A quiet inn, tucked in an unimportant corner of an unimportant bazaar in an unimportant desert town. This was just the place to unwind before embarking on another great adventure.
 Magnus sighed and eagerly sipped from his mug of mead. The svelte phoenix was 117 years old, somewhat young for a member of his species, considering he had nearly 900 years left in his current form before he was due for a rebirth cycle. However, in such a short time, he’d already built up quite a career and reputation as a wanderer, even if it wasn’t the most savory. His orange and red feathers had a light glow to them, although he often covered them up with a black hooded cloak, letting only his blue eyes and his black beak peer from the darkness. Unlike most travelers, Magnus did not wear any kind of shoes on his talons. He simply didn’t find them necessary; he was nigh indestructible, after all.
 He was in his inn’s downstairs tavern, celebrating his continued survival with ill-gotten riches. Asides from casually swiping gold and silver from local merchants, he’d also managed to con a fellow adventurer. A rather young and inexperienced-looking black ram, appearing burly with his muscles coated in thick, scruffy wool. The magical bird had engaged in casual conversation with the ram, discussing weather or something like that, and while the sheep was distracted, Magnus used his honed pickpocketing skills to steal not only his money, but his dagger, his pouch of potions and herbs, and his map. The only thing he hadn’t taken from him was an old, beat-up looking copper ring with an inscription on it in the local tongue. Magnus knew that seedy merchants in the big city would often sell crappy old jewelry to adventurers by claiming it had magical properties, and he safely assumed that this was how the ram got ahold of the ring on his finger. It was almost certainly worthless, and therefore not worth stealing.
 Magnus eyed the inn’s job board and the posters that covered it as he drank. A bandit caravan stalking the desert highways, a gryphon stealing cattle and killing herders, a jar containing a hostile djinn that needed to be taken out of town and properly disposed of… any of these were perfect for the firebird’s next big quest. All of them were sure to win him even more of what he desired more than anything else: fame, praise, and of course, massive monetary rewards. As he ordered another mead and began to narrow down the options in his mind, he heard behind him the shifting of the curtain covering the tavern entrance and the clopping of bipedal hooves on the wood plank floor.
 “Those things don’t belong to you, jackass.”
 The Phoenix knew the voice was referring to the stolen goods sitting on the bartop, and he didn’t even need to identify the distinctive bleat-like accent to know who it was. Turning around on his stool, he found the same ram he’d pickpocketed in the bazaar earlier. He was a fairly handsome man, but it was painfully obvious that this was his first journey. He was dressed modestly in a green hooded tunic and a pair of brown pants with a crimson patch mended into the fabric near the knee. His only protection was a woefully inadequate set of leather armor, a breastplate and some arm and shin guards, and the two thick, curled horns framing his face beneath his hood, although the tip of one had apparently been chipped in combat. Magnus should’ve known he’d be tracked down. A glowing phoenix like him stuck out like a sore thumb in a small town populated mostly by desert creatures like ibexes, leopards and vultures. However, he believed he would have no trouble dispatching this foolish blowhard… he could use a good pelt to wear for the journey back north.
 “You should watch your mouth, sheep boy.” The bird smugly replied. “You shouldn’t make threats without anything to back them up.” The ram walked closer, taking the empty seat next to him. “You’re right, I haven’t really introduced myself… my name is Fraser, and I am a warrior of Norfelt, but that is besides the point. I want my things back, and if you return them swiftly and without complaint, I promise I will leave you alone.”
 Magnus laughed. “And why should I? Do you have any idea how much I can get selling this stuff? The blade alone was worth at least 5 gold pieces.” He showed off the once-full mug he’d received in exchange for the dagger, much to Fraser’s frustration. “And you…” the fiery avian continued, leaning into the ram and squeezing his arm. “Soft, fluffy wool, hardy yet still tender muscles. You’re not some mighty warrior, you’re a small town showoff, a big fish from a small pond trying to swim in the ocean. I could just plunge my sword through that shitty lump of leather you call a breastplate and kill you. I’d have a soft, warm pelt to wear in the winter, and your meat I could sell as mutton to some cut-rate butcher shop. Whether you have to die by my blade or not, I’m not giving up my gains, so I suggest you humbly fuck off and never show your pathetic mortal face to me again.”
