Chapter 8: The Collision

Chapter 8: The Collision

November 2nd, 2024

(Revamped April 20th, 2025)

Tariq came back from Port Said, only to find his house completely destroyed—outside and inside.

He dropped his bags on the floor.

“What. Did. You. Two. Do.”

His tone was full of anger and shock, his eyes wide.

Harith was the first to speak up.

“Look… Tariq, I won’t say ‘I’ll explain.’ I’ll just say there is a—”

Tariq suddenly dashed forward at the speed of sound and grabbed Harith by the neck.

“There’s a what? Don’t leave me hanging like a certain video game character.”

Amina quickly stepped in to protect Harith.

“Tariq! There was a c—”

Tariq dropped Harith and grabbed Amina by the neck.

She began choking.

Harith suddenly yelled,

“A CAKE! A CAKE MONSTER! IT MUST’VE BEEN ONE OF YOUR CREATIONS!”

Tariq then dropped Amina to the floor.

Amina muttered, gasping for breath,

“Jerk…”

Tariq looked confused.

“Wait… a cake monster?”

He glanced around the destroyed house for a moment, until his eyes landed on a broken bowl on the floor.

“…I think I know why now.”

“So… are we—”

“Absolutely not.”

He responded instantly, as if he had been waiting for Harith to ask that.

“One of you will let me use their kitchen for my work.”

“Yeah, Amina’s kitchen is pretty good. She would absolutely love for a chef like you to use her mother’s kitchen.”

“Hey—”

“Shut the hell up. You literally slept and did nothing to help me in the fight.”

Amina:

“I used my Disposition to—”

Harith:

“And that did nothing.”

Tariq spoke up.

“Guys… I have a story to tell you. It’s related to that cake monster you’re talking about.”

Amina:

“Yeah dude, say it—because it isn’t our fault.”

“Last night, when I was baking Harith’s cake… I was trying something out.”

⸻

Flashback Begins.

Tariq stood in darkness, baking another cake for a customer since it was an order.

He was in the dark because, of course, he spent every cent on kitchen appliances and goods—he couldn’t afford the electricity bill.

He continued whisking and mixing the cake batter. He couldn’t really see what he was grabbing. Instead of the blue-colored sugar, he accidentally grabbed a Disposition that he had forgotten to hide.

He added it to the batter and whisked it with glucose syrup.

After finishing the cake, he left it in the oven, ready to deliver two days later.

What actually caused the explosion was the oven detonating. With the help of Torta’s ability to explode things, the blast doubled in impact and force. That’s why Harith saw something like white cream after the explosion had occurred.

⸻

Tariq finished explaining the story and what he believed happened.

“So… it was partially my fault?”

“Not partially. I thought you literally knew how much ingredient I was carrying in grams?”

“Yeah man, Amina’s right. But I managed to defeat that cake monster myself.”

“By the way, Tariq. Harith has something to say to you.”

Amina gave Harith a death glare.

“Y–yeah… Tariq, I have—”

Suddenly, a TV that had fallen to the floor from the explosion lit up. A weak, somewhat urgent voice came through the speakers.

Tariq walked over to check it out.

(Not the time for cooking shows… I have a destroyed house that needs a fortune to be rebuilt.)

He picked up the TV. It was tuned to a breaking news channel. He wasn’t particularly interested in what the broadcaster was saying—until he heard a specific sentence.

Broadcaster:

“And he goes by the name ‘Gateau.’”

Tariq’s attention snapped to the battered TV.

He whispered,

“Gateau… GATEAU?!”

His tone was full of shock.

He listened closely to the rest of the broadcast.

Broadcaster:

“He caused all of this chaos because he is ‘looking for a fun, specific opponent to fight.’”

“The ‘Gateau’ individual is located outside, at the entrance of Al Qantara.”

Tariq dropped the TV and sprinted out of the house without saying another word.

Harith and Amina shouted in unison,

“Wait, where are you going?! What happened?”

But he was already gone—on his way to face whoever this “Gateau” was.

⸻

Tariq hopped into a Tuk Tuk (a mini taxi with no doors, often found in Egypt and India).

He said to the driver,

“Outside of Al Qantara. Now.”

