Bentwhistle the Dragon in A Threat from the Past

by Paul Cude

  Chapter 4: A Ticket to the Ball? Laminium Ball

  Walking from the car to the front door cleared his head of all the doubt and confusion he had about work. Turning the key in the lock felt like a breath of fresh air. Cogs in the machine all suddenly lining up, he realised that it being Friday night could only mean one thing... laminium ball!

  With a renewed energy he sprinted upstairs, swapping his suit for jeans and a T-shirt. Buoyed by knowing that his rumbling stomach, instead of being quelled by a ready meal from the fridge, would have an assortment of delicious treats from the food stalls at the stadium to choose from, he descended the stairs in two giant leaps.

  Pulling shut the curtains in every room of the house before picking up his wallet, keys and phone, he raced into the sitting room and pulled hard on the Galileo thermometer atop the piano. Silently, the light coloured instrument swung out from the corner of the room, revealing a gaping hole through which the top of the Victorian spiral staircase was just visible. Tugging the thermometer again as he sprinted past, winding his way down into the darkness, he'd just reached the floor as the hole in the ceiling closed fully, encasing him in the total pitch black. Needing no help in the dark, he snaked in and around all the obstacles, before reaching up with his left hand, standing in front of what he knew to be the secret exit. Running his hand along the uneven wall, he finally found an innocuous, finger sized hole next to a beam. Thrusting his finger in as far as it would go, the welcoming sound of tiny cogs and gears moving into place, which he always associated with a pleasurable return to the underground world of the dragons... his home, tickled his sensitive ear lobes.

  Sprinting down the stone steps and vaulting the wall at the bottom to land perfectly on the walkway that led to the monorail station, he knew there was no time to lose, so broke into a jog, his keys jangling in the pocket of his light blue jeans as he did so. Moments later he slid to a halt on the shiny marble floor, ignoring the incredible sensation from the aromas of all the delectable food, carried on the breeze throughout the station plaza, despite the protests from his stomach. Getting busier with every second that passed, nervously he scanned the concourse for his friend who'd procured the tickets for the game. Startled as a large hand dropped onto his shoulder, he whirled around, only to end up staring right into his friend's battered, bruised and smiling face.

  "Crikey, you're a bit jumpy aren't you?” teased Tank.

  "Sorry," replied Peter, patting his friend on the back. "Rough week at work. Must be getting to me."

  "It's great to see you, but we need to hurry if we're going to get there in time for me to grab some food before the match starts.”

  Tank let out a raucous laugh, alarming more than a few passing passengers.

  "That's what I love about you Peter. For someone so small, you're always thinking about your belly."

  'It's true' thought Peter. 'I am nearly always thinking about my stomach. Must be the dragon in me.'

  Tank, like Richie, very much mirrored his natural form with his human guise. He was huge, a mountain of a man. Well over six feet tall, with a body packed full of muscle, rugby had certainly been the right choice for him. He had sparkling blue eyes, and what would have been a wild array of floppy blonde hair had it not been cut so short, primarily for the sport he loved. Always clean shaven, his face looked like a cross between Desperate Dan and Action Man, apart from his nose, which looked as though it had taken one too many punches on the rugby pitch, either that, or he'd taken up chasing parked cars.

  The two friends hastily boarded the Burton-upon-Trent bound monorail carriage, where tonight's match was taking place. Nearly two hundred miles away, and at least three hours in a car, the journey below ground was expected to take about twenty five minutes. Taking place beneath England's beautiful Peak District in a huge, purpose built cavern, they both had tickets for the Burton side of the stadium, which would tonight be acting as the home side. Agreeing not at all on the predicted outcome of the match, they argued, much to the other passengers’ amusement, all the way there.

  "Steel will be man of the match, and we'll get through to the Global Cup 4-2," announced Peter excitedly, all the time clutching the shiny silver ticket that his friend had given him.

  "Steel's good, I'll give you that, but I'm pretty sure it'll be Silverbonce that will be man of the match. He's as good as a couple of goals saved, even before they start. We'll win 6-2, mark my words."

