FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Sillick the tan and cream coloured hare sat in the nude upon a bench within the inordinately huge and unbearably noisy locker room. He was awaiting his turn at the likewise crowded showers, not too keen on attempting to share a shower head with one of his 49 all-male teammates. It wasn't that he was particularly averse to his team, as he felt nothing but pride to be part of the Spearheads, even if they were sometimes called a different kind of head. What he didn't appreciate as much was the tendency of certain teammates to play grab-ass or cock-nudge. However, his aversion gave him time to think, and he hardly liked that.

The reality of participating in a sports event so likely to leave him injured or worse tended to put unwanted pressure on his mind at times like this. Even if more lasting injury would befall but a fifth of them, and worse fates were even rarer, he was hardly among the types of players that consistently avoided greater hurt. Bulls, horses and other such heavy-set types had better luck than hares such as him, though once injuries did happen to them, usually as a result of a high-velocity collision with one not unlike them, the damage they suffered was no less spectacular. Yet it seemed a decent gamble for the sort of bank accounts they now sported.

He tried to find matters to turn his mind to, and in a pinch, a good preening and an appeal to his narcissism seemed to help. Absent an actual mirror where he was currently sitting, he looked over at a locker opposite him, its metallic sheen providing a decent glimpse of himself. His short, straight, auburn hair was in a natural disarray, yet stayed well out of his amber eyes. The bright of his fur was present down his limbs from the elbows and knees, as well as in the form of a stripe running down from between his eyes, over his muzzle, neck and chest, down to his groin and inner thighs. The muscles upon his body were all toned and firm, yet not overly bulging. A physique typical to athletes. Between his muscular thighs, currently resting upon a not too pleasant-feeling plank, was the center-piece of his masculine body - a fluffy tuft of fur above a fairly average sized, veiny member, draped over a pair of likewise average gonads.

Yet as much as looking over himself helped ease his nerves, it was only temporary, as he soon began to take notice of scars hidden beneath his fur, left over from prior games. A set of claw marks over his right shoulder, from when he had a not so legal run-in with a tiger. A cut on his chin from when he ate a knee from an okapi. And a gash over his right knee from when a horse's hoof accidentally scraped across, nearly dislodging his knee cap.

With a sigh he got up, hoping to squeeze in between the other nude males and find an unoccupied shower to wash away the memories of injuries he'd suffered and prospects of ones he would likely yet suffer. As he began his search among bodies indecent yet not unpleasant to look at, making their way towards the blaringly loud full-body dryers, he suddenly caught sight of a set of olive eyes he'd hoped to avoid, nearing within the locker room.

"Cup check!", the green-eyed, black horse named Cannan exclaimed.

"Urk!", Sillick gasped out as a loud slap resounded from his groin. He doubled over and screwed his eyes shut. "Agh... asshole!", he growled through clenched teeth.

"Get used to it, Fig.", Cannan said with a smirk and went ahead towards the dryers. Sil hated the nickname. Fig. On account of how his first game he got pantsed and spent the better part of a minute running around with his hands around his parts. Most others didn't have nearly as humiliating stories behind their callsigns. Cannan's was close enough, however. Trip-dick. As he'd once been pantsed and fell to his side during a game, only to have another player run over his prick and lose his footing. As much as the horse wasn't fond of the memory, he himself found humour in the resulting call sign. If only because it brought attention to his length.

Sil went on with a grumble, wishing the horse a reminder of where his nickname came from during the game. It wasn't particularly prudent, considering they were in the same group, and his injury would likely mean one coming Sil's way as well.

His search was mercifully short, and he was soon able to position himself under a pleasant stream of warm water that helped take his mind off the still diminishing pain in his gut and groin.

As he began to lather his fur with soaps and shampoos, however, he felt an all too familiar presence enter his stall. With foam on his eyes at the moment, he was powerless to stop what he knew was about to come.

