"AAAAARGHH!" Number Sixty-three, the hairy hobo, screamed in desperation as he fired arrow after arrow at Number Forty.
The hobo barely aimed. The harrowing, ear-piercing screeches that came from the running, rolling three-foot ball of fire fueled Number Sixty-three's terror of suffering a similar fate and kept him from thinking of anything else but keeping the murdering, naked, blood-covered demon away.
He held his crossbow minigun at the hip as the weight of the weapon proved too much for the ill-prepared man to handle and relied on the sheer volume and the speed of his arrows rather than skill and aim. He hoped, begged that at least one arrow would strike true and put the human demon down. But, instead of coming closer to hitting his naked zig-zagging target, the hobo's arrows seemed to be further and further off-mark with each passing second.
The only thing Number Sixty-three's barrage accomplished was keeping the naked girl at bay. By this point, it became obvious that the hobo would only be able to hit his mark if she came so close that even a child could score a hit.
Instead, Number Forty closed the distance between her and the gazellekin who threw her boomerang at the quickly approaching naked. Even as she unleashed her boomerang, the gazellekin came to terms with the fact that she would not score a hit.
If a river of flames failed… If even a barrage of arrows could not stop her, how could I? The gazellekin kept asking herself, crushing her own spirit, ensuring that her disheartened attacks could not possibly be successful. After so many failures? There's no way!
And with that attitude the bladed boomerang missed a target that was closer than ever before: less than thirty feet and closing in fast
Useless! Why didn't I pick the other one!? The gazellekin despaired. Fuck!
"BRING IT ON!!" the gazellekin screamed with tears in her eyes and raised her fists, resorting to close combat to fight for her survival. She lunged at the girl bringing the resolve she so clearly missed before.
Whether from surprise or some other distraction, Number Forty was too late to properly deflect a simple punch that grazed her chin.
This is my chance! The hobo cheered when he saw his target finally slow down, entangled in hand-to-hand combat.
*Click*
"NOT AGAIN!!" the hobo cursed when the pull of a trigger did not yield even a single arrow. I have to reload, I have to—
The unkept hairy man's head flew clean off his shoulders, severed by a flying flaming katana, that came from the direction of the diminishing ball of fire that was the dead old catgirl as her charred remains burned away and turned to ash.
I… I can do this! The gazellekin suddenly found herself hopeful. The naked girl was a piss-poor fighter as it turned out. And even if the gazellekin was no expert herself, her average abilities, an advantage in physical buil,d and a decisive leg sweep were more than enough to land Number Forty right on her black thong-wearing butt.
Number Forty looked up at the triumphant gazellekin who had regained her lost confidence and stood over her knocked-down opponent. At that very moment, a familiar flaming katana flew through the air with diminished flames that were partially put out by the high flying speed and the blood of the decapitated Number Thirty-seven.
However, the gazellekin did not lose her head. She ducked and easily countered Number Forty's feeble leg kick, retaliating with a simple, straightforward punch in the gut while the katana zapped over them.
"You're not the only one that knows how to dodge!" the gazellekin declared triumphantly, smiling ear to ear as she pinned her naked opponent to the ground and punched her in the face.
"Hahaha! Not so tough without your little ka—KHRAAHK!?" the gazellekin's triumph ended abruptly when she suddenly choked on something that flew into her wide-open mouth along with Number Forty's spit.
The gazellekin's eyes widened in horror as she recalled the fate of the goatkin. She shooked her head, trying to plead with tears in her bulging eyes as she gagged on something lodged in her windpipe, clawing at her own throat, desperate to get the foreign object out.
But there was no mercy in the Number Forty's crimson eyes. Even as the side of her face reddened and swelled from the punch, Lilith looked at the choking young gazellekin that clawed the skin off her own throat, and calmly said just two words: "Bubble pop."
The gazellekin's throat burst apart, unleashing a fresh coat of blood and meat across Number Forty's face.
With all the attention on Number Forty, the white-masked miss Ruby stood behind the shirtless staff of the arena and couldn't help but not-so-subtly touch herself as she watched with envy the amounts of blood that her wannabe future opponent showered in.
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