Young Writers Society

A cowled man walked through mountains of gold, his bare feet kicking the coins aside. The torchlight reflected off of them a millionfold, making the lair shine with angry flares.

As he brushed past the mounds, his trailing hand knocked a few coins loose, and they rushed downwards in a cascading jackpot. On cue, the rest of the lair trembled as a great beast arose from her slumber.

It was a black-horned dragon, smaller than most, with unique purple scales that shimmered to burnished blue. She arose from her hoard and stomped forward, every step quaking the coins in her lair. Her eyes were sickly yellow, intelligent, and narrowed furiously in the man’s direction.

“You’ve come for my treasure,” the dragon rumbled, “But your bloodstained armor will make a fine addition to my collection.”

“Devil Dragon Mestra,” the man said, kneeling before her. “At long last, we meet.”

The dragon snorted, hot gusts of wind sweeping the stone floor and furling the man’s cloak. “Enough words. Remove your hood; I’ll savor your terrified expression before I kill you.”

Beneath his hood, the man smiled. “Of course.”

In one deft motion, he pulled the hood and the rest of the cloak off of his body, revealing bright red hair, a devilish grin, and beneath that, nothing else.

“W-what, wait!” The dragon reeled back hurriedly. “Why are you naked?”

“You said to remove my cowl before you killed me, didn’t you?” The man walked closer, driving the beast backwards.

“I’ve changed my mind!” the dragon shouted. “I won’t fight you until you put your clothes on!”

“Then we’re not fighting.” The man sat down cross-legged. “As you can see, I have no weapons. No muscle, either, so you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

“You could be a wizard,” the dragon pointed out.

“I could be a wizard,” the man agreed. “But I don’t have any channels or wards on me. If I tried an incantation, I’d just as easily mispronounce it and die. Besides, my tongue is for persuasion only - verbal or otherwise,” he purred, licking his fingers. “Devil Dragon Mestra, may I call you Mestra?”

“I couldn’t care,” Mestra replied. “What about you? Don’t you have some adventurer title to show off?”

“Official names get in the way, don’t you think?” The man shrugged. “For now, please call me Aidan. I’m not here to fight, but I am here regarding the gold.”

He rearranged himself politely, and slowly began to speak. “Mestra, in your heyday, when you roamed beyond this hoard, you were called the Scourge of Westland. You managed to accrue all of the gold in the kingdom, perhaps on the continent.”

“Your praise avails you nothing,” Mestra said, clearly enjoying the flattery.

Aidan smiled. “If I’m being honest, your tactics were ingenious. So ingenious that, in the end, you turned out to be the biggest idiot of them all.”

Mestra’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

The man had his head down, his eyes conniving as they stared up at her. “You kidnapped princesses, demanding a ransom from their kingdoms. There was, of course, a reason that they were willing to pay.”

Aidan swept his arms outward, gesturing to the gigantic mounds of gold that flooded the dungeon hall. “Every last piece of this gold is worthless!”

“Impossible!” Mestra roared. “It’s pure gold! I checked it myself!”

“Of course it’s pure gold!” Aidan roared back, cackling. “But I’m saying it’s still worthless! Because the world no longer accepts gold as currency! You couldn’t buy an apple with every ounce of this hoard!”

“No,” Mestra stammered, reeling in shock. “That can’t be true! Gold is treasure! It’s the greatest treasure on earth!”

“Idiot.” Aidan tapped the side of his head. “Money only has worth between a buyer and seller. You are neither, so of course you’d be cut off from the world.”

Mestra scowled. “Why should I care about the world?”

“Because that gold, Mestra, is precisely the reason you’ve grown insignificant.” Aidan chuckled. “Haven’t you noticed the lack of adventurers coming to fight you? Raring to be killed by you? Be honest, I’m the first one in years, aren’t I?”

If dragons could blush, Mestra would have. “But surely, the rest of my dungeon would attract-”

“The rest of your dungeon was demolished ages ago,” Aidan said. “You’re now living on the outskirts of Craventown, home of the double-hog haggis.”

Mestra stopped, her jaw dropping. As she stuttered, Aidan picked up a coin, letting the torchlight glint off of it.