  "Six!" exclaimed Peter. "You think we'll get six? Have you been eating butterflies again? How many laminium ball matches have you ever seen where a team scores six? You must be mad."

  "At least we both agree the Warriors will win, and get through to the Global Cup," uttered Tank.

  Peter nodded his agreement as the sleek, silver carriage whizzed them towards their destination, and a night of full on team sport.

  That was how it progressed all the way to the Burton monorail station, lots of friendly banter about the game, all thoughts of anything else forgotten.

  For those of you that don't know what laminium ball is, perhaps I should explain. Since before records began, dragons have been playing this as a sport and sooooo much more.

  Laminium ball is almost the equivalent of football. Groomed for decades, after which only the best are selected and thrust into the limelight of the biggest full on sporting battle on the planet, the players can look forward to league and cup matches coming thick and fast throughout the season, pitching dragon against dragon in unmatched, adrenaline fuelled, jaw dropping action. Constant jeopardy, gut wrenching challenges from fully committed players on both sides, all at eye wateringly high speeds, put the sport on a pedestal like no other to dragons as a whole. If a human somehow managed to watch one of these matches, they'd need to find a whole new definition of the word sport.

  Played in specially designed caverns located across the world, the playing zone in each is two miles long, a quarter of a mile wide and half a mile high, with a river of burning lava running beneath. Embedded in the cavern's walls, about half way up at each end of the two mile long stretch of playing area, are two 'mouths'. In the middle of each 'mouth' sit six stalagmites and six stalactites, joined in the middle, known as the 'teeth'. The game itself can last for up to two hours, unless all six of the 'teeth' are knocked down before then. The winner is declared to be the side that has knocked out the most 'teeth' during the two hour time span. It is incredibly rare for any team to knock all six 'teeth' out, happening on average every decade or so.

  Dragon teams competing against each other consist of four outfielders and one 'mouth guard'. Outfielders are allowed to control the laminium ball with any part of their body, with most preferring, and trained, to use their tail, and are able to dribble, slap, roll, slam, tackle, intercept as well as perform tricks with the ball.

  Once any of the outfielders think they are in range, they can attempt to shoot at the ‘mouth’. The 'mouth guard' can stop the ball hitting the 'teeth' with any part of his body, from the tip of his tail, to the end of his nose.

  As the name suggests, the ball itself is made of laminium, covered in a coat of ionised platinum, making it all but unbreakable and even able to withstand a substantial amount of time submerged beneath the lava foundation. Teams make good use of this by performing dangerous 'flying dives' that start high up in the arena and end up with the player diving into the lava, popping up somewhere near the opposition's 'mouth', making it so outrageously difficult for the 'mouth guard' to defend against. Encased at the centre of the ball, the metal after which the game is named, laminium, is incredibly precious and rare, and is highly valued by dragons because of the magical way it can enhance a dragon's own natural abilities. Boosting their telepathic talents, enhancing their strength, stamina and reaction times, as well as adding power to any mantra cast, these are just a few of the long list of wicked side effects that close proximity to the hard to extract metal, can have. Only found in exceedingly small quantities, usually deep underground in remote and inaccessible ar
eas, it is one of the more valuable things that Cropptech specialise in, hence the reason for dragon infiltration of the company at all levels. Guarding the prized metal, for fear of it being stolen and falling into the wrong hands, has long since been a dragon concern, and to this very day, remains a very high priority for the Council and the king himself. Down to the tiniest amount, dragons have records that span back centuries, covering any laminium mined, traded, or experimented on. Using a whole host of different shell companies, the dragon world, through one channel or another, receives every ounce of laminium that is discovered in the world. A considerable amount is used in their favourite sport, with most of the rest stored safely away. Far in the past, the cherished metal was used to make everyday items, worn to show one's status and power ranking. Jewellery was popular... necklaces, earrings, rings, brooches, all of that, allowing the wearer to not only show off their wealth and any sway they might have, but also magically enhancing their powers, there and then. A double whammy so to speak. Rumours have abounded over the centuries of much bigger and more powerful pieces. Individual items of armour, embossed tome covers, timepieces and even weapons were all reported, at different times, to have been crafted, before being stolen, and then of course lost. Occasionally the odd item or trinket has surfaced, causing a stir in the papers and a frantic bidding war, but these are usually only tiny items of jewellery. With these minuscule mites of metal being coveted so, it's easy to see how the much larger sphere of the precious metal, hidden beneath layers of platinum, would attract so much interest, and heighten the powers of the player on the ball. It can also make it mighty hard for the opposition to wrestle the ball away from the player who has it, making possession key for every team that plays.

