The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship

by John P. Logsdon

  “But—”

  “No buts, Gungren.” He spun to face Heliok. “You should be ashamed of yourself pinning a quest like this on someone such as Gungren. He hasn’t got enough magical control to manage such a thing.”

  “Even with his Master along for the ride?” Heliok challenged.

  “That’d be different, certainly, but will the use of my magic be allowed in the completion of his Fate Quest?”

  “Hmmm... no, it would not.”

  “No, it would not,” Whizzfiddle repeated. “And so there you have it.” He threw his hands up in the air and laughed. “Heliok, you might as well have set Gungren up to fight in the upcoming Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship instead. At least then he’d have a chance.”

  The glowing of Heliok’s eyes increased to the point where Whizzfiddle thought certain the Fate’s head was going to explode. This wasn’t because Heliok was angry; on the contrary, he looked quite pleased.

  “That is a brilliant suggestion, Whizzfiddle,” the Fate said while clapping. “I shall set it up immediately!”

  “No, wait, I—” was all Whizzfiddle could get out before Heliok disappeared. “What have I done?”

  Gungren patted him on the arm. “I think you made it worse.”

  Planning a Wager

  Teggins sat in his dark office, leaning back in his brown leather chair. The chair had been specially made to handle a man of his size. He was big, burly, and exceedingly strong. To the typical outsider, he just looked fat. That had worked to Teggins’s advantage many times over the years.

  He was spinning his latest prize around in his fingers. The Diamond of Jaloof. It was a large diamond that was nearly flawless. Teggins didn’t care about the way it looked, though. Its value was all that mattered to him, and it was worth a pretty penny. He had plans for that diamond. Plans that would make him even wealthier than he already was.

  Ah, money.

  There was just something about it that made Teggins feel all warm inside. He’d often wondered if maybe he had dragon blood coursing through his veins. But that was silly considering that he was clearly human.

  Just as the clock struck the top of the hour, Teggins’s newly appointed right-hand man, Stillwell, walked in.

  Stillwell was a weak man, small and lanky, with a pointed nose and chin. He wore glasses, a button-up shirt with a bowtie, and had neatly cropped hair. The guy used to be an accountant, but ever since he made a bad gamble—using funds borrowed from Teggins—his dreams and aspirations didn’t matter anymore. Stillwell was now Teggins’ property, and since he was such a weak-minded fool, Teggins had no problem giving him special duties.

  Being a crime boss did have its privileges, after all.

  Following Stillwell was Krag the Destroyer. His real name was Krag Jones, but he was a fighter, and so he’d earned a stage name that was much more impressive. Krag was a mean ogre. This meant that he’d kill you just for giving him the wrong look. But Teggins wasn’t afraid of Krag, and the ogre knew it. In fact, whenever the greenish, musclebound grunt was around Teggins, he showed an amazing amount of restraint.

  “I have a job for you, Stillwell,” Teggins said, motioning for the little fellow to have a seat.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You’re gonna get Krag here into the UDFC 100 tournament and I’m gonna put a bet on him to win it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Stillwell looked instantly uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat. “Sir?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I heard last night on the news that all of the fighters have already been selected for the tournament.”

  Teggins tilted his head. “So?”

  “So,” Stillwell replied with a look of confusion, “Mr. Krag was not on that list, sir.”

  One of the problems with new initiates to the mob was that they thought things worked like they did in the regular world. When you wanted something done out there, you were often hemmed in by the rules of society. But when the mob wanted something, they just took it.

  “What’s your point?” asked Teggins as he leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk.

  “That it’s too late to get Mr. Krag into the event, sir.”

  Teggins nodded slowly.

  “I would agree that it’s too late for some folks, Stillwell, but we’re a resourceful bunch. We live by the sword in order to get things done, you know?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And when one of my underlings is incapable of accomplishing something I desire, they die by the sword.” He trained his eyes on Stillwell’s. “Am I making myself clear?”

  Stillwell gulped. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He leaned back again and eyed the Diamond of Jaloof. It would make for the perfect wager. “Do whatever you have to do to get it done, Stillwell. And do note that I don’t take well to failure.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “You may move along, Stillwell,” said Teggins, waving the man away, “and send in Lucille on your way out.”

  Stillwell scampered from the room like a mouse who was under the watchful eye of a hungry cat.

  Teggins wanted to sigh at the man’s weakness, but he understood that everyone had their place in his organization. He needed peons to do the grunt work just as he needed goons to do the dirty work. It was the nature of running a kingdom, even one that wasn’t officially recognized by the state.

  The wizard named Lucille walked in a few moments later. She had reddish hair that was in the shape of a bird’s nest, meaning it was roundish with pieces of hair sticking out in various directions. There were a few bald patches mixed in as well, which made sense seeing that Lucille’s power source came from pulling out her own hair.

  This thought made Teggins grimace. Magic users made him uneasy. His was a world of technology, and magic didn’t quite fit with that. But, again, everyone had a use, and as long as Lucille did his bidding, he didn’t care what she was.

  “Lucille,” he said, gesturing at the mean ogre, “my man Krag here claims that he will have no difficulties defeating Crazell in the ring.”

