A Dragon King's Ransom

After defeat at the hands of the Monkey King, the newest furry villain crush, the Dragon King, is laid low, forced to tend gardens in the hot sun- until he's kidnapped and oddly, put back into his opulent lifestyle, with very predictable results. Enjoy, and thank you all for the support!

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The Dragon King felt very small indeed. After the Monkey King foiled his bid for drowning the world, his power was greatly diminished, and now he was at the mercy of the other Dragon Kings. There they sat in all their regal finery, staring down their noses at him.

"Qing Conglang," the great black dragon of the North thundered, using the Dragon King's formal name to make him writhe. "Did you really think your mad scheme would come to fruition?"

The Dragon King offered a crooked smile, spreading his arms. "It was never meant to push in on your territory, my honored friends."

"Irrelevant!" the white dragon of the West countered. "We are the five great dragons, we are meant to keep the world in balance. You have dishonored yourself and us by your actions. Your punishment will be one of cleansing, an opportunity to learn humility. You are to tend the peach orchard of the honored Queen Mother of the West for a thousand years."

"As a start," the black dragon grumbled.

"A thousand years?" the Dragon King's jaw fell open. "You can't be serious! My condition, my scales, they'll dry up and chafe!"

"If you think we're not serious, perhaps we should make it two thousand," the black dragon grumbled darkly.

The Dragon King bowed his head meekly. "Yes— sorry, a thousand years. That sounds suitable…" he sighed in defeat.

The other dragons nodded in agreement, and then it was done. The dragon, diminished of his power, was sent off to the heavenly peach orchards of the Queen Mother of the West, to labor underneath the unrelenting sunshine of the heavens.

A few weeks in, and the Dragon King was feeling immensely sorry for himself. The skin condition that so irritated him, that had driven him in part to try and drown the world, was rising up in this unrelenting golden sunshine, making his scales flake and his whole body break out in rashes. Where was the justice in this, he wanted to know? That he, one of the five great dragons, should be made to toil for a servant, all because of one little discretion? How many times had gods tried to overthrow the Jade Emperor? The Monkey King had done the exact same thing, barring the mass drowning of mortals, but who cared about that? They were mortals— they repopulated like rabbits.

"Ugh." The Dragon King grumbled to himself, wiping sweat from his brow. "This is so degrading… how will I ever recover from this?" He bemoaned, looking at the tools of his new trade— a rake, clippers, and a basket. How far he had fallen. He was only thankful none of his minions could see him in such a state… he was doubly grateful that loathsome Sun Wukong couldn't see him like this, either. Not for a few centuries, at least.

"A thousand pardons, noble Dragon King, for disturbing your labors," a soft voice called out.

"Please, disturb away. If you can keep my occupied for a few centuries, I'd be deeply indebted," the Dragon grumbled, charmed by the proper deference shown to his station. He turned around to see a hooded figure, their face concealed. They held out a cup of water for him.

"I thought the great and powerful Conglang could use some refreshment," the stranger said.

"Ah, you are a friend, whoever you are." The Dragon King took the cup eagerly, drinking deep. He frowned softly, smacking his lips. "This tastes… different. It's not just water."

"I should hope not, my Lord. I put enough sedatives in it to bring down a musk ox."

The Dragon King's eyes went wide. "What?! How— how dare you—" the dragon slurred, swooning as he succumbed to the sleeping drug, shrouded in darkness.

The hooded figure smirked to themselves. "Don't worry, Dragon King. You'll be very well looked after."

The dragon snorted awake, his vision still blurry as he shot up. His heart was racing. If he were at his full force, he would drown that impertinent would-be assassin in boiling salt water. And yet, this didn't seem like any prison cell he had ever seen. The walls were lined with lacquered wood, draped with rich paintings and bamboo scrolls. He himself was lying on a plush, immensely comfortable bed piled high with velvet pillows, and all around he saw rich, well-appointed furnishings. He was also clothed not in the common, rough rags he had been given to tend the orchard, but his rich, black silk robes.

"I thought those cretins had these burned…" he muttered. The dragon looked around. He seemed entirely alone. There were no windows and one door which, upon further inspection, was locked tight.

"Hello? Hello!" he called out, but there was no answer. "I am the Dragon King of the East, Qing Conglang!" he announced grandly. "And I demand to know who my captors are!"

