291: Wolf, Red and Riding

291: Wolf, Red and Riding

“Bwha! I almost feel sorry for you!” the wolfkin laughed as he swung around his massive mace, nearly hitting Bob on the head, who ducked before he was struck. “So, can we get on with this or what?”

“Yes, but take some distance away from us and the others,” Bob said. “Any harm to us or other participants, accidental or otherwise will be punished by termination.”

“You, heard him, darlin’!” the wolfkin smirked at the human girl. “Lead the way! I’ll let you choose the place of your first and last knotting by a true alpha!”

Number Seventeen turned away from the wolfkin and rolled her eyes. She then led him away from the burly shirtless men, with nothing but a single arrow in her hands against the wolfkin’s preposterous mace.

Number Seventeen took about five steps before she had to tumble and roll forward to escape the giant arc of the wolfkin’s mace.

“Nice reflexes!” the wolfkin shouted and jumped forward, swinging his mace overhead, aiming to crush the girl.

Quickly recovering her balance after the first tumble, Number Seventeen jumped sideways from the second strike.

“Weren’t you going to knot me first?” Number Seventeen asked while covering her face from the debris that was blown into the air by the heavy strike of the wolfkin’s mace.

“I never said you’d be alive!” the wolfkin laughed and swung his mace again, abusing the range advantage of an eight-foot mace versus a bow-less arrow.

However, despite the modest spectacle, the interest from the spectators was lukewarm, at best. Most of them were still gossiping about the events of the previous duel.

“When was the last time someone injured the masked staff?” a random monkeykin in the crowds asked.

“Has that ever happened?” an elephantkin asked.

“I heard that one time someone injured one of the arena staff,” a tigerkin said. “They boiled the poor guy alive. Or so they say.”

“This is bullshit!” someone cursed in another spectator area. “Someone strong enough to do so much damage and he gets taken out by the organizers! Isn’t this rigged?”

“Yeah! I had Number Four as my winner!”

“You did!?”

“Yea, I did! Got a problem with that!?”

“I’ve got a problem with your face!”n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Tell that to my nine-inch dick!”

“Aren’t some of the participants a little strong this year?” another discussion continued elsewhere in the crowds.

“‘A little’? Like the two-headed demon?”

“Maybe that’s why the white-masked chick stepped in? Damage control?”

“If that’s the case, she’s doing a piss-poor job so far!”

“I hope Thelicia is alright! She was fun!”

“If by ‘fun’ you mean ‘bat-shit insane’…”

“AAARGH!” the wolfkin swung the mace again and hit some rocks again.

Number Seventeen dodged the latest attempt on her life with relative ease., still keeping her arrow in her hand. The wolfkin breathed heavily. Wielding such a massive weapon proved to be more trouble than its worth. At this rate, the tide of battle was bound to turn in the girl’s favor.

“Fuck this!” the wolfkin cursed, dropped his weapon, and dashed at the human girl with his bare paws and claws.

Number Seventeen tried to outrun the beastkin, but she was running backward and such a handicapped speed contest could not be won against an opponent of equal speed.

“Ghah!” the girl cried when the wolfkin tackled her and slammed her against the ground. She thrust the arrow she held into the wolfkin’s eye, but the wolfkin caught the arrow in his jaws and snapped it into tiny pieces with his sharp fangs.

“Looks like both our weapons proved useless!” the wolfkin grinned, holding the girl down, panting, still tired from wielding his oversized weapon. Pressing the girl down with one hand, the wolfkin then started unbuckling the belt on his trousers with his other hand. “See how it all worked out for you? You’ll get to experience my knot while you’re still warm!”

“Lucky me!” Number Seventeen made a deadpan sarcastic remark, pinned under the bigger, stronger wolfkin while he revealed his bright-red, hard wolf peen.

“Why aren’t you taking your clothes off? Shy?”

“Yes, very!” Number Seventeen said with all the emotion of a seashell. “Could you help me out, please?”

“Bwahaha! When a girl asks so kindl-HUURK—!”

The wolfkin’s emerald eyes bulged and grew three sizes, veiny red. He let go of the girl and reached with both paws for his throat, desperate to release the constricting pressure on his neck. Gripping the strange cloth that wrapped itself around his neck, the wolfkin pulled it with all might, trying to pull it off, tear it off, rip it off. But the suffocating pressure only grew stronger, like a python, tightening its grip.

The wolfkin looked down at the girl who now calmly watched him suffocate. He realized that the scarf she had around her neck was no longer there. Instead, it was around his own neck, not letting go. Failing to release the pressure, the wolfkin raised his paws to strike down the girl before it was too late, but a single kick to the groin did him in.

The weakened beastkin fell to the ground beside the girl, gurgling, foaming at the mouth, gasping for empty breaths as he desperately struggled with the scarf around his neck, the desperation of his struggle only matched by the automatic response of his hardening wolf-peen.

Number Seventeen got back on her feet and watched the wolfkin’s final moments, his changing colors, his jerking movements, and the final expulsions of his bodily fluids.