“However, that doesn’t mean that your treasure is completely worthless. Quite to the contrary. There is a second reason that your gold is worthless, one that has some very interesting stories behind it.”

He flipped the coin up, letting the reflected light spin throughout the cavern. “Whenever gold is removed from your lair, anyone who possesses it is slowly turned into a dragon, like yourself. It’s a complex curse, one that can’t be undone by simple purification. In other words, it grants an indomitable strength, though it comes at a high mental cost.”

Aidan caught the coin in his fist, smiling coyly. “Let’s just say I’m able to pay that cost. I wish to acquire the power of the devil dragon,” he declared, “and in exchange, I’ll fill your hoard with as much actual money as I can acquire.”

“It looks like you’re the idiot,” Mestra scoffed, shaking her head. “That curse is too potent for you to resist. You’ll become a slavering beast, trying to make your own hoard.”

“It’s true that I can’t effectively counteract the devil dragon,” Aidan admitted. “Which is why I did a bit more research before coming here.

“When you collected the gold from the kingdoms as ransom, you did so through the use of portals to this dungeon, only large enough for offerings. If you could create such a portal for me, I could use the devil dragon’s power as I saw fit, returning the gold when my fight was up. This would also allow a direct conduit for your spoils.”

Mestra shifted herself on her pile and ground her teeth. “It’s...an intricate plan, to be sure. Still, I get the feeling I shouldn’t trust you.”

“Is it the nudity?” asked Aidan. “You know, in some cultures, it symbolizes equality.”

“Honestly, I think it’s more your personality that would make you do that,” Mestra muttered. “I want to know what you expect to gain from this.”

“I can’t give you my hopes and dreams or anything like that,” said Aidan, “but I will tell you what I intend to do with this power. And that is to murder Queen Vyria Macleod.”

“Vyria,” Mestra murmured. “Is that the adventurer that was going to defeat the demon king a while back? So, she became queen?”

Aidan nodded. “And a beloved one, too. Regardless, I’m after her head. So, what do you say, Devil Dragon Mestra?” He leaned forward, placing his hand out in welcome. “Ready to turn the world upside down?”

Mestra stared into his eyes, then snorted, turning away. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t invest in someone willing to throw his own life away.”

Aidan frowned, standing up. “Really? It means I wouldn’t betray you.”

“It means you’d be worthless.” Mestra began to turn away. “Leave this place; take your gold and go berserk. You can kill the queen and die, but I need nothing from a dead man.”

“You’re mistaken,” Aidan snapped. He looked at the dragon with an imperceptible, shaking gaze. “When I murder the queen, I fully expect to survive the attempt. Before I take her head, I will double the size of your hoard, mark my words! That...is the purpose of Aidan.”

The devil dragon looked at him coldly, then spoke four words. “Hold out your hand.”

He did so, and without a word, she raised her claw and pressed it into his palm. Suddenly, Aidan trembled, his blood paling as a white-hot shock crackled inside him. It tore from his body in one burning scream, echoing through the cavern of gold.

------------------

A tall, wicker-limbed woman was standing outside the dungeon entrance, looking inconspicuous while checking for any witnesses to eliminate. Eventually, three patterned knocks came from inside the steel door.

“Were you successful?” she asked, opening the door to let Aidan come stumbling through.

Aidan wiped the sweat from his forehead, grinning. “It went through, however painfully.” He held up his palm to show a twisted insignia burned black into the flesh.

“The devil dragon mark,” the woman noted. “So you’ve become her acolyte?”

“More like an offering box, actually. I’ll wait until we get to the bar to try it out.” Aidan sucked in a breath and put his fists on his hips. “Isn’t this exciting, Quinta? The dragon’s slave and the warrior heiress, ready to tear up this kingdom.”

“There are still many preparations to be made,” Quinta pointed out. “As of now, we stand at two people against the kingdom Macleod. Our odds are indeterminate at best; we must build our forces.”

“I agree,” Aidan said. “But first, could you hand me my clothes? It’s rather cold out here.”

Quinta glanced downward. “You don’t say.”

Aidan laughed, scratching the back of his head. “Now you’re just hurting my feelings. Come on.” He pointed towards the lights in the distance, still smiling. “Let’s behead this sorry world!”