Peace reigned in the Dragon Realms once again. Despite Gnasty Gnorc’s best attempt at imprisoning the dragons and taking over control, his plan was thwarted by a brave young dragon named Spyro. Now, the tribe leaders came together to celebrate in his honor. From dusk till dawn, Stone Hill was alight with celebration as dragons from every Realm came to partake in the festivities and thank Spyro personally.
As he proudly gallivanted between swarms of dragons gorging themselves on endless food and drink, he received many compliments and more gifts than he could ever hope to carry back home.
“Spyro!” greeted Nestor, leader of the Artisans, as he saw the small dragon approach. He was of medium stature and mostly covered in green scales with yellow wings and a cream belly. He wore a finely adorned open shirt and a toolbelt in which rested his trusty hammer. “Busy mingling with the guests, I take it?”
“You could say that. Every dragon was invited, after all!”
“Oh, but what you have accomplished is worthy of such a broad invitation, young one,” Lateef, leader of the Dream Weavers, pointed out as he floated in place with his legs crossed, cobalt-blue scales shimmering in the torchlight. “Not every dragon can say they’ve saved the Realms all by himself!”
The young dragon blushed. “Eh, it was nothing. Could do it again with my wings tied!”
“Ah! That’s the spirit!” said a short, stubby dragon covered in pale blue scales as he approached the group.
“Bruno! Late, as always.”
Bruno laughed, adjusting his hat. “Sorry, had other matters to attend to. Being leader of the Beast Makers ain’t easy. Where are Cosmos and Titan? They’re gonna miss the main event!”
Spyro cocked an eyebrow. “Main event? What’s that?”
The three tribe leaders looked at him with knowing grins on their faces.
Nestor, Titan, Cosmos, Bruno and Lateef. Artisans, Peace Keepers, Magic Crafters, Beast Makers and Dream Weavers. All of them owed their freedom to Spyro. All were eternally grateful to him.
“Guess the sheep’s out of the pen now,” shrugged Bruno.
“There will be a contest later,” Nestor explained.
“A contest? Who’s competing?”
“Us.”
Before he could ask any further questions, Titan and Cosmos of the Peace Keepers and Magic Crafters, arrived.
“Evening, folks,” said Titan.
“Apologies. My teleportation spell missed by a few hundred feet,” Cosmos explained, embarrassed. “Had to walk all the way here to avoid flying through the fireworks.”
“Why did you bring your armor?” Bruno asked, frowning at Titan. “This is a festival, you know? I doubt there will be any fights.”
“You never know,” Titan replied.
“Ah well,” Nestor said. “What matters is that we’re all here. And just in time, too!”
Something was being wheeled out into the center of the plaza. Something large that was covered by a tarp. It quickly captivated everyone’s curiosity and, soon, everyone gathered around the mysterious object trying to guess what lies under the tarp.
“May I have your attention, please?”
Everyone turned to look at Nestor who hovered above the crowd.
“We are gathered here today to honor the courage of a young dragon to whom we all owe a great debt of gratitude: Spyro, savior of the Dragon Realms!” The crowd erupted in jubilant cheers as the young dragon was reluctantly guided towards its center amidst triumphant chants of his name.
“Aww, guys. C’mon, I only did what any of you would.”
“‘Cept all of us were frozen solid!” someone shouted from the crowd, invoking another round of cheers.
Nestor continued. “Which is why we shall hold a friendly competition among all five tribe leaders.” He looked at Spyro directly. “We hope you enjoy the show, young one.”
Just then, the tarp was pulled from the contraption revealing it to be a giant roulette wheel. In each of its segments was written the name of a game or competition of some sort.
On all but one of them.
“Spyro shall spin the wheel and decide what the contest will be. Then, the five of us shall compete.”
“So I get to pick the game?”
Nestor nodded. “Consider it a small reward for saving the Realms.”