  For each team to be easily recognised by the spectators during the match, the players from the two teams are allocated different coloured auras, dished out in the form of a mantra, before the game by the referee. Normally the opposing teams have red and blue mantras, with the referee enveloped in an all green one.

  More than just sport, laminium ball has become a way of life for many dragons, following their heroes in the papers, as well as attending home matches, travelling across the globe in some cases for away games, buying all the merchandise, and emulating the players in everything they do. With so much coverage given over to the teams and matches in the telepathic press, the players themselves are treated very much like gods, or rock stars. Once selected and part of a team, nothing other than a career crushing injury or retirement can remove that dragon from that team's squad. That's why getting selected is so important, it's like tenure... there for life. Only a small percentage of hopefuls are chosen to compete in this male only sport. To be a celebrated laminium ball player sounds perfect, and most would agree that it was, with but one exception, the one sacrifice those players had to make. Under no circumstance were they ever allowed on the surface. So highly valued were they that no risk, however insignificant, could be taken with their safety. Nearly all of them were okay with that; why wouldn't they be? So the decades in which normal adolescent dragons were taught how to transform and maintain human guises, were instead used to learn about flight, fight, character, and teamwork. It was by no means easy, but for those who reached the top, it was a magnificent achievement and the fulfilment of dragonling dreams.

  On their way to Burton to watch the match between the Indigo Warriors (Southern England) and the Crimson Crusaders (Northern England), the two friends were mad keen on laminium ball and huge supporters of the Warriors, having both been brought up in Southern England.

  Each laminium ball player is easily as famous as any sporting figure from the human world above. All receive an amazing amount of daily fan mail, with offers of mating or bonding, endorsement opportunities, or dragons just wanting to be their friends and hang out. Each and every player features heavily in all the telepathic papers: their black and white pictures blazed all across the back pages, everyday, accompanied by rumours and gossip of new mates, new scale colouring, a new home or some exotic new training regime that would change the team's fortune, and the Indigo Warriors were no exception. Legends to their fans, even though they'd won nothing for the past fifty years, underachieving with their current squad for the last ten, the one thing you could be assured of was that there was always HOPE! Each time they played, they always gave everything they'd got. They might lack the talent of the other teams in places, but nearly always made up for it with blood, guts and thunder. Their fans could ask for nothing more.

  The Warriors team consisted of Steel (Captain), Flamer, Cheese, Barf, Silverbonce (Mouth Guard) and Zip (Substitute). Their names were with them forever now, but that hadn't always been the case. Laminium ball players are given new names on turning professional and being picked to represent a team. Chosen by a panel of experienced judges, any number of reasons can be taken into account for a new name, once that player has reached the required standard. The judges will have watched the young players all trying to make the grade, so will be familiar with their personalities, traits and quirks. Once chosen by the judges, that name can never be taken back. Scary for some, a celebration for most, as it represents the culmination of many decades of work.

  Both friends could recite every detail of the Indigo Warriors squad. Steel was aptly named because he had nerves of steel and had proved so many times, never ducking a challenge or tackle, sometimes winding up with the most horrendous injury because of it. Flamer was so called because of his highly powered breath which produced the most extraordinary amount of heat and flame extension... something many of his opponents could attest to. Cheese only ever seemed to eat cheese, and had often claimed that his diet was what gave him the incredible turn of speed whenever he needed it, although some fans of other teams claim he'd been named that because he smelt of cheese. Quirkily, he never seemed to appear in a photograph without a piece of cheese, unless it was during a laminium ball match. The ever so slightly eccentric one of the team, he was incredibly popular with the fans.