 “However did the gods manage to affix such a big mouth to such a little beak?” The black sheep responded angrily. By now, the barmaid who had traded for the dagger, a hoopoe, returned to give Magnus his second mead and swiftly retreated to the back, hoping that the feuding foreigners would work out their issues without resorting to violence like last time. Fraser brandished the copper ring on his hand in front of the bird, so scuffed-up and dusty it didn’t even glimmer. “You know what this is?”
 “Of course I do. It’s a piece of utter shit.”
 “Of course it is to you. That’s what you’d want to believe, because you’re supposedly a big, mighty phoenix. But what this really is is your worst nightmare: a beastproof ring. One light tap of this upon your body, and it will suck out all of the magic and strength you use to push everyone else around. You’ll be little more than a common mortal pheasant. Who’ll be a pelt then, bird?”
 Magnus laughed. “You really believe that nonsense? Whatever the seller told you, it was a lie. You can find rings like that rooting through the garbage.”
 “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps this is just worthless junk with no magic charm upon it whatsoever. But you wouldn’t want to risk me being right, would you?” The ram removed his hood and scratched his wooly head. “So, I’ll give you a choice. You can return my things, and lose nothing but an opportunity to make a quick buck. Or, you can threaten me again, and risk losing everything, and that’s if I spare your life.”
 The haughty firebird suppressed a chuckle as he sipped his mead. Did this mortal really think he stood a chance just because he had a piece of copper? He was a fucking phoenix. If he were to be stabbed or slashed, the blade would pass right through him without leaving a scratch. Even if he were to have his body fully annihilated by, say, crushing, his spirit would leave and just form a new body, an exact copy retaining all of his memories. No bystanders would attempt to stop a phoenix from acting on a whim of theirs, especially not one as established as him. Not even the local constabulary would step in. He’d lose nothing by murdering this bitch. Magnus started to unsheath his sword, preparing to deliver the sheep to the same fate as numerous rivals, lawmen, bandits, and wild beasts.
 THWACK!
 Fraser saw that move coming from a mile away, and pre-empted it with a sock from his hand. It wasn’t the best punch in the world, but it connected directly with the side of the bird’s face, the ring slamming into his cheek so hard, Fraser thought the inscription on it might leave an imprint. Magnus hit the floor hard. The phoenix swore he felt his power grow a little dimmer… in fact, everyone in the tavern could visibly see his physical glow was a little dimmer. But no one dared mention this to him as he tried to get up… only to receive a rough kick to the chest, winding him. This wasn’t possible… nothing winded him! Catching his breath, Magnus tried to do a trick he hadn’t done in quite some time, but he knew for a fact was effective: He was going to use a blast of flame breath to singe this stupid bastard’s wool clean off!
 Except… it didn’t work. Magnus pulled from his very essence, but no flame would come from his beak. Not even a few measly embers.
 It wasn’t very difficult for the ram to secure the bird after that. Ripping off the cloak he had worn for so long, Fraser could see that this phoenix, who just minutes before had been threatening to sell his corpse to a butcher shop, was an awfully thin, weak-looking thing. His belly was trim, his ass was flat, and his neck was long and supple. The silly bird struggled under his grasp as he was put in a hold, Fraser’s muscular body firmly locking him in place. “Let go of me, sheep!” He angrily demanded. “I’m going to kill you with my bare-”
 Fraser just took his dainty feathered hand and stuck it in his mouth, suckling the fingers and coating them with semi-viscous drool. “Mm… like extra-spicy chicken.” He quipped. Without hesitation, he took both of Magnus’s hands and firmly held them together like rope. “What are you doing? Stop that! Stop, or I’ll… I’ll…” The firebird’s petulant threats meant nothing to Fraser, who popped the pair of hands in and swallowed up to the wrists. The proud warrior squirmed helplessly, face burning with fury and embarrassment as the sheep’s mouth slid up his arms. This… this was impossible! He couldn’t be eaten by some… some rookie adventurer! He’d been building his reputation for eight decades, he couldn’t lose it all here… not in front of all these people! “I-I said stop! Let go of me… s-stop swall-”
 GULKK!!