"Ready to show the Firewings what true men play like?", Sil heard the worrisome voice ask, followed by the distinct feeling of a hand palming his testicles. He flinched and futilely tried to back away, though did little else to combat the violation to his person. In a way he'd gotten used to such occurrences, as unhappy as it made him to admit it.

"Not now, Terv.", Sil said in annoyance, even as the grabby arctic fox pulled him close, their nude forms rubbing together uncomfortably, at least for Sillick. His name was actually Trevick, but it'd turned to Terv, more specifically Terv the Perv, for reasons immediately obvious.

"Aw, but who knows when we'll get another chance to enjoy each other's company?", Trevick said.

"I'd be happy enough never having to enjoy it again.", Sil said humourlessly, finally able to open his eyes once the water rinsed off the spuds off his face, meeting the fox's own set of amber. This day, the fox was sporting spiky, back-swept hair. It was steadily collapsing under the shower water, yet the fox would likely redo it once they were dry and heading for the pitch.

"So you say, yet we keep running into each other like this.", Terv said, taking a step away and starting to work shampoo into his fur, starting from his head. Sil decided not to indulge in this kind of back and forth. Not today at least. "You seem nervous.", Terv noticed, looking over the hare with some concern.

"Well, we are facing off against the Firewings.", Sil said, now standing off to the side of the stall, permitting the fox greater access to the flow of water.

"So?", Terv asked.

"They're not exactly low-tier.", Sil said. "And I hear they tend to aim low. More than others, at least.", he added.

"We aim low as well.", Terv noted with a sly smile.

"Yes, and we're near the lower half of the table.", Sil said.

"They're not much higher than us.", Terv said. "Just focus on winning.", he added with a reassuring smile.

"Just hope I don't end up with swollen balls again. Or worse.", Sil said, now moving out of the stall, only to get a swat in the rear from his vulpine teammate.

"I'll be sure to take care of your balls.", Terv called after him with a laugh. Sil smiled crookedly to himself. It wasn't funny enough for a laugh, but it made him smile.

Heading to the dryers, he caught sight of Pinrit, ironically also known as Shorty, a heavy-set and uncharacteristically tall grey wolf that'd be part of their group today. He had a mane of black descending down to his neck line.

"How's the leg and balls, Fig?", Pinrit asked with a mild smile.

"Still in place and working, obviously.", Sil said, returning the smile despite the less pleasant memories the mention brought to his mind.

"Best leave the heavy-handling to me and Trip this time, eh?", Pin suggested.

"Don't need to tell me twice.", Sil said, shaking his head. It'd indeed been a poor bout of unwarranted bravery that'd lead to the aforementioned injury. He certainly wasn't looking forward to getting held down and having his balls clumsily stomped on this time.

Sil went on ahead to the dryers, where he met the last among his group - the cheetah Alrin, also known as Litter Tail, or Litter for short, a keepsake from the games in Bahof, where the spectators had nearly covered the unshielded field in loose trash, resulting in a gust of garbage that followed wherever Alrin had run past. He didn't mind the name, particularly since he could always treat it as a play on words, alluding to how he fathered many litters of cubs. Cheetahs had a reputation for being fast and cocky players, which drew more than a little animosity from the opposite team, forcing them to avoid physical confrontation at all costs, lest they wanted to end up with a more lasting injury.

He was currently standing within a dryer, his slender physique seemingly pulsing as his fur and closely-shaven hair furled violently in the loud gusts of air. His twin brother, Silirin, stood nearby in a neighbouring set, eyes closed and looking quite meditative. The two were seemingly identical, and the team often joked one might just be a clone of the other, which of them was the clone being a subject of much mocking debate. Alrin nodded at Sil as he moved towards a neighbouring dryer, any actual speech likely to end up inaudible in the cacophonous roar of wind. Even with the ability of speech, he likely wouldn't have said much. He was something of a team leader for their group, and though he wasn't exactly stoic, he was quite serious about playing to win, and would seldom say anything that wouldn't serve that objective. Somewhat in contrast to a typical cheetah, or even his twin in particular.

