Suddenly the terror of being beaten to death by the blonde juggernaut
overtakes you.
“NO I DON’T WANT TO FIGHT!”
You cry out before turning around and running as fast as you can. You piss your fighting panties as you clamber
through the ropes. You hear the packed
arena full of women laughing, booing and hissing as you sprint down the
aisle. You take one look back with teary eyes and see
Ishmael embracing Beth in the middle of the ring. He turns to look at you and shakes his head
with embarrassment for you before he and the blonde hussy begin to make out passionately to
the cheers of the crowd.
You’ve escaped the arena with your life, but the shame is
unbearable. You go home and drown your
sorrows with wine.
In the coming days you are bombarded with jeers everywhere
you go. Nobody has any interest in
fighting you. Even the Outer City venues
aren’t interested in letting you fight.
A week after the death match you pack up your belongings and
leave the city forever. Luckily you have accumulated enough wealth during you
otherwise illustrious fighting career to live out the rest of your days
comfortably. You imagine yourself
finding some deserted island to live on, where you won’t have to face the humiliation of having run away from what could have very well been your greatest triumph.
Eventually the shame and regret overcome you, and within ten years you
have drank yourself to death. It would have been better to die at Beth's hands than live out the rest of your days in such a miserable fashion.
THE END
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