“But sir—”

“Not hearing it, and it isn’t any of your business. Drive me outside of Al Qantara. Now.”

As the Tuk Tuk sped toward the location, people were running in the opposite direction—fleeing in fear and horror from the destruction Gateau had caused.

Tuk Tuk driver:

“This is the furthest I can reach, I—”

Tariq tossed him 5 pounds before dashing off on foot.

As he ran toward the entrance of Al Qantara, screams filled the air. Cars honked. Flames blazed around him.

He finally arrived.

Gateau stood waiting, eyeing Tariq from head to toe.

“Well, well… look who we have here. It’s not good to see you again, Tariq Al Khazna.”

Tariq kept his hands in his pockets. His classic chef’s hat cast a shadow over his eyes.

“Still killing and destroying people for ‘fun’?”

“Guess you haven’t learned yet. I’ll be showing you who the best cook and baker is.”

They both charged at each other.

The moment Tariq’s eyes locked onto the rapidly spinning cannon in Gateau’s arms, he halted in his tracks.

(He’s charging it again… No use rushing in like an idiot. I’ve dealt with that cannon before.)

The whirring sound grew louder—thick, steaming cake mixture began swirling violently within the cannon. The glow from the heated batter illuminated Gateau’s grim face.

“You’re the reason my mom died,” Gateau growled, eyes blazing with rage. “I’ll make sure there’s a special seat for you in hell.”

The cannon let loose.

A searing beam of liquefied cake batter—white with a golden tint—exploded forward. The very air warped from its heat, and whatever it touched began to melt and burn with terrifying intensity.

Tariq didn’t flinch.

In one smooth motion, he stomped the ground, summoning a thin layer of butter beneath his feet. The golden sheen glistened as he slid low, narrowly avoiding the attack. The cannon beam missed by inches and struck the asphalt behind him.

HSSSSSHHHHH!

The street sizzled and hissed, the surface bubbling into a fiery sludge.

“What the hell do you mean I was the reason your mom died?!” Tariq shouted mid-slide, butter trailing behind him like a gliding comet.

Gateau sneered, his voice venomous. “I lost that damned competition because of you. I lost the prize money. I lost… everything.”

He clenched his fists. “And now—I win.”

Foam started to build in Gateau’s mouth, something bubbling dangerously beneath the surface.

But Tariq wasn’t focused on that. His brows furrowed, his tone sharpening.

“You refused the money. I offered all of it to you—even though you were my rival. You said you’d ‘catch up on your mother’s medical bills in no time.’” His voice cracked slightly. “You tried to kill your own little brother—and I saved him. Twice.And you still have the audacity to blame me?”

“DIE!!”

Gateau roared. A high-speed blast of cake mixture burst from his mouth like a beam of molten vengeance.

Tariq dipped into another butter slide, but this one grazed his shoulder—just barely—slicing through fabric and skin alike.

“AGH—!”

He hit the pavement hard. One hand clutched the scorched wound, the other pressed to the ground for stability.

“This thing… still packs a punch…” he muttered through gritted teeth.

(Think, Tariq… what would a good chef do under pressure like this?)

Gateau now stood towering above him, dripping molten batter from every crack in his armor.

“Just give up. All your parlor tricks won’t save you now.”

Tariq grinned through the pain. “You’ve got a terrible memory, Gateau. I thought you would’ve figured it out by now.”

“What are you—”

BOOM!

The ground beneath Gateau erupted. A hidden tin lid exploded upward, launching both combatants skyward.

Tariq soared through the air, now face-to-face with Gateau. He gripped his classic steel spatula, swinging at his enemy’s upper right.

CLANG!

Gateau’s arm, covered in sticky batter armor, blocked the hit. The spatula became embedded, stuck in the gooey mess.

Gateau grinned. “Where’s your other hand, huh, Tariq?”

He launched a punch straight for Tariq’s face—

Only for Tariq’s left fist to rocket upward in a brutal uppercut.

CRACK!

Gateau’s eyes widened as the blow landed. Dazed, he loosened his hold. Tariq snatched back his spatula mid-air with a chef’s finesse.

“What do you think just punched you?” Tariq smirked. “You think I’d be dumb enough to pull out my weapon without a plan?”