The young dragon approached the wheel and glanced over the selection of games written on it. There was ‘Fire Breathing’, ‘Aerial Race’, ‘Sheep Tossing’… all common forms of competition among dragons. But the one that really piqued his curiosity was ‘Spyro’s Choice’. What could that mean? Was he free to come up with a game himself? He spun the wheel and, as luck would have it, it landed on that mysterious option.
“Spyro’s Choice!” announced Nestor. “That means our Spyro may choose any trial he desires for us to submit to - not limited to those already written on the wheel.”
All eyes turned to the purple dragon as he pondered. It was an opportunity he didn’t want to waste. Perhaps a dance competition? No, Titan always won those. Singing, perhaps? He pictured Bruno trying to hit a falsetto. That’d be a laugh.
…Wait.
A laugh, huh?
Spyro’s lips curled in a mischievous grin.
“I know! How about a game of silence?”
They looked puzzled.
“Here are the rules: All five of you will sit in stocks without making a peep until morning comes. I can do whatever I want to your bare feet. Nothing painful, of course.”
“Our… feet?”
“Yup! Last one to make a noise wins. Sounds good?”
That wasn’t what any of them had in mind when they came up with the contest but rules were rules. The wheel landed on ‘Spyro’s Choice’ and Spyro had chosen.
“All ya gotta do is stay quiet? Ha. Easy win,” boasted Bruno.
“Oh, please. As if you could ever shut up for more than five minutes,” teased Titan.
Five identical pairs of stocks were placed side by side in the middle of the plaza and the tribe leaders took their places. One by one, they placed their ankles through the holes and the stocks were locked shut.
The crowd was already picking teams.
“Good luck, Bruno!”
“You got this, Cosmos!”
Spyro examined the five pairs of feet in front of him. At the center was Nestor, his feet relaxed and proud much like himself. The soles were the same hue of green as most of his scales and his six toes were capped with sharp claws. To the right of him was Titan who had bigger feet than his Artisan counterpart, sandy-colored and quite powerful-looking. Next to him was Cosmos whose feet where reminiscent of Nestor’s in shape and color yet a measure larger and ten measures twitchier. Was the leader of the Magic Crafters a little foot shy, perhaps? To the other side of Nestor sat Bruno with his powerful set of blue stompers. Stubby, yet with longer claws than his counter parts. Finally, on the far left, was Lateef hiding one of his long cobalt feet behind the other. They looked rather soft, as expected from a dragon who preferred to magically levitate most of the time.
None of them had any idea what they were in for.
“Starting now, you’re not allowed to make a single peep. Got it?”
They nodded.
“Alright. Let’s begin!”
Spyro reached behind the wheel to take something that made every leader tilt his head in confusion. It looked like a… watering can? He went on to pour a small amount of water over the soil in front of each pair of feet. Once he had done that, he sat back and watched.
Confusion took over the leaders’ faces. What was Spyro waiting for? It was Titan who felt it first. A feather-light touch on his heel. He thought it was just the wind, or perhaps a stray bug, until he felt the touch move up towards his arch. Then it happened to Cosmos, then Nestor, then Bruno and Lateef.
It tickled.
From his point of view, Spyro (and everyone else observing) saw plants sprouting up from the ground in front of their feet and growing at an astounding speed towards those bare soles, each of them flicking and swishing a single leaf all over them.
The game suddenly made a lot more sense. All five leaders where noticeably affected - every one of them happened to be quite ticklish on their feet. Bruno and Titan curled their toes while Lateef and Cosmos tried to shake their feet in order to evade the leaves’ teasing touches, an act that proved useless as the plant effortlessly swayed towards whatever direction they tried to move their feet towards. Only Nestor gallantly endured the tickling without moving his feet, even allowing the leaf to slither between his toes.
The crowd watched, incredulous.
“No way! I can’t believe they’re ticklish!”
“I knew it! Lateef’s feet always looked so soft!”
“Tickle tickle tickle, Titan!”
