Young Writers Society

Fruity split from the group first, eyeing the wide variety of vegan dishes shoved into the corner. Big Slick immediately forgot about her job and grabbed the nearest dish — a slightly burnt cockatrice broth — before slurping it all down. Tank sighed before he moved on to the back table filled with an assortment of small hand foods.
A family of three elves stood frozen as Tank walked over to the first open basket of breadsticks. He ripped off the corner of tablecloth before tying the ends together to form a makeshift bag. He mindlessly tossed the breadsticks in one by one before the cloth filled up.
“What are you doing, Mr. Dragon?” an elven boy asked innocently. His parents quickly covered the boy’s mouth while Tank ripped off another section of the tablecloth.
“Getting food,” Tank answered, moving onto the next plate filled with small dumplings. He tossed them in mindlessly. “Got to make sure to have enough for a while.”
“But won’t it rot?” the child asked, managing to speak as his parents fumbled for his mouth.
“That… I didn’t think about that before,” Tank murmured. He thought about it briefly, confirming that, yes, most of the food would rot in the next few days if they brought it all back. He shook his head, trying to get that thought out of his head and finish wrapping the dumplings. He paused as his eyes laid upon the boy’s outstretched plate. Tank pointed to the one yellowish brown food taking up most of it. “What’s that?”
“That,” the boy said, pointing to the tub right next to him. Tank peeked into the pile of brown wedges piled up mostly at the back. Hesitantly, he grabbed one with his fore-talon and held it up to his nose.
Tank, who had, for the better part of three years, never eaten anything other than goat, was bombarded by a kaleidoscope of smells. Was it fruity? He couldn’t tell. Nutty? Still, he didn’t know. What he could tell, however, was that it smelt entirely unlike goat entrails. The smell wafted around his head as it ensnared him into a light daze. The moment Tank finally awoke from his food fever dream was when he dropped the wedge into his mouth.
For a minute, Tank silently chewed on the wedge before swallowing it. Then, he grabbed another wedge from the tub and placed it on his forked tongue without a moment of hesitance. Then he grabbed another. Then another. Then, he scooped up a chunk of the pile. Finally, he took the tub itself and poured everything it had down his throat.
This strange foreign delicacy felt like solid ambrosia as Tank voraciously chewed and swallowed each chunk he had in his cheeks. It was at some times crunchy, then sometimes chewy. He hummed in glee as he tasted each little flake of the lightly salted substance. He savoured each bit he could; each completely un-goatlike bit. It took him only a few seconds to finally swallow everything, but to him, it felt like an eternity.
“What is this?” Tank asked excitedly, jerking his head towards the elf family.
“Potato wedges!” the mother squealed.
“Potato wedges…” Tank whispered. He looked for a member of staff, grinning as one stepped in from the staff room. “Hey! Get here!”
“R-right away!” the dwarven waiter, who had unknowingly walked towards a fire dragon, exclaimed as he ran up to the table. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he stood at Tank’s beck and call.
“Get me more of these…potato wedges,” Tank ordered, pointing towards the empty tub. The waiter questioned the dragon’s demand before taking the tub and walking back into the kitchen. Tank grinned before remembering about Fruity’s orders. He collected himself before ripping off a third part of the tablecloth and turning it into another makeshift bag.
The elven family exchanged glances with each other before looking at the dragon as it scooped fries into its bag. They put their plates on the table before they slowly stepped back.
“Hey,” Tank spoke up, frightening the boy’s parents. The dragon pointed towards a gooey yellow triangle on the mother’s plate. “What’s that.”
“Uh...p-pizza,” the other mother whimpered.
“Pipizza, huh?” Tank muttered to himself. Something about the strange yellow triangle looked appetizing to him. Even more so than the potato wedges he had scarfed down before. He looked over the rest of the table’s dishes. “I don’t see any Pipizza here. Where did you get it?”
“O-over there,” the other mother whimpered again, pointing to a counter in the corner of the serving area. Tank, with a sparkle in his eyes, bowed his head before walking away, leaving the sacks of breadsticks, dumplings, and fries behind. The boy grabbed a few dumplings before his mothers pulled him away and ran out of the restaurant.
Tank walked across the serving area, passing by Fruity stuffing the entire fruit table into one large sack. He stopped in front of the counter, where an array of cooked goods laid in rows for anyone to pick up. Tank briefly scanned through the items, unable to find the pizza he was looking for.
“Hello? Is there any pipizza here?” Tank asked, looking behind the counter to an open kitchen. Everyone who had been previously cooking before had tried to escape once word of the three dragons had reached their ears. The only one currently inside was Marco, who blissfully chopping lettuce unaware of the dragon looking at him. “Hey! Poofy head! Why is there no pipizza here?”
“Has the pizza finished?” Marco asked. He didn’t break eye contact from his work as he dutifully pushed the minced garlic and laid another few cloves onto his chopping board. “It always runs out quickly. We have another one in the oven, if you’re willing to wait.”
“Fine,” Tank muttered, laying his head on the counter. “Just tell me when you’re done.”
“If you want, there should be a plate of baby roc legs,” Marco noted. Tank looked over the spread in front of him before taking the plate filled with crispy brown chicken legs. He knew he had to save most of

the food he had to collect, but he couldn’t help himself as he scarfed the plate down in one fell swoop. The crispy meatiness of the baked roc legs gave him a fuzzy nostalgic feeling before the rumbling of his stomach made him realize what he had done. Marco simply chuckled before returning to his chopping. “Sounds like you were really hungry.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve had bird,” Tank admitted, licking his lips while simultaneously shaking his head in regret. “Though, it seems to be missing a little something…”
“Really? I thought I got that batch right. I even made sure to peel off the skin.”
“Why did you peel it off? That’s the best part!”
“If you cook it for too long, then it releases a horrid odor. I don’t know how anyone could stomach it.”
“It’s the feathers that stink! Don’t you pluck them completely?”
“Baby rocs don’t have feathers!”
“They do! They just haven’t grown yet!”
“O-oh,” Marco stuttered. As he brought the knife down, he missed the onions, nipping his finger in the process. He winced. Tank watched, amused by the chef’s ineptitude.
