Fed Dragon

After his many adventures, Spyro the dragon enjoyed the tranquil peace of a much needed vacation. Returning to Dragon Shores provided a world of thrills and fun after all the tedious treasure collecting and adversity he faced across the many worlds and realms. When the day winded down, he’d relax by the beach, kicking up his claws as he nestled in his sling chair alongside his buddy Sparx. The sun’s warm heat massaged his scales, lulling him into a well earned slumber to the tune of the beating ocean.

The down time had just the revitalizing effect Spyro needed. His bones and muscles were given new life. Energy once again surged through him, filling him with eager anticipation for whatever challenges and tasks would come next. He returned to his home in the Artisan world to once again train with the elder dragons, curious to find any other skills he might be proficient at. For days he went from dragon to dragon, performing a variety of tasks such as painting and carpentry. But the energetic dragon lacked the patience and meticulous nature to perform such things even at a novice level, bumping him over to the next dragon on his list.

Spyro walked through the central hub of the Artisan world meadow with his friend Sparx fluttering by his side. Another day of discovery ended in failure, resulting in another two skills Spyro wasn’t particularly good at. “Well little buddy,” said Spyro, “I guess sheep herding and pottery just isn’t for us.”

*Bzzt-bzzt* The yellow firefly concurred.

“How’s a dragon supposed to mold clay with claws anyway? And the sheep, I mean who can resist the urge to just chase them around, plus they don’t listen to you when you call them, they just stand still. I don’t know, Sparx. Maybe the only thing we’re good at is fighting bad guys and finding treasure?”

*Bzzzt-bzz-bzzt*

“Yeah, guess that really isn’t a bad thing.”

Strolling down the meadow, Spyro approached an elder dragon lounging sideways among frolicking sheep. The rotund blue dragon looked up from a book he was writing in, taking notice of Spyro.

“Ah, Spyro,” he said, “how did the day’s tasks go?”

Spyro wryly smiled. “Not good, Argus. Honestly, fighting Gnasty Gnorc was easier than learning these skills.”

“Is that so? Well, fear not, I’m certain we’ll find a skill you’re well suited for. At the very least, you’d make a fine Peacekeeper.”

“That’s true, but I’d like to try everything I can here in the Artisan world first. Got anything else I could help with today?”

Argus dabbed a phoenix feather quill into a bottle of ink, continuing to write in his book. “I’m afraid not, you work particularly fast. I’ll ask more dragons tonight if they need any assistance and give you a new list on the morrow.”

Just then, a rather decadent scent brushed across Spyro’s face. His stomach growled as he took in a large whiff of the scent, savoring some of the lingering flavors on his tongue. “What’s that smell? It’s…delicious.”

“Oh, that,” Argus fanned near his mouth, “pardon me. It’s only slow cooked lamb, with a pinch of seasoning and glazed with a unique new sauce Alvar created. I’m currently writing down its strongest points and any avenues of improvement he might wish to make.”

Spyro wings perked up in fascination. “I didn’t know you were a food critic. That’s actually something that Artisan dragons can do?”

“I suppose it is. I’ve been helping Alvar refine his recipes for some time now, though…I may need to consider cutting back a bit.” The blue dragon gave his round belly a few pats. “I believe I’m the only other dragon who gives him the critique he desires. He produces new dishes all the time, and is very adamant on perfecting them.”

“Cool. You think I’d be able to help him? Maybe I can be a food critic, since you’re probably cutting back and all.”

Argus ran a claw down the spike of his chin. “Hmm, I don’t see why not. I can’t possibly sample all of Alvar’s new recipes myself. I’m certain he’d be more than appreciative of further feedback. Go ahead. I’ll meet you at Alvar’s kitchen later when I finish this review.”

“Awesome,” Spyro licked his chops, “I can’t wait. I’m starved after chasing around all those sheep earlier. Catch you later, Argus.”

Bounding like a prancing deer, Spyro left Argus back to his writing. Walking under the portcullis and the winding snake-like hallways of the Artisan world’s castle architecture, he made his way to the Town Square portal. As he glided through the skies, his mouth watered at what tasty meats Alvar would cook up for him to try.