Spyro was as entertained as them. “Whoa! I didn’t know you guys were so ticklish! If you’re struggling this much now then I don’t know how you’ll make it through the next part!”
They didn’t know either. Out of all the things they expected to do that day, being tickled on their feet certainly wasn’t one of them.
The plants had a devious way about them. Like they had been cultivated or otherwise magically conjured up for this express purpose. Either way, they weren’t blindly growing towards the feet in front of them. Instead, they seemed to know how and where to tickle their victims best. Nestor was especially vulnerable under his toes (which he stubbornly refused to curl) while Titan had extremely reactive arches. The plant in front of Cosmos’ soles had determined the ball of his foot to be his sweet spot while the one tending to Bruno honed in on his heels which rarely touched the ground due to his usual digitigrade posture. Lateef was unlucky enough to have the entirety of his soles be soft as silk.
“Do you think they’ll last?”
“No way, look at their faces! They look about ready to crack!”
The crowd was relentless in their teasing, bemused by the spectacle unfolding right in front of them. After all, who would’ve thought that the most powerful dragons in the realms were so ticklish?
And yet they endured.
Despite the titillations brought about by that strange plant on the soles of their mighty feet, the tribe leaders endured silently. Not a single giggle escaped their airtight lips during the challenge. Even if it was just a friendly competition, the presence of all of their tribemates compelled them to take it seriously. None of them wanted to be the first to crack under such a childish form of torture.
Valiant Nestor didn’t even crack a smile as the fine as the soft undersides of his toes where gently caressed by the leaves. He was not accustomed to having that particular part of him touched, and oh did it tickle. But he wasn’t the leader of the Artisans for nothing. His lips stayed sealed.
Titan’s long, sandy-colored feet were a lot twitchier. The leader of the Peace Keepers just couldn’t keep them still as the leaves swished along the curvature of his arches. Were his feet more sensitive than Nestor’s? Or did he simply have a harder time resisting the sensations? Spyro wasn’t sure. All he knew is that he still hadn’t made a peep.
Cosmos, much like Nestor, managed to keep his wide, three-toed stompers relatively still. What really got to him was the crowd’s jeering, especially the teases aimed straight at him. More than once, he’d heard someone mention the size of his feet, or how he was about to lose it. All in good spirit, of course, but, either way, he couldn’t help but blush.
The leaves spun around Bruno’s heels as his toes curled and uncurled in rapid succession as did the corners of his lips. Self-control was not the leader of the Beast Maker’s strong suit, evidently.
And then there was Lateef. Hovering, never-on-his-feet Lateef. He had the softest soles of all tribe leaders by. On the other hand, he had also the most tempered mind. Although the sensations were overpowering, he abstained from moving a single face muscle.
“Not bad, guys,” Spyro noted, inspecting each of the dragon’s faces for any signs of laughter. “But this is only the first part of the game. A walk in the park compared to what’s coming next!”
The crowd cheered and the leaders all collectively felt a pit in their stomach, wondering what the young dragon had in store for their feet.
They did not have to wonder for long as the leaf tickling soon came to an end. More leaves grew from the plants in front of their feet until, finally they became still and pink flowers sprouted from the vines. It was as if whatever force made the plants tickle their feet had seemingly left the plants leaving them wholly inert.
As the tickling ceased, the leaders dared to open their mouths to take as many deep breaths as they could before the next round of torment began.
“Bet you wish you walked more often, huh, Lateef?” Spyro taunted, taking advantage of the fact that the leader of the Dream Weavers couldn’t talk back as per the rules of the game. “Then you wouldn’t be as ticklish on those big ol’ feet of yours. And what about you, Titan? I saw your toes wiggling up a storm. I thought the leader of the Peace Keepers would be a little tougher.” Titan wanted to talk back, but alas, he couldn’t. He was too busy trying to shoo away the pesky dragonfly that had just landed on his toes. It tickled a bit, and now it had brought a friend over. No. Two friends!