“Are you really a monster chef?” Tank asked. “You don’t exactly seem to be the type of person to go out with a sword and slay a monster yourself.”
“Heh, I get that a lot,” Marco sighed. “But no, despite my physique and reliance on others to hunt the ingredients, I am a professional monster chef.”
“Why are you, then?” Tank asked, laying his head on the counter. “What’s the point of declaring yourself to be a monster chef if you can only do half of the job?”
“The reason, my dear customer, is because you and I have different standards of what it means to be a monster chef,” Marco stated. “You may see it as someone who is able to effectively kill and cook a monster, and that is certainly the standard. However, I see it as someone who is able to take a monster, one of the many dangers of everyday life, and turn it into a delicious meal for someone to enjoy.”
Marco took a break from the onions he had been chopping and walked over to the brick oven in the corner of the kitchen. He grabbed the wooden peel off the rack before facing the oven with a grin on his freckled face.
“Look around you, friend!” Marco exclaimed as he excitedly jabbed the peel inside the oven. “Each dish in this restaurant has a bit of monster in it! The veggies are grown on the back of world turtles! The meats are hunted in this very forest! Even the dough for the bread is taken from wild breadmancers! A piece of monster lies in every dish I serve, and you cannot say that they aren’t delicious!”
With a swing, Marco pulled the peel from the oven, tossing the freshly baked pizza onto an awaiting pizza tray laying in front of Tank. Marco tossed the wooden tool away before pirouetting, eyes closed, towards the counter.
“That, dear customer, is what makes me a monster chef. Bon appetite,” Marco said, ending with a flourish. He bowed his head before cracking one eye open. Once he saw he had been talking to a one-ton green fire-breathing dragon, Marco froze solid.
Tank eyed the pizza with a skeptical look. It looked very appetizing; both his eyes, nose, and slobbering mouth agreed. However, he knew he should save it and bring it back with him. He couldn’t look Fruity or Big Slick in their eyes if they knew he had eaten something so good looking, despite the fact they did so in front of him on a regular basis. Eventually, his hunger got the best of him, and Tank dove into the pizza, gobbling it down with a voracious passion.
“This…is amazing!” Tank exclaimed, his eyes sparkling from delight. “It’s so chewy, but the underside is all crunchy, and the things on top are sweet, and, and… I don’t know how to describe it!”
“I-is that so…” Marco said, falling back into his delusion. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to splash some water on my face. Again.”
As Marco turned to leave, something began to awaken inside of Tank. Some hidden, childish desire that had been suppressed suddenly sparked for the first time in years. The last moment he could remember was when he had plucked the feathers off the roc, not because he was hungry, but because he wanted to eat something delicious.
“Hey, wait up for a second,” Tank called out, climbing over the counter and into the kitchen. Marco froze up once more before turning to face the dragon.
“W-what can I help you w-with, sir?” Marco asked, losing the same bravado he had earlier.
“How do you become a monster chef?” Tank asked excitedly. Marco was taken aback by the question, so it took a while before he could properly convey an answer.
“W-well, you usually have to go to m-magic college and take c-cooking as a major,” Marco began.
“Is there any way of doing it faster?” Tank asked.
“I g-guess it’s possible to become a chef by just h-hunting monsters and cooking them yourself.”
“I would still need some place where I can cook though. You know, like this restaurant of yours…”
“Y-yeah, I guess you would.”
“Hey, Mr…uh…”
“Marco.”
“Marco, yes. Do you mind if I ask something from you?”
“N-not at all? What can this h-humble chef give to you?”
“Your restaurant.”
“I-I’m sorry, what?” Marco asked as Tank grabbed the monster chef with one claw and leaped over the counter. The two charged through the restaurant, knocking chair, table, and patron alike, before skidding to a halt in the middle of the building.
Many of the guests, wary of the monsters to begin with, paused as they saw the green dragon holding the chef in one hand. They ducked to the ground in fear as Tank let out a mighty roar, shaking the restaurant to its very foundation.
“Listen up, everyone!” Tank roared, stamping his other three feet on the ground while holding Marco with his fourth. “I’m the new owner of this restaurant, and I want everyone in it to scram!”

“This is what happens when I leave you alone,” Fruity sighed as he continued to poke the black dragon laying in the middle of the serving area. Plates and bowls of food surrounded the two of them. Big Slick let out a deep belch before patting her stomach, causing their few watchers to quickly scatter. “You were supposed to collect the food.”
“I did. In my belly,” Big Slick chuckled.
“You know, this is why I trust Tank more than I do you,” Fruity muttered as he laid the bag of food he had taken beside him. Big Slick reached for it only to be slapped away by a frigid claw.
“Please. Tanky’s just as inclined to food as I am. He’s probably already stirring up a fuss,” Big Slick muttered.
“You mean the same Tank that’s eaten goat for the last three years?” Fruity asked. “I’m pretty sure he’s doing an infinitely better job than you.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Big Slick sighed before a wizard flew past the two, her robe blazing in a red hot inferno. She landed a few feet away before frantically trying to pat out the flames. Fruity and Big Slick looked from where she came from, where Tank was going wild and spraying fire against an entire party mobilized against him. “Told ya.”
“Oh, what has that idiot gotten himself into,” Fruity muttered. He quickly dashed towards his green friend, leaving the bag of food behind. Big Slick reached for it, before feeling the same frigid claw from before dragging her away with him.
“Unhand Chef Marco!” a warrior clad in steel armour shouted before he was blown away by an exploding fireball at his feet.
“Only if he gives me his restaurant!” Tank roared, spewing a cloud of flaming gas towards the group in front of him. “Only with his verbal approval will I stop!”
“He’s bloody out!” a rogue in a green tunic cried out, gesturing towards the unconscious from fright chef in Tank’s claw. “How do you expect to get his verbal approval?”
“I don’t know!” Tank admitted, before slapping the rogue away with his tail. “I’ll just wait for him to get back up. In the meantime, get out of my eventual restaurant!”
“Some of us are trying!” a dwarf crowed, using a table to block the incoming fiery breath. “You just didn’t give us a chance to leave!”
“Well, I’m sorry then!” Tank yelled, pausing his flame spewing. “Let’s take a quick breather. If you want to leave, then do so now.”