As the island town came into view, Spyro made his descent. He walked the stone laden streets toward the town courtyard, where he’d find Alvar’s establishment.

*Bzzt-bzzt* Sparx fluttered in front of the purple dragon.

Spyro shook his head. “Don’t worry, buddy. That was a really long time ago. I’m sure Alvar doesn’t remember that whole mishap the last time I helped him.”

Passing by the center fountain of the town courtyard, Spyro stopped before the large doorway of Alvar’s shop. Tall and round, it dwarfed a dragon of his size compared to the larger elder dragons such as Argus who may frequent here. The inside was a roomy hall of thick sturdy tables and chairs made, finely crafted by carpentry dragons for both support and elegance. Chandeliers decorated with bull horns hung from the ceiling, providing plenty of illumination with its rows of multicolored flame candles that gave off a tantalizing fragrance of cooked meat. Approaching the wooden archway leading to Alvar’s kitchen, the red dragon coincidentally bumped into him, holding a long metal skewer with five chickens, bell peppers, onions and tomatoes pierced into it.

“Sp-Spyro,” the red dragon made to hide the skewer behind his back, “I’m sorry but-uh-I’m in no need of any help. Certainly not to cook anything-oh no. I’m well stocked on charcoal at the moment, hehe, thank you.”

Spyro wryly smiled at Sparx who couldn’t help but roll his eyes at him. “Heh, actually Alvar, that’s not what I’m here for.”

“Oh,” Alvar became more relaxed, “well then. When I heard Argus was giving you tasks to help out other dragons, I feared he would eventually send you here to overcook more of my sausages. So, how can I help you, my boy?”

“Argus did lead me here, but he said that you needed help with tasting your recipes? I haven’t tried being a food critic yet, but compared to cooking, how hard can it be?”

“Hmm, yes,” Alvar looked to the wooden rafters above for an answer, “I am always looking for more culinary feedback. The other dragons are always too busy to give me any meaningful critique. On top of that, Argus hasn’t been helping me as much as he used to. Hmm, why not. Think you’re up to the task?”

Spyro smirked with pride, bending forward as if ready to pounce. “Bring it on. I’ll critique anything you give me.”

“Well, I like your enthusiasm. Take a seat then, and I’ll bring you the first dish.”

Spyro hopped onto a nearby wooden stool seated before a round table. Alvar walked over to the kitchen window, grabbing a large bowl from the inside. Setting it down before Spyro, he slid the flat end of a large cleaver down the skewer, dumping the chicken and veggies into the bowl. The rising steam caressed the purple dragon’s nostrils, dousing his senses with its mouthwatering flavors. He licked the drool seeping down the corners of his mouth, giddily waiting for the bowl to fill.

Alvar squirted a pinch of lemon over the food. “Each of these rotisserie chickens was seasoned with a different blend of herbs and spices, paired with roast tomatoes, bell peppers and onions. Ring this bell when you are finished and tell me what you think.”

Alvar walked back through the kitchen archway with empty skewer in claw. Alone with his meal at last, Spyro pulled the bowl closer to him, held one of the chickens by its leg, and tore off a huge chunk. Audibly munching away, the dragon murmured with delight, feeling the tender meat practically melt in his mouth. Dripping with decadent juices, its intense flavor warmed his throat as food cascaded down, barely chewed up.

The subsequent chickens brought an entirely different taste with them, but all were deliciously capable of knocking Spyro from his seat. Coupled with the roast vegetables, the tingling acidity caused his wings to perk up with glee. Out of all the artisan duties he performed over the past couple of days, this was by and large the best of them. With such delicious foods for him to enjoy, he could see how a dragon like Argus had grown as considerably large as he was.

Licking the bowl clean of any remaining juices, Spyro sighed with contentment before ringing Alvar’s bell. The red dragon raised an eyebrow, intrigued by how spotless Spyro had left the bowl; even the bones barely held a shred of meat. “My, that was surprisingly fast. Argus usually takes the entire day to write a critique for any dish I send him. So, what do you think?”

