The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship

by John P. Logsdon

  Eloquen’s face turned wistful. “Albeit gleams of sunbeams ignite prominence and rounded countenance.”

  “Him say he like the outfits, though.”

  “Right,” Whizzfiddle said. “Anyway, what were you saying about the rocks?”

  “I think the fighting am making me want to throw them more.”

  “You have to stay away from that, Gungren.”

  “I know, but it hard.”

  This was one of Whizzfiddle’s greatest concerns. It wasn’t the greatest concern, of course—that would be Gungren being killed in the ring. A close second, though, was that Gungren would not be able to contain the giant living inside of him.

  “Just keep your mind on the task at hand,” he said, trying to lend strength to his apprentice. “You have been doing quite well...incredibly well, in fact.” He thumbed his coin purse. “Honestly, I’ve been considering putting a few gold coins down on your next fight, but I fear that would not be the wisest of moves.”

  “Gambling am not good, Master.”

  Whizzfiddle sighed. “I suppose it isn’t.”

  Barrie and Muriel had returned from the main desk.

  “Your next fight is the semi-finals,” Barrie said with excitement in his eyes. “You’ve got this in the bag. If you get through this guy, you’ll be fighting the dragon!”

  “Okay,” said Gungren without emotion.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Barrie. Then he turned to Whizzfiddle and whispered, “Is he always this calm?”

  “Mostly.”

  “I’ve brought you a jam sandwich, Gungren,” Muriel announced, handing over a package to the little giant. “I do hope you like strawberry?”

  “It are fine. Thanks.”

  “You can’t give him a meal like that before an important fight,” Barrie said reaching for the sandwich. Muriel deftly pulled it away before he could get at it. “He needs to eat raw eggs, woman. That’s what real fighters eat.”

  “Didn’t you used to eat those, Barrie?” she countered with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t recall them helping you very much.”

  “Blasted woman.”

  Confrontation

  Krag was not happy. Of course, he was rarely ever happy, and even when he was happy it usually had to do with the fact that he had recently made someone else decidedly unhappy.

  But this time he had to put his foot down. What was happening was wrong. His fights were being manipulated and Krag wanted it stopped.

  Fighting was his life. He was good at it. Damn it, he was great at it.

  So when Teggins walked in to his private locker room, Krag spoke up.

  “I’m not happy about this and it’s gotta stop,” he said.

  “You’ve won all your fights so far and you’re in the semi-final,” Teggins replied. “What aren’t you happy about again?”

  “Ain’t it obvious?”

  “Not really, Krag. You are incessantly grumpy.”

  Krag knew this, but he didn’t know other people were aware of it. Maybe it was how he growled at people a lot? That probably had something to do with it. He’d once gone to a professional image consultant who had suggested that he work on his smile and also say “please” and “thank you” to people. He beat that guy to a pulp, paid him, smiled in his sinister way, and said, “Thank you.”

  “I’m not insensitively grumpy,” Krag replied.

  “Incessantly, you dope.”

  Krag didn’t like being called names.

  He also didn’t like that Teggins was being uppity with him. Krag usually killed people for being uppity. Many times he’d wanted to punch Teggins in the head for being this way. There was something different about the crime boss, though. Something that gave Krag pause. It was as though Teggins harbored no fear at all regarding the mean ogre.

  “Do you recall the last time you smiled?” asked Teggins.

  “What’s smiling got to do with being happy?”

  “Forget it,” Teggins said, rolling his eyes. Again, with the uppity! “Anyway, what’s got you mad now?”

  “You ain’t letting me fight.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m here to punch and kick and cut and bite,” explained an exasperated Krag. “But every time I get into the ring, my opponent runs away, cries, or shrieks and throws in the towel. I haven’t been able to hit one person yet. Not one!” He was beside himself with frustration. “If I can’t hit ’em, how am I supposed to kill ’em?”

  “I see.” Teggins pinched the bridge of his nose and then cracked his neck from side to side. “You do recall the purpose of your being here, yes?”

  “Kill things,” Krag stated as fact. Then he added a derisive, “Duh.”

  “No,” Teggins countered slowly. “Your purpose, which I shall state yet again, is to win me money.”

  “I can do that by killing stuff, making us both happy.”

  “And if you’re killed instead?”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  It was clear that Teggins was finding this conversation irritating, but so what? Krag was annoyed that he wasn’t being allowed to battle.

  This was his day.

  He had worked hard for this.

  “You gotta admit that there’s at least a chance of it, Krag.”

  “Nope.”

  Teggins gritted his teeth. “So you’re telling me that nobody’s ever gotten the best of you in a fight?”

  “Well, sure, but—”

  “Then that means it can happen again, yeah?” Teggins asked without letting Krag finish his first response.

  Back in Krag’s youth he had lost a couple of fights. One was against a bully who was five years older than him, another came by way of three kids who had jumped him when he wasn’t looking, and the last one was when a girl in his high school class punched him for staring at her thingums.

  “Fine,” Krag said, thinking that Gungren’s thingums would not be appealing to him, “but it’s not likely.”