Many of the adventurers that had been hiding behind tables and chairs peeked from their cover to see the waiting fire dragon. Without any delay, most of them quickly packed their things and departed from the restaurant. Very few stayed, and most only did so as their boss was still stuck in the dragon’s grasp. They still took the moment to grab a few refillable drinks before returning to their battle.
“Tank, what are you doing?” a very angry looking Fruity asked as he pulled Big Slick behind him. The black dragon waved. Tank waved back. “And why do you have the chef in your hand?”
“I’m trying to take over this restaurant,” Tank explained.
“What?” Fruity questioned.
“Because I want to be a monster chef, and a monster chef needs a place to cook.”
“A monster chef?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Fruity shook his head once before looking back at the completely serious Tank. “Please, Tank. Explain to me why the hell you want to become a monster chef.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t understand,” Tank said, shaking his own head.
“I know. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Something has sparked within me, Fruity. Something I had long forgotten.”
“Is this about the goat? I’m sorry we make you eat it,” Fruity apologized. “Look, we’ll give you a portion of whatever we hunt from now on, okay?”
“Oh, this has gone past goat now, my dear friend,” Tank said, waving Marco towards Fruity.
“Please put down Chef Marco,” Fruity asked.
“But then I lose my bargaining chip,” Tank argued.
“Is there any way I can convince you to give this up?”
“Fine. One way. Give me once chance, and if I can’t convince you to help me, then I’ll go back with you.”
“Alright. I’m not going to accept anyways.”
Tank clapped his claws in delight, accidently hitting Marco. He paced back and forth for a moment before turning back to his friend, a glint in his eye.
“Tell me, my dearest companion. Do you remember the years gone by, when were just young’uns-“
“Your old timey voice isn’t helping your case.”
“I know. I thought it’d be good, but after hearing it, I see my folly. Anyways, remember when had just met. I was roasting a wyvern Eimriantag had shot down, and then you came by, on the brink of starvation, arm in arm with the dragon right next to you.”
“Well, yeah. It’s where we met each other. How could I forget it?”
“Then you remember the wyvern, right? How crispy and juicy its leg was. How tender its spine was. You practically scarfed down the most out us all.”
“I don’t remember it like that, but go on.”
“I roasted that wyvern with the same passion as I have right now. The same passion that’s pushing me to become a monster chef. If you help me, I can make as many delicious and memorable meals like the one that brought us together.”
“That…is a tempting offer. Unfortunately, we’re just going to create more problems by staying here than just going back. I’m going to have to say no, Tank. That was your one and only chance.”
“Hm? Oh, Fruity, that wasn’t my attempt to convince you. This next thing is going to be my attempt.”
“What are you talking about?” Fruity asked as Tank pointed next to him. He turned to see Big Slick, standing upright with an open, watering mouth.
“Well, you’ve convinced me!” Big Slick exclaimed as she walked over to Tank’s side. Fruity watched silently as he was unknowingly betrayed by the other dragon that hadn’t followed his orders.
“Fruity, here’s my offer.” Tank grinned, only squeezing Marco even further. “If you help me become a monster chef, then Big Slick here won’t pound you into the ground. What do you say?”
“You drive a hard bargain,”

“You can’t be serious,” Fruity gasped, looking between his two friends. “Big Slick, you aren’t going to betray our friendship just for a bit of food, are you?”
“Yeah, Tank. This seems a bit excessive,” Big Slick said with growing concern.
“I’ll give you some top quality meat if you do,” Tank offered.
“Meat…” Big Slick whispered, as though she were in prayer. She stood on her hind legs before pounding her right fist into her left claw. “I’m sorry that this is how we part ways, but I don’t regret it.”
Fruity just stood in wait as Big Slick slowly approached him. He looked at Tank, speaking through his grit teeth. “I didn’t know you were such a cunning bastard, Tank.”
“You know, there’s a very easy way out of this,” Tank reminded.
With no other option besides being pulverized into the ground, Fruity hung his head in defeat. “Fine. You win. I’ll help you take over this restaurant.”
“I knew you’d see it my way,” Tank hummed in glee as he spun around once.
“No, I was threatened into it,” Fruity muttered. “That’s why I’m only going to help you reluctantly.”
“Still better than nothing,” Tank said, grinning. He stood in front of the crowd of adventurers still on break, cleared his throat, and made an announcement. “Are you guys fine with picking up where we left off?”
The crowd of adventurers looked between each other. Many were heavily battered and burnt by the fire dragon, and could only last for a couple of minutes at most. Despite that, there wasn’t much else they could do to prepare, as there was no healer around to treat their wounds. With reluctance, many nodded while pulling away the most injured of their comrades.
“Perfect! Oh, and, uh, a few late comers. Here we have Fruity and Big Slick,” Tank said, gesturing to the two dragons behind him. Some of the adventurers greeted them with respect, albeit in a cacophonous discord. “They’re going to be on my side of the fight.”
As soon as Tank had said that, Big Slick jumped ahead and crashed into the nearest table wall, knocking away the few warriors huddled behind it. The adventurers, who had barely kept up with Tank, realized they couldn’t handle a second, let alone a third.
The following few minutes were a massacre as the three dragons cut their way through the crowd of adventurers. Tank and Fruity let out twin cones of fire and ice, taking out the flanks, while Big Slick, with her monumental strength, pushed past the iron-covered warriors and swiped away at the group’s artillery.
The adventurer’s efforts were valiant; they communicated effectively, had good composition and formations, and even tried to keep damage to the restaurant to a minimum. The warriors risked their lives trying to lure Big Slick away from their artillery, and the mages strained their magical skill to their breaking point just to keep the fire and ice dragons at bay. Many of the rogues and archers used their quick wits and mobility to help escort any injured off the premises, limiting casualty deaths to an extent. For such a randomly put together group, they acted as one, trying their best to take down even one of the dragons. Perhaps, if they weren’t up against the pinnacles of monsters, then maybe they could have stood a fighting chance.
During the middle of the chaos, Marco stirred back up, wondering why he was being pulled this way and that. As he opened his eyes, the first thing that entered his vision was the underside of Tank’s jaw. He let out a girly scream, trying to pry himself out of the green dragon’s grip.