  Lucille’s blue eyes went wide at that comment.

  “The dragon?”

  “Indeed.”

  She studied Krag for a few moments, walking around him and poking at his muscles.

  “Hmmm,” she said finally. “Will he have an army with him?”

  “I can do it,” Krag replied in a dark voice. “I kill dragon. I kill anything.”

  “Right,” Lucille said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

  Krag’s eyebrows fused. “I kill you.”

  “Cute,” she replied.

  With a level of speed that demonstrated years of practice, she yanked out a clump of hair, said “YOU-GO-OUT-NOW” and flicked her wand at him.

  Krag fell over with a thud.

  “Real tough guy you’ve got there,” Lucille said while rubbing the newly added bald spot on her head.

  “You may want to save your hair, Lucille. I’m going to need you to make sure that Krag will defeat Crazell.”

  She looked up at him as though he were insane.

  “That’s a tall order, Teggins.”

  “Have you ever known me to desire any other kind?” he asked.

  “Not often.” She grunted a moment later. “Fine. How long have I got and what’s in it for me?”

  “Not long and a satchel full of gold.” He held up a finger. “If he wins.”

  “I love your preciseness, Teggins.”

  “Thank you.”

  The Jeweled Life

  Crazell was a dragon who had everything a dragon could ask for in life.

  Almost.

  She was wealthy beyond the level of fathomability, she had a wonderful cave, and she was tall, powerful, and her red scales marked her as being fierce.

  Unfortunately, she’d amassed all of her wealth by fighting in the Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship. In fact, she was the reigning champion. For nearly 250 years, she held the title. This was good and bad. It was good
because it meant that she was revered and feared throughout the world; it was bad because those who wanted to test their mettle did everything they could to get to her. Her only saving grace in avoiding daily battles was the fact that the UDFC didn’t allow challengers to mess with her. There were the occasional few who got through because they weren’t part of the UDFC, but she was able to quickly snuff them out.

  But now she was looking at competing in the 100th running of the event and that made her groan.

  The big tournament only happened once every ten years.

  There were smaller UDFC bouts a couple times a year, of course. It was how fighters rose up the ranks. But the big event that put the champion’s belt on the line only happened at the ten-year mark.

  This meant that Crazell had defended her title twenty-four consecutive times. If she succeeded in defending it again, that would make her legacy pretty incredible. It would mark her twenty-fifth title defense at the 100th Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship!

  She had to admit that it gave her chills to think of the glory that would bring. But she also had to admit that it would make her life even harder.

  Crazell planned to retire after this event. She’d had enough of the training, the fighting, and the constant attention. She just wanted to stay with her jewels in her cave and live in peace.

  But that would never happen if she left the UDFC, because the moment they took off their protection, she’d be challenged relentlessly. She’d never get a break.

  And so here she was, staring across at the little man who had been her trainer for the last four tournaments. He had her doing wing-ups, rolls, talon grabs, and so on.

  His name was Ricky Schmicky and he came from a long line of Schmickys who were all a part of Dragon Martial Arts (DMA). It was Ricky’s great-great-great-grandmother who had gotten Crazell into the sport in the first place. If only Crazell knew then what she knew now, she would have turned down the offer in a heartbeat. Thinking again of all the jewels she’d amassed made her second-guess that conclusion.

  “You gotta push those wings, Craz,” Ricky was yelling. He was your stereotypical trainer mixed with promotions manager. In other words, he pushed Crazell in the ring and with the public. “The competition this time around is fierce. You’re never going to get by doing the status quo.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to get by,” she said in frustration. “Did you ever think of that?”

  Ricky grabbed his chest dramatically. “Don’t even say such a thing, Craz! If the press caught wind of that attitude, ticket sales would plummet! People want to see you destroy the field just like you did ten years ago at UDFC 99.” He then grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “This is the big 100, baby! Your name will be etched in UDFC lore for all eternity.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “You’re the longest-reigning champ in the history of the sport.” He began to pace, which meant he was about to do their historical rundown. “My father managed you, my grandfather managed you, and so on. Heck, it was my great-great-great-grandmother who originally dragged you out of your cave and set you on the path to stardom.”

  “Ahhhh,” Crazell said wistfully, “my cave.”

  Ricky wagged a finger at her. “Now don’t start that again. You weren’t made for a life of lying on jewels and doing nothing else.”

  “Actually, Ricky,” she corrected him, “I believe that’s precisely why I was made.”

  “Particulars, particulars.” He scratched his brown hair. Then he looked up at her with inspiration in his eyes. “You’ve got a gift, Craz! Yeah, that’s it. You’re special. You’re more than other dragons.” His face grew dark. “You’re a beast!”

  She couldn’t help but feel her pulse race when he spoke like this. It was in a dragon’s DNA to be strong, seek power, and lord themselves over lesser races.

  “Well, that’s true, I suppose.”

  “You’d better believe it’s true,” Ricky continued. “What other dragon has ever held the UDFC title as long as you?”

  “No other dragon has, of course.”