Spyro liked his claws. “They were…amazing.”

“Which ones specifically?”

“All of them. Best rotisserie chickens I’ve ever had.”

Alvar’s red complexion grew a shade brighter; his claw fidgeted around with the tip of his singed mustache. “All of them…amazing, eh? Heh, can’t say Argus or any other dragon has given my cooking such high praise. It…feels good to know the work I put into my craft hasn’t gone unnoticed. Eh-is there…one piece of feedback you might give, maybe?”

“Hmm, well, I think one of them could use a pinch less salt. But besides that, they were all perfect.”

“Perfect, eh?” Alvar brushed his claws across his chest, wearing a wide grin. “Yes, I suppose they were, weren’t they? I say, you have a very agreeable palette, Spyro. Would you mind helping me with one more recipe? Unless you’re already full.”

Spyro fervently pounded his claws on the table. “Are you kidding? I’m still starving. Let me have it.”

“Wonderful. I have a feeling you’re really going to enjoy this. Just hold on, I’ll return shortly.”

Alvar took back the bowl and returned to his kitchen. Spyro salivated for several minutes from the decadent aroma seeping from the kitchen window, until the red dragon emerged with two more bowls and a wooden tankard as large as his head. “These chickens have been marinating overnight, each roasted over a different magical fire that cooks the flavor into the meat. I call them ‘flavor flames.’ You may have noticed I use them for the candles on the chandeliers. Oh, and try this.” He slid over the tankard. “Some fresh strawberry cider to wash it all down. Enjoy.”

Spyro’s stomach growled at the sight of twice as many chickens, all different shades of orange, red and brown, and each with a unique smell. Like the previous bowl, roasted tomatoes, bell peppers and onions were mixed in as well. The purple dragon delved back into his meal, ripping apart tender flesh from bone like flower petals from a stem.

As much as Spyro loved the seasoned chicken, these marinated ones sent his taste buds through the roof. His stomach burbled, happy to have more delicious food to digest. The joy of eating such wonderful food made him pick up his pace, cramming his cheeks full of chicken and veggies before gulping it all down with a swig of strawberry cider. Each mouthful made a sizable bulge as it slid down his throat; his already satisfied stomach growing further full with each gulp.

Whether it was some type of persisting hunger or a hypnotizing effect of Alvar’s succulent dishes, Spyro persisted in his eating with the utmost enthusiasm. The chunks he tore off became larger, leaving him briefly wincing as tiny bones made their way through. This, however, hardly bothered Spyro; any minor discomforts were easily ignored thanks to the pleasures of the feast. On top of that, his digestive acids were more than capable of melting away any refuse that entered in his stomach.

Spyro finished his first bowl a minute quicker than the seasoned chicken, cider trickling down the corners of his mouth as he chugged the tankard, holding it above his head with both claws. Slamming it down on the table, he let out a gaseous belch. A satisfied grin streaked across his face; his serpentine tongue savoring any lingering flavors on his lips.

He looked over to Sparx, who had just munched on a stray butterfly fluttering through an open window. “This was a, *oorp*, great idea buddy. Who knew being a food critic would be so much fun? I’ll definitely have to thank Argus whenever he stops by.”

*Bzzt-zzt-zzt*

“That’s true. Alvar did say he took all day writing his critiques. Well, *urp*, guess that means we’ll just have to keep trying new recipes until he gets here.”

*Bzzt?*

Spyro failed to hear Sparx’ buzzing over the sound of his blithe gorging. The firefly watched as the stool his friend sat on, which was big enough to seat even the largest of elder dragons, gradually filled up with space with each of the roasted birds Spyro finished. Generally in charge of looking out for his friend, he couldn’t help but feel some type of concern. Spyro’s face oozed with decadence, juice and cider dripping down his toothy grin. He barely chewed his food as well, wasting little time to progress to the next mouthful.

Spyro rang the bell before finishing his final chicken, chugging the last of it down with the last drops of cider. He let out another hearty belch, smiling as he gave his scaly distended middle a series of pats with both claws. “That really, *orp*, hit the spot.”