“Oh hey, you’re awake!” Tank exclaimed, craning his neck towards the chef. Marco froze up once again as he was left face to face with the dragon for the third time. “Hey. Hey! Don’t sleep again! We’re in the middle of something here!”
“W-w-what is it?” Marco stuttered, feeling the grip of the claw around him tighten up.
“Well, you didn’t answer before, so we ended up in a little mess as a result of it,” Tank explained.
“What k-k-kind of m-mess?”
“Oh, just a second.” Tank paused his conversation with Marco to let loose a mouthful of molten slag onto a few barbarians chopping away at his side. He winced a little in pain, but thanks to his scales, the wound was only skin deep. “Sorry, I’m back. See, I wanted your restaurant, but you fell unconscious before you answered. So, I started a hostile takeover without you.”
“Hostile takeover?” Marco asked in astonishment. The green dragon couldn’t mean that, right? His doubt was subsequently addressed as a paladin charged up to the two and started to swing her massive great sword at Tank’s tail.
“You’ll never take the restaurant!” the paladin shouted before being swatted away like a bug. Marco fully realized what was happening as the black dragon Tank had come in with charged past the two, a few of the bodyguards Marco had hired in its mouth.
“Please! Stop this!” Marco begged. He would have gotten on his hands and knees if he wasn’t currently being held up a couple of feet in the air. “I’ll do anything! Please, just let my patrons go!”
“Even giving me your restaurant?” Tank asked.
“Especially giving you my restaurant!” Marco exclaimed in confirmation.
“Great! Everyone, pause for a moment!” Tank yelled. The adventurers and Fruity paused their battle as they turned to face Tank. Big Slick ignored him, instead digging her way through an unfortunate armoured fighter. Many assumed him to be a lost cause, and decided to leave the two alone. Tank cleared his throat, belching out a bit of fire as a result, before addressing the crowd. “Chef Marco has agreed to my terms and conditions. Now, the restaurant is mine!”
“Seriously?” one of the rogues asked Marco. “We’re fighting for you!”
“I don’t want to see any more bloodshed,” Marco began, tears welling up in his eyes. “You’re all just my customers, yet your risking lives. No restaurant in the world is worth more than what you guys have done for me today. Just leave. It’s only a building. I can do without it just fine.”
“Chef Marco,” some of the adventurers gasped, moved by his words.
“Yeah, yeah, now scram,” Tank ordered, pushing away two nearby warriors. The adventurers departed from the building, taking a few last glances back at Marco. The chef reassured a couple of his bodyguards that their paychecks would come in at the end of the week. They promptly left afterwards. After a few minutes, the place had become completely empty, save for Marco, the three dragons, and the warrior Big Slick had torn into pieces.
“Can you, uh, let me down now?” Marco asked Tank.
“Oh, sure,” Tank said, dropping the chef onto the ground. Marco crawled back onto his feet as he beheld the damages done to the Wild Boar Buffet. The flames Tank had spit had started to burn away the north wall of the building, while Fruity’s ice had done irreparable damage to the foundations. Tables and chairs had been destroyed, the dining rooms had become unrecognizable, and even the few fancy statues Marco had commissioned had been ruined. The restaurant had become a disaster.
“You guys tore it down. You really did it,” Marco said, falling to his feet and almost laughing in pain. “Damn you! Damn you all to hell!”
“Monsters don’t go to hell. You should know that,” Big Slick said, overhearing the chef while using the warrior’s arm guard as a toothpick. “Yo, Tank. Cook something up, would you? That’s what a monster chef would do, right?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” Tank said, walking towards the kitchen. His two friends followed him, leaving Marco to wallow in sadness alone inside of his ruined livelihood.

Standing on top of a makeshift wooden stage surrounded by several empty log seats was a creature. There wasn’t much else you could describe him as. His skin was pitch black, his body vaguely humanoid save for the lack of a head, and his face, plastered onto his torso, grinned madly and spitted out a vague sonnet as his body contorted in various ways before striking one final pose. He looked over the logs one by one, feeling a sense of sadness at every empty seat, until he laid his eyes upon a scruffy old man who clapped twice before muttering to himself.
“Your friend’s not here?” the creature known as Jordan Gamey asked, relaxing his body and sitting cross-legged onto his stage.
“Nah, he OD’d a couple o’ days ago. At least it’s a better way to go than getting your head bitten off,” the old man coughed, before raising a pipe filled with a mysterious and quite illegal plant. He puffed a few smokes before falling backwards from his seat onto the grass behind him.
Jordan sighed before rolling backwards back onto his feet. He jumped off the stage and began to leave, dragging his feet on the way out of the clearing the makeshift theater was built in. Another almost complete no-show. Jordan would’ve been more disappointed if this wasn’t a reoccurring trend. Ever since he had become an interpretive dancer, he never had more than a couple of people watch him at once. His record was about ten people, and that was only because a group of necromancers just happened to have been performing a ritual during his first live show.
The demon pushed his way through the foliage, tracing the steps he had always taken back to his favourite restaurant, the Wild Boar Buffet. While it wasn’t the best, Jordan always had a nostalgic feeling as he bit into one of Chef Marco Dublais’ meals. He would go there everyday after a failed showing and enjoy a piping hot meal.
As he finally pushed his way into the Wild Boar Buffet’s clearing, he saw the short building in a perfect condition. Usually there would be a couple of troublemakers or who came to deface the property, but they didn’t seem to have come. On that note, Jordan noted how there didn’t seem to be anyone around. No horses or carriages parked by the side, and no sign of anyone in the window. He thought it must’ve been a slow day, at least, until he pushed the doors open and walked inside.
Once he had entered the foyer, Jordan stood agape at the destruction the building had gone through. Most of the walls were crumbling, broken, or completely frozen, the tables and decorations were knocked over or destroyed, and the center area had the look of a battlefield. The fact that the front wall hadn’t accrued any damage was a miracle in it of itself.
Suddenly, Jordan could hear three voice, bickering with each other in the kitchen. The demon crouched down and sneaked to the counter, peeking above with wild curiosity.
“Cook the damn meat, Tank!” Big Slick shouted, shoving a leg of meat in the green dragon’s face. “You said you were going to make good food, so make it!”