They began plummeting.

Gateau feinted a punch.

Tariq flinched, falling for it—just long enough for Gateau to grab him by the neck mid-descent.

“Damn, you thought…”

His hand oozed with molten cake. The batter began eating away at Tariq’s flesh.

Tariq’s eyes winced shut from the pain. (This is it—I’ll have to resort to that trick… the one girls use on creeps.)

“Never thought I’d stoop this low,” he muttered.

He kicked Gateau square in the groin—with a concealed oyster shucker in the sole of his shoe.

“AAARGHH!!”

Every man in a mile radius probably winced.

Gateau loosened his grip, reeling in agony.

Tariq delivered a swift punch to his face, sending him flying backward, trailing burning cream behind.

Tariq pulled out a pan, crouched in a diving pose, and kicked off the pan’s surface to rocket forward.

His fists stretched out in front of him like a superhero mid-flight.

“That’s how the brain triumphs, Gateau! Charging in with brute force won’t get you anywhere—it just makes you look like a meat-headed pastry brute!”

They crashed to the ground. Gateau took the brunt of it. Tariq rolled out of the impact, panting heavily.

But Gateau was far from done.

With a roar, he activated Full Armor Mode—his entire body exploded with energy, molten batter pouring from his joints.

KABOOM!

A golden-orange blast burst outwards, flinging Tariq backward.

He tried to raise his tin lid shield—but too late. The explosion scorched him, ripping his clothes and searing his flesh.

“You…” Gateau’s voice was now guttural, monstrous. “I’ll put you on life support, then watch as I pull the plug with a smile on my face.”

Gateau sprinted toward him, oozing with batter from every seam. The ground melted beneath his feet.

Tariq stumbled up, his breath ragged.

Gateau laughed. “Don’t bother running, Tariq Al Khazna! I will catch you!”

He launched forward, propelling himself with jets of cake batter.

Tariq flipped backward mid-run—not out of necessity, but because it looked cooler.

He landed in a ground-pound pose. Dust exploded around him.

Gateau combined both hands—his ultimate cannon forming. The very air around him melted.

Tariq’s hand hovered over his brown waist pouch.

(Just one last trick…)

“This cannon will erase you.”

FWOOM!

A massive golden-white beam shot forth, vaporizing everything in its path. Cars collapsed. Trees vanished.

Tariq dashed away, throwing large, dry lasagna pieces behind him. The beam reached them—

CRACK—CRACK—CRACK!!

The lasagna broke into floating shards, undisturbed by the heat.

He threw more. And more.

Then stumbled.

The beam grazed the back of his clothes, searing fabric.

Huff… Huff…

“Enough of this.”

Gateau canceled the cannon and slammed Tariq into the ground, a crater forming beneath.

He clutched Tariq’s neck again.

“I’ve waited so long for this… I could melt your head off and play basketball with it. Or erase you in one final shot. You choose.”

Tariq wheezed, his voice faint.

“I choose this.”

“Huh? Wha—”

SHING!!!

Dozens of dark-gold shards erupted from the sky and pierced Gateau’s body. His armor cracked, shattered.

Tariq stood.

“When your cannon melted the lasagna boards… they broke into smaller, sharper pieces. And they cut through armor like it’s fondant. One board does damage. Four? That’s fatal.”

Gateau gasped. He threw one last punch—

Tariq caught it.

“Still with the surprise attacks?”

He twisted Gateau’s arm backward.

“I used to play baseball before cooking.”

WHACK! Tariq slammed the spatula onto Gateau’s head.

“Didn’t follow many rules though.”

He grabbed Gateau’s hair, spun him by the legs, and hurled him sky-high like a ragdoll.

Tariq shielded his eyes with one hand like a sailor on the lookout.

“Still not sure if that move was legal in baseball.”

He smirked.

Character spotlight:

Gateau: A N—not-so-nice person who’ll blame you for things you don’t even know about. He has dark skin and wears a shiny beige outfit, along with a shirt resembling a suit in the same color. His hair is wavy—not the kind you’d see on a chummuck, though. His Disposition is called Keeka, and he’s basically what Torta would be if he were a person—except instead of explosive attacks, his abilities melt everything they touch.