295: One Naked Little Cocksucker

While Number Fifty-eight picked through the chests looking for his two replacements for the katana he had to give to Number Forty, the girl used the blade of her new weapon to lift up the beastkin’s trousers off the ground. She considered cutting them up to cover her naked lady parts from lecherous eyes, but getting even the slightest whiff of the repugnant stench that the beastkin’s trousers emitted almost made the girl vomit.

Number Forty swung her black katana with the trousers on it, discarding them swiftly into the nearest flaming pillar, incinerating the cloth instantly. Though it was hardly an even trade for the beautiful dress that the beastkin destroyed.

“Well, no wonder she doesn’t mind showing off her titties when there’s nothing to look at anyway!” the announcer commented.

We’ll find out soon enough if you have anything to put on display yourself, Beatrice thought, having resolved that the malicious announcer deserved some additional payback when it became abundantly obvious that the previous karmic justice rung all the wrong bells in the white hairball’s head.

One of the beastkin with a shark head for a head and tiny black eyes walked forward to the practically naked girl. Over two feet higher than the girl, the sharkkin was one of the few that came close to Number Seven’s giant body frame. On his black armband, stretched across an enormous bicep, number forty-four was written. Behind his back, the sharkkin held a giant, nine-foot wheel that cast a shadow on him and the girl. The monumental wheel that could not have possibly fit in any of the weapon chests was made of wood and metal, with countless spikes sticking out along its outer edge.

The sharkkin looked down at the girl with a wide grin that displayed the many rows of his razor-sharp teeth and asked, “Any preference for how you want to die? The others will probably torture you first to have some fun. I can make it quick. ‘Snap!’ And half your body is gone and down in my warm belly. The others won't mind too much—they’ll still have your lower body to play with. We got a deal?”

Number Forty looked up at the fishhead with disgust and said, “You must be joking!”

“No joke!” Number Forty-four said and licked his lips while devouring the naked girl with his eyes. “I’ll keep your titties nice and warm.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” an three-foot-tall, elderly catgirl called out to the sharkkin, waving a strange metallic object attached to a long metal tube “Get away from her, you pungent fishhead!”

“Yeah, don’t think you’re the only one that wants to impregnate the princess and secure a cushy spot with the royalty!” A skinny guy shouted in support of the cat grandma.

“My, my, our fighters are in high spirits!” the announcer chuckled. “The crowds are dying for a spectacle! The participants are ready and itching for a fight! Seven men and women, gathered together in a temporary alliance for a single purpose—to kill one naked little cocksucker! Why delay any longer? Begin!”

Number Forty thrust her katana right into the sharkkin’s gut, but he caught the blade with his giant hand, stopping the blade before it pierced his scales.

“If that was your best strike, just take a deep breath and embrace the inevitable,” the sharkkin grinned and spread open his jaws, ready to swallow Number Forty.

“Wait, already?” Number Fighty-eight lifted his head from the chests, still having not decided on a weapon.

Number Forty let go of the hilt of her katana and jumped back, making some distance between herself and the sharkkin.

“You’re barely delaying the inevitable—HUURK!” Number Forty-four’s eyes bulged when the katana thrust forward, sliding through his hand, stopping only when the hilt pressed against a closed fist, but by then the katana’s black blade had already entered the sharkkin’s gut.

“Aargrhhh!?” Number Forty-four groaned in pain, looking down, not understanding what happened. He was the one holding the opponent’s weapon. And yet that very weapon pushed his fist back into his abdomen, driving the blade deeper inside him while streams of blood poured from the wound just below his stomach and the deep long cuts inside his clenched fist.

But the blade did not relent. It kept pushing forward, aiming to fully cut through the sharkkin’s insides. The force of the blade picked up and the sharkkin’s naked feet started to slide backward, grinding against the rocks while the sharkkin’ curled his three toes on each foot, trying to grab onto the surface and stop this increasing force.

But the force did not stop. Rather, the sharkkin grew weaker as the katana pushed his fist harder against the increasing wound, doubling, tripling the pain. The hilts of the katana pressed so hard against his fingers that the bones audibly cracked from the pressure.

“AAAAARGH!” Number Forty-four screamed and let go of the blade.

The katana instantly pierced right through the sharkkin like was butter. Before anyone could even blink, the katana tore through the sharkkin’s back, making a massive wound, and zapped forward, through another participant’s chest who was unlucky enough to stand in the same line of fire as the sharkkin.