“If you aren’t able to do this, then why did you even take over this restaurant?” Fruity asked.
“You’re not supposed to roast Green-Winged Wyvern outright!” Tank shouted back, pushing the leg of meat away. “You need to kill the wyvern and leave it in a pool of water overnight! Only then can you cook it!”
While Jordan was curious on why the restaurant was in ruins and three dragons bickered in the kitchen, he was even more intrigued on how a dragon could know about cooking Green-Winged Wyvern. One of the characteristics of that specific breed was its inhumanely horrible taste. Another characteristic was how its blood, when mixed with water, acted as a marinade, removing most of its horrible taste and leaving somewhat delicious meat. The process was long, and thus most monsters wouldn’t even bother. The fact that a dragon knew about it, despite not knowing why it happened, meant he had tried to find ways to make it delicious.
As Jordan leaned in for a closer look, he could feel his shoulders being pulled back suddenly. He turned around to see the worried face of Marco, holding a finger to his lips and signalling him to move back a bit.
“Marco! What the hell is happening?” Jordan whispered, following the monster chef a few feet back from the counter.
“Oh, Jordan. I’m sorry you had to see the restaurant in this shape, especially after you had helped me renovate it before,” Marco whispered, almost crying at one point. “It’s a bit difficult to explain. To put it simply, I lost the Wild Boar Buffet.”
“Lost it? To who?”
“The green dragon. The one in the kitchen right now with his friends. They forced me to give it to them.”
“But, why would a dragon want your restaurant?”
“He said he wanted to become a monster chef, and that he needed my restaurant to become one.”
A monster chef. The title weighed heavily on Jordan’s shoulders, even before wondering why a dragon would want to become one. “Let’s not mind that for now. Why are you still here?”
“I can’t just abandon the restaurant,” Marco whispered. “Plus, I may have been hired as a sous chef.”
“A sous chef. For a dragon.” Jordan could only sigh as Marco nodded. “Marco, my boy, I don’t know whether you’re cocky, or an idiot.”
“Oh, very much an idiot, sir,” Marco said, before suddenly shivering in fear. Jordan questioned what he was shivering from, until he turned around to see a green dragon’s head poking out of the counter window and staring at him.
“Hey, Marco. Who’s your friend?” Tank asked, cocking his head.
“Bleh! This tastes horrible!” Big Slick cried. Tank, with an annoyed expression, looked back into the kitchen.
“I told you I had to leave it in water!” Tank yelled, before coming back to Jordan. “So, yeah. Who are you?”

“Uh, Tank. This is Jordan Gamey. He’s helped me build the restaurant when I started,” Marco said, gesturing towards Jordan. The demon, sensing no hostility from the dragon, stood up and peered into the kitchen. Everything, from the wooden tables, brick stove, utensil cabinet, and even freezer had been completely wrecked, with slight touches hinting to the dragons’ involvement. Thrashed planks, burnt edges, and even a massive hole where a blue dragon walked in, sour expression on its face and leg of wyvern in hand.
“Oi, Tank,” Fruity muttered, wiping his mouth. “The wyvern tastes horrible. What gives?”
“I just went through this. You have to leave it in water overnight,” Tank muttered.
“Tank, was it?” Jordan asked. Tank nodded. “How do you know about marination?”
“Mari… What?” Tank asked, drawing a blank.
“While I wouldn’t personally use wyvern blood as the marinade due to health concerns, it’s still quite effective at flavouring the meat,” Jordan said, surprising Marco, who had believed him to be a simple starving artist. “But, it takes a whole night before you can even begin to grill it. How do you, a monster, know about this? Wouldn’t you just skip it?”
“Hmm? That’s a bit of a question, isn’t it?” Tank asked. Jordan remained still, despite Marco’s quivering. “Well, we’re sort of in a depression. No food for anyone, everyone fighting for scraps, law of the jungle or what have you. You got to take what you can get, right? Wyvern usually tastes bad, but there’s a butt load of them flying around, so I just tried a bunch of things until it tasted good. You know, roasting it until it tasted good. I lucked out, actually, when I dropped one in the local water source and found it the next day completely eaten.”
“Oh. Well, okay then,” Jordan sighed. He believed for a moment that this dragon that took over a restaurant was anything more than a dragon looking for a food source. “Well, Marco. I believe I should go.”
“Ah, wait,” Tank said. “You wanted food, right? I have something I want you to try.”
The dragon went back into the kitchen before rummaging around underneath the counter. A moment later, he came back, holding a pot in his jaw. He laid it onto the counter before gesturing for the demon to try. While Jordan wasn’t so keen as to try some mysterious substance, he was still hungry, and if it wasn’t going to cost anything, his lunch money could be used for rent.
Reluctantly, Jordan stepped up to the pot, before taking off its lid and revealing a bunch of cooked meat chunks. He sniffed it. “Chevon…”
“Well, try some,” Tank said, waiting expectantly. Jordan eyed the dragon before looking back to the pot. Did he really want him to try this meat?
Jordan looked around for a fork and knife, before realizing that there most likely wasn’t any sanitary utensils left in the battered restaurant. With one shadowy claw, he scooped up a handful of meat chunks and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed it hesitantly, expecting it to be horribly raw or horribly burnt.
To Jordan’s surprise, however, it was fine. Well, as fine as non-spiced meat was. It lacked flavouring and tasted rather plain, but there was no denying that it was cooked to utmost perfection. Looking into a large chunk he had bitten; the meat was thoroughly well done. It didn’t seem to have any bones either. It was, for the most part, an amateur’s perfect meat.
“So, do you like it?” Tank asked.
“It’s alright,” Jordan answered, not wanting to praise the dragon for its ability to use a stove. “Somewhat plain. Would help if you added some flavouring. The Redwood peppers Marco usually uses would be a good choice-”
Marco paused to the sound of Tank scratching his talon onto the countertop as though he was writing something down. He paused and looked up, gesturing for Jordan to continue.
“Uh, well, marinating it could be useful as well. I know one that’d be good for chevon…” Jordan paused, peering back into the kitchen. What once looked like a ruined kitchen now appeared to be a very messy chalkboard. Each scratch, which before seemed to be out of rage, now looked like the lettering Tank was writing in. “Say, Tank. You’ve made an awful number of notes.”
