CHAPTER 50: THE FALL OF THE LEGENDARY HERO

The Glimmerfen clearing was a whirlwind of chaos, like a circus had crashed into a dragon nursery and invited a glitter factory to the party.

The Wyrmdancers twirled their glowing ribbons, summoning more scaly dragon-chickens that hissed and snapped like feathered piranhas with a personal vendetta. My crew was a force of nature—Lilith’s scythe carved through the air, sending ribbons fluttering like confetti at a parade gone wrong; Vorren crushed dragonets with his fists, each THUD shaking the ground like an earthquake in a bad mood;

Yvra’s daggers flew with royal precision, pinning Wyrmdancers to trees with the flair of a seamstress pinning a royal gown; Jex, out of apples, threw rocks with desperate yelps, shouting, "Take that, you scaly gremlins!"; and Mister Fog’s mist swirled, making the dragonets sneeze and stumble, though he muttered,

"This is beneath my misty dignity." Even Sir Thrain and Sir Gorrim, bless their useless hearts, tried to help. Thrain, fresh from his ditch dive, swung his upside-down lance, bellowing about "the crown’s eternal glory," only to knock over a Wyrmdancer’s candle cart, setting a bush ablaze with a FWOOM that lit up the clearing like a bad campfire. Gorrim, his boot still clamped in a dragonet’s mouth, flailed like a fish on a hook, yelling, "Dishonorable teeth! Release my noble footwear!"

I, meanwhile, was the king of hype and the emperor of useless, waving my stick like a drunk conductor leading an orchestra of failure. My cheek still throbbed from Lilith’s slap, fueling a delusional bravado that screamed, "You’re a legend!" despite all evidence to the contrary. Powers or not, I was going to be a hero, even if I had to trip my way to glory. I charged a dragon-chicken, shouting, "Fear me, you winged nugget!" only to trip over a ribbon and face-plant into a Wyrmdancer’s cloak with a MUFF that smelled like sweat and glitter. I scrambled up, swinging my stick like a knight in a tavern brawl, missing every target but feeling like a god who’d forgotten his divine powers at home.

"Cecil!" Vorren roared, tossing a dragonet into a tree with a CRASH. "Stop flailing like a soggy mop and do something useful for once!"

"I’m being inspirational!" I shouted, dodging a dragonet’s claws by pure dumb luck. I swung my stick again, hitting a rock that bounced off Thrain’s helmet with a PING

that rang like a bell. He spun, yelling, "Treachery from within!" and fell into another ditch with a CLUNK, his armor clanging like a dropped toolbox.

Yvra, pinning a Wyrmdancer’s sleeve to a tree with a dagger, glared at me with eyes sharper than her blade. "You’re making this worse, Cecil! You’re like a curse we can’t shake!"

I grinned, undeterred, my hype burning brighter than the flaming bush. "Watch this, princess!" I leaped at a dragon-chicken, aiming for a heroic tackle that would make bards sing for centuries. It sidestepped, and I landed in a pile of glitter left from the last fight, coughing up sparkles with a HACK that tasted like a craft store’s revenge. The Wyrmdancer leader spun toward me, his mohawk glowing like a dragon’s spine in a bad haircut contest. "The false hero falls! Offer him to the Wyrm as a dull sacrifice!" he declared, striking a pose that screamed "I practiced this in front of a mirror."

I stood, stick raised, hyped to the stars and possibly the moon. "You want a fight, spiky? I’ll give you one to write home about!" I charged, only to trip over Gorrim’s flailing leg, rolling into a mud puddle with a SQUELCH that soaked my already tragic coat. The dragonet he’d been fighting bit my sleeve, dragging me across the ground like a soggy ragdoll. I kicked, shouted, "Get off, you scaly chihuahua!" and accomplished exactly nothing but a muddy smear on my pride.

Lilith sliced through a ribbon, sending a dragonet squealing into a bush. She shot me a look that could curdle milk and scare a demon. "Cecil, you’re worse than useless. You’re a walking disaster."

