CHAPTER 91: CHAPTER 91: A TALE OF EIGHT KITTENS.

The timer on the Scry-Screen froze at a crisp six minutes and twenty-four seconds. A final, golden notification confirmed the absurd result: [The wild Manticore has been successfully SUBDUED. Method: Aggressive Pampering and Tactical Cuddling.]

The portal to my "Creature Comfort Corner" swirled shut, leaving my exhausted team in a state of stunned, triumphant silence. They had done it. They had defeated a Manticore with a spa day, setting a ridiculously fast time to beat.

But their victory had created a new, very large, and very sleepy logistical problem.

About ten minutes after the team’s victory, the golden portal swirled open in the "Creature Comfort Corner" again. This time, a team of very serious-looking ’Royal Beast Handlers’ stepped through, armed with thick leather gloves and heavy magical chains.

They were clearly expecting to find a sleeping Manticore, but this... this was something else entirely.

The lead Beast Handler just stopped, his heavy magical chains held uselessly in his hands. He looked at the scene before him: the giant, magical beast, snoring softly with a warm blanket draped over it, its head resting on a plush knight.

He looked at his own team, armed to the teeth with tranquilizer darts and silencing nets. He looked back at the Manticore, which had just let out a soft, happy little snuffle in its sleep.

A long, silent moment passed. The lead handler slowly, deliberately, pinched the bridge of his nose, a look of profound, professional pain on his face.

"Right," he finally said, his voice a tired whisper. "It’s was that dungeon."He sighed, a sound that carried the weight of a thousand bizarre reports. "Alright, team. ’Unexpected Slumber’ protocol. Grizelda, get the enchanted silencing net. Torvin, prepare the sleeping herb-laced dart, just in case. And someone," he looked at the blanket with pure disdain, "get that thing off of it. That’s a containment violation."

On the Scry-Screens in the Royal Arena, the commentator’s voice was a hushed, disbelieving whisper as he described the bizarre scene unfolding.

"Folks, you are witnessing a masterclass in professional monster handling! The Royal Beast Handlers have deployed the ’Unexpected Slumber’ protocol! Look at the precision! Grizelda is unfurling the enchanted silencing net, designed to prevent any sudden, startling roars, while Torvin prepares a sleeping herb-laced dart, just in case our sleepy friend wakes up on the wrong side of the... uh... floor."

He paused, letting out a small, weary sigh that was picked up by his crystal microphone. "And now, folks," he continued, his voice full of a deep, professional exhaustion, " in a move that will surely be debated by beast-handling scholars for years to come, the lead handler is insisting they remove the blanket, as it is a... violation of containment procedure."

A fresh wave of laughter rolled through the stadium at the sheer absurdity of it all. The commentator waited for the noise to die down, a look of pure exhaustion on his face.

"The Comfy Corner has created a truly unforgettable and deeply strange situation for our Royal Beast Handlers," he finally said, his voice full of resignation.

He took a deep breath."But the show must go on! And now," he announced, his voice full of renewed energy, "it’s time for our next competitor! The portal will now open into the heart of the Blackrock Mountains, to the home of our reigning champions... the Obsidian Forge! Let’s see if their Magma Golem can beat the time of six minutes and twenty-four seconds!"

What followed was a hilarious and brutal montage of failure, broadcast live from inside the other dungeons.

The Scry-Screens switched to a view of a cavern of roaring fires and molten metal: the Obsidian Forge. A new portal opened, and a second, equally angry Manticore was released. It was met by a massive, roaring Magma Golem.

The golem’s mind was a simple one, a loop of ancient dwarven runes that all meant the same thing: ’DESTROY INTRUDER.’ It saw the Manticore, identified it as an intruder, and charged, its molten body leaving a trail of burning rock in its wake.

The Manticore, however, was not just an intruder; it was a clever, agile predator. It dodged the golem’s first clumsy swing, and while the golem was off-balance, the Manticore lunged, its scorpion tail striking a weak point in the golem’s molten knee. The golem roared in frustration, its simple, direct strategy completely failing against the beast’s cunning. The battle dragged on for a disastrous forty-five minutes, ending with the golem shattered into a pile of cooling rocks and the Manticore looking even angrier than before.

The Scry-Screens then cut to a view of the Sylvanheart Maze, a breathtaking labyrinth of woven, living trees and glowing, moonpetal flowers. Their champion emerged: a "Verdant Guardian," a beautiful but deadly creature made of living thorns and blooming roses, moving with an elegant, silent grace.

The Verdant Guardian’ raised its leafy arms and released a shimmering cloud of sparkling, golden pollen that drifted gently towards the Manticore.