“Hm? Oh, yeah. I hate eating goat meat, but I want to make sure I know how to cook it properly. I want to give Fruity and Big Slick the best meal they’re going to eat. They only eat the raw stuff.”
“You…actually want to improve your cooking?” Jordan questioned. “I wasn’t under the impression that monsters were picky eaters.”
“I guess it’s a bit odd. Fruity and Big Slick always chide me about it,” Tank chuckled.
“We really do,” Big Slick said, popping her head out of the counter and surprising Jordan. Fruity pulled her back in.
“But I still want to improve. I want to make something tasty I can give to them, you know?” Tank said, flashing the demon a grin.
“Is that so…” Jordan said, looking away. It had been a while since he had seen a smile that genuine about cooking. He was wrong. Tank was more than a simple monster.
“Tank, I believe you’ve been holding up Jordan for a bit,” Marco piped up. He laid a hand on Jordan before addressing the dragon. He was going to get the demon out before he got roped in like he did. “See, he’s very busy being a…was it an interpretive dancer? I think he has to go and plan his next recital-”
“Look, let me give it to you straight. The taste of chevon is different to other meats,” Jordan said, shrugging off Marco’s arm. “You need to learn how to cook other meats if you want to cook them.”
“Ah, that’s a bit of a problem,” Tank said, scratching his chin. “Fruity and Big Slick ate most of the meat. We only have goat meat left, and none of us can eat it.”
Jordan peered into the kitchen once again, staring at the busted freezer door. Apparently the other two dragons weren’t as keen on cooking as their friend. He sighed. “I guess we have to hunt some, then.”
“Jordan?” Marco asked. “Are you alright?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m perfectly fine,” Jordan muttered. He turned to Tank, gesturing behind him. “You wanted to be a monster chef, right? It’s not all about cooking. You also have to know how to get your ingredients.”

“Are you alright, Jordan? Do you need anything?” Marco asked Jordan as he led the timid chef and three monstrous dragons through the thicker area of the Duraham woods. Despite being perfectly capable, Marco relentlessly asked him every few minutes whether he was alright or not. To be fair, Jordan hadn’t exactly told Marco about his former occupation.
“I’m fine, Marco. Just keep on the lookout for anything edible,” Jordan repeated for the umpteenth time. “And that goes the same for you three dragons.”
“This is pointless,” Fruity muttered, trailing behind several feet from the rest of the group. On his back were a couple of pots and a few small ingredients Jordan had packed from the kitchen. “I can’t smell any meat for miles.”
“Meat isn’t the only edible thing in these woods,” Jordan reminded.
“Yeah, but meat’s usually tastier,” Big Slick argued.
“Then you haven’t been fed by a proper chef. Do you have anything on your radar, Tank?”
“Uh, I don’t think so,” Tank said, sniffing the air. “Besides whatever you put on Fruity’s back, there’s just this weird rotting smell.”
“Weird rotting smell?”
“Yeah. Sort of rotting, but it’s sweet as well.”
“For Demon God’s sake, tell me earlier!” Jordan shouted. “Where is it coming from?”
“It’s…uh…” Tank paused before sniffing the air again, eventually pointing starboard. Jordan nodded before taking the lead once again, moving in the direction Tank had indicated. He held up a finger to his lips, gesturing for the others to be quiet as they tiptoed through a bush of rooster berries. As soon as they passed through, the rotting smell only intensified as they left the sweet smell behind.
As soon as Jordan reached a clearing, he signalled for the others behind him to stop. He pushed a thicket of leaves away, letting them see into the clearing.
Standing next to a rooster berry bush was a large chicken-like monster. Its deep green skin lacked any feathers, instead wearing a coat of shelf fungus around its chest and legs. A snakelike appendage wiggled out of its tail. It wore a large mushroom cap as a hat, covering everything but a yellow beak.
“J-Jordan?” Marco asked timidly. “Wh-what is that thing?”
“A Cockatrice of the Woods. Woodcock for short,” Jordan chuckled. “They smell like a rotting carcass, so they’ll usually hide amongst rooster berries to hide their scent. It was lucky that Tank picked it up.”
“Aw, thanks,” Tank grinned. The Woodcock jerked its head towards the five after hearing their muffled voices. The group froze in response. After a few minutes of staring, the monster finally turned away, pecking at the bush for some food. The group let out a collective sigh.
“So, we’re going to hunt that?” Fruity whispered.
“I was originally thinking we just pick some mushrooms. Hunting that is a much better idea,” Jordan grinned.
“So, should I just rip it into pieces?” Big Slick asked, revealing her set of razor-sharp claws.
“That…is not a good idea,” Jordan muttered. “If you try attacking it, you’ll get sprayed with a concentrated dose of spores. It stings like hell for both you and it. Ideally, you want to sever its head before it does anything else.”
“Mace, then. Got it!” Big Slick shouted as she leaped out of the bush the five were hiding the in. She landed right next to the Woodcock, causing it to jump in surprise. It attempted to turn towards the dragon, but unfortunately it was grabbed by the neck before it could. Big Slick swung it around like a mace, roaring as she cracked the Woodcock’s neck in every way possible. She grabbed it with her other hand before twisting, ripping the head off the body. A stream of greenish blood poured from its severed neck like a fountain, raining on the black dragon as she roared again in triumph.
“Wow, you got it,” Fruity said excitedly a she and Tank joined their friend. Jordan stood in place for a moment, trying to register what had happened. He turned to Marco, who was completely frozen solid from fear. He noticed a small stain on his crotch, only growing bigger every second. Jordan decided to disregard it as he stepped out of the bush.
“You couldn’t have done that more violently?” Jordan asked as Big Slick dropped the Woodcock’s body in front of him.
“I probably could have,” Big Slick said as she tossed the severed Woodcock head into her mouth. She believed that it would taste like a regular cockatrice. Instead, she was met with an absolutely revolting taste, as though she bit into a rotting corpse.
“Yeah, don’t eat that. You’re essentially eating a rotting corpse,” Jordan commented. Big Slick spit out the slightly chewed head before trying to eat as many rooster berries as she could to take care of the horrid aftertaste.