Alvar emerged from the kitchens. “So, how was it?”

“It was, *bworp*, incredible. Every last one of them.”

Alvar wore a smug grin as he inspected his claws. “They were, weren’t they? Sometimes I even amaze myself.”

“Though, now that I’ve tried it with the strawberry cider, I think it’s best I tried the seasoned chicken again with it too. You know, critique them both the same.”

“Hmm, you’re right. I didn’t think about how I added another variable to the recipe. Yes, I’ll bring out another batch right away.”

“And something else, right?”

“Eh, pardon?”

Spyro grunted as he stood over the table, swiping over the two empty bowls toward Alvar. “I told you, I’ll critique any recipe you give me. Bust out the cookbook Alvar, I wanna review them all.”

Alvar was taken aback by the purple dragon’s enthusiasm, nervously loosening the bandana around his neck as he stared into Spyro’s fiery eyes, as if issuing him a challenge. “Eh…very well. I do have a catalog of recipes I’ve been saving for Argus. But…I suppose you could review them instead, heh. I’ll bring it out right away.”

As Alvar returned to the kitchen, Spyro picked his teeth with a claw, noticing Sparx sternly staring back at him. “What? I was serious. I could still eat.”

*Bzzt-bzz-bzzt*.

“Get fat? Hah, come on Sparx, I’m a dragon. I’ll just burn it all off in no time. Besides, after all the good I’ve done for the realms, I deserve to treat myself, right?”

Spyro ignored his friend’s buzzing disagreements, thinking of what new delicious concoctions perfumed the hall from Alvar’s kitchen. The red dragon soon returned, arms filled to the brim with platters. He set down another bowl of five seasoned chickens, along with four platters each with five roasted pheasants served with a side of mashed potatoes drizzled in gravy. To top it off, he filled up three more tankards of strawberry cider, all of which filled up half the table, leaving the purple dragon speechless, tongue slipping out of his mouth.

Sparx watched in trepidation as the gluttonous dragon dove headlong into his feast. He grimaced at the sight of Spyro’s cheeks bulging with food, stuffing his mouth as much as he could before taking a hefty gulp. The pheasants were even worse, just small enough for him to stuff in his mouth and swallow whole. There was no semblance of tasting the food, or even savoring any of its flavor. The purple dragon only wanted to eat, and eat he did, with the appetite of enough dragons to fill every stool at his table.

As he gorged himself with abandon, Spyro’s dog-like sitting position gradually changed with his size. His haunches and waist grew thicker, spreading his legs further apart. His tail hung further down the back of the stool the more his back expanded, forming a plump shelf down his lower back for his wings to rest on. His belly hung down the front of the stool and squished against the table, blorping with each new delectable addition he stuffed his face with.

Spyro recited his praises to Alvar as he brought out his next recipe; two massive bowls, one with lamb chops and the other pork, drizzled with a fragrant sauce and stacked as high as he was tall. He startled the red dragon upon horking down two claws full of the food, muffling his positive review through a full mouth. Alvar returned to his kitchen, repulsed by such a display of gluttony from such a small dragon, yet filled with pride at yet producing another winning dish.

Wolfing down the final pheasant, Spyro stood upright to feast on the bowls of food; his swollen belly creating a strenuous distance between him and the table. It sagged down onto the stool, squishing against his haunches, pushing his back feet closer to the stool’s edge. After finishing a bowl, the pressure of the table ramming into his gut became so cumbersome, he climbed onto the table to finish the second bowl. Lounging on his side, he pulled the bowl toward him, drenching his snout in meat and sauce.

After finishing his meal, Spyro licked his claws clean of sauce and fat. The dragon had swollen to twice his normal size, belching up a plume of smoke and wearing a pleased grin. He murmured with delight, the surface of his stomach squelching as he patted.

“Mmm, so, *buurap*, good. Guess I finally found, *orp*, something else I’m good at.”

*Bzzzzzzzzzzzt*

“What? This,” Spyro smacked his gut, “this is nothing. A couple days of chasing sheep and it’ll, *hic*, melt right off.”