  Barf had been named because of his sheer resilience. During the final match to choose which dragons were going to make it as professionals he'd become seriously ill, something incredibly rare for a dragon. A medical opinion suggested he shouldn't have even been at the game, let alone been playing. Against the expert's better judgement, they let him play. Performing poorly by his own high standards for most of the game, he could feel his chances of selection slipping away with every passing second. Determined to give it his all for the remaining few minutes, he produced the tackle of the game, which unfortunately for him took place during a steep power dive towards the lava. Approaching his opponent, the speed and angle of the descent caused his poorly stomach to react violently. Even though he was throwing up with the kind of power not even seen in most human babies, he carried on and made the incredible tackle, moving the ball onto one of his teammates, who went on to score. His team won the match, and he became a professional player. Hence the name... Barf.

  Silverbonce, the Warriors oldest, and most famous player, and their 'mouth guard', had gained his name because of the colouring of his scales. Common for dragons to be named in this way, after either a specialised colouring or a particular pattern, in this case the silver that encircled his skull before flowing halfway down his back, merging seamlessly with the rest of his rather pale green body, was the reason for his given moniker. Having constantly seen off competition for his place, and more recently, calls for his retirement, more often than not he'd saved the team by pulling something from his substantial bag of tricks, gained from the years of experience that made him not only the oldest on the team, but the oldest professional Laminium ball player EVER! If fans of opposing teams across the world had to name and favour one Indigo Warrior, it most certainly would have been him, not just because of how long he'd been going, but because almost certainly he was the most cunning and craftiest dragon ever to have played the game.

  Last but by no means least, was Zip, the squad substitute, whose na
me stemmed from the mottled cream and gold colouring that traversed the length of his belly, so much so that when he was flying, his underneath looked as though it were held together with a giant zip.

  Having suffered a disastrous league season by their standards, the Global Cup represented the only chance for the Warriors to win a trophy. Qualifying would be an achievement of some sort, as they had not done so in their history, having never before reached this far (one round, one match away). They would not, however, underestimate their opponents, the Crimson Crusaders, who would be anything but a pushover, particularly given that they sat second in the league's top tier, and whose form would suggest they were on fire, sometimes quite literally. For the Warriors to get this far and fail to go through would be devastating, not only for Peter and Tank, but the rest of their devoted fans who'd turned out in their tens of thousands to offer their support.

  Exiting the monorail at Burton, the two friends followed the crowd along the walkways that led to the underground stadium. All but carried along in the midst of a throng of other dragons, most of whom displayed something to show off their allegiance to one team or the other, Peter and Tank were bowled over by just how many spectators had turned up to take in the match.

  Rounding a sharp bend, the merging paths began a shallow descent, eventually opening up into a colossal mall, leaving everything that little bit less packed. On either side of the mall, wide burrows had been excavated out of the rock faces, making space for traders to set up their shops, plying their stunning selection of goods to all plodding past. Originally opening up into more space, the further into the mall they got, the more crowded it seemed to get. Yes, there were thousands of dragons, many in their natural form, all heading in the same direction, but there didn't seem more than there had before. And then suddenly the friends spotted the reason why. Smack back down the middle of the mall, a long line of market stalls had been erected to provide even more vendors the opportunity to promote their material. That, combined with all the dragons slowing down on the outside to look at each of the merchant's products, had created a dam in the almost unstoppable river of dragons that wove its way forward towards the many different gates of the stadium. Staying close together and working on the theory that if you can't beat them, join them, the two friends started browsing some of the shops and stalls, ignoring all of those selling Crimson Crusader memorabilia.

  Bustling their way to the front of the crowd, the first stall they came to appeared to be selling mantras. Dodging left and right, desperately trying to look over the shoulder of the gentleman shaped dragon in front of him, hoping to glance the demonstration that was going on, all Peter could really see was the vendor reading something aloud. Wondering just what all the fuss was about, a brilliant bright explosion followed by an ear splitting WHOOSH, abruptly caused him to jump, as a firework shaped like a dragon flew straight up into the air, before exploding with a loud BANG. Bits of bright, fiery exploding dragon rained down and then, completely unexpectedly, formed the words STEEL IS THE BEST in brilliant blue writing, hanging there for a few moments before burning itself out, from one end to the other.