As Sil entered the dryer, it lit up with life and began to blast hot air over his entire body, sending his already descended male parts flapping in the wind like a flag on a mast. It wasn't too pleasant, but it was endurable. Unlike the prospects for the upcoming game.

***

As they entered the pitch for the pre-match festivities to the deafening roar of several hundred thousand, they aligned in pairs of fives across half the field, their opponents doing likewise on the other half. The Firewings were dressed in black with orange lining, whereas their uniforms consisted primarily of dark silver and teal. The crowds within the stands seemed to reflect their colour schemes for the most part.

Sillick felt somewhat nervous as the inspection team moved across their numbers, giving each of them a thorough frisking to check for any disallowed protection or weapons. The only things they were to wear was a set of lycra shorts and t-shirt, padded headgear, padded boots and gloves. Everywhere else was to be intentionally left soft and susceptible to all sorts of nasty injuries. It was what the crowds came for, after all.

"Anything to declare?", a caprine inspector asked as he walked up to the hare and began to pat him down.

"No sir.", Sillick said, even as his person was violated once more that day, culminating in a hand sliding down his pants and groping around his manhood.

"Good to go.", the inspector said and moved on to the next player, leaving the hare to readjust the elastic pants around his genitals.

Once they were all searched and deemed ready to play, they all walked off the pitch, through exits out of the reinforced glass dome and towards their benches, all save for one group of five from each team. Sillick didn't envy the first-runners, their bout tending to be one of the more vicious ones on account of how it determined who would gain the initial advantage in score and morale. His own group would be third to the pitch, followed by seven others, at which point they would either have a victor determined, or they would be put through one last, eleventh bout, made up of players handpicked by their selectionner, a grey spitz in his forties, currently standing over them with his arms folded over his expensive-looking navy suit. Thankfully, the eleventh bout rarely ever happened, and even then Sil had never been one deemed useful enough to be picked for the final group. And he was very grateful for that, considering the carnage that followed tended to be cringe-inducing to so much as look at.

As the second group now began to prepare, warming up with light running and stretches off at the side, the first groups readied themselves for one of the heavier rounds of the match. Two horses, a bull, a ram and a cheetah on their team, two bulls, a buck, a timber wolf and a lion on the other. The cheetah was Litter's twin brother, Silirin. As usual, Litter observed the first round intently, presumably hoping his brother would remain unscathed, as that very same brother would likely later end up watching the third round. Sil could only imagine what it was like seeing a mirror image of yourself get battered and beaten while you stood on the sidelines, likely thinking of how it could've been you. They seemed troubling thoughts Sil was glad to be absent of.

The task before them seemed simple in theory, yet proved insurmountable and mostly up to dumb luck in practice. Get the ball in the two-by-two metre goal on the opponents' side before they do likewise, and the round would be over. Yet it became a much more difficult task when one considered nearly anything went in the noble sport called riot ball. And while natural advantages more lethal such as horns were kept under glove and cloth, sheer muscle remained a notable advantage among certain species not even the thickest of padding could mitigate. To one of Sil's stature, there was some hope in going up against the beefier players, yet not much, and he was one to preferably avoid direct confrontation.

As the 60 second countdown started, the players stood beneath where the ball was to fall from above. The wait was excruciating, and made even those at the sidelines sweat in anticipation. Though the sport was incredibly lenient, the pre-match ceasefire was a rule the team had to observe lest they wished to be disqualified immediately.

The Firewings had two at the center, the wolf and a buck behind him, one presumably prepared to lift the other to gain reach of the ball before the other team. Two others, the bulls, were off to the sides, while the lion remained by their goal. Being goalkeeper held no special privileges, and in fact wasn't an official position according to the rules, yet it was usually crucial to have one in case the other team had a thrower decent enough to land a goal from far away. It was also an incredibly thankless and injury-prone job, as a well-prepared assault usually involved at least one player moving in to disable the goalkeeper before another made the throw. And even so much as blocking the very mildly padded ball was painful enough.