*Bzz-zzz-zzz-zzt*

“I’m totally not overdoing it. You should see some of the other dragons and how much, *bworp*, they’re able to put away. Relax, buddy. I know what I’m doing.”

Playfully sneering at the dragonfly while wobbling his gut, another mouthwatering scent caught Spyro’s attention. Alvar grunted from behind a mountain of steaks, a cloud of steam rising off of them like a hot spring. The dragon’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, awestruck at the volume of steaks doubling both his height and width. Alvar slammed the platter onto the table, and fetched six other tankards filled with apple and peach ciders, along with three other sweet and fizzy drinks before leaving.

Spyro wasted no time diving into his feast, stuffing into his mouth two steaks at a time. His wings fluttered upon feeling the rich flavorful juices gush down his throat, followed by the steaks themselves. There was a thrill in gulping down melon sized bulges worth of food, feeling each orb form a train-like link on its way to his stomach. It drove him so fervent with gluttony, he crammed an extra steak in his mouth with the two that were there, and forcibly shoved them down till his claws could feel the back of his tongue. He then belched with contentment, gave his swollen gut a joyful pat, and continued eating.

The piles of steaks decreased in size, causing Spyro to groan as he leaned over his belly just to reach the rest. The chunky dragon lazily sat with his hind legs outspread, succumbing to the mercy of his ever widening corpulence. His limbs grew soft and round like watermelons. The rolls on his back thickened, folding partially over his wings and tail. He was more butterball than dragon, with even his armor-like scales and coarse body now jiggling with each belch and belly pat.

Nearly done with the steaks, Spyro was pleased to see Alvar bring over a platter of mutton and a platter of turkey legs. The red dragon opened his mouth, likely to ask how the steaks tasted. Before he could utter a word, Spyro packed his cheeks with the remaining five, unable to close his mouth, but still forcing the meat down his gullet with both claws. Cringing at this display of wanton voracity, he simply averted his eyes and backed away to his kitchen, the grotesque sounds of Spyro’s labored gulping following behind him.

The time that passed was filled with merriment and joy the likes of which Spyro had ever felt. There was an intoxicating pleasure to overeating that felt somewhat primal, as if reclaiming some piece of long lost dragon heritage, back when his kind were symbols of indulgence and greed. Though he had to work harder to reach his food, his increasing weight had no bearing on him; in fact, he steadily grew to enjoy it. The strain of feeling his bloated gut continue to surge outward, coupled with his expanding girth beginning to rival that of Argus, was a fascinating feat he found pride in. After how long it would take to grow into a full elder dragon, it was exciting to experience their enormity in his own hedonistic way.

Gorging on full platters of goat, venison, trout, cod, duck, goose, and other small fowl, Spyro laid on his back, limbs sprawled across the table. His corpulence grew until his limbs and tail now hung over the table’s edges, knocking over the empty tankards and platters onto the floor. The purple dragon groaned with dazed vision, pinned under his mountain of yellow gurgling blubber. Its chamber of indigested gorge churned diligently to digest the farmhouse of flavorful meats.

“Maybe, *hilp*, I shouldn’t have…eaten, *oooourp*, those last…seven geese, *hic*, whole.”

Sparx stood on Spyro’s snout, furrowing his beady eyes in a scolding manner and buzzing madly. It was nothing but muffled noise to the dragon’s ears, however; his incessant gorging and swollen stomach left him in such a woozy state, he could barely hear his own moans over the sounds of his belly. “Maybe,” Spyro languidly spoke, “I, *hilp*, might have…overdone it.”

He made to turn his body, beginning with pushing his back off the table. Without warning, an ear wrenching crack resounded from under the table, like a tree slowly toppling over. The shift in weight to the front was too much for even the broad table stand to bear, snapping it at an angle and sending the purple dragon sliding downward. His body squelched as it impacted the ground, gut landing over his burly tail and his back resting against the angled table surface like it was a recliner.