“I thought you said we were going to eat this thing,” Fruity said. “I don’t think that I would want to eat a rotting corpse.”
“We’re not eating it, specifically. We’re eating the mushrooms,” Jordan explained, crouching down to the corpse. He stretched out one of his claws as he began to cut off the mushrooms jutting out of the Woodcock, being careful as to not rip any. Fruity and Big Slick grew bored of it quickly and went back to Marco to play with the frozen chef. Tank, however, was fully invested in the process. He even tried to cut off a mushroom himself, though it ended up ripping halfway through.
After several minutes, Jordan had stripped the carcass of all its fungi. He piled them together before ordering Tank to light a few branches on fire. Although he didn’t know exactly why, he did so anyways, grabbing a couple of large branches off a nearby tree and lighting their tips into flaming torches. Jordan, in the meanwhile, pulled the pots and ingredients off Fruity, laying them down next to the pile of mushrooms.
Jordan opened one of the pots, filled with water. He dumped the mushrooms inside, cleaning them with his inky black claws before taking another water filled pot and shoving the torches in. He repeated the process a couple of times until the water began to boil. He opened two jars, one filled with salt and one with vinegar, and poured them into the boiling pot. Tank could only watch as Jordan continued his methodical process, occasionally rubbing his brow from the heat of the torches.
After dumping out the water from the first pot, Jordan poured the brine he had just made over the pot of mushrooms, leaving just a bit of air on the top. He poured the rest of the brine over the Woodcock carcass. Sealing the pot with a lid and a few ropes, he stuck a few of the remaining torches next to them, asking Tank to replace any if they burnt out.
Several quiet minutes passed. Marco had regained movement but had chosen to stay in the bush on account of his soiled pants. Fruity and Big Slick grew bored of poking the chef once he was conscious and had started to munch on a couple of rooster berries. Neither were eager to eat fruit, though. Tank obediently kept watch over the torches, making sure each was alight. He would occasionally look at Jordan, who sat by the carcass. His expression reflected deep regret, one the simpleminded fire dragon couldn’t understand very well.
“I think it’ll be fine,” Jordan said suddenly, drawing the attention of the other four.
“What, time to eat?” Fruity asked. “Because I’ve been waiting since we left.”
“No. It’ll take about a day for the mushrooms to finish, and that’s because I’m rushing it,” Jordan said. “The Woodcock’s carcass is fine, though. It’ll regenerate in time for next season. It took a bit of time to confirm, but it’s definitely fine.”
“Regenerate?” Big Slick questioned. “I tore its bloody head off! And then ate it!”
“Well, you technically tore off a mushroom,” Jordan commented. “Woodcocks are just dead Cockatrices that have been taken over by a type of mushroom. If there’s still some fungi left on the carcass, it’ll grow into another Woodcock in a year’s time, one with a head.”
“So, you took all this time just to see if something will grow back in a year?” Fruity asked, questioning Jordan’s mindset. “We’ve wasted all this time for something we probably won’t even eat again?”
“That’s the difference between a monster and a monster chef, Fruit Dragon,” Jordan argued. “Nature is delicate. One wrong step, and you’ve wiped out an ecosystem. You must make sure that if you’re taking something, you can ensure it can be replaced. A couple of opportunistic eaters like yourselves wouldn’t understand. Hell, your wrong steps probably lead to your depression in the first place.”
“Why you…” Fruity muttered before Tank stepped in front of the ice dragon.
“Let’s just ignore this for now,” Tank offered, acting as a peacemaker between the two. “Sure, it took a long time for us to check, but if we’re around till next year, we can eat something delicious again! It will be delicious, right?”
“It’ll taste amazing. I can guarantee that,” Jordan said with confidence, contrasting heavily against his wearied demeanor. “Let’s go back for now. Tank, you carry the mushrooms. Leave the other stuff. We won’t need it.”
“Gotcha!” Tank said, before running and picking up the sealed pot with his teeth. Fruity gazed at Jordan before huffing and turning back the way they came. Both he and Big Slick left through the hole they made in the bush, with Tank galloping behind them. As Jordan gathered himself, Marco poked his head out of the bush.
“Are you alright?” Marco repeated. Jordan sighed, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little emotional, but I’m fine,” Jordan chuckled.
“You know, I didn’t know you were a monster chef,” Marco said, trying to make a little small talk. “Just the way you harvested the mushrooms and even pickled them in the middle of the woods! I would guess you were a master chef by how skillfully you-”
“I’m not a monster chef,” Jordan muttered.
“-did it… What?” Marco asked. “But those moves were definitely from a top-ranked chef. Even I wouldn’t have thought to check if the Woodcock would regenerate next harvest. Did you quit, then?”
“I’m never was a monster chef,” Jordan repeated, glaring at the amateur chef. Marco, under the demon’s gaze, froze up once more as a chill ran down his spine. “Let’s just head back. I’m sure those dragons already forgot how to get back.”
“A-a-ah, yes. You’re probably right,” Marco stuttered. “I’ll let you go on ahead. I don’t want you to see me in my, erm, sorry state.”
Jordan didn’t have to push any further to understand what he meant. He waved the chef goodbye as he walked past him. He never was a monster chef, that Jordan understood to be true. He could never be one anyways. Nevertheless, it took some time to convince himself of this fact once again as he slowly marched his way back to the ruined restaurant.

“How long are you going to take?” Big Slick groaned as she rolled around the still-destroyed restaurant’s floor. Fruity rolled after her, equally hungry and tired after the group’s little excursion. Tank and Marco waited by the counter, eyes locked on the back of Jordan as he worked around the kitchen, preparing the wyvern meat left over, the mushrooms they had picked a day ago, and a few other ingredients that evaded the dragons’ wrath.
“Just wait a minute, god damn it,” Jordan muttered, throwing a couple of bones he had removed from the wyvern through the counter window and out of the kitchen. “Go chew on that for a moment, okay?”
With nothing else for sustenance, the two dragons lapped at the bones, trying to suck whatever meat was stuck to it. Tank, while tempted to follow, continued to stare at each of Jordan’s little movements, making tiny scratches into the wall.