  "Available for every member of the Indigo Warriors team, including Zip!" shouted the owner of the shop, out across the heads of the crowd, no mean feat in the case of some of the dragons. A mad scramble ensued as everyone tried to get to the front to purchase the particularly worded mantra they wanted. Three minutes later, the crowd thinning out, both Peter and Tank emerged relatively happy, having got a mantra each; Peter had the last one for Steel, while Tank had gone for one with Silverbonce's name on it.

  Continuing to browse the stalls and shops at a leisurely pace, on reaching the end they both looked like an advertiser's dream. As well as the mantras, they both sported mammoth floppy blue hats that had 'INDIGOS RULE' written on them, had matching blue rosettes and scarves, as well as a bin sized bucket of multicoloured, flavoured charcoal sticks each.

  A huge food court connected the end of the mail with the multiple entrances of the stadium, where massive queues of dragons tailed back from each tiny ticket booth. Once again Peter's sensitive nostrils were tickled by the overpowering aroma of the sensational food on offer, so much so that the grumbling from his stomach was getting him looks from other dragons over twenty feet away. He cast his eye about like a predatory eagle looking for that solitary fish.

  "Don't tell me you're hungry..." Tank quipped, catching sight of his friend’s eye-popping gaze at all the food on offer.

  "Sorry, I didn't have time for something earlier."

  "Gosh, I'm shocked," replied Tank shaking his head. "Well, I'm going to the seats. I don't want to miss the start."

  "I'll be really quick. Can I get you anything?"

  "No, I'm fine thanks," answered Tank, before turning away and heading towards ticket booth number three.

  After a quick scout around, Peter decided to join the queue for the delicious smelling charcoal and bacon omelettes. Tenth in line, he waited patiently as a booming voice announced over the PA system that the match would start in ten minutes. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a foot kicked him just behind his left knee, causing him to drop to the polished floor. Ignoring the pain, he leapt to his feet, coming face to face with three chuckling youths, all sporting the colours of the Crusaders.

  "Ah, look who it is guys. It's Bentwhistle!" one sneered, as the others burst into laughter.

  "Where are your two girlfriends then... Richie and Twonk?” All three doubled over at this, all clutching their stomachs with mirth.

  Peter closed his eyes, wishing that he was anywhere else but here. The three dragons in front of him were former nursery ring classmates of his and had picked on him throughout his whole time there, when Tank and Richie hadn't been around. He hadn't seen Theobald, Fisher and Casey since graduating, and by the look of things not one of them had matured at all since leaving. The same sense of dread and foreboding rushed through his body, just as it had all those years ago when he was being bullied.

  "So Benty, what have you been up to over the years?" snarled Casey.

  "Sewer cleaner probably," chipped in Fisher.

  "Probably had to work his way up to that," blurted Theobald, punching Peter in the shoulder.

  Peter fought back a grimace, knowing from firsthand experience that he shouldn't show any pain. Although the punch had deliberately looked playful to those all around, Theobald had clearly added more than a little dragon power to it, intending to inflict as much pain as possible in the sneakiest kind of way, in this very public place.

  Forcing a smile to his lips, Peter announced proudly,

  "I'm head of security at Cropptech, actually."

  "The rest of the employees must be monkeys then if that's the case," Casey growled.

  "Perhaps we should see how tough the head of security really is?" suggested Theobald, a menacing look in his eyes.

  Abruptly, Theobald was hoisted three feet into the air by the scruff of his neck. Swiftly turning around, Theobald raised his fists ready to strike until, that is, he was met by the large steely eyes of... Tank.

  "Is there a problem, Tiny?" asked Tank softly.

  Theobald looked to his friends for support but they, like the cowards they naturally were, had backed off some way and were looking distinctly uninterested in getting involved now that Tank had shown up.

