“Oi, Warden!” I shouted before entering his room, trying to hide my fright under a façade of secure masks and unsoiled undies. I popped my head into the room and noticed the warden was nowhere to be found. Looked upwards, to see if he was hanging from the walls or ceiling, a la horror game boss fight. There was no drooling aberration stalking at me with the neck twisted like an owl, holding to the ceiling with claws longer than the paying of a loan generously granted by the international monetary fund. This, ladyboys and gentlemen, was a net positive.
I approached a piece of paper neatly folded in the spot where the Warden usually sat. It clearly was some sort of note, so, after hitting it with some balls that had dislodged form the walls, I carefully reached for it, not losing the left hand, which went against my expectations.
I opened the note and began reading it.
Fucking Mauro:
I am off to the recently-opened Aquarium for some business. I’ll return as soon as I am done. Avoid dying. Water the plants. Feed my hamster.
“The Warden has a hamster?” I asked my dimensionally handicapped companion.
“Not outside the therapy room, no.”
“Ah. Is the Aquarium close by? Without the Warden we have nothing to do, and it will probably be safer than being out here without a giant cyborg-dog to kill the flaming ones.” I suggested calmly, trying to get Blacky to comply.
“They are not cyborgs. The metal plates are—”
I grabbed Blacky’s snout with both hands to shut him up, as if it was of any use. “Decorative, I know, I know. They still look the part. Where’s the Aquarium?”
“You don’t need to go there walking. The room cards can act as a portal to take you there.”
“And how do I come back afterwards?”
Blacky blinked, addressing me and probably wondering if I were joking. “With the base room card, of course. There must be one in your basic collection.”
I checked, scrolling through my collection, in the room category, which I never bothered to properly check. There it was, showing my shitty hospital bed. “What are the conditions to use this as a portal.”
“Touch it, select teleport, teleport, don’t die from the surprise. Done.”
I swiftly reached for my guide’s neck and pulled to drag him a bit more out of his card. “So that means I can use it to escape instead of running like a moron and you didn’t tell me!”
“I… look out for your cardiovascular health. You know, a bit of jogging is good for the heart,” he immediately excused himself before shoving his head back into his card, my hands still grabbing the lose skin of his neck.
“Stop trying to kill me!” I shook him with all my vigor, my hands already inside his card.
“I need my beauty holidays!”
He was the worst, and I would not be dragged down to his level, so I just let him go and teleported to the aquarium, as instructed.
----------------------------------------
What would you expect to see in an aquarium? Blue lights, maybe. Fishtanks with their respective occupants that could be either fish or crustaceans or mollusks, even. Some amphibians wouldn’t be out of place, axolotls and the like. Perhaps, even… a reptile?
What you don’t expect, is for there to be just a few tanks spread around a circular arena, a ring for some sort of fight, with the ropes yellow and all, and two massive pieces of machinery at each end. Hanging from the ceiling and sporting two arms each, these steel titans sprouted levers and cranks everywhere — to adjust parameters, I assumed. Which parameters, I didn’t have a clue. And behind each of these machines, outside the ring, the metal-armored anthropomorphic dogs managed them, sitting next to a peaceful beagle each. Peaceful beagles equipped with warmongerous knives.
On my left, there was the Warden, and at the right end, a tall, thin anthropomorphic collie-man with a silver mane and Solitaire eyes. No, not solitary.I know what I am saying. The Collie looked at me, and began striding in the direction of a trembling, paralyzed Mauro donning surprisingly dry underwear.
“A new face defaces the aquarium. I am the Aquarist,” he said with a voice of apex marihuana predator. “Welcome, to the Aquarium.”
“And what’s all of this?” I said, gesturing at the ring and machines and beknived beagles.
“Why would you have an aquarium if not as a front for illegal activities, moron?” The Warden kindly eased my doubts.
“To raise fish?” I suggested.
“What is the point of fish? They are all yellow or blue or shit,” answered the Warden, going back to pulling levers and pushing buttons. “Ah, this baby is now ready. Mauro, would you mind spectating a top dog fight?”
“You do dog fights? that’s like…” My train of thought derailed after happening upon a catastrophic piece of hard, unyielding logic. “I guess it’s like boxing matches among humans. Huh.” I finished, my indignation far lower than at the beginning of the complaint.
“Oh please!” The warden exclaimed, leaving the machine be and advancing towards me with arms wide open. “Boxing is to this like a flattened pebble is to armor-penetrating rounds. We have gone far beyond the limits of punching, of kicking. Of biting, even.”
“Yes, I noticed you duct-taped a knife to the beagles’ heads. Like a murder unicorn.”
