The match began.
The instant the word left the announcer's mouth, Bafomet was right in front of my eyes. 'How the fuck did he get here so fast?' My mind barely registered the question before instinct took over.
The colossal fist was a blur aimed at my head. I used my tail, slamming it down and slightly angling it to change the trajectory of his attack just enough.
The impact wasn't a hit on him, but a distraction. I scrambled backwards instantly, using the momentum to gain a few precious feet of distance.
Bafomet threw his head back and let out a booming laugh. "Ho, ho, looky here! This kid didn't die in the first hit! Well, now... this will be fun."
He casually pulled his hand out of the ground where the diverted punch had landed. A crack radiated from the crater he'd created, a testament to the sheer power behind the blow. I didn't even think he had taken that attack seriously; it was like a 'hey, I'm here' type of playful greeting.
I planted my hands on the ground, extending my claws, and instantly shifted onto all fours. The hybrid was faster and stronger than I, undeniably. But I was pretty sure that if I stayed low, I could react, dodge, and utilise my tail to attack or divert while constantly maintaining motion.
Just as I finished the thought, he was on my right side, a dark shadow, clearly trying to go for my back. I immediately kicked off on all fours, exploding into a low-to-the-ground run. My tail lashed out blindly behind me, like a whip, and I felt it hit something, a solid thud.
But I did not look back. That would be the stupidest thing I could do, to face a superior opponent when I was already on the defensive. I knew you shouldn't turn your back on your opponent, but I had no choice; I was too weak to stand toe-to-toe.
'This sucks.'
"You little shit! How dare you run from me!" Bafomet roared, his voice full of indignation. "I went easy on you before; now you're fucking dead! I'm going to fuck you up!"
I felt the violent roar of the wind as he charged, closing the distance instantly. I just kept running, fast, navigating through the ring, though. The moment I felt him get too close, the air pressure shifting violently behind me, I whirled my tail wildly, lashing out. It connected a few times, a solid thwack against his thigh, a grazing blow across his side.
But my luck was finite.
As I was turning and let out another quick lash, he moved faster. His massive hand shot out and clamped around the thick base of my tail.
"Got you now, you little shit! I'm going to have so much fun ripping you limb from limb," Bafomet said, his voice laced with pure, sickening glee.
He didn't hesitate. He started to pull, dragging me backward. I dug my claws into the ground, scrabbling for something to latch onto, trying to stop the terrible momentum, but he was too strong.
The ground shredded beneath my desperate grip as I was hauled toward him. Then, the agony began. He started to rip my tail, inch by excruciating inch. A sound tore from my throat.
"ARRRRRGGGG!!!! Fuck you!" I screamed, the world slowing down to the blinding, tearing pain.
He just laughed, a deep, roaring sound that mocked my agony.
I felt consciousness fraying, the edges of my vision turning black. Just as the pain reached its absolute peak, at the last inch of my tail, Bafomet must have seen my eyes roll.
"No, you are not going to sleep yet, you little shit," he snarled.
With a final, explosive heave, he didn't tear the rest; he used my tail as a sling, throwing my entire body into the unforgiving stone wall of the arena perimeter. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs and flooded my senses with white noise.
Before I could process the pain, he rushed me, closing the distance in two giant strides, and grabbed me by the throat, hoisting me into the air and pulling me in close to his face.
"Got any last word, you little shit?" His crimson eyes burned inches from mine.
I choked, looking past him for a second. My gaze caught a specific VIP box. In it, I felt like this figure had had its eye on me for the whole fight, and I felt disappointment coming from it. My focus snapped back to Bafomet.
"Just a few. Fuck you, you son of a cunt," I managed to rasp, before my gaze drifted back toward the VIP box. My lips moved, forming a silent message, "Fuck you, bitch, you won't need to save me."
Then, gathering every last ounce of breath, I screamed aloud:
"NOTHING IS GOING IN MY ASS, BITCH!!! I. AM. NOT. FUCKING. GAY"
(A/N: There is nothing wrong with being gay, but I and my character are not, and the thought of anything going in his ass is stomach-turning, just a fyi, no hate to anyone who likes that happening to them or likes doing that to others.)
With a desperate surge of strength, I drove my head forward, ramming my skull into Bafomet's face. My horns, still sharp, stabbed into the tough skin of his forehead.
I felt a sickening crack, my horns breaking in the process, but Bafomet howled. I tried to follow up, clawing wildly at his torso, attempting to rip his guts open, but his Onyx skin was simply too tough, like hitting rock.
"Arrg! You little shit! FUCK MY FUN!" Bafomet roared, the pain momentarily overriding his desire to prolong the torment. His eyes, already crimson, began to glow an even deeper, more terrifying blood red. "I'm going to make you feel so much pain you'd wish you were dead!" When he said that, the true torment started.
(A/N: VERY GORGY WORD HERE. IF YOU HAVE A SOFT STOMACH, GO TO KAELEN'S MIND. IT IS DONE AT THE START OF THAT.)
Bafomet did not toss me aside. He dropped me, driving a staggering, concussive blow into my ribs with his knee as I fell, a loud snap of shattering bone instantly robbing me of breath.
I hit the ground, trying desperately to crawl away, but he was on me instantly, his immense shadow eclipsing the arena lights.