  "Umm... errr... I... no problem. Just catching up on old times. Isn't that right Bent... I mean, Peter?"

  Theobald hung in the air like meat on a butcher's hook, gazing submissively across at Peter. The scuffle had, by now, attracted the attention of lots of onlookers, all wondering what was going on and if they needed to intervene.

  In his mind, Peter imagined Tank using his big fists to punch Theobald halfway across the food court, sending him smashing into one of the ticket booths. He knew it was the wrong thing to think, but it did at least give him a momentary sense of satisfaction.

  "It's okay Tank. We were just... catching up," stated Peter, almost r
eluctantly, secretly wanting the bully to hang there indefinitely.

  "Ah... well if that's the case..." Tank said, lowering Theobald gently to the ground.

  Once his feet were firmly on the ground and he was out of Tank's reach, Theobald's expression turned to one of rage, his face turning a fetching shade of scarlet.

  "Nice seeing you both again," he blustered sarcastically, before mouthing the words "I'll get you for this," to Peter, making sure he turned away so that Tank couldn't see. Like a lost dog looking for its owner, he quickly shot off into the crowd in search of his friends, who had mysteriously developed an acute case of spine-turning-to-jelly and had legged it.

  Turning to Peter, Tank asked,

  "You okay?"

  "I'm fine thanks," replied Peter, a little downcast.

  "You know you should stand up to them," Tank whispered, as the two of them shuffled forward in the food queue. "It's all bluster and bravado, as you've just seen. Underneath, they're as scared of you, as you are of them."

  "I know, I know," said Peter. "It's just not that easy. As soon as I saw them my legs turned to jelly and my stomach started doing somersaults, the exact same feelings I used to get when they bullied me in the nursery ring.

  Gently, Tank placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and said,

  "I know it's not easy, I do. But I also know that you have it in you to stand up and be counted."

  "Thanks, that means a lot coming from you," Peter replied, sheepishly. "Just out of interest, how did you know I was in trouble?"

  Tank burst into a great big belly laugh and looked down at Peter, a huge grin chiselled into his face.

  "I didn't know. I just changed my mind about wanting something to eat."

  The two friends chuckled all the way to the front of the queue.

  Having bought an omelette each, the two of them made their way past the ticket booth and then into their seats with mere moments to spare. Tiny crystals in the roof of the stadium dimmed, leaving only the fiery hot, bubbling lava, for illumination. A trumpeted fanfare echoed around the giant cavern, signalling the build-up to the players’ arrival.

  Suddenly, five red blurs and five blue blurs, on exactly the opposite sides of the stadium appeared. The blurs performed a circuit of the lava at speed, flying only a couple of metres above the roiling magma, much to the crowd's delight. The match hadn't even started yet and the crowd were going wild, stomping their feet, clapping their hands, shouting, cheering, blowing rip roaring streams of flame from their mouths, with a few even letting mantas off, just like the ones Peter and Tank had purchased. It was chaos. It was also... intoxicating. The noise, the smell, the atmosphere, all sent shivers up the dragons’ spines. All thoughts of their everyday life forgotten, nothing now existed apart from those dragons about to do battle with each other, all for the chance to go through to the Global Cup proper. Let the action begin.

  As suddenly as they had appeared, the teams stopped and flew up to the middle of the purpose built cavern, hovering there for all to see. Announcing to the crowd that the Crimson Crusaders would be playing in the red aura and the Indigo Warriors in the blue, the commentator wished both teams luck, before signing off.

  A countdown of ten red crystals above each 'mouth' at both ends of the stadium, started to glow, and then individually wink out. As it did so, the crowd began to chant.

  "9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3..."

  The noise was almost unbearable.

  "2... 1..."

  Abruptly the crystals in the ceiling burst back on, illuminating the whole cavern. Out of a hole in the roof shot a glowing silver ball, about the size of a football. Quick as a flash, the dragons were on to it, batting it with their tails, moving faster than the eye could see, the human eye that is. With their enhanced senses, the dragon audience registered every millisecond of action. As the outfielders fought doggedly for possession of the laminium ball, tackling, blocking and dodging as if their lives depended on it, the 'mouth guards' from both teams beat hasty retreats back towards the areas they were tasked to defend.