It wasn’t just Titan. Every other leader had a swarm of small dragonflies congregating around the newly sprouted flowers and, by proximity, around their feet.
“This next part is gonna be a little tougher so you can make noises if you want. You’re still not allowed to laugh but squeaks and snorts are fair game!”
It was a good thing Spyro had just lifted some restrictions because if he hadn’t, ever single leader would have lost the game by then.
The furious flapping of the dragonflies’ wings against the soles of their feet made them miss the leaves. Annoying as they were, at least there was only one per foot.
This was much worse.
Each sole was practically covered in dragonflies zipping about in trajectories that were impossible to predict. They seemed attracted to the scent of the flowers first, but would invariably pay a visit to the closest sole after getting a whiff of those rosy petals.
Really, what kind of flowers where those?
Bruno was the first to crack. Despite his relatively calloused toes and arches, the feeling of wings fluttering against them in addition to his soft heels was enough to take down the dragon’s first line of defense and make him snicker. The best he could hope for was that those snickers to not turn into full-on laughter.
The crowd was all but pleased by the rising intensity.
“Aww look! Bruno’s about to lose!”
“No way, dude. Look at Cosmos! I give him a minute tops before he’s laughing.”
Whoever said that had a point. Poor Cosmos looked about ready to burst out in laughter. He shook his head and curled his toes. The tiny critters unintentionally teasing the soles of his big feet provided him with an indescribable sensation of many feather-light touches being simultaneously administered many times per second.
It was horrible.
“What’s wrong, Cosmos? Does it tickle?” Spyro teased. “You can laugh if you want. Just keep in mind that you’ll be the first and everyone’s watching~”
If he could, Cosmos would have cast a spell to turn those dragonflies against the cocky purple dragon and let him have a taste of his own medicine.
Between the new torture and the crowd’s constant teasing, Titan was having a hard time keeping it together. As leader of the Peace Keepers, he was used to grueling physical trials but nothing could have prepared him for this. Along the arches, between the toes, over the heels.
It was too much.
His lips parted against his will to reveal a toothy grin.
“Don’t laugh! Don’t laugh!” he kept repeating in his head. “Just hold out a little longer!”
Nestor’s method of stoically enduring the sensations without moving an inch was now all but impossible. Feet twitching and toes wiggling, the leader of the Artisans was now more focused on keeping his mouth shut. Having a small army of dragonflies stimulating every bit of his helplessly exposed soles was not something he had on his agenda for today.
He only wished he could be as well-controlled as Lateef.
The leader of the Dream Weavers kept his eyes shut and his feet completely still. From Spyro’s perspective, it looked as if he didn’t feel a thing. The truth was different. A lot different. A war raged on inside the cobalt-scaled dragon’s mind, it’s walls battered by unyielding waves of tickling. His large soles were soft. Too soft to endure the fluttering wings of the dragonflies teasing their vast surfaces. And yet he endured. A life of thoughtful meditation bestowed the dragon with the ability to let physical sensations pass through him like the wind. Accepting them yet refraining from taking action based on them.
It was a battle through and through. The softest soles versus the most well-trained mind. And, so far, the mind was winning.
Feeling mischievous, Sparx the dragonfly decided to add on to the leader’s physical torment with a psychological attack. He flew up above the crowd and eggs the onlookers to chant a teasing melody of “Coochie coochie coo!” and “Tickle, tickle, tickle!” which the crowd repeats ad infinitum.
“Look, guys! Even they’re surprised you’re so ticklish on your feet!” Spyro teased, clearly elated that the crowd enjoyed his game. “Good thing Gnasty Gnorc didn’t know that about that, huh? Or else he’d just lock you in a dungeon and tickle your feet instead of freezing you in crystals!”
A laughable notion in the most literal of senses. All five leaders were now fully aware that should a villain decide to subject them to prolonged tickle torture, they would all break. Thankfully, Spyro was no villain and this was no cruel captivity. Just a silly game that was utterly destroying their mental for a kid’s amusement. And Spyro was thoroughly amused.