Their own team was somewhat less symmetrically prepared, with the bull at the center, presumably more interested in assaulting one of the enemy team's players than catching the ball, the two horses off on the left side of the field, the cheetah on the right, and the ram at the goal.

"10... 9...", a soft, metallic, male voice began to echo throughout the stadium as the final few seconds of the countdown ticked away. They sympathetically called the almost soft-spoken artificial announcer Tholog, after a mythological deity of death and deceit. Though he seldom spoke for purposes other than to announce the grizzly details of some injury in a strangely dispassionate fashion. "3... 2... 1!", the voice concluded, only for a sired to blare out as the ball was released.

In a split second, the Firewing buck grabbed the wolf and yanked him upwards, boosting his jump to heights commonly impossible. At the same time, the Spearhead bull stepped forward and threw a hard kick between the buck's legs, lifting him to the tips of his hoofs. The stag yelped and folded to the ground once released. The wolf meanwhile fell towards the bull with a look of terror in his eyes. In a spastic attempt to save the situation, he threw the ball off to one of the bulls at the side, who in turn threw it back at their lion goalie, leaving the wolf to fall onto the opposing team's bull's blunt but still pointy horns, impaling himself gut-first on one of them, only to pulled downwards by the legs. He narrowly escaped a groin-first landing onto the bull's knee by keeping his legs stiff as they made hard contact with the soil below. That wasn't much of a save considering he was still in the bull's grip and out of breath. He kicked the bull in the groin, only to have him become really pissed looking and shove him to the floor, beginning an onslaught the wolf would likely not escape unscathed.

Sil was curious to see the buck rise up and actually move away from the battle at the centre in favour of joining one of the Firewing bulls, next to the cheetah. The ball, meanwhile, was being held by the lion goalie, and wasn't leaving his grip. The remaining Firewing player was currently in the process of being blocked by one of the Spearhead horses while the other horse now made his way towards the lion.

"Firewing player 23 maimed, broken right leg.", the artificial voice suddenly announced to an approving roar from the spectators. The bull didn't let up, however, continuing to pummel at the now cowering wolf.

The commotion at the center had briefly drawn Sil's attention away from the rest of the field, when he noticed two of the Firewing players were holding down a player that'd seemingly escaped attention till now - the cheetah. He looked on curiously as to what they were doing. He was pinned face-first to the grass by the buck while the bull seemed to be doing something around his hind quarters.

"Spearhead player 3 maimed, ruptured testicles.", the voice of the stadium suddenly boomed, bringing shock to everyone at their team and a deafening cheer from the crowds.

"Holy shit. They nutted him.", Terv commented from the side, standing from the bench to better see what'd happened.

They all looked in disbelief at the now screaming cheetah, thrashing around on the ground where the two considerably bigger males had left him, now less a man. Litter seemed particularly unnerved by the event, his jaw dropped and his eyes wider than Sil had ever seen him.

"Goal! Spearhead player 6!", the announcer suddenly boomed, turning their shock to confusion as they all looked to find the horse of their team had managed to put the ball in the net along with the lion seemingly still holding it. Yet it seemed a hollow victory next to what they'd just seen happen to their teammate. It wasn't like they hadn't seen an injury of the sort ever happen, but generally it wasn't this deliberate. Their opponents were very clearly trying to put fear in them, and they were likely succeeding.

As if to taunt the fact of the matter, one of the Firewings, the buck, approached their wall and pulled the front of his pants down, pressing his recently hurt but quite obviously whole manhood against the glass with a sadistic smile on his face. He was quite obviously eyeing Litter.

"Fucking pricks.", a muscular tiger from among the second group said, even as the stag withdrew.

Litter sat down at the bench in shock. He was visibly sweating and uncharacteristically unnerved, gazing into the ground between his legs. It was having an effect on the rest of the group, Sil felt. He moved in closer and placed a hand on the cheetah's shoulder.

"Keep it together.", Sil whispered sternly. Litter permitted himself a couple seconds more of shock, before he nodded at the hare and crossed his arms, trying to hide his trauma from the rest. Even if ineptly. Sil could hardly expect more from him right now.