  The game itself was a scrappy affair; to say it was by no means a classic, was something of an understatement. But the fans loved every second of it, and were constantly on the edge of their seats, given exactly what was at stake. At one point, Barf made an awesome interception from one of the opposition’s outfielders, speeding off towards the 'mouth' the Warriors were attacking, rounding their 'mouth guard', and having a shot at an open 'mouth'. As he did so, Tank and Peter, along with nearly every other Indigo Warrior fan there, stood and willed him to score. Unbelievably, he missed, by some margin. Tank raised his hands to his head in dismay, but as he did so, realised just a little too late that he'd let go of the rest of his omelette. He spent the next few minutes apologising profusely to the nice family sitting in front of him, much to Peter's amusement.

  Silverbonce made some absolutely stunning saves throughout the match, with nearly everybody agreeing, whether at the match, or in the newspapers the next day, that the Warriors would have been heavily defeated without him.

  In the end, the game, scrappy as it was, was decided by one moment of brilliance. Silverbonce slapped the ball out to Steel who was high up, right at the top of the cavern. Bringing the ball beautifully under control, Steel tucked the ball under one arm and dropped down into a steep dive towards the lava, catching everyone, even his own teammates, by surprise, as he was still in his defensive half of the cavern, and way too far out to perform a 'flying dive'. With nobody in range to tackle him, Steel had a free run at the lava, and by the time he hit the surface, he was travelling at an alarming speed. Nobody could believe what they were seeing, all sure that it was some kind of bluff. As the seconds drained away, with Steel still missing, the Crimson Crusaders 'mouth guard' looked at first perplexed, and then worried. Fearing something dreadful had happened beneath the lava, the 'mouth guard' lost his concentration momentarily. In a fiery haze of smoking hot magma, up popped Steel behind the 'mouth guard', letting fly with the ball in one swift move. Striking one of the middle teeth true, the Warriors went in front.

  Supporters from every corner of the stadium went absolutely mad, even most of the Crusader followers. Quick thinking on Peter's part led him to let off his STEEL IS THE BEST mantra, swiftly followed by everyone else that had splashed out on one. The glowing blue words lit up most of the cavern. Nobody had ever seen a goal like it. All of the Crimson Crusaders were dumbstruck. After that, they tried to get back into the match, but unsurprisingly, their confidence was shot, ending up lucky to lose by such a close margin.

  As the final horn trumpeted, Warriors fans celebrated like never before, barely able to believe their team had made it through to the Global Cup for the first time in their history, with a shot at becoming the best on the planet.

  Partying well into the night, most fans chose to celebrate at the stadium's food court and mall. The friends were both glad it was Saturday tomorrow, with both intent on having a lie-in before turning out for their respective hockey and rugby teams in the afternoon.

  Much later, well into the early hours of the following day, Peter and Tank sat giddy with joy on the monorail, heading back to Salisbridge. Surrounded by a mixture of fans coming back from the match and everyday dragons going about their business, they were not only ecstatic at the result, but almost hoarse from all the screaming they'd done.

  "I'll try and get tickets for the first round of the Global Cup," rasped Tank over the noise of the continuing festivities in the carriage.

  "That would be great, but it could be absolutely anywhere on the planet, as not all the qualifiers have been played yet," responded Peter, as the words 'SILVERBONCE FOR KING' came whizzing down the carriage, narrowly missing his floppy hat, casting an eerie blue reflection in the darkened windows of the monorail car. Clearly not all the mantras had been used at the match.

  Pulling into Salisbridge station at exactly 4.12am, Peter came to the conclusion that even with his supposed lie-in, he still wo
uldn't get very much sleep. Parting, sleepy eyed, the two went their separate ways, each knowing they would see the other later on in the day at the sports club. Ten minutes later, Peter was tucked up in bed, dreaming of Steel's audacious move and wishing that he could perform something amazing like that on the hockey pitch, later on that day.