The sight of the five tribe leaders’ faces contorting as their admittedly cute feet were brutally tickled made the purple dragon’s heart flutter with joy. His more mischievous side really got a kick out of seeing these adults, these figures of authority struggle to endure what most would call a children’s game.
“What’s wrong, Titan?” he said as he approached the smirking dragon. “Something funny? Why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind?”
Titan, of course, could do nothing but stare back with his cheeks puffed, holding back the torrent of laughter that threatened to spill out should he react in any way to Spyro’s teasing. Minutes ago, he was sure his physical prowess would allow him to withstand whatever silly games the purple dragon might think of. Now, however, he was learning that he was simply too ticklish for a game like this. For as rigorous as his training regimen was, strengthening the soles of his feet to endure non-stop tickling had never been a part of it.
“Gnrk!”
His lips parted into a toothy smile as he narrowly caught a giggle just as it threatened to burst the dam.
“Ah! I saw that, Titan!” Spyro teased. “I can tell you’re not gonna last long. I guess your feet are just that sensitive, huh?”
The crowd followed suit.
“Look at the size of those stompers! Now wonder they’re so ticklish!”
“C’mon, Titan. Hold it together!”
“A-goochy-goochy-goo!”
He tried his best to shut off the crowd and the devious little dragon alike by, rather counterintuitively, focusing on the sensation on his feet. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth as more and more dragonflies concentrated on his toe stems, causing those sensitive digits to curl down tightly.
Anyone who has been tickled before should know that the psychological aspect is as important (if not more important) than the physical sensations. Nothing is more effective at breaking down a ticklee’s defenses than a measure of humiliation, no matter how small. And for the five Leaders currently having their tender soles ravaged by the dragonflies, being teased by every single one of their tribemates at the same time was more humiliation that they could bear.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle!”
“Coochy coochy coo!”
Shaky lips parted and teeth started to show. A snicker here, a mewl there. One by one, the dragons showed signs of cracking.
Spyro was delighted. His eyes darted around the five pairs of bound feet and corresponding scrunched up, puffy cheeked faces of the dragons they belonged to. This was the most fun he’d had since he could remember - and he dared to guess he’d never have another moment like this. He certainly didn’t think the Leaders would ever agree to this game ever again, not unless he saved the Realms from some other evil and they fund themselves indebted to him again. But what are the odds of that happening?
When the swarm of dragonflies had drained the flowers of every drop of nectar, it began to dissipate. The intense tickling turned into an annoying itch before it stopped as the last of the dragonflies flew off in search of sustenance. The five leaders slumped in the stocks, kneading the sole of ne foot with the toes of the other to try to soothe the lingering sensations as they were finally allowed to rest.
“That was close! I thought for sure Titan and Bruno were going to lose. Remember, guys: the game doesn’t stop until the last dragon laughs so even if you lose the tickling doesn’t stop.”
The crowd laughed. The leaders wanted to protest but all they could do was stare wide eyed at the mischievous little dragon as he sauntered over to the row of stocked feet and inspected each pair carefully. Nestor’s stoic demeanor had all bur crumbled as evidenced by left sole timidly hiding behind his right. Cosmos’ large toes curled defensively as did Titan’s and Lateef’s. The bug’s fluttering wings had apparently some exfoliating properties as Bruno’s previously calloused feet were looking a lot smoother. Every sole had been turned a shade redder from the constant torment, and some were covered in a thin layer of sweat. Likewise, the Leaders were at their limit.
It was time for the final challenge.
“You’ve held up pretty well so far, guys, but now the real game begins!”
The small dragon hopped near a table and grabbed flask which in which a bright pink liquid sparkled before popping the cork and chugging it down until not a drop was left. The Leaders watched on with puzzled looks.
All but Cosmos.
Cosmos, being the leader of the Magic Crafters, was well-versed in all manner of alchemical concoctions and, as such, knew exactly what that liquid was. It really was a shame that he couldn’t tell the others what they were in for, merely whining and fidgeting nervously in the stocks.