  “I believe you, Krag,” Teggins said as he cracked open the door. “I do. But the problem is that my pocketbook doesn’t get fat by taking unnecessary risks. It gets filled up by smarts.” He gave Krag an apologetic tilt of his head. “You don’t have smarts. You got fists.”

  “Fists are better than smarts!”

  “I think you’ve just proved my point.”

  Krag thought over what had just happened. “I did?”

  “As far as you know, Krag,” answered Teggins. “Now, is there anything else? I wanna get back to my chair before your next match starts.”

  The ogre wasn’t sure what had just happened. Had he convinced Teggins to let him do his job or did the damn crime boss use words to twist things around like he always did?

  “Does this mean I’m going to be allowed to actually fight and kill?”

  “I’ll make a deal with you, Krag. If you can get to your opponent before the ref stops the fight, you can hit him all you want.”

  Put Everything on Gungren

  Stillwell’s gut was right again and it felt great. All this time he could have been following his heart instead of his head and things would have been different, right?

  “You paid everything back that ya owe, temporary-boss,” Bank said as he looked over the documents again, “including the ten gold interest for today.”

  “Excellent.” He was rubbing his hands together like a naughty scientist. “How much is left to me?”

  Bank looked up at him. “Three hundred gold.”

  Three hundred was a lot of gold. A lot. Rumor had it he could buy a really nice boat with that kind of money.

  But wait. Was that the right move?

  His brain was screaming at him to put it into an account and get himself out of this lifestyle. He was free. There was nothing that Teggins could do about it if he just walked out and called it a day. Nothing.

  His gut told a different story. It whispered to him with visions of wealth that he’d dreamed of since he was young. It spoke to him. It spoke to
him.

  “Put it all on Gungren,” he said, barely over a whisper.

  “But he’s fighting Krag,” Bank replied in a voice that almost sounded caring.

  “So?”

  “So the boss is fixing the…” Bank stopped, clearly realizing what he was about to say.

  Stillwell understood and didn’t fault the man. Bank was just like him, slaving under Teggins. But Stillwell had only been doing it for a short time. Bank had likely been here for years, and he had to know that he was never getting out. For him to try and protect Stillwell when it came to this much money could spell disaster if Teggins ever found out.

  “I mean,” he said softly, “you said you wanted all three hundred on that Gungren guy, right?”

  “That’s right,” Stillwell replied, “and don’t worry, Bank, I know that you’re doing what you have to do. This is my decision, wholly.”

  “You got it, temporary-boss.”

  “Good.”

  He clapped his hands, feeling like a new man. No, he wasn’t tough like Teggins, but that was okay. Stillwell had a different kind of tough, and it was starting to build inside of him. Each win brought him a little closer to it.

  Still, he had to flex his sinisterness some or he feared that his confidence may wane.

  “Now, about these people who owe us money,” he said, putting on his business hat, “I want them to scrub the lower-level bathrooms with their own toothbrushes.”

  “No kiddin’?” Bank replied.

  “I am absolutely serious. How can they be so irresponsible with my money?”

  “Your money?” Bank really looked confused now. “You mean the boss’s money, right?”

  “Oh, yeah, that. That’s what I meant.” Stillwell’s confidence quickly declined. “I was...uh...just getting into character like the boss does.”

  “Ah, I see.” Bank grimaced. “He wouldn’t do nothing like the toothbrush thing, though. That’s even too mean for him.”

  Stillwell’s confidence dipped even lower.

  “Is it? Well, what would you suggest then, Bank?”

  Bank sat up straight, furrowed his brow, and stared at Stillwell. It wasn’t a negative stare. It was more of an are-you-nuts? kind of stare.

  “You want my opinion?” he asked, pointing at himself.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Uh, just ain’t used to it, I guess.”

  Maybe this is what Stillwell needed to do. Could it be that his confidence would come from doing things differently than Teggins? Not that he wanted to take over the joint or anything…though the thought was tempting.

  No, that would be like signing his own death certificate. Gut feelings or not, he wasn’t that dumb.

  Regardless, he could push his own confidence by exercising his management muscles a bit until Teggins returned. No, this wasn’t his place, but it was under his thumb through the night.

  “You’re a valued member of this team, aren’t you, Bank?”

  “I don’t know,” Bank answered. “I sorta get paid, and I do stuff for the money. The boss calls me a dummy a lot. That don’t make me feel very valued.”

  “I’d imagine it doesn’t,” agreed Stillwell. “Well, he’s not here and he left me in charge. And, Bank,” Stillwell said with a nod, “I consider you valued.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” Funny thing was that he actually meant it. Even funnier was that his confidence was on the rise again. “So what is your opinion regarding the punishment for these non-payers?”

  “Well, if it was me, I’d maybe knock each of them on the big toe with a hammer.” He scrunched his face like he was about to get thwacked on the head by a rolled-up newspaper. “Is that a bad idea?”

  “I think it’s a great idea, Bank,” Stillwell said with two taps to the desk. “Let’s go with that.”

  Tainting the Water

  Krag paced back and forth in his room. Something felt very wrong about the meeting that he’d had with Teggins. Very wrong, indeed.