As the still standing players retreated off the field and the rest were carried off by staff members, the next two groups made their way to the field, prompting Sil's group to begin their own preparations for the coming match, stretching and moving around at a brisker pace. He would now likely see only glimpses of the match, as he had to focus on preparing to make sure a fate similar to that of Litter's brother wouldn't befall him.

He could most certainly hear what was happening, however. The countdown for the second round eventually began to echo through the field, and once it ran down, another loud round of yells from the crowd sounded out.

"Firewing player 12 maimed, ruptured left testicle.", the voice announced to a rise in cheer. Sil briefly glanced towards the field to find an indistinct bright shape thrashing around underneath two muscular teammates in teal and silver. Apparently they were getting revenge for the last round. "Firewing player 12 maimed, ruptured testicles.", the voice announced shortly after, signifying they'd finished the job.

"Spearhead player 8 maimed, broken jaw.", the artificial announcer's voice rang out once more. "Firewing player 10 maimed, dislodged knee.", he added soon after.

Things were getting vicious, unusually for a second round, Sil thought. It unnerved him to imagine engaging in such tempers. And he was hearing of only the most serious injuries. Nervously he spared glances towards the field to find what he'd feared - players more focused on pummeling each other into submission more than getting the ball near any of the goals, smaller ones screaming in agony as they were getting held down and tormented by the bigger ones. He didn't need a fallen twin to imagine himself in such dire straits.

"Goal! Firewing player 10!", the voice suddenly boomed. Everyone on the field seemed surprised once more, as the lone, caprine player seemed to have escaped everyone's attention and put the ball in the goal while everyone else had been busy with something else entirely. Sil then realized it'd been one of the injured players. Despite the grossly mishapen-looking leg, he'd dragged himself across the field while everyone else had been trying to murder each other. Sil had to admit he admired the caprine's cunning and determination, if anything. Though it hardly helped that it now brought his own bout of pain and misery a step closer. Not to mention they would now be expected to regain the advantage while up against an opponent that could afford to pay a little less heed to scoring a goal rather than assaulting the players on their team.

With a quivering sigh, Sil readjusted his uniform and readied himself by the field entrance, awaiting the second group to leave. No matter how long or short the bout, a group leaving the pitch in defeat just about always seemed a sorry sight. Perhaps now more than ever. It made him all the more hopeful he wouldn't be hearing the number 15 from the announcer that day.

"Sillick?", he heard Litter ask from behind.

"Hm?", Sil turned towards the cheetah with question on his face.

"I need you to take the center.", Litter said.

"What?", Sil asked aghast. This was commonly a task Litter undertook himself. "Alrin, this isn't about...", Sil began, only to trail off before mentioning the rather startling event from the first round.

"It is.", Alrin said, trying to remain calm, even if his eyes betrayed the fear within.

"Fine. I'll do it.", Sil said, deciding not to argue. It was bad enough their lead was currently experiencing some kind of twin sympathy trauma. He figured it'd only be worse for morale if they now got into an argument in front of the rest of the group, even if he really didn't want the center position.

They finally made their way to the pitch, to the sounds of Firewing fans singing, or rather chanting, a song of sorts. He could scarcely make out the lyrics, but the few words that caught his ears made it seem quite rude. "We'll have your balls" seemed a particularly prominent phrase in his ears.

With the clock already ticking down to the start of the match, Sil stood at the centre, with Trip the horse ready to throw him up towards the descending ball. He knew he would not escape unscathed, yet it was a role someone had to play. At the very least he could tell himself that at least he wasn't playing goalie. This day that honour belonged to the wolf, Shorty. Before him, just as ready, was a grey rat with a lion standing behind. Their goalkeeper was a puma, stout but muscular. To the sides stood a brown horse, facing off against Terv and Litter, and a tabby cat, facing no one at all. Sil's group had decided on an asymmetrical setup, figuring speed alone wouldn't be enough to bring Litter to the opposing goal. All Sil had to do now was intercept the ball first and chuck it in his teammates' general direction.