Having drank the liquid, Spyro positioned himself in the middle of the five pairs of stocks and took a deep breath. Looks of panic took over the faces of all the leaders as well as the crowd as they thought they were about to watch those vulnerable soles get burned. He exhaled and spat out a burst of hot-pink flames in a sweeping arch that engulfed every leader’s sole.
“Pfffttt!! Hnngg!! Bwaaahahahahaha!! Nohohohohohoho!”
A dragon burst into laughter.
All eyes turn towards the bellowing cackles of Titan of the Peace Keepers. The poor dragon’s head appeared to collapse from his shoulders as the tickle-flames knocked the meek remnants of his composure out of him. He simply couldn’t take it anymore.
“Spyhyhyro! P-Please stohohop!”
He might’ve thought that defeat signified an end to the torment, but he would be proven wrong as the little purple menace kept spitting flames against the soles of his feet. It was clear now, to Titan to and every other leader, that the torture would continue until each and every dragon admitted defeat. Only once the victor had been decided would they be given rest.
“Please, plehehease, PLEHEHEASE!”
After the initial shock of seeing the battle-hardened Titan crumble before his peers, the surrounding crowd erupted in cheers and a mix of praise and teasing towards the golden leader.
“Your laugh is cute, Titan!”
“Aww, too much for your big feet?”
“Tickle, tickle! Get his toes, Spyro!”
The world seemed to shrink around the laughing dragon. Everything became gradually less and less perceptible. Everything apart from the loud crowd, the small dragon, and the torturously ticklish sensations ravaging his bare feet. He couldn’t quite tell if Spyro was unjustly focusing on him over his peers (perhaps as punishment for being the first one to lose) or if the flames had taken to his soles and set them ablaze with tickling sensations even while Spyro wasn’t breathing fire on them.
All he knew is that it was too much. So much that it overshadowed the initial humiliation of being the first one to lose.
“Grrrh! Pfffnnn!! Ah… Ah!! Hahahahahaha!”
But Titan did not laugh alone for long. Almost as soon as he broke, so did another of the leaders.
“Aww, come on!” grumbled someone from the Beast Makers. “I had my gems on you!”
Titan looked to his side to see Bruno hunched over, lips parted and teeth showing as gruff laughter poured out from his mouth. He wiggle-waggles his toes in a vain effort to snuff out the flames engulfing. As it happened, tickle-flames were not easily put out. At least not without a good scrubbing which would likely tickle as much as the flames themselves.
“Already, Bruno? I thought the leader of the Beast Makers would show a little more endurance,” mocked Spyro before he inhaled.
“Grr, you little- BWAHAHAHA!!”
Bruno crumbled to a squirming ball of laughter once again as a jet of pink flames aimed directly at his soles made contact.
“You guys really can’t stand the tickle-fire, huh?”
Spyro was tireless when excited. He fired after jet of magical flames towards all five leaders’ soles to ensure the fire kept burning no matter how much they wagged their helpless feet.
Sparx, feeling mischievous at the sight of two leaders laughing helplessly, hovered high above them and began taunting.
“Look at you two! Laughing like little hatchlings!”
“Gahaha s-shuhut up!”
“Grr!! I-It tihihickles!”
“Aww, are you upset? It’s your own fault for not being able to stop yourselves from laughing. Or maybe you’re just too ticklish for your own good?”
They didn’t deign to answer. Too embarrassed by their predicament and too busy laughing to come up with any retort that didn’t make them sound like the hatchlings Sparx accused them to be.
By now, it was obvious to all watching that the tickle-flames would crack each and every dragon. That the duet would soon turn into a trio, then a quartet and, finally, a quintet of cacophonous laughter before the maestro put down his baton.
But who would be next?