  “Exactly, Craz. And can you name a single living dragon who could even hope to challenge you in the ring?”

  She sniffed. “They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “What about an orc, an ogre, or even a knight?”

  “Mere irritants upon my illustrious personage.” Her reply included a flick of a talon.

  “You see, Craz? You’re the cream of the crop, the top of the heap, the pinnacle, the summit…” He paused and put his hands on his hips. “You’re the champ.”

  “Yes,” she replied, feeling somewhat invigorated. “Yes, I am. I am the champ.”

  “That’s right. And you want to stay there, don’t ya?”

  The invigoration died. “I…suppose.”

  “Great, Craz. Now, let’s get back to work.”

  Presenting the Plan

  Heliok appeared back in his office and opened his data pad. He did a bit of research on the UDFC event and his thoughts raced at the numbers the Fates would receive if Gungren won the event.

  He walked out and announced the new quest to those beneath him.

  “The what?” asked Lornkoo.

  “The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship,” Heliok answered.

  “Ah.”

  “Hmmph,” said Corg Sawsblade, who was a dwarf that Misty Trealo had brought along to handle filming and production duties when all of this started. He was bossy, blunt, and very good at his job. Heliok did not like Corg very much because he had a tendency of saying disparaging things about Heliok. “And here I was thinkin’ ye were daft before.”

  “Exactly,” Heliok replied, and then said, “Wait, what’s that?”

  “When I heard ye was after sending Gungren into a den of thieves, I already thought yer wispy brain had lost some wind,” answered Corg. “But now that yer plannin’ to put the wee lad into an arena with orcs, ogres, knights, dwarves, and then a dragon—assumin’ he gets that far, which he won’t. It’s after makin’ me think ye’ve lost yer senses.”

  Heliok put the insults behind him. “You don’t think he’s capable of winning?”

  “Of course he ain’t! He’s not a fighter, he’s a wizard.” Corg pursed his lips as if thinking things through. “Kind of.”

  “Then that’s how he’ll battle.”

  “Aye, that’d give him a chance, at least. But there’s a tiny flaw that ye’ve clearly missed.”

  “What?”

  “There ain’t no casting of magic allowed in the UDFC, ye witless Fate!”

  “So there is magic allowed?”

  “I just said there ain’t!”

  “No, you said, ‘Ain’t no casting of magic allowed,’ which is a double-negative.”

  Corg’s eyes thinned. “Do ye want me to kick ye in the nethers?”

  “Corg is right, of course,” Misty said, as she stood up from her desk and began to move around the office. She had a look on her face of someone who was sensing an angle. “The marketing avenues available to us would be enormous, though.”

  “Yes, see?” Heliok said with his eyebrows raised at Corg.

  “Ye mean it’d be good marketing to watch Gungren gettin’ killed by the flame of a dragon?”

  “No…” Misty paused. “Well, actually, probably yes. But that’s not what I mean. This event only happens once every ten years. There is a ton of fanfare around it. It’s massive in the Underworld, and that’s where we need our numbers.”

  “Go on,” said Corg.

  Misty’s face was slowly morphing from concern to excitement. She’d obviously been seeing things the same way Heliok had. Corg always saw the glass as half-empty, but Misty was more like Heliok…except nowhere near as powerful.

  “Imagine how many people are going to watch the event, Corg,” she started. “Then think about how many people will tune into our Unreal Makeover show in order to see Gungren’s physical change.”

  “Aye, okay.” Corg started to pace, too. Heliok didn�
�t really care if the dwarf was fully onboard with the plan. He’d do it anyway. But having everyone supporting the idea would be a good thing. “So they’ll see him start out squat, with a big head, bulbous body, and horrible teeth, yeah?”

  “Right,” answered Misty.

  “Next they’ll see his choppers are nice and pearly white. All fixed up and such, ‘cause he was after finishin’ up that first quest with the prince.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then they’ll see how his body is all normalish because he helped out that Wiggles guy.”

  Misty was beaming now, which was quite a feat for a dark elf. “Now you’ve got it.”

  “And finally,” Corg said, spinning and putting his hands on his hips, “we’ll show him burned to a crisp because Crazell the dragon ain’t never lost.” He then added, “Oh, and she ain’t likely to be losing to someone the likes of Gungren.”

  Misty’s brightened face fell back to its normal shadow.

  “There’s got to be a chance that Gungren could win,” she said weakly.

  “No, there ain’t, lass. It’s completely impossible.”

  “Just think of how our numbers will shoot through the roof because people will want to see his story anyway.”

  Heliok had no desire to side with the dwarf, but it seemed the fellow was right. The Diamond of Jaloof quest was most likely in Gungren’s future. How unfortunate.

  “Sadly,” admitted Heliok, “I have to agree with Mr. Sawsblade on this. Gungren won’t be fit for the camera after a dragon flames him.”

  “Not only that, he’ll be after bein’ in the Afterlife,” noted Corg.

  “Possibly.” Misty’s face was on the mend again. She glanced at them. “He’ll only be in the Afterlife if you don’t intervene, Heliok.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Let’s say that Gungren loses—”