"10... 9... 8...", the announcer began to count down. Sil glanced between the ball above and the rat before him. The rat grinned at him evily, making him shirk. He was planning something, as obvious as the thought seemed. "3... 2... 1!", the voice concluded, prompting the chaos to begin anew.

Sil bent his legs and kicked up, feeling Trip's hands lift and throw him upwards by the hips. As he ascended, however, he felt a sudden thump on his thighs followed by a cool breeze in areas he thought should've been covered. He managed to remain focused long enough to grab the falling ball, but faltered and looked down to find what he'd expected - the rat had pantsed him and his manhood was now flowing freely in the wind. He mustered just enough determination to throw the ball off to the side, only hearing it collide with the glass wall, before putting his hands over his exposed parts as he landed on his paws. He managed to stay standing for not much longer than that, as the rat shoved him and ran off after the ball, leaving Trip to face the opposing team's lion nearly alone.

"Fig! Get up!", Trip called as he ran past and collided hard with the lion, the two toppling in a tangle of limbs upon the pitch.

Sillick did as told and quickly leapt to his paws, pulling his pants back up as he went. He found an opportune moment to slip in a kick between the two bigger fighting males, netting a hard crotch shot and a heavy groan from the lion. Feeling Trip would manage from here, he took a moment to get his bearings.

Litter and Terv were running along the side towards the goal, the horse they'd faced weakly moving after them with hands over his groin. The rat was likewise on their tail, although somewhat more confident in his pursuit than the horse. Sil decided the rat was a target he most wanted to get his hands on and began to run after.

"Player 52 of the Firewings maimed, twisted ankle!", the announcer sounded out, signifying the lion's apparent defeat at the hands of Trip.

For a moment it seemed as though the game might end at a moment's notice, with Litter making his way towards the goal with ball in hand. Yet as he lept up and threw the ball, the puma unexpectedly and swiftly closed the distance between them and easily intercepted the throw before the ball even managed to leave Litter's hand, punctuating his manoeuvre with a hard elbow into the underside of the cheetah's sternum. Litter fell to the floor, gasping for air, and the ball tumbled and rolled away, only to be picked up by the rat.

As the rat turned around to try and pass off the ball to someone, he suddenly found Sil upon him. He thought to try and duck, but Sil leapt in knee-first and smacked him on the nose, making him land hard on his butt, eyes watering with pain, but still holding on to the ball. Sil quickly changed that with a swift kick between the rat's spread legs, nailing his tangibly hefty rodentine testicles hard. He quickly dived after the now loose ball, picking it off the ground while the rat reeled in agony. He considered for a moment whether he could pass it to anyone, but found Terv was now flat on his back, the opposing team's horse standing above and seemingly seeking the means to further injure the white fox. Litter was still down on the floor and heaving profusely, though slowly starting to rise to his paws. To make matters worse, the cat from the sideline had somehow slinked through the field and was now standing before Sil, poised to stop him.

"Player 32 of the Spearheads knocked out, stranglehold!", the metallic voice suddenly announced. Sil couldn't even fathom how that'd happened with all the capable Firewings standing around him, yet he couldn't give himself the moment to consider it.

Seeing no alternative, Sil ran two steps ahead and leapt into the air, intent on throwing the ball past the blocker and goalkeeper. The cat put his arms up and spread his legs, completely disregarding Sil's extended knee that now plunged into the feline's soft spot, widening his eyes in sheer shock even as he yet floundered to try and stop the throw. At the same moment, something unexpected happened. Sil felt a sudden yank at his shorts and a sensation of cold air run down his rear. While it was too late to distract him, it did slightly alter his trajectory, sending the ball flying at a considerably lower angle than he'd intended.

He became entangled with the cat, leading to both of them landing hard on the pitch, the ball sent flying to effects unknown. He heard a low, feline shriek, prompting him to look up at what exactly had transpired, only to find the puma goalkeeper clutching his gonads and standing crookedly. Apparently Sil had nailed him in the nuts, and the mountain lion now looked none too pleased with the hare. The ball, he found, had managed to bounce down behind the puma, yet was missing another meter to its intended target.