After a few minutes of waiting, Jordan finally came out of the kitchen pushing a trolley. Laid atop of it were four dishes filled with a mixture of brown roasted wyvern and the cooked Woodcock mushrooms, topped with a few veggies the dragons avoided. He pushed it into the middle of the group. Fruity and Big Slick jumped up, watching the meals as their mouths slobbered. Tank also seemed to leak spit from his mouth. Marco managed to keep his to a single trail of drool. Just as the dragons were about to pounce, Jordan stepped in front of them, claw outstretched.
“Not another damn step!” Jordan yelled. It was the first time the calm chef had raised his voice, and it had its effect. Somehow, the dragons seemed to be stuck in place for a moment, intimidated by the relatively tiny chef. Marco, on the other hand, was frozen from sudden fear. Taking a couple of mushrooms off the first plate, Jordan placed them in his mouth. He crunched and chewed them a bit, seemingly analyzing the taste of them before he swallowed. He took the rest of the plate off, taking a bite of the wyvern this time. “Yeah, it’s good. I’m done. Have fun.”
As soon as Jordan stepped out of the way, Fruity and Tank launched themselves at the trolley, knocking it and all the food on it. Despite ruining the presentation, the two fervently vacuumed up the rest of the dish, finding delight in its rich, chewy texture and flavourful taste. Tank, unable to help himself, jumped in as well, moaning as meat and mushroom slid down his throat.
“A-ah, is that okay?” Marco asked, snapping out of his petrified state as Jordan tapped his shoulder. “It seems like a waste to see the food you made all on the floor.”
“It’s fine,” Jordan muttered. “Not like I was going to eat it anyways. Here.”
Jordan thrusted his barely-eaten plate into Marco’s hands. The amateur chef looked over the dish before taking mouthful of the mushrooms, taking his time chewing as the taste overwhelmed him for a brief moment. “This...is really good! Are you sure you’re not a-”
“I’m not a damn monster chef,” Jordan repeated. He felt like he constantly had to repeat himself around Marco.
“But you cooked this meal out of monsters for us,” Marco argued, gesturing to his plate.
“I didn’t cook it for you,” Jordan said. “I cooked it for myself. I never cook for anyone else.”
Marco pointed towards the overturned cart of food being voraciously devoured by the three dragons. Jordan sighed.
“I just cooked too much. Those are just leftovers,” Jordan explained, albeit somewhat loosely. “If I gave it away, I'm not eating another bite of it.”
“That just sounds like a lousy loophole!” Marco exclaimed, unable to resist taking another bite of mushrooms as he chided the not-a-monster-chef monster chef. “You cooked something with monster ingredients, and only monster ingredients. That makes you a monster chef!”
“So does that mean I'm a monster chef?” Tank asked, joining in on the conversation suddenly.
“Well, no. You didn't really cook something, but rather just roasted some meat.”
“Oh… Hey!” Tank exclaimed, initially disappointed but then angry at Big Slick for trying to eat the food under him.
“If I were a monster chef, I would've fed myself to a horde of Gunglerats a when ago,” Jordan muttered, before noting the confused look on Marco's face. “If you feed a Gunglerat a demonic corpse, it starts to swell up. You can boil it after, and let me tell you, it tastes divine.”
“See, there it is again!” Marco exclaimed, pointing at the demon. “You have knowledge on monsters and how to cook them. A lot of the professors and magic college couldn't even recite half the knowledge you have. What kind of standard are you trying to hold yourself up to?”
“An impossible one,” Jordan muttered as he shuffled away from the amateur chef. His answer, while a hint in the right direction, seemed to be shrouded in mystery and impossible to follow up on. He decided to leave it there as he watched Jordan slump over a little as he stopped in front of the green dragon.
“Jordan. This tastes amazing!” Tank gushed as he Slurpee up the last of his section of the food pile. Jordan wondered why he didn't try to eat more, only to notice the turf war between Fruity and Big Slick over the layer of wyvern and mushroom.
“It does taste good, doesn't it?” Jordan muttered. “You know, it took awhile to make it. The mushrooms could taste a lot better if I had left it for several days. The meats a bit too rushed as well. The choice of seasoning took a while to decide as well.”
“What are you on about?” Tank asked, not seeing where Jordan was going.
“What I'm saying is, it took a hell of a long time to make this dish. This one is one of the shorter ones to prepare normally as well. Being a monster chef means making the most out of a monster, even if it takes weeks or even months to come to fruition,” Jordan explained. “Look, Tank. You're a monster. Monsters don't have the highest attention spans, especially one required for this kind of field. Unless you have the utmost passion for cooking, you're never going to become a monster chef. Tell me, do you still want to become one?”
“That's kind of a heavy question to ask outright, isn't it?” Tank asked.
“Just answer the damn question.”
Tank paused for a brief moment as he mulled over Jordan's words. They definitely seemed loaded against him. Yet, even after thinking through a second, third, and fourth time (mostly due to losing his train of thought halfway through), he still came to the same answer.
“I want to be a monster chef,” Tank answered resolutely. “I want to make food that tastes good for my friends. If it'll take long, then I'll just have to make something that was worth the wait.”
Jordan looked over Tank's completely serious face before bursting out in laughter. “That's the most cliché line I've ever heard!”
“But it's true!”
“Of course it is. Of course,” Jordan repeated, getting the last few chuckles out of his system before adopting a grin. “Fine. I'll help you become a proper, professional monster chef.”
“Really?”
“Don't get all mushy on me. I'm going to put you through-” Jordan was immediately cut off as Tank ignored his first words and rubbed his head against the demon's head in delight. Jordan tried his best not to kick him away, and was lucky enough the dragon pulled away just before he was about to.
“So, when do we start?”
“Eh, tomorrow. I need to get a couple of things set up, and I don't want to try doing that while your friends are fighting.” Jordan pointed towards the corner of the room, where Fruity and Big Slick were wrestling over the last piece of mushroom the two had left. “We'll start at noon. Go cut some wood right now. We need a lot of it for what we're going to do.”
Tank nodded his head, scratching a few notes into the floor as a reminder. Jordan only sighed once more before he turned to leave. As he approached the entrance to the restaurant, he stepped out of the way of a falling chunk of wall. “Maybe we should start renovations as well.”