New Life As A Lewd Futanari Succubus

The white mask girl and everyone in and around the arena read Lilith’s lips and intent clearly. The spectators cheered for the inevitable showdown.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself!” the mysterious white mask girl said loud and clear.

“Huh? Why isn’t the match announced as over?” one spectator asked.

“No idea.”

“Can’t you tell? The announcer is down in the dumps,” another spectator pointed at the slumped hairball up on her high platform above the arena.

“She really wanted this girl dead, didn’t she?”

“Do you think she’ll finally give up on her grudge?”

There was also another person who watched Number Forty stand up and survey her surroundings. So close to being seen yet so far from being able to strike, Number Forty-four, the sharkkin froze still. He tried to crawl to the girl before she was done with the tigerkin, but he was too late.

If only I moved faster! the crippled sharkkin lamented as he pressed his giant body to the ground. If only I was a little faster! She was as good as dead, fuck!

Now, the sharkkin was forced to watch and hope. Hope that his presence will go unnoticed. That everyone will simply forget about him. Maybe I’ll be able to sneak away during the next intermission?

With bated breath, the sharkkin watched the girl turn away from the group of shirtless staff and the white mask girl with them and take a couple of steps away from both him and the tigerkin’s dead body. For a second, the sharkkin’s heart lifted when he imagined himself living through this.

Yes! She’ll just take the Bullshield for herself and— the sharkkin’s heart stopped when Number Forty turned around, with Bullshield in hand, and slowly walked right in his direction with nothing but death in her one open eye.

The sharkkin very soul froze over in utter terror of the small girl who radiated oppressing murderous intent. Drenched in the blood and guts of her enemies, she now approached Number Forty-four at a slow, steady pace, each heavy step counting down the seconds he had to live.

With his primal instincts for survival taking control, the sharkkin gave up his hopes for hiding and turned to flee. Unable to think, unable to run, he tried to crawl away. With his arm and leg utterly useless, the sharkkin bit into the rocks ahead of him, using the many layers of his teeth and the strength of his jaw to drag his crippled body forward.

The laughter of the spectators filled the arena as they watched Number Forty-four break his teeth against the rocks while he bled out from his many wounds. The ridiculing laughter in the sharkkin’s ears was interrupted by a loud thud and cracking of bones as his mind went white for a moment with a wave of a new level of agony that overwhelmed everything else.

“AAAAAARGH!!” the sharkkin shrieked in agony when his only good leg ceased to function.

The viewing sphere showed to even the farthest standing spectators how Number Forty lifted the Bullshield as high as she could and slammed it down against the back of the sharkkin’s knee, destroying the joint in a single strike.

With “flight” no longer an option, only “fight” remained. In his final act of resistance, fueled by one last pump of survival-mode adrenaline, the sharkkin ignored the pain from the many wounds across his body as he activated the blades in his boomerang, and with a desperate cry, turned around and lunged at Number Forty aiming to skewer her with the blade.

Lilith placed The Bullshield between herself and the sharkkin, easily hiding behind it. The spectators watched how the sharkkin’s blade and arm disappeared in the ripple in front of the shield and reappeared behind the girl. Lilith then threw the shield aside, severing the magic connection—and with it—the sharkkin’s arm. The lifeless stump fell behind her, holding a part of a cleanly severed boomerang. The other part of the weapon fell in front of the sharkkin who collapsed at her feet with blood gushing out of his last good limb.

The crowds erupted in cheers once again.

The announcer rose from the railings and took a couple of steps away from the edge of her platform, into the shadows of the cave. With her back toward the spectators, she tore off her mask and flung it against the ground.

Wounded and bleeding out all over his body, unable to fight, unable to run, the sharkkin wept at the girl’s feet.

“P-phleaseeeee!” Number Forty-four bawled, pleading for his fleeting life.

Lilith looked down on her pathetic would-be assassin and without saying a word turned her back to him.

The sharkkin gasped and his spirit lifted for a short moment as he watched the girl pick up the cut half of the bladed boomerang and walk away from him

“Huuuuh?” many spectators were shocked at Number Forty’s mercy and booed such a decision.

“What is she doing?”

“Kill him!”

“Behead him!”

“Why bother?”

“Yeah, Isn’t he as good as dead anyway?”

The sharkkin slumped. His momentary elation at having his life spared evaporated quickly. As the excitement and adrenaline wore off, weakness, darkness, and cold settled in. The sharkkin felt numb, but the pain did not return. Nothing returned. Soon, he found himself wishing to feel the burning pain again just because all he felt was the growing cold as the encroaching darkness took him in the blazing, fiery heat of the arena.

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