"Shit.", Sil cussed, realizing they'd narrowly missed their chance. His thoughts quickly turned to the present as he suddenly felt a shockingly intense jolt of pain from his groin, his entire pelvis rising in response to the force that'd just caused him harm. It sent him rolling over the cat and onto the ground behind him, immediately pulling his knees up to his chest as horrifyingly intense agony spread through his gut. He briefly looked behind to find the rat looking right back at him with a derisive yet satisfied smile.

Fearing the surrounding players were about to try and cause him additional grief, Sillick rolled into a ball and covered his groin, hoping it would dissuade further assault while he recuperated. Yet the rat seemed to approach all the same.

"Goal! Player 14 of the Spearheads!", the voice suddenly announced, prompting everyone to look at the Firewings' goal. Litter was there. He'd slipped behind and pushed the ball into the goal while everyone else was preoccupied with Sil. He looked back at them with the cockiest grin.

Though he was currently incapable of feeling relief, Sil was more than grateful that the cheetah had seemingly spared him a fate considerably worse than what'd already befallen him. Yet he had no intention of rising just yet. Grumbling to themselves, the opposing team's players moved away from the prone hare, giving the cheetah the dirtiest of looks.

"You gonna be alright?", Litter asked as he crouched over Sil, placing a hand over his side in a gesture of reassurance. A gesture Sil could hardly appreciate at the moment. The hare rolled over onto his back and spread his legs, wanting to grant his testes greater freedom.

"Think so.", Sil finally answered. He realized he'd been sweating profusely following the impact to his genitals.

"I'm glad to see you lived up to your call sign.", Litter chuckled.

"Fuck you.", Sil muttered, the reminder feeling like a less literal kick in the balls.

"Any time you're ready, Fig.", Litter said and walked off, presumably to check up on their other fallen teammates, Trip in particular.

As he finally felt composed enough not to puke all over himself, Sil rolled onto his knees and pushed himself off the floor, now assessing the situation himself. Everyone, save for the still unconscious Trip and the injured lion, seemed to have gotten back to their feet quicker than he had. Quite likely he'd drawn the most of the other team's ire, which only made him all the more thankful the match was now behind them. If anyone would be getting any kind of recognition for this round, it'd be Litter, whom he now actively hoped would get to participate in the final round.

Making his way off the field, he was accosted by Terv, now looking quite jovial despite the bloodied nose he was sporting.

"Nice going.", the fox said with a grin greatly annoying to Sil for some reason he pretended he could not fathom.

"Shut up.", Sil grumbled back at him, only to get a slap on the rear as they neared each other. Sil hardly registered the assault on his person. "I'm just glad it's over with.", he said.

"Not over for the rest of the team.", Terv noted.

"I do not think I can muster the will to care right now.", Sil said glumly.

"Not much of a team player, then, are you?", Terv asked in a bemused tone.

"Rest of the team didn't get kicked in the balls. I've taken one for the team already.", Sil said.

"Don't think anyone's left unscathed.", Terv noted.

"I'd take a bleeding nose over a pantsing and nut shot.", Sil said humourlessly.

"Yet you handed out a couple yourself.", Terv said with a snicker.

"Well, better them than us.", Sil said.

As they left the field, their selectionner briskly walked up to the two of them.

"Good job out there.", the spitz they called Frick said, clapping the hare on the shoulder. He was actually called Frins Atrick, but the team had slowly shortened his name to a gentler version of the kind of response his decisions tended to evoke.

"Uh. Thanks?", Sil answered, uncertain if he wasn't responding to a bout of sarcasm.

"Be prepared for the last round.", Frick said. Sillick paled at the implication, the very idea putting renewed terror in his mind.

"Me?", Sil asked, as though hoping this was a mistake.