Cosmos looked like a good candidate. As the leader of the Magic Crafters and the only one who knew how doomed he was the moment he peered upon the tickle-flame potion, he had no delusions of being able to keep his composure for long. Eyes shut tight, and toes curling and splaying in quick succession - he looked about ready to burst.
Lateef’s self-induced trance had ended the moment the first flame licked the blue sole of his foot. No longer could he simply ignore the sensations and will himself silent. He was now fighting for his life. Well, not quite, but it sure seemed like it. His facial muscles strained and contorted, resulting in a serious of rather funny faces that the crowd seemed to love, all the hide the fact that he couldn’t handle the sensations for much longer. At least not without screaming with laughter.
Nestor. Strong, honest, humble Nestor. He was clawing at his burning cheeks. His sensitive, forest-green stompers paddling helplessly while ablaze with pink fire, every nerve alight with the most intense, debilitating, panic-inducing tickling he had ever felt. He felt a strange itch just below his eye. He rubbed it away and was surprised to see torchlight reflected in the pad of his finger. Was he crying?
“Come on, Cosmos, hold yourself together!”
“You can do it, Lateef! The Dream Weavers are rooting for you!”
“Keep it up, Nestor! You’re almost- Erm… never mind.”
And just like that, the Tickle Contest Losers Club had admitted one more member.
“Hahaha! I cahahan’t tahake ihihit!!”
The crowd erupted in a mixture of shocked gasps and contented cheering as Nestor finally broke. Having endured the plants and the dragonflies with little effort, sadly the flames proved to be too much for the leader of the Artisans. His composed demeanor crumbled away as he threw his head back and laughed at the constant tickles, leaving only Lateef and Cosmos still silent.
Lateef and Cosmos. Dream Weavers versus Magic Crafters. Their challenge was now twofold. Not only did they have to fight against the tickling and keep themselves from laughing, but they now also had to endure the pressure of knowing the three losers would be kept under constant tickle torture until they admitted defeat.
“Gotta admit, I didn’t see you two lasting this long. I kind of excepted you to laugh first, Lateef, with how soft and ticklish your feet look,” Spyro taunted as he blew a wisp of tickle-fire mere inches away from the blue leader’s clenched toes, making them clench even harder as Lateef fought to keep silent. He let out a pathetic whimper from behind his pursed lips - not a laugh and thus, not enough to disqualify him, but still a telltale sign of how much it tickled. “And you, Cosmos. You know better than anyone how effective this potion is. I asked Sparx to borrow it from your stash. You don’t mind, right?” Cosmos certainly did. Especially as the little runt fired jet after jet right on the middle of his large soles.
“Come on, Lateef! Hang in there!”
“If Cosmos loses, I’ll tickle him myself!”
Every single spectator became transfixed on the fierce battle between the two, not excluding the other leaders who begged them to laugh as that would mean the end of their feet’s torment.
“Plehehease! Gihihive up!” begged Titan.
“Lahahaugh! Juhust lahahaugh!” added Bruno.
Nestor didn’t say a word. Not because he didn’t want Lateef and Cosmos to lose (he most certainly did) but because the tickle torture was simply too much to let him say anything coherent.
Pink flames danced on the soles of Lateef and Cosmos’ bound feet. They ignited every nerve with the most excruciating tickle they were able to relay to the dragon’s brains, orders of magnitude worse than even the softest feather or the roughest brush. An unnatural sensation that was only possible through careful alchemical process and a measure of sadism. Put simply: their earthly feet were not made to deal with such a cosmically intense sensation. No dragon’s feet, no matter how calloused and well trained, could deal with the might of the Tickle Fire.
“Snnrk!”
“What’s that, Cosmos? Are you about to laugh?”
“Hnff! Hnfnfnf!”
“And you, Lateef? You don’t look like you’re gonna last very long.”
Both dragons felt themselves to be seconds away from laughing. There was no way they could endure the torture for any longer. They just mutually wished for the other to break a second before.