The impact of his belly onto the floor caused his indigested gorge to violently wade through the sea of cider and fizzy drinks, wobbling like a mound of pudding. As he rubbed his eyes, he was soon greeted by a wave of yellow blubber squishing against his snout, burying his face up to his ears and pinning his claws to the table’s surface. Spyro was shocked over how malleable his scaly belly felt under his touch, as if his body fat had stretched his armored skin so thin, it was like wax paper wrapping a slab of roast. He couldn’t help but put on a sloppy grin, as all his gluttony brushed against his forelegs and face before returning back to a stationary position.

Hindlegs sprawled out and forelegs resting atop of his undulating belly, Spyro looked up at Sparx with a wry smile. “Maybe we should call it a day, *hilp*, huh buddy?”

Hearing Alvar grunt his way toward him, Spyro woozily turned his head toward the kitchen door. Moaning with bliss, his eyes gleamed on a monolithic pyramid of smoked sausages that the red dragon carried on a platter. His belly burbled anxiously, still enthusiastic for yet another swelling feast. As incredibly stuffed as he was, the need to continue gorging welled up in every plump fiber of his being. Running his claws across his expansive gut, he couldn’t help but indulge in the urge to see it grow further.

“*Hic-hilp*, aww, who am I kidding, Sparx. I’ve already gotten, *hic-hilp*, this fat. Why stop now, right?”

Sparx buzzed in protest before his half shut eyes, until a sudden belch caught him like a gale of wind, blowing him away. The stack of sausages wobbled as Alvar recoiled in shock, seeing the broken table, and the corpulent purple dragon, whose stomach wobbled as if packed with half a herd of sheep.

“Sp-Spyro, w-what…how.”

“*Bworp*, sorry about the table, Alvar. You could set those down right here,” Spyro patted his belly, “it’s fine.”

Alvar held back the platter. “M-maybe we should pick this up another day, Spyro. You’ve been-uh-a really big help, and there aren't too many recipes left to test anyway. What do you say?”

Spyro let out a belch of fire, furrowing his eyebrows and grinning. “Come on, Alvar. I told you, *hic-hilp*, I can handle it. Seriously, just keep the food coming. I want to eat everything!”

The red dragon winced, hearing the grotesque squelching of Spyro’s stomach as he dropped both forelegs onto it. Doing as he was told, he placed the platter over Spyro’s wide belly, flattening it like an overgrown golden marshmallow. The purple dragon groaned at its heavy weight crushing his indigested gorge, as well as his innards; the lack of space making it harder to hiccup, or food to slosh around. Clutching at what sausages he could with his grubby claws, he proceeded to feast himself, alleviating the weight on his belly as the sausage stack gradually decreased.

As Alvar’s list of recipes dwindled down to their last, the red dragon sighed with relief, having grown exhausted by Spyro’s gluttonous demands. By this point he no longer even complimented the dishes he ate, but simply shoved anything Alvar gave him straight into his mouth. Even raw vegetables such as bowls loaded with potatoes, carrots and cabbages, the purple dragon murmured and hummed with delight, same as he would with any finely crafted seasoned meat. The dirty dishes piled up and his limbs were fatigued. With how much cleanup he would have to do, for the red dragon, being trapped in crystal again didn’t sound too bad.

Having begun the day so small, Spyro reveled in having grown so unbelievably fat, he even surpassed Argus’ own prodigious girth by several inches. His belly blocked off any view of what was in front of him, bubbling like some boisterous beast. His hind legs and tail, as meaty as they were, were buried under its blubber. His forelegs could barely manage to bring food up to his mouth, as it fought tooth and nail against his swollen neck. His waist now completely eclipsed the table itself, enveloping its edges as if trying to devour it as well.

After gobbling up the last few meals he was given, Spyro licked his lips at the last meal Alvar brought over. A massive swine, thrice Spyro’s original size, golden browned with an apple in its mouth. Alvar struggled to carry it, huffing and puffing before stopping beside Spyro.

“I have…no place…to put it,” he wheezed.

“*Hic-hilp*, just give it here,” Spyro reached out with his claws.