  He knew the crime boss only had one thing on his mind. Teggins wanted to bet his Diamond of Jaloof and collect massive winnings. Krag also knew that his own angst was probably making Teggins consider going a different way.

  A double-cross.

  Krag was no dummy, though. He understood that Lucille was a wizard who was there to do Teggins’ bidding. She would do whatever it took to make sure the crime boss got what he wanted. Plus, Lucille didn’t like Krag. That meant if Teggins did decide to double-cross him, Lucille would happily oblige.

  Just as he finished that thought, a noise sounded outside his room.

  He creeped to the door and peered out. Sure enough, there was Lucille hovering over one of the water jugs. She was chanting something odd and then a flash of light exited her hand and hit the water container. When she stepped away, Krag saw the name “Gungren” on the jug.

  So Teggins was double-crossing him! Lucille was putting special powers into that little giant’s water supply so that he’d be even stronger than he already was.

  It was diabolical, but again, Krag was no dummy.

  As soon as Lucille cleared the area, the mean ogre walked out, changed the name tags on the jugs of water, and—just for good measure—brought the magical one into his room.

  Then he proceeded to drink down a number of gulps.

  And He’s Out!

  Gungren stood on his side of the field as Krag the Destroyer faced him. The mean ogre was staring at him the entire time the announcer was speaking. Gungren assumed this was some kind of intimidation tactic, and it may have worked had it not been for the fact that Krag kept yawning.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said into the microphone, “it’s gonna be a clash!”

  The crowd went wild.

  This ignited Gungren’s inner giant again.

  “In this corner is a mixed martial artist,” said the announcer as he pointed at Krag. “He stands six-feet-eight-inches tall. Weighing in at three hundred and thirty pounds. He has a professional record of thirty-four and o, with twenty-seven of those wins coming by way of death or maiming. He is the Beast from the East. I give you Krag the Destroyer!”

  Again, the crowd showed its appreciation.

  The announcer then spun and pointed at Gungren.

  “And in this corner, we have a wizard apprentice. He stands around four feet tall, weighs in at one hundred and sixty pounds. He has a professional record of two and o, all at today’s event. He’s a former giant and an all-around nice guy. I give you Gungren!”

  The applause was easily ten decibels louder than when Krag was introduced.

  “Your referee for this tournament is Benny Courtman.”

  The cheers died down.

  “All right, come in here,” commanded the referee. Gungren and Krag approached. “Keep it a clean fight. Obey my commands at all times. When I say break, you break.”

  “I can do that,” Krag stated in a menacing voice.

  “I don’t mean breaking bones here, Krag,” the ref pointed out. “I’m talking about breaking contact.”

  “Oh,” Krag said while yawning. “Right.”

  “We keeping you awake?”

  Krag gave Benny a look. “Huh?”

  “Anyway, go to your own corners and wait for me to start the match. If you want to touch gloves, do it now.”

  Gungren smiled and said, “Good luck, Krag the Destroyer.”

  “I…” He yawned again. “I plan to kill you.”

  “Okay,” Gungren replied.

  Teggins didn’t like the looks of things.

  His fighter was facing up against the little giant that wasn’t supposed to have made it this far. This was acceptable because he had Lucille doing his dirty work, but something was amiss.

  “Out of curiosity,” Teggins said, “what did you do to impact Gungren’s ability in this fight?”

  “I cast a sleeping spell on his water.”

  “Do you see him looking tired at all?”

  “
No,” she said with a gulp.

  “Neither do I.” Teggins then slowly moved his pointing finger across the ring until it rested on Krag, who was slumped over in his chair. “Now, let’s take a look at Krag. What would you say he’s doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Well, I mean I do, but it doesn’t make any sense.” She seemed to be pretty heated, which gave Teggins pause. “Contrary to what you may think, Teggins, I’m a professional. The name on Gungren’s jug of water was very clear, and I cast the spell on it and it alone.”

  “Then what would you say to the fact that Krag is yawning and Gungren very clearly isn’t yawning?”

  “I don’t know. Let me get down there and check it out.”

  He snaked out a hand and grabbed her by the shoulder. If she thought she was going to get away, she was mistaken.

  She reached for her hair, and he said, “I’ll snap your neck before you have the first words of the spell out of your mouth.”

  “I got the right jug.”

  “So you say,” Teggins replied with a nod. “But if I lose my money on this, Lucille, it’ll be your butt.”

  “Again, I did not screw up, Teggins.”

  “So you say.”

  “Well, this is the match that we’ve been waiting for,” said Optical, having ordered up a bottle of brandy for himself. This day had just been too odd to continue on sober. “Whoever gets past this one will fight Crazell.”

  “It’s been an interesting day so far,” Homer said, echoing Optical’s thoughts. “Let’s hope that these two really give us a show because up until now it’s been just odd.”

  “It looks like Krag is shaking his head a lot,” Optical said, and then poured another shot.

  “Probably just psyching himself up,” Homer said hopefully. “We see a lot of that in the sport. Of course, we’ve seen many things today that are quite new, so who knows what he’s doing at this point?”

  “True. He just let out a loud growl, so that’s a good sign.” Optical then focused in again. “No, wait, that was a yawn.”