379: Then They Took a Knee
“Hey, Ptolemy, looks like she’s not coming back,” one soldier said to his buddy after Ember ran off with Carl and Liam.
“So? You propose we go after her?” Ptolemy asked.
“No, I propose we don’t wait for the captain to arrive and see us on the ground, waiting out the battle!”
“Ah, good point-AH!?”
Ptolemy nearly had a heart attack when a demonling’s body landed right in front of him with many dead eyes on its twisted head starting right at him.
“Oh, its too late for that,” a familiar female voice said from behind the two cowards.
Both men’s hearts dropped through the ground figuratively and they both wished they could drop through the ground literally. Their feet cold and strangely weightless at the same time, neither of them dared turn around to confirm that it was indeed their captain’s voice.
“On your feet, scum!”
Both men instantly jumped to their feet, turned around, and saluted Flavna, shaking and paler than dead with buckets of cold sweat pouring down their terrified faces.
“Where’s the princess?”
“We don’t kno-GHUEH!” an instantaneous knee to the stomach bent Ptolemy in half, emptying his stomach.
Using the distraction of the soldier argument between themselves, a demonling rushed up behind Flavna, swinging its claws to cut her to pieces. The demonling’s claw might have as well stood still as it barely moved down between the time Flavna’s back was toward the demonling and the time she was already in the air, decapitating the demonling with a tornado kick.
“Does he speak for you too, Plato?” Flavna asked her other soldier while the demonling’s headless body fell behind her.
“N-no!” Plato shook his head from side to side about ten times. “L-last time I saw princess Mary, the tentacle monster was penetrating her into every hole she had.”
Flavna’s right eye twitched. “Would that be the same tentacle monster that crawled into the abyss just moments before?”
“I-I-I don’t-BLUAHKL!” Plato’s stomach contents were ejected instantly due to a similar bending knee to the gut.
“On your feet!” Flavna demanded and both men rose nearly instantly, shaking, with vomit on their lips and chin, not daring to look at their captain.
“Find her! Or you will be the first going over the edge after your tentacle monster!”
“A-a-at once!” both men saluted Flavna and ran straight from her as fast as their legs could carry them.
“Sh-should we just run and hide?” Ptolemy asked Plato once they were far enough from the captain.
“Are you mad!? Where do you expect to hide? You’re better off jumping over the edge right now than what she’ll do to you after you’re brought back!”
Flavna slowly walked forward while more and more Purple Capes arrived at the arena and engaged the disorganized demonlings. Flavna took a closer look at the bodies scattered across the arena. Mutilated corpses, charred bodies, wounded, unconscious men and women. It would be nothing out of the ordinary for these games if it weren’t for a disproportionate amount of naked bodies. Stranger still were the ones who decided to play with themselves rather than fight. And they were still alive? And they still continued to do so in her presence? Her soldiers?
Flavna stopped at a slightly masculine girl with a tied up hazel hair. One of her better soldiers, the girl kept fisting herself. Her hand up to the wrist in her pussy, yet an utterly a vacant expression as if she wasn’t even conscious.
“Remi?” Flavna called out to the girl.
Not even a twitch in response. Further into the arena, Flavna saw a thin layer of some kind of purple mist that dissipated quickly by each second.
And as the Purple Capes engaged the remaining demonlings while the mist rapidly dissipated, Carl found one of his fellow eunuch’s laying on the ground where the giant demon used to be. Bleeding, groaning, but—apparently—unmolested.
“Chris!” Carl rushed to his wounded friend and attempted a new record at a the most speedy, half-assed healing ever performed. “Come on! We have to move! You don’t want to be here if the Capes take over! And you’re way too big for me to carry your fat ass around!”
Chris groaned in response, which was already more than the average survivor was capable of, so Carl helped Chris on his feet, supporting him as best he could, considering there was at least a forty-pound difference between the two, and not in favor of the healer.