The pink flames lit up the area more than the torches that were meant for that purpose, bathing it in an ethereal light that compounded the spectacle and made it all the more entrancing for all to see. Every twitch of the toes, every curl of the lips, everything was carefully regarded as a potential sign of who would break first.
“Look! Lateef is about to laugh!”
“No, look at Cosmos’ lips! He’ll laugh first!”
The teasing, the pressure, the stocks, the expectation, the humiliation.
The flames.
It was too much.
“BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
The crowd exploded in celebration as the winner decided. They stormed the stocks and cheered. Hugging him and patting him on the back as he too was now finally allowed to laugh.
“Ohohokay! C-Cahahan you puhuhut out the fihihire, plehehease!?”
Someone fetched a bucket of water and doused the pair of burning feet with it, revealing their natural blue color.
“Ha… Ha… T-Thanks,” Lateef said with a smile still plastered on his face.
“And the winner is Lateef of the Dream Weavers!” Sparx announced to the crowd’s great pleasure (save for a few members of the other tribes who expected their leaders to win).
“Congrats, Lateef! And good job everyone else!” Spyro said to the winner and his four still laughing competitors. “We, uh… should probably put out their fires too, right?”
The five leaders were let out of the stocks and allowed a brief moment of rest as the crowd showered them with praise and refreshments. Despite the competition, they remained in good spirits.
“Thank you all for coming,” Nestor said, regarding the crowd. “This year’s festival was a little unorthodox but I think I speak for all five of us when I say I had fun.” The other leaders nodded along.
“And a big round of applause for our leaders for being such good sports!” Spyro added, prompting the crowd to cheer.
Later, as the crowd began to disperse, Sparx went around asking each leader what they thought about the game.
“It was a piece of cake!” exclaimed Bruno. “I only laughed to give the others a chance. Ha!”
“To be frank, I didn’t think I was going to win,” admitted Lateef with a nervous chuckle. “When I felt the dragonflies on my feet, I thought I was a goner. I’m quite impressed with everyone else’s efforts, if I may say. That Tickle Fire was not easy to endure!”
“Well, it might come as a surprise, but I’m actually really ticklish,” Titan confessed. “I’ve trained to be the leader of the Peace Keepers all my life but my ticklishness is something I could never get rid of. Well, not that I mind that much…”
Nestor smiled when asked for his opinion on the game. “Only Spyro could come up with such a silly contest. But it was harmless enough and the crowd seemed to love it.” He paused for a moment. “I think we’ll do this every year from now on.”
“I knew I was missing a potion of Tickle Fire Breath! That little runt stole it!” Cosmos exclaimed. “I was just about to win, too.” He crossed his arms in playful indignation. “I fact, I think some payback is in order.” He looked around for Spyro and found him chatting with Nestor. With a smirk, he pointed his staff at the little purple dragon and cast a spell. All of a sudden, Spyro’s every limb felt ten times heavier and he was pinned to the ground.
“Unf! Hey! What’s going on? Why can’t I move?”
“I’ll lift the spell in a moment. Just have to make sure you stay put,” said Cosmos as grabbed the smaller dragon’s arms and grinned at the other leaders who quickly caught on to his plan. Titan grabbed Spyro’s ankles and held them against the ground. Only then did Cosmos undo the spell, although for Spyro, not much had changed as he found himself pinned down by the two much bigger dragons.
“You got to tickle our feet for a pretty long time today,” Nestor said as he looked at one of Spyro’s purple soles. “I wonder how ticklish yours are.”
“What?!” the little dragon exclaimed. “Wait! That’s not fair!”
“And why not?” added Bruno as he plopped down near Spyro’s other foot. “Come on, don’t tell us you can’t take a few tickles?”
Lateef approached with a very familiar vial containing a pink liquid. “This is the one, right, Cosmos?”
Spyro’s eyes widened in fear. “Wait! Guys, please! Let’s talk about this!”
“Less talking, more laughing!”
“Wait! Wait, please, don’t tickle me! Dohohon’t t-ihihickle mehehehe!”