Bafomet paused, his shadow towering over me. "Did you truly believe," his voice boomed after the blow, "that your petty attempt and counterattack would earn you a quick end?"
His anger had erased any motive for a dramatic show or prolonged sadism; this was purely about methodical, total breaking of me.
Yet, the method itself was the torture; he was going to make the process as drawn out and agonising as possible, ensuring every subsequent action would be layered upon a foundation of debilitating pain. He wouldn't grant a clean killing blow.
He began by disabling my movement.
First, the foot. He stomped down with the force of a falling stone monolith, not on my head or chest, which would have ended it, but precisely on my right knee. The sound was sickening, a loud crunch that was amplified by the arena's silence.
The knee joint was utterly pulverised: bones splintered, ligaments snapped like frayed rope, and the kneecap disintegrated into a paste of calcified fragments. The leg instantly bent at an impossible, unnatural angle, rendering it a useless, agonising anchor.
Then he seized my left arm by the wrist and yanked upward with terrifying speed. A sound like tearing fabric and snapping wood echoed in the air.
My shoulder was dislocated, the socket was tearing open, and the entire arm instantly went limp. The heavy yank likely fractured the humerus, jagged shards of bone scraping against the muscle tissue with every involuntary, pathetic twitch.
He then straddled my chest, his colossal weight crushing the remaining air from my lungs and pinning me to the gritty sand. With one massive, black hand, he twisted my head to the side, exposing my neck.
"Look at them," Bafomet hissed, his breath hot and foul against my ear, referencing the cheering crowd. "They watch, they feed on your despair, turning to this... into entertainment."
He didn't bite or tear; he used his thumb and forefinger to exert pressure, crushing the delicate cervical vertebrae, stopping just short of killing me.
The result was unimaginable agony, waves of white-hot pain and paralysing shock shooting through my limbs, yet leaving me agonizingly conscious.
Bafomet paused, ensuring I was incapable of anything more than twitching. Then he began to carve. He extended a razor-sharp claw, focusing on the areas of my body that were least vital but most excruciatingly sensitive.
He raked his claws across my torso and limbs. These were not shallow cuts. They were deep incisions that stripped away the outer layers of skin and muscle, exposing the red, underlying tissue.
My left flank, specifically, was peeled back like a gruesome flap, revealing the musculature beneath, a wound designed purely for sustained agony.
He moved to my head. He didn't gouge my eyes out entirely, which would have been mercifully quick. Instead, he used a single claw to rake horizontally across my right eye.
The pain was blinding and utterly agonising. The organ was shredded, reduced to a bleeding, useless mess in the socket. My remaining left eye, however, remained untouched, forced to witness the continued destruction.
He shifted his focus, slamming a heavy fist down onto my lower face to dislocate my jaw with a thud. I tried to scream, but the shattered jaw only allowed a wet, choking gurgle of blood and mucus.
He then began to pluck my hair out, handful by handful, ripping the roots from my scalp. It was a minor indignity compared to the rest, but the burning pain accumulated rapidly. My head was now a checkerboard of sticky, matted hair and raw, bleeding patches of exposed scalp.
The crowd, which had been cheering maniacally, was even wilder, growing even more incensed by the blood, watching the systematic dismantling with sickened awe. And that gaze looked at me pitifully. I just used my left eye to look at it full of hate, but not the desire to die
Bafomet, now truly drenched in my blood, stood over me, having indulged his foundational rage.
"You fight well in spirit," he mused, a cruel hint of admiration in his voice as he grabbed my arm. "But the spirit is useless when the container is utterly useless."
He grabbed my right arm, the one that was still relatively mobile, and wrenched it back against the arena floor. Instead of snapping it cleanly, he focused his immense strength and his jagged teeth on the forearm, tearing at the muscle and bone until the limb hung by a few frayed tendons and strips of skin at the elbow.
It was useless, dangling and leaking blood, probably just to make me feel even more pain knowing it was still there, but useless. Only one arm remained, and that one was now only half-attached.
He then looked at my legs and mirrored the damage. He stomped down on my left thigh, tearing the flesh and snapping the femur cleanly in half.
He followed this by using his sharp claws to lacerate my remaining functional foot, shredding the tendons and forcing the appendage into an useless thing.
My right leg was a pulverised stump at the knee. My left leg was a shattered mess from the thigh down, still attached, but structurally ruined. Effectively, only half of both legs remained as functional limbs.
Bafomet slowly stepped back, surveying his handiwork. I lay on the blood-soaked sand, a grotesque figure, barely recognisable. My broken jaw gurgled, my one good eye stared into the crimson expanse, and the only sound I could make was the shallow, rattling effort of a collapsing ribcage trying to draw air.
He had succeeded: I was riddled with deep, parallel stripping wounds that exposed muscle, my neck was fractured, my limbs were destroyed, and only a remnant of my vision remained. I was horribly, agonizingly alive.
"Now that's done, time for your end, in your next life, don't try to keep living when someone offers you an out, take it," he said as he made his hand into a spear-like form and aimed at my core.
The words "when someone offers you an out, take it" reminded me of something. Even when battered and broken and about to die, I went deeper into my mind to stay out of the pain and to understand this feeling more.
[End of chapter, so leave a comment, please support me on Patreon to get early chapters, and if you're reading from here, thank you for the support, and have a blessed or great day/night. This is my first novel, so please give comments to help me get better.]