 OMFF!
 Fraser, of course, ignored his squawky complaints and abruptly cut them off by shoving his head and neck into his mouth, gulping them down loudly and thickly. His thick pink tongue lathered over Magnus’s warm flesh, blunt herbivore teeth nibbling and grazing his chest, as if to drive home that he was being eaten by a lowly sheep. As he took in the torso, Fraser was kind of glad that he had leather armor for this situation. Had he worn a quality steel or even iron breastplate, the armor would stay in place as he swallowed, and he wouldn’t be able to fit the bird down. His leather breastplate, on the other hand, had quite flexible straps, and easily stretched to accommodate his inflating stomach.
 ULLP!!
 The ram relaxed, letting the slender avian slink into his body, kicking and struggling. As he savored the thighs and legs, he knew this was for the better. Everything would be safely returned to him, with one less pest in the world to boot. Not even mentioning the fact that he had conclusively proven his beastproof ring was the real deal. He could fight gryphons, dragons, minotaurs, rocs… the list was endless. He could very well become one of the greatest heroes of all time! As Fraser squished down the last of the annoying phoenix and swallowed heartily, he already knew he was never giving up the ring. Hell, he was never even taking it off again!
 Magnus was swiftly humbled, finding himself sliding downward into a cramped, slimy sack, only his faint natural glow illuminating anything. He could see how tightly his knees were folded to his chest, and the leafy green gruel at the bottom soaking into his down… ugh… had this bitch seriously already eaten before he went and crammed a firebird down his gullet? He roughly pressed his talons and wings against the walls, trying to get some leverage to crawl out up the sheep’s throat, but he just kept slipping down, splashing right back into the chyme and acids. He was starting to become genuinely fearful… he couldn’t increase his body heat to try and upset the stomach, something he never had any issues with in his life. Maybe the sheep wasn’t lying about his ring. “Hey, you’re… you’re going to regret this…” Magnus quivered, attempting to sound strong and failing miserably. “I-If you don’t let me out right now, I will kill you!”
 URRRAAAPPPP!!!!
 Fraser slapped his tummy as he stood up, wobbling the taut bird-shaped bulge beneath his stretched tunic and strained breastplate. “And why should I? Do you have any idea how useful a sword like this is?” The ram cruelly taunted, echoing Magnus’s own words as he admired his blade. Kicking away the cloak and the feathers that came up with his belch, Fraser clopped back to the bar and took a seat. As soon as the event was over, the other patrons resumed their own conversations and activities, not giving much more thought to the downed adventurer. Magnus had done a good job of taking out monsters and bandits whenever he passed through town, but he was also a thieving, murdering nuisance, and to see him become sheep food in less than five minutes was an especially pathetic feat. He would not be sorely missed by the townsfolk.
 Fraser plopped his ass down on Magnus’s former stool, which creaked beneath his weight. He rubbed his huge, squirming gut in one hand and slammed a few silver pieces onto the table with the other to pay for a mug of mead. He retrieved the pouch and map the phoenix had left on the bartop, reaffixing them to his belt as the hoopoe barmaid arrived with his drink. “I want the dagger back too.” The ram told her, flicking his tongue across his lips. “It didn’t belong to this sniveling lump of meat, and it doesn’t belong to you either.” The barmaid, knowing she was outmatched and wanting very much not to be a side dish, reluctantly handed the knife back to him. Fraser smiled gratefully. “Thank you, miss.” He then quickly guzzled down the boozy beverage like he had been thirsty his entire life, emptying the mug in seconds flat. The ram felt the firebird in his stomach squirm and screech in fear and disdain as the liquid sloshed down on top of him.
 “Mmmff!! Hmmff-mmmmfff!!! Lmmm ouu-“
 KRRNCH!!
 With a quick clench of his powerful abdominal muscles, Fraser gave the bird a good squish, snapping a few of his bones, before quickly relaxing them and releasing a soft, feather-spitting BRRUP!! Standing up, his heavy belly sloshing and whimpering, the newly-fearsome sheep approached the Inn’s owner, a short, skinny leopard man donning a turban, and caused him to back up against the wall. “I’d like to take his room for the remainder of his stay, seeing as he’s already paid for it, but has found some different accommodations.” The leopard, glad that Magnus was finally gone, gave him the room key and nodded without a word, and Fraser slowly heaved up the stairs, carrying his stomach and clenching it around his meal again, simply as a show of dominance. “You’d better get comfy, spicy. My guts work slow with meat, so it’s gonna be a loooooong night for both of us… but especially you.”