There was no voice that responded, but there was an answer, of sorts. The Dragon King's ear twitched as he heard a subtle little puff of magic, and turned around to see, sitting on a table of ebony was a large silver platter, laden with delectably spiced fish and fried rice. A whole jug of plum wine had also been provided.

The Dragon King swerved around with narrowed eyes, looking madly for the source of this feast, but again he was very much alone. He was also very hungry. He settled down on a cushioned divan, viewing the food with a wary eye. He reasoned that he was brought here for a purpose, and whoever kidnapped him wouldn't poison him, not after all this trouble.

The Dragon King sighed. "If this is poisoned, you had better hope you know what you're doing— poisoning a dragon is no easy thing!" he called, and again, no answer. Pursing his lips, he picked at some of the fish and tasted some.

His eyes went wide. It had to be some of the most delicious food he had ever tasted! He could barely keep himself away as he waited to see if there were any ill effects, but when he remained quite hale and whole, the dragon attacked this generous feast with a reckless abandon. With no one to witness any lack of decorum, he soon let any manners fall away, shoveling fistfuls of crispy spiced fish and balls of rice into his mouth. He had been made to be content on plain rice and gruel in the orchard, but now he was eating like a king again.

By the time the Dragon King had finished, he was sprawled out amongst the cushions, idly rubbing his stuffed middle, and not a single grain of rice or drop of wine was left. "Oh, goodness… after this ordeal, this is precisely what I needed," he cooed. "Ah, if only I had a few almond tarts…"

As if he had spoken a magic spell, there was a soft little puff, and a tray of almond tarts suddenly presented itself, just within arm's reach. The Dragon King laughed, eyes wide. "Oh-ho! Some tea, then, to wash it down?"

A pot of piping hot tea and gilded porcelain cups materialized next in puffs of smoke. "Ahh!" The Dragon King chuckled. "Well… I will of course eventually overwhelm you, whoever you are, and break free… but with service like this, perhaps I shall be merciful when I defeat you," he announced to his still invisible captors.

The next few days passed in a haze of decadent feasts. The Dragon King had a big imagination and a bigger appetite, and so when he figured that anything he asked for— so long as it was food— it would be provided. He dined better than the Jade Emperor, he figured, because every morsel, every enormous filet of meat or decadent dessert, was cooked to perfection. With nothing to do but eat, the Dragon King did so with reckless abandon. It did not take long for the effects to make themselves known; his long, serpentine form began to bulge out in every direction.

The dragon's belly began to pool when he sat each meal seemingly adding another inch on to his frame. His limbs began to thicken, and creases began to show in his scales as his chest made itself more soft and prominent and rolls of fat began to stack up along his increasingly wide sides and along his back whenever he wound his coils. Even his tail grew thicker, like an enormous sausage dragging him down whenever he deigned to stand and walk about. The rolls of fat strained his fine silk robes, but the Dragon King didn't seem to mind— if anything, he was feeling much more himself, now. It was like having all his servants back, tending to his every whim, but he was also plotting. Some of his power was back with his added girth, and if he could just get his hands on a suitable amount of water…

The Dragon King slept soundly after another enormous feast. Empty plates, bowls, and bones picked clean surrounded him as he laid there with half-lidded eyes, his enormous boulder of a belly pinning him down as if he were buried beneath a monument to his own gluttony. He finally closed his eyes, ready to sleep this off…

"Is he finally asleep?" a voice whispered.

The Dragon King's ear flicked, but he remained perfectly still. He dared not waste this opportunity to learn, as this voice could only be his captor.

"Finally. I thought the fat beast would choke on that entire ox head he swallowed down."

The Dragon King nearly snorted in indignation. When he found out who that second voice was, he would sit on him, for a start.

"How much longer do we need to keep this up?" the first voice said. "He seems plenty ripe to me…" The Dragon King felt a finger prod his belly, and sink pretty far in. He tried not to squirm.

"Don't touch him! Do you want to wake him up?" the other voice snapped. "No. The Heavenly Court will have him back for his weight in gold— if we can feed him up a bit more, then we'll be rich for all eternity."

Ah, so that was their game. The Dragon King stayed perfectly still until he was very certain the two voices had left, then sat up, frowning softly as he poked his wobbling keg of a belly. "So… that's their game, is it? Very well." The Dragon King looked up. "Five more servings of almond cake, now." He grinned softly, dimpling his round cheeks as delectable slices of cake surrounded him and he forced the first rich bites down. "Let's start playing in earnest, then."