The entire capital city plaza was so quiet you could hear a single autumn leaf hitting the bloody cobblestones.
Thousands of terrified citizens, surviving city guards, and high ranked Mage Knights stood frozen in place, staring at the colossal mountain of dark metallic dragon scales lying dead in the center of the square.
Sitting right on top of the dragon’s giant snout was a skinny kid wearing a cheap wooden clown mask, completely covered in black soot, soaked in ocean tears, and missing the entire back half of his trousers.
Philip groaned loudly, rolling over on his belly and wiping a mix of soot and puddle water off his wooden mask.
"Shit! My spine feels like it got run over by a steamroller," Philip muttered, his voice sounding completely muffled through the wet wood. "And my butt is definitely going to need a cold ice pack later."
Down on the plaza floor, Sir Valentino slowly dragged himself out from under a pile of broken wooden beams, his expensive silver armor covered in dirt and dented in three places.
He stared up at Philip with wide, glassy eyes.
"Is he... is he an angel sent from the heaven realm?" Sir Valentino whispered, his voice trembling with pure spiritual awe. "He flew through the heavens on a high speed magic of sacred flame! He wept an ocean of divine holy water to shield our cathedral!"
The Grand Master Knight stumbled forward, clutching his burned arm while tears of gratitude streamed down his dirty cheeks.
He raised his hands toward the sky, falling straight onto his knees in front of the dead dragon.
"O Great Savior of the Royal Capital!" the Grand Master shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing off the surrounding stone ruins. "Speak to us! Tell us the name of the divine order you belong to! How shall the kingdom honor the Weeping Clown Hero who saved a million lives today?!"
Philip slowly sat up on the dragon’s nose, looking down at the crowd of kneeling knights and weeping nobles.
"Oh great, now they think I’m a messiah," Philip thought to himself, shaking his head in annoyance. "If these weirdos figure out I’m just a malnourished shop boy who snorted dragon skin because I didn’t want my thunder cores to burn, they’re gonna lock me in a prison cell."
He cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound deep, mysterious, and menacing.
"Leave me alone!" Philip yelled down from the dragon’s head, waving a hand dismissively. "I am... uh... the... The Phantom of the Slums! Go away and fix your broken windows! I got business to attend to!"
"The Phantom of the Slums!" a young female mage gasped from the crowd, writing the name down on a piece of burnt parchment with a trembling hand. "A humble guardian who walks among the poor! What an unbelievable noble soul!"
"He seeks no earthly fame or golden medals!" Sir Valentino cried out, clutching his chest in deep emotional distress. "He fights purely for the peace of the innocent!"
"Yeah sure, whatever you say buddy," Philip muttered quietly under his breath.
He knew he had to move fast.
The effects of the ocean cores were starting to wear off, and the cold afternoon wind blowing against his bare backside was reminding him that he was essentially half naked in front of half the city’s population.
Philip pulled a sharp, rusty iron dagger out of his belt sheath.
He turned around, scrambling up the dragon’s massive chest plate until he reached the center of its sternum where the metallic scales were cracked from his previous shockwave punch.
"Wait! Great Weeping Clown!" the Grand Master called out, taking a step closer to the dragon’s tail. "What are you doing to the sacred beast’s carcass?!"
"I’m collecting my consulting fee!" Philip shouted back.
He shoved the heavy iron dagger right into the crack between two dark metallic scales, using all his remaining earth-buffed muscle strength to pry the heavy chest plate open.
CREEEEEAK!
A blinding ray of intense, golden red light shot straight out of the dragon’s chest cavity, illuminating the smoky sky like a miniature sunrise.
The heat coming from the opening was so intense that the cobblestones underneath the dragon started glowing red hot.
Sitting right in the center of the dragon’s massive heart chamber was a solid, glowing sphere of pure S rank fire magic core.
It was the size of a giant watermelon, pulsating with enough raw magical energy to power the entire kingdom’s street lanterns for fifty years.
Philip’s mouth watered so hard under his wooden clown mask that he almost swallowed his tongue.
"Oh sweet mother of magic," Philip whispered, his eyes glowing bright orange through the star cutouts. "Look at the purity on this thing. This isn’t just powder. This is top shelf, absolute premium uncut substance."
He reached both arms deep into the steaming chest cavity, wrapped his fingers around the heavy glowing sphere, and pulled with a loud, squelching pop.
"HALT!" Sir Valentino yelled, pulling a fresh wooden training sword from a guard’s belt and taking a step forward. "That S rank core belongs to the Royal Magic Guild! It must be documented and placed in the royal vault for state research!"
Philip turned his head, staring down at Sir Valentino with his glowing orange eyes through the wet wooden clown mask.
"Listen to me very carefully silver man," Philip said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying rasp that made the air around him crackle with leftover static electricity.
"I just flew on butt fire, wept a river out of my eyes, and punched a metallic dragon through a building to save your useless ass. If you take one more step toward my watermelon, I am going to snort this entire core right now and fart this whole plaza into the ocean."
Sir Valentino froze in absolute, terror.
He looked at the glowing orange eyes of the clown, remembered the forty foot beam of blue fire that had shot out of the kid’s pants earlier, and slowly took three steps backward.
"Understood," Sir Valentino stammered, dropping his training sword onto the ground. "The... the core is entirely yours, Great Phantom."
"Good dog," Philip grinned under his mask.