**
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DISPOSAL AHEAD
**
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“Oooh fuuuuuck…”
 Magnus came to, feeling like absolute garbage. The past several hours had passed simultaneously at a sluggish pace and way too fast to keep track of. All he knew was that he had been broken down by a… sheep’s stomach, of all things. But it was ok. He’d weathered the storm, and with his new body, he’d find that ram and slice his belly open. He just needed to get up.
 …He wasn’t moving.
 The phoenix found he was surrounded by complete, pitch-black darkness, and no matter how much he tried to move, he couldn’t even twitch. Everything was warm and snug… it felt like his whole body was wrapped up tightly in a blanket burrito, comfortable, but refusing to let him move on his own. “Nngh, come on! I have to get out of here and kill that - h-hey! Hey!!”
 Magnus was rudely interrupted by a giant hand squeezing his side, sinking into him and fully activating a strange new sense of touch. He could feel… much more now. He was hanging off of something… and he was resting on a pair of soft, cylindrical objects slightly spaced apart… what the hell was going on here? Shouldn’t he be in his room or on the tavern floor?
 …Wait, whenever his essence fled a destroyed body to reform, he felt himself floating away from it… he didn’t have that this time…
 FFFFFFFRRRRTTT!!!!
 PLIP-PLAP!! PLIP! PLIP!!
 Oh, gods… the firebird suddenly knew exactly where he was. It was that ring. That fucking copper ring. It blocked all of his magical powers, keeping him from fighting off the ram or escaping his belly, presumably making him mortal. Except that he hadn’t died… his soul was still alive. Not only had that thing suppressed his powers, it was blocking his reformation abilities, keeping his soul stuck inside the ram. He was now part of this bastard’s fat, fluffy belly, forced to overhear his own body being loudly shit out. It didn’t take long for Magnus to lose his composure, half-squawking and half-screaming. “Oh, no… oh, no, no, no!! H-Hey, wait!! I’m still here!! You have to take the ring off!! T-Take the ring off!!! Let me out!! Help!! Help!!!”
 “Mmmm… gods, I was dying to get that out.” The sheep, unable to hear his unwitting prisoner’s pleas, huffed and moaned in relief as he stood up from his squatting position and peeked inside of his room’s chamberpot. The smelly remains of an entire phoenix were stuffed into that tiny pot, almost spilling out of it. A soft brown mound of manure, peppered with dirty orange feathers and stained bone chunks, and topped with a sad skull. He’d leave the chamber pot there, and some inn worker would come by after he left and empty the contents into some cesspit. Quite a humble grave for such a grand and accomplished hero, or whatever.
 Fraser benefited greatly from his meal, and not just from the boost to his reputation. He’d gained a sizable, squishy potbelly that he thought looked quite attractive, and all of the fiber and calcium in Magnus’s bones had made his wool thick, fluffy and healthy. Thanks to the bird, after months on the road, he finally had a sword of his own. A good-quality one, too, made of steel. Better yet, just after he woke up, someone from the town constabulary dropped by his room with a big stack of gold and a thank-you note. It seemed the folks here really did not like being visited by that phoenix. Fraser figured he could go back to his village in Norfelt and relax for a bit. He had nothing much to prove around here, having slain a phoenix, and the money he was gifted could get him a new set of metal armor from the blacksmith back home.
 And so, the young ram returned to his village, taking a short break from traveling, until wanderlust once again reared its head and commanded him to go out into the world. Over the following decades, the wooly warrior would amass a mighty reputation of his own, easily conquering crooks and monsters with the help of his enchanted ring, and yet never letting the fame and fortune go to his head, like most skilled adventurers. He would carve his name into the books of legend, becoming known as “Fraser the Fat”, after his pudgy paunch. Paunch, which, for whatever reason, never went away, no matter how much the sheep exercised.
 If only he knew…