“The knives are to add sparks to the clash, friend. They are rather blunt,” the Aquarist offered an explanation, scratching his beagle’s neck.
“Why not use pit bulls? They were bred for the ring.”
The Warden Raised an index finger, high, in an “Aja!” sort of way. “They are not balanced enough. Beagles have the perfect design, a flawless mixture of traits decent in both aerodynamics and equilibrium.”
I asked, approaching the machine and giving it little taps as the Warden watched , satisfied. “Aerodynamics? What sort of fight is this?”
“A top dog fight, as I say. Take a seat and behold, my model is clearly superior to his.” The Warden then raised his Beagle from the forelegs, holding it in the air as if the dog were a slain pig. “Seventeen generations of careful beagle breeding to create this beauty.”
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“Only seventeen, because the Warden is not a serious adversary. My old and trusty fifty-fourth generation beagle can beat his any day of the week. And any day outside of the week, too.”
“There are no days outside of the week,” I protested.
“Poor creature that never experienced the thrill of ending up trapped in the transition between Monday and non-Monday,” cooed the Aquarist, in the most obnoxious way you can conceive. Then he made a delicate gesture towards his white a beagle, that had a brown spot around his eyes and another blotch of the same color on his back. “This, is a top dog. We use them for top dog duels. We bet on them.”
“What do you bet, exactly?”
The Warden slapped my shoulder, which, made pain take a guided tour through my body. “Designs! The winner is allowed a bit more freedom in suggesting the goddess some changes for most of her cards, despite any complaints the other may have. The loser has to wait until a balance round.”
“As such, to keep Deck of Dogs in its current state, it’s imperative that the Warden never wins again.”
Silently, I hoped for the Warden to win. Several times in a row, if possible. I wondered if I liked deck of dogs not as an obligation, but as a game. It was a short lived wonder, an ol’ yeller taken by daddy to the backyard to be obliterated by the family’s Jewish Space Laser. No. The puns are amusing sometimes, but playing this is a torture.
Then I wondered if I liked trading card games, which was a silly thing to think about: Of course I don’t like them. The only people who like trading card games is the people that don’t play trading card games. It’s like asking someone “Hey, do you like doing crack?” No, of course they don’t. But they need it. The rush of the drug entering your body, of pulling off that combo in a tournament, of opening that expensive staple from a pack. And we don’t have help groups, nobody tells us we have an unhealthy addiction to going face, or removing units. I can win or I can deny that spell? Fuck it, deny the spell, this is why life is worth the pain. Draw or mill, heal or burn. It’s all in the cards, my love. In the textbox.
But I digress.
“So, this whole business, how exactly do the beagles fight? Do they get hurt or die? if they do, do they respawn like Blacky does?”
“No.” The warden went, smiling like a vile jackal.I couldn’t help but picture the horrid creature under the armor as he did. “And I am not specifying which of your questions I am answering. We shall let it rip as you watch.”
A shiver climbe dup my spine, because it was quite the contrarian. That last statement had been ominous. They wouldn’t…
The Warden picked up his beagle and shoved it into the grasp of the metallic arms and their gloved hands, which held it in place tightly, the dog staring ahead with a determination rarely seen in scent hounds. The aquarist carefully placed his own prized hound in a similar position, and raised a thumbs up to elt the warden know they were ready.
The Warden grabbed a huge ring on the top of the machine, connected to said machine by a solid bar of steel. “Go take a seat, Mauro, then we shall begin. You will bear witness to the most glorious clandestine sport ever conceived.”
“Does the goddess know about this?”
The Warden didn’t ever look at me, he simply nodded towards the plastic chairs across the ring. There, a single pennant floated form side to side, waving on its own. It had UWU written in white, bold case., over a blue background. She knew. She was a fan.
“How can it be illegal if the goddess is aware of it?”
“How can cocaine be illegal in your country if every other politician and policeman inhales half a kilogram a year?”
“Hint taken, proceed with your… crimes. “I said, jogging across the central room fo the aquarium, under the gaze of a fat Astronotus, to sit onto the chairs, as further away from the animated pennant as I could.
“Ready?” Asked the Aquarist, Popping a single metallic finger into the ring of his machine.
“Ready!”
Both servants of the goddess pulled from the rings, revealing the teethed chains they were attached to. I was muttering “no” as I saw the arms begin to spin, and with them, the beagles, still in horizontal position, joining their four legs together as they acquired speed.