"I’m distracting them!" I yelled, wrestling free from the dragonet only to stumble into another, which snapped at my boot with a CHOMP. I swung my stick, missed, and hit a tree, which dropped a branch on my head with a THWACK that rang my skull like a gong. "Ow! Stupid tree, pick a side!"

Mister Fog floated over, his tea steaming like it was judging me. "Your enthusiasm is... notable, Cecil. But perhaps retreat is wiser than flailing like a drunk toddler with a twig."

"Retreat?" I scoffed, spitting out mud and glitter. "I’m Cecil Dreggs! I don’t retreat! I—" A dragonet tackled me, pinning me to the ground with a THUMP

. Its claws scratched my coat, and its breath smelled like burnt fish and bad life choices. I flailed, my hype undimmed but my body screaming, "You’re a loser who can’t even fight a chicken!"

The crew cleaned up like the legends they were. Lilith’s scythe dispatched the last dragonets with a SWISH, leaving a pile of scaly feathers. Vorren crushed the remaining Wyrmdancers, tossing one into a tree with a WHACK, growling, "Stay down, ribbon boy!" Yvra’s daggers sent the leader fleeing, his mohawk drooping like a sad party hat as he wailed, "The Wyrm will judge you!" Jex’s rocks actually hit something for once, knocking a Wyrmdancer out cold with a THUNK. Thrain, climbing out of his ditch, accidentally tripped a dragonet, saving Jex, who yelped, "I owe you one, clumsy knight!" Gorrim, finally free from the dragonet, stood triumphantly, only to realize his mustache was tangled in a ribbon, making him look like a sparkly walrus at a costume party. "The ribbons mock my honor!" he cried, shaking his fist.

I lay in the mud, panting, stick broken in half, coat torn like it had fought a shredder and lost, hype still burning but my body utterly useless. The crew gathered, bruised but victorious, looking like they’d just fought a war and won a bar fight. Lilith stomped over, her scythe dripping dragonet goo that smelled like regret. I grinned weakly, wiping mud from my face. "Told you I’d inspire you guys. Did you see my distraction game?"

She stared, her eyes blazing hotter than the burning bush. "Cecil," she said, her voice low and dangerous, like a storm about to break, "give up."

I blinked, my hype flickering like a candle in a windstorm. "What? You slapped me yesterday to not give up! You said I was still Cecil, the chaos-causing legend!"

She crossed her arms, scythe glinting like it was ready to judge me. "That was before I saw you fight like a drunk toddler who thinks a stick is a sword. You’re powerless, useless, and a danger to us all. Give up. Stay out of the way. Let us handle the dragon before you trip and set Glimmerfen on fire."

Vorren nodded, wiping dragonet goo off his knuckles. "She’s right, mate. You’re a liability. Stick to cheering from the sidelines—way back."

Jex whimpered, clutching his last rock. "I liked you better when you made muffins. Or even that cursed donut fountain. At least it was edible."

Yvra sighed, brushing dirt off her dress. "I’m not even surprised, Cecil. This is just... you being you."

Mister Fog sipped his tea, his misty form shimmering with disapproval. "Sometimes, surrender is wisdom, Cecil. Or at least less embarrassing for everyone involved."

Thrain and Gorrim saluted, oblivious to the mood, their armor clanging. "The crown prevails!" Thrain declared, tripping over his lance and landing in the mud with a SPLAT. Gorrim nodded, ribbon still dangling from his mustache like a festive disgrace. "Victory through chaos!" he proclaimed, shaking his soggy boot.

I sat up, mud dripping, my hype deflating like a punctured soufflé in a rainstorm. Lilith’s words stung worse than her slap, worse than the glitter, worse than the dragonet’s fishy breath. I wanted to argue, to prove I was still a hero, that I could storm Glimmerfen’s gates and face the dragon with nothing but my stick and my attitude. But my broken stick, torn coat, and the crew’s exhausted glares said otherwise. Glimmerfen’s spiky gates loomed in the distance, the dragon’s roar echoing like a challenge I wasn’t ready for. I was hyped, but I was nothing—a fake hero who’d tripped his way out of glory. And for the first time, I wondered if they were right. Maybe I should just stay in the mud and let the real heroes handle it.