"A bold move!" the commentator whispered, his voice full of awe. "The Sylvanheart Maze is attempting to subdue the beast with a cloud of calming, magical pollen! Let’s see if this soothing, floral approach can beat The Comfy Corner’s time!"

The Manticore, which was still furious from the ordeal of being captured and caged, sniffed the air. Its nose twitched. Its expression went from enraged to deeply, personally offended.

It then let out a massive sneeze.

It wasn’t a normal sneeze; it was a sneeze of pure, fiery rage that incinerated the entire, beautiful, plant-based monster in a single, tragic WHOOSH.

The commentator was silent for a long moment. "Well, folks," he finally said, his voice weak. "It appears the Manticore... has hay fever. Time: thirty seconds. Result: Complete and utter failure."

The Blood Pit was even worse. When the portal opened in their dungeon, they sent in a horrifying, three-headed demon-dog. The Manticore, seeing a proper threat, met it with equal ferocity. The battle was brutal, but it was also deeply confusing for the demon-dog, whose three heads couldn’t seem to agree on a strategy. One head wanted to bite, the other wanted to claw, and the third seemed to be trying to start a howl-a-long. The Manticore, baffled by the creature’s sheer incompetence, just waited until the dog had tired itself out from arguing with itself and then stung it into submission.

The other four quarter-finalists fared no better. One dungeon sent a giant, armored turtle that the Manticore just flipped onto its back, where it lay wiggling its legs helplessly. Another sent a flock of screeching harpies that the Manticore seemed to find more annoying than threatening, batting them out of the air like angry flies.

By the end of the day, it was clear that while the other dungeons were very good at fighting, they were terrible at taming.

(The Judges’ Deliberation Chamber)

The deliberation was, for once, not a difficult one.

"A symphony of failure!" Maestro Valerius declared, dramatically fanning himself with a silk handkerchief. "Did you see it? The golem shattered! The plant was sneezed on! The dog fought itself! It was a disaster-piece! The other dungeons were just... brutal and uninspired. A perfect score for The Comfy Corner from me!"

Archmage Tiberius sniffed, adjusting his spectacles with a look of pure disdain. "They were all a disgrace to the magical arts," he wheezed. "The others demonstrated a distinct lack of tactical spellcasting, and The Comfy Corner’s entry was a... a petting zoo. An academically unsound petting zoo. I am deeply unimpressed with this entire quarter-final."

Inspector Barnaby just sighed and stamped a form with a loud, final THUD.

"The beast has been subdued by The Comfy Corner in six minutes and twenty-four seconds," he said in a flat, tired voice, not looking up from his paperwork. "The next fastest time was the Blood Pit, at one hour and fifty-seven minutes. The wellness score is the primary metric for this event. The result is clear." He made another note. "The paperwork for the Manticore’s therapy bills will be a nightmare."

(The Comfy Corner)

Back in my dungeon, my team had watched the entire montage of failure on our own private Scry-Screen.

"That three-headed dog was a magnificent beast," Gilda said, a note of professional respect in her voice. "A shame it was so poorly trained."

Pip, who had been hiding behind a cushion for the entire Blood Pit segment, just shuddered. "So... many... teeth," he whispered.

A moment of tense silence fell over the lobby as they waited for the final, official verdict.

Then, the Scry-Screen flashed with the result: [WINNER OF THE BEAST TAMING TRIAL: THE COMFY CORNER]

FaeLina let out a triumphant squeak. "We did it! We actually did it!" she cheered, doing a victory lap around the lobby. "We won a ’Beast Taming’ match with a belly rub! I am the greatest manager in the history of the world!"

Just as she was celebrating, a final, golden notification appeared in my consciousness, confirming the results and announcing the next round.

[Congratulations! You have won the quarter-finals!]

[The four dungeons advancing to the semi-finals are: The Comfy Corner, The Obsidian Forge, The Sylvanheart Maze, and The Blood Pit.]

[Your opponent in the semi-finals will be the reigning champion: ’The Obsidian Forge’.]

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Author’s Note:

They did it! They actually did it! They won the quarter-finals by being so ridiculously pleasant that every other competitor just looked like a clumsy bully in comparison.

I had so much fun writing the montage of the other dungeons failing so spectacularly. The poor Verdant Guardian getting incinerated by a Manticore sneeze is my absolute favorite. It’s a tragic, but hilarious, lesson in knowing your audience’s allergies.

They’ve won the quarter-finals! But now they have to face the reigning champions, the Obsidian Forge, in the semi-finals. Will they going to pamper a giant golem made of pure lava? tell me your idea. Thanks for reading!