Pisco returned to the path three days later. The men were already there, laughing, smoking, betting on how long he would last.
The dragon was still chained, though this time it was muzzled. Its eyes were sharper than he remembered narrow slits of glowing orange. One of its wings twitched as he approached.
“Alright, freak,” one of the men said. “You last five minutes, you win. If the dragon kills you… well, that’s entertainment.”
Pisco didn’t respond. He was covered head to toe in his flame-retardant suit, mask over his face. He stepped into the makeshift ring and looked at the beast.
It looked back.
Someone rang a bell.
The dragon roared, smoke pouring from its nose. Pisco didn’t flinch. He stood his ground. When the dragon lunged, Pisco rolled under its bite and reached for the chai