Alvar held it closer, allowing Spyro to grip it and drag it off the platter; what happened next, Alvar couldn’t believe his eyes. The purple dragon stuffed its snout whole into his maw, forcibly pulling it in with both his claws. His mouth stretched to an impossible degree, the likes of which he had seen from no other dragon. The muffled sounds of strain coming from him made it seem as if he were choking.

“By the realms, Spyro,” said Alvar, “cease this foolishness at once! It’s much too big, even for you.”

But Spyro would not be dissuaded. Grinning from the corner of his mouth, he did his best to balance the hog on his belly. Swallowing its entire head, Spyro winced as he made his way down its robust body. His neck swelled larger than Alvar’s own waistline, working his way down until making it to the pig’s rear. By the time Spyro was able to close his mouth, the entire hog sat in his neck. He patted it with his claws, helping it along before taking one final-massive gulp, shooting the hog down into his belly with a vociferous glorp. Spyro grunted with discomfort, feeling the hog stampede through his indigested gorge and pinball itself through his stomach. Lethargic after swallowing whole such a huge meal, he surrendered himself to the mercy of his sloshing gut, unable to keep it from constantly squishing against his forelegs and face.

“Oooh, so good, *hic-hilp*. Alvar, you really are…the best, *buuurraaaap*, *guh*, cook…in all the realms. This belly, *hic-hilp*, can attest to that.”

“Sp-Spyro…what have you done?”

Turning his attention to the front of the shop, Spyro sloppily grinned at a dumbfounded Argus standing halfway through the door. “Oh, *hic-hilp*, hey, Argus. I just got done telling Alvar, *ooooorp*, *huff*, what an amazing cook he was. I never thought, *hic-hilp*, I could feel so stuffed.”

“H-how did this happen? How is it you’ve become a more corpulent dragon than I?”

“*Hic-hilp*, oh, you should have been here sooner. I ate every single one of Alvar’s recipes, *hilp*, that he’s been saving for you for a while now. Him and Sparx didn’t think I could do it, but I showed them, *hic-hilp*, there’s nothing that this stomach can’t handle.”

Argus grimaced as the young dragon pushed at his sloshing stomach with a grin of satisfaction. He then turned his attention to the exhausted Alvar, who sat slumped over a table across from Spyro. “You allowed this to happen? You honestly fed him every single one of your recipes?”

“Not every one,” said Alvar, “just the ones I had saved for you. You should have seen him, the lad was highly insistent. The look in his eyes made me feel like he was ready to eat me. And then there were all of his compliments buttering me up, I had a moment of weakness. You’re the one who sent him here.”

“I thought he might be able to help with a critique or two. And what of that? Did you even give any of Alvar’s dishes an actual review?”

“*Bworp*, I sure did. The chicken was amazing, the goose incredible, the hog delicious, *hilp*...”

“Giving an actual critique means adding what could be improved upon, Spyro. You weren’t being a critic, you were just being a glutton.”

“Oh, really? *Hic-hilp*, well, guess that makes me the best glutton in the Artisan world,” Spyro proudly patted his gut, “I can live with that.”

Unable to hold back a yawn, he felt his eyelids growing heavier; the soothing bubbling of his stomach lulling him to sleep. “Well, thank you both for such an, *hic-hilp*, awesome afternoon. I really got to find someplace to lie down. Being a glutton, *hilp*, is a lot of work.”

Groaning as he rolled onto his side, Spyro’s belly erupted into a symphony of sloshes. His enormous belly rendered his hind legs useless, lifting them off the ground and forcing him to drag himself with his forelegs. Argus stepped aside, squinting his eyes at the sight of Spyro groaning with exertion just to move his wobbling mass. Even the wide front doorway of the shop was a snug fit, having to wiggle himself just to budge through. Watching him hiccup and moan his way down the stone road of the square with Sparx in tow, Alvar and Argus anxiously thought over the potential problem they might have unleashed on the many different realms and worlds. Having gotten this fat on his first day of being a glutton, they could only imagine the havoc he’d cause with his ravenous appetite after much refinement and practice.