309: Chance for Revenge Against the Blood-Drinking Bitch

309: Chance for Revenge Against the Blood-Drinking Bitch

“Hehe, I’ll let you make the first move,” the girl wearing fiery robes and a bloodied white mask said as she chuckled and she walked forward to meet her weary opponent.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

“WHAT THE HELL!?!?”

“GIVE US A REAL MATCH!!”

“LET HER RECOVER FIRST!!”

“THELICIA SUCKS!!”

“WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM!”

“THAT GIRL WAS STRONG ENOUGH TI KILL SEVEN PEOPLE AND YOU’LL JUST WASTE HER LIKE THAT!?”

“YEAH, SHE’S CHAMPION MATERIAL!”

“GO NUMBER FORTY!! KILL THAT MASKED BLOOD-DRINKING BITCH!”

A participant that just fought through a grueling seven-on-one rigged match and won the favor of the crowds was now instantly thrown against a stupidly strong opponent who had no business fighting in the arena in the first place. The spectators were displeased, to say the least.

“I’m guessing that this is not usual?” Beatrice asked Olivia.

“I… I mean, it’s not like I’ve been to a lot of these events,” Olivia was at a loss for words as she looked up to the furious spectators. “I certainly don’t remember the crowds ever reacting so strongly against what was happening in the arena. Also, this is just the second round, but we’re already down to seven participants remaining, including that Number Forty girl, who’s probably as good as dead.”

“Is this really how it’s going to be!?” Number Fifty shouted at the scrawny masked staff member, taking several swift steps toward him, her long gory hair flowing magnificently as if she used the best shampoos and conditioners this world had to offer. “How is this supposed to be a fair competition?”

John looked at Uma, carefully observing her movements, but did not answer a single word.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Fair?” Number seven laughed as he sat on his rock with The Cleaver at his side. “Since when have these games ever been fair? Even the way they hand out weapons at random.”

“Making do with what you’re given is the way of the world,” Uma said as she sternly eyed Number Seven. “But that announcer is going out of her way to kill Number Forty! Setting the odds against her. Helping her opponents! Despicable!”

Number Seven sighed and shook his head with a grin. “And here I thought that killing your so-called ‘teammates’ would have set your head straight.”

The aura around Uma quickly darkened. The bangs of her gory hair fell over her eyes as she quietly muttered, “And here I thought it would act as a warning to the scum of the world.”

Number Seven’s right pectoral muscle twitched, and his grin grew wider.

Beatrice looked at the other two remaining participants. The human girl, Number Seventeen, sat farthest away from everyone, caressing her scarf. Meanwhile, the remaining beastkin woman sat on a rock, ripping bites out of what looked like some kind of stretchy jerky. This made Beatrice’s stomach growl and turn. Oh, Fuck… With all the excitement Beatrice couldn’t even remember the last time she ate something. Oh, Fuck! Wasn’t that in the morning!? … Dear God, how long ago was that!? It has to be deep in the night by now!

“Hmmm? Not making a move? Even though I’m so generously giving you a chance to land a powerful strike?” miss Ruby asked Number Forty over the distant boos and complains of the crowds around the arena. “You do remember that my mask is painted in your uncle’s blood, right? This is your chance for revenge! … The chance that you fought for so spectacularly? ... His blood was very tasty!”

Number Forty did not budge. Her breathing calmed as more time passed since her previous fight.

“Nothing? Oh, who am I kidding? That old shitter’s blood was stale and reeked of incestuous thoughts!”

Number Forty stared right at miss Ruby with her one open eye but did not give in to provocation.

“Being boring pieces of shit must run in the family!” the masked girl yelled before turning and looking up to the announcer’s platform and shouting. “Hey, Thelicia, this shitter is just stalling for time! Do we have some sort of time limit or what? Aren’t you—AH!?”

The moment the masked girl turned even slightly from Number Forty, Lilith spat forth three small pink bubbles—no larger than pearls—and launched them at the masked girl. Miss Ruby only had the time to cry out before they burst violently right in her face, chest, and stomach, sending her flying back dozens of feet and sliding against the rocks, knocking up dust.

Number Forty sprinted forward, jumped up, and unleashed two more pink bubbles into the girl’s prone body to finish her off completely before she could recover. The bubbles connected with the robed figure and burst, sending more dust and debris in all directions.