The hero took a bow after having shared a virgin's take on copulation and the afterlife. Nobody clapped because that's not what normal people do after you fuck up.

But the hero waited, and waited and waited some more. Stretching the sentences to get to the thousand word minimum requirement for the story. Not noticing that the OSHA dragon was in a bit of a daze. After doing the opposite of saving William's life, twice, the dragon became depressed and went into the fetus position. Which, if you take into consideration how big a dragon is, defines the species as a blue whale fetus on a steady diet of growth hormones. You know, a totally natural approach towards getting swole. Not that a dragon needs to get swole, mind you. An unnatural creation of the mind that puts together a crocodile, a lion and several other animals in the most adventurous sex party you can imagine. Producing an unholy union against every god, even the dragon gods, does not require bigger biceps. Otherwise you'll just get a fire-breathing pair of biceps that walks around without context. So basically every artwork during the surrealist movement come to life. Even the scatological ones.

But the dragon stood dazed in the middle of the torn down castle, his mind filled with the whispers of others. Dark whispers. Whispers so dark that even teenage goths high on several illegal substances would ask to be left out of the comparison. Sinister whispers like: “... and then you add a full cup of brown sugar to finish your cream. Now mind you, it doesn't look like much now, but watch this. I'm taking the blowtorch and turning the soft, whipped cream into a caramel goodnessy feast, just for....”

… What the hell is this? What are you doing in my storytelling? Is this a cooking show?”

“Correct, it's the best cooking show on youtube. Just ask my cousin Angel.”

This narrator couldn't give two shits about your angel, we're trying to discuss a -demon to be- here. A safety demon.

“That sounds... weird. But we can maybe turn it into a side-dish. With lots of cheese and some...”

Just shoo, go away. Stop trying to make the cooking show happen in this fantasy setting, it's not going to happen. What is wrong with you?

…

…

…

Is it gone?

“Now what do you think about the first dish Angel?”

“A little bit salty, but I feel you might have cooked this sous-vide with MSG.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Uncle hear MSG, uncle love msg. I like this cooking show. Very pro, very MSG.”

Oh god, we're being overrun with the author's weird habits again. Watching cooking shows at three in the morning. This narrator is forced to turn off the fourth wall lever for just a second, folks. Please hold on.

The fourth wall, happily swallowing several childhood friends with a couple of mints, tried to scream out in terror. But he was too late, as he was now fat from eating people. And fat walls are always slower. And die earlier. But that's a tale for another day. Which only thin walls will be able to read. As the fat ones already died.

The lever was disabled, which is a harsh thing to say about a lever and usually turns into a lawsuit. But disabled he was. And the fourth wall was whisked out of existence with the largest whisk we could order from wish.com. A real life reference that can't be used any more because there's no connection to the internet beyond the fourth wall.

“Why is my wifi down? My lightshaker only works when the wifi is on for some reason.”

The hero, not understanding when a hard working narrator needs a five second break, asks a daft question as usual. Telling him to read the part about wish.com if he needs further information.

Following the old adage of “turning it on and off again to make it work”, the narrator restarted the fourth wall subroutine.

“Fourth wall operational.”

“Fourth wall has arrived.”

This narrator doesn't care about your personal life. Give us a status update.

“Commencing. Quantity of rooms of requirement has quintupled. Preparing to digest contents. Will report back when finished.”

Ow... goodie. Seems like the fourth wall went insane and has developed a taste for humans.

“Why do I have four hundred childhood friends? There's like thirty-five Theresa's now and they all look exactly the same. This is beyond the scope of just a small rural town you know. If we keep this up, my childhood home will have a larger population than several cities combined. If everybody starts ploughing the fields, then we'll have year round coverage of every square inch with a fifty mile radius. It's gonna be the most productive small village in history. Becoming a significant chunk of the entire world's GDP. Oh god, if we go bankrupt, then the entire world goes down.. oh god, what do I do? I've got to... I've got to get a degree in economics to handle this shit properly. Everybody will depend on me.”

The hero doesn't need to worry. Never will anything he touches or be associated with hold any value to any serious person. So no matter the size of your back-story, it will always be multiplied by it's base value of zero.

“I know you're trying to be an ass, but that's sort of comforting at the same time. I... euh... thank you?”

Finally the hero shows some gratitude. Now back to the story at hand. The OSHA heard the dark, dark whispers. He takes the heroes and decides to put on an album of the doors and smoke a non herbal substitute for tobacco. The man cloaked in darkness who was using two cups and a wire to whisper dark thoughts in the dragon's ear started cursing.

The gothic antagonist then took the cup firmly in his right hand and shoved it deep inside the dragon's ear. “AND STAY IN THERE, YOU FU... ow, right. People are watching. Just a second folks, doing some prep work. The show starts soon. The show that will end you. MUAHAHAHAH *cough* aw, my throat. Anyone have some honey and tea? I think I'm developing a bit of a cold and I haven't had time yet to run to the shops. Anyone? No? Of course not. All of you lazy so and so's. Wait until my master-plan kicks you in the ass. Then you'll see and bring me my fucking tea. With honey. And maybe a biscuit. Or maybe two. Actually, no, we'll just stay with one. I am on a diet. And I had like a big lunch and everything and... you know what. No. Life is about living. I will have that second biscuit. No matter what you say.”