grace of a divine being shedding the burdens of this world. His naked form stood resplendent in the moonlight, muscles rippling under alabaster skin that had seen countless battles. Each scar was a sonnet of survival, and his rear... ah, his rear was a spectacle worthy of its ballad! With buttocks firmer than the hardest diamond weapon, sculpted to perfection from his relentless pursuit of Sephiroth and countless squats with Zack in their Shinra days, Cloud entered the water. The pond embraced his battle-worn physique like a long-lost friend. Our hero eased down until he was submerged up to his neck, resting his muscular arms along the edge while his chin settled atop them, a look of pure contentment etching across his usually stoic features. His spiky, blonde hair floated around him like a golden halo, and for the moment, Cloud was no longer the savior of the planet, but simply a man enjoying a well-deserved break. As Cloud's azure eyes threatened to close from the encompassing comfort of the warm waters, the peace was shattered by a sudden discomfort in his lower belly. Perhaps it was the chocobo stew from Tifa's earlier cooking or the dubious potion he had quaffed in the heat of battle. Whatever the cause, a rumble of discontent arose from Cloud's gut, the need for relief growing urgent. Without a soul in sight to judge him, and amidst the tranquil chorus of croaking frogs and the gentle ripple of water, Cloud decided to liberate the bubbling pressure. With a nonchalant glance to ensure his solitude, he lifted one sculpted cheek ever so slightly and released what could only be described as the granddaddy of all farts--a slow and sonorous exhalation that rose through the water with a stream of bubbles like an ancient leviathan crooning its underwater ballad. As the gaseous expulsion found its freedom, Cloud sighed, the corners of his mouth curling into a rare, self-satisfied smirk. He relished in the unfamiliar, but oh-so-satisfying release of gastrointestinal tension. Meanwhile, the denizens of the pond were not so appreciative. A few unsuspecting fish unlucky enough to swim near the epicenter of Cloud's rear rumblings floated lifelessly to the surface, their last thoughts forever a mystery, but certainly bespeaking horrors unknowable to fishkind. But our hero, Cloud, blissfully ignorant of his impact on the local fauna, continued to lounge with the audacious confidence of a man who had saved the world and now had claimed this humble pond as his sanctuary. For heroes deserve rest, too--even if it's punctuated by the occasional aquatic disturbance. And Cloud Strife, with his peerless posterior, certainly deserved his.