“No. No!” I said again, and, when the cords finished being yanked out (the warden’s with violence, the aquarist’s with unmatched, flowing grace) the beagles were released, turning wildly over the tips of their joined paws, the images of their tails and heads merging into a circle due to their incredible speed. Veritable dog-twisters. “They made the dogs into Beyblades!” was my final lament as I grabbed my head, watching how the spinning tops (or hounds) collided, sparks flying from the knives attached to their heads when they made contact with each other, the hits sending them bounding back against the ropes and once more into the fray.
“Overdose of stupidity, master? I can help.” asked Blacky, offering a gun through the card frame.
This time, the gun was whole, probably fully functional. “Why do you provide good guns only when you want me to commit suicide?”
“Vacations.”
I pushed Blacky and his gun back into the card with both hands, and returned to twister-dog-gazing. A thin pink line made itself present on the outer side of the circles described by the dogs. They were panting. With each collision they spun slower, lost energy. The Warden’s hound gradually began to wobble and, with a final charge from the Aquarist’s top dog, it got thrown to the corner of the ring, the knife detaching and flying off the arena, clattering against the ceramic floor moments later. Falling on its back, the Warden’s dog rotation slid to a halt, the beagle extending his twitching, possibly sore legs into the air, as if praising some sort of unreachable god. Let me tell you, little beagle: there is clearly no good god above. Not if he allows this ““““Sport”””” to exist. I need more scare quotes for that, but my fingers will get tired and of tendinitis I am no friend!
“Shit brought forth by a winged asshole!” The Warden cursed. I think. “You win again!”
“As it is only natural,” the Aquarist said, sitting by his spinning, jumping beagle as it decelerated and celebrated.
I stood from my chair and walked up to the loser of the match. The warden wasn’t even bothering to check on his dog. “Leave me alone, Mauro, I am not in the mood for Deck of Dogs. Hey, Asshole!”
“Yes, my dear friend?” the helpful Aquarist offered a smile, as if the Warden were not fuming.
“Can you cover for me while I relax? Mauro here,” and he gestured at me like I was a bowl of soon-to-rot fruit, “needs to battle someone for GBP. So… let him beat your ass a bit, beat his another, you know how it goes.”
The collie smiled, showing sharp metallic teeth and closing his eyes. “I am always up for a little diversion. Follow me to the other room, Mauro, the one with stingrays. We must leave the beagles to rest, and the Warden to weep.”
“Wait a second. How does this work? can I play against anyone to get GBP?”
“The goddess only cares about you playing the game, The Warden is just the default adversary,” he began explaining, calmly, as we strode deeper into the Aquarium, supposedly going towards the room with the stingrays. “But really, you can play against any of us, the 'robot' or 'NPC' dogs, like your kind calls us.”
“You are not NPCs, I know that much. I also know that under the metal you are…”
“Absolute nightmarish creatures? Indeed! You cannot mingle the souls of a man and a dog together and get a cute result. The worst of both surfaces in the result. That’s why the goddess stopped doing it. I think. Now she just blesses the souls of dogs with some near-human intellect to create the guides.”
“That’s me,” offered Blacky, once again popping his head out of his card.
“Yes, like Risen. Well, turning here, we will arrive to the room where I like to play.”
A ring-shaped tank comprised the walls of the room, and in it, several species of freshwater, brackish water, and saltwater rays swam together, which made no fucking sense. But in this world, where logic was sodomized on a daily basis, I considered this flaw to be relatively tame.
In the center of the room, there was a square table with two chairs, one massive, fit for a giant metallic dog. Other of a more human size, with a wide base and some steps to climb up to it. The Aquarist quickly took his place at it. “come, sit, get your deck out, and let us play.
“No fantastic magical play field will arise?”
“It’s a card game, boy, it’s perfectly playable over a table. Any random effects will play out automatically, and the size of Kibble and health meters adjusts to be proportionate and sensible. Talking about that, give me your deck.” He sat leisurely, extending his hand and gesturing with a pair of fingers
I raised an eyebrow.
“I will propose some adjustments to tighten it up, Mauro. I am not going to steal your cards. We all have a full collection already. I know you are playing homebrewed pug aggro.”
I caved in, climbed up to the chair, pulled my deck out from the system interface and handed it to him. He hummed as he carefully passed the cards with his massive hands. “Yes. I see. Interesting.” He made a small pause. “This is hot trash.”
Seeing my disheartened expression, he closed his eyes and smiled once more. “but even a turd can be polished to shine, like in that episode of Mythbusters. Do you mind if I loan you some cards? To use just in our matches, of course.”
I perked up and, biting my tongue, I shook my head. My Almost Pauper Pugs deck was going to become, at least temporally, a proper pug aggro deck.