"Go see our medstaff, get some ice for the balls.", Frick said, ignoring his question and instead directed the hare towards the support staff.

Sil did as told and moved towards the medical staff as though in a daze. He looked towards Terv for a moment, only to see him shrug with the shittiest grin ever. Sil saw little humour in the situation. All he could hope for now was that there would be no eleventh bout.

"What's your trouble?", the raven named Xilin on their medical staff asked. He was sitting upon a chair, surrounded by two coolers and players seated or lying upon benches and tables, being attended to by two other members of the medical staff.

"Got a knock to the balls.", Sil said.

"Alright, pants down.", Xilin said. Sil did as asked, and the somewhat older bird got to work, poking and kneading the hare's oversensitized testicles, invoking winces and squirms from the lapine. He hoped no one was watching, but knew that to be wishful thinking. The media had no mercy nor respect for their privacy, especially when it came to potential post-match injuries. Not to mention the imagery of his privates out in the open, although those had been exposed multiple times now. "Alright, good to go.", the raven announced with a slap to the side of Sil's pelvis. Sil was eternally grateful it hadn't ventured to areas more supple. "Here.", Xil added as he reached into one of the nearby coolers and pulled out a crystal-blue bag of cooling gel. He hardly needed to tell the hare what to do with it. Not after the dozen or so previous times this was called for.

Sil sat upon one of the nearby benches, next to Terv, and put the icepack over his crotch. It was hardly the most pleasant way of recuperating, but it was an efficient enough method of keeping unsightly swelling in check. His mind drifted towards thoughts more pleasant, and hopes that the eleventh would not come.

***

"Goal! Player 53 of the Firewings.", the stadium voice announced among a deafening cheer of the crowds.

"Fuck.", Sil cussed under his breath.

"Oh, worry not, still not guaranteed you'll be playing.", Terv tried to comfort him.

"I'm not about to hold out hope for that.", Sillick said gloomily.

"Then best get ready.", Terv said with a grin Sil found to be the opposite of reassuring.

Sil rose up to his paws, carelessly discarding the icepack he'd used to numb his groin. He approached their selectionner with some of that hope he'd claimed not to possess.

"Screech... Crash...", the spitz enumerated, pointing out the participants of the final round. "Mower... Fig... Plate.", he said. Sil still truly wished he'd misheard. That Frick had actually just called out Tick, Pick, or Slick, and he could go back to watching from the sidelines. He couldn't spare himself the luxury of regret right now, however. He realized he needed to prepare, physically and mentally, else he would become a wet smear upon the field.

He looked over his new group - a rat, a horse, and two rams, one brown, one white. He didn't so much know them as much he knew of them. They were quite prone to ending up in the final group, and made Sil himself feel rather inadequate. Screech had somewhat of a reputation for slipping in between larger and tougher players as though an eel. His callsign, on the other hand, was a leftover from when he'd gotten caught by the tail and managed to persuade his opponent to let go by letting out an ear-piercing screech that'd made half the players on the field at least flinch. Crash was known for the time he missed a tackle and flew through the opposing team's field entrance, right into some unexpecting players and staff members. The brawl that followed was one of the few times a match had to be paused mid-round. The brown ram called Mower had somewhat of a less flattering story for his nickname, as apparently he'd bitten the turf enough times for his teammates to start joking he liked the taste of grass. And lastly was Plate, a white ram so obsessed with headbutting, everyone started to say he must have a metal plate on his skull.

Feeling his nerves begin to strain, Sillick began to stretch in preparation for the upcoming round, as did his four teammates. He tried to look out towards the opposing team's prep site to possibly get a look at what they'd be facing, but the two layers of reinforced glass between them made it difficult to see anything. The shapes he did see seemed rather large, however.

"What's the game plan?", Screech asked.

"You're playing middle with Crash. Plate'll be goalie.", Mower began to explain. "Fig, you're on the right. I'll be on the left.", he said.

"Sounds good.", Crash commented. The others nodded in agreement. At the very least Sil wasn't catching the ball this time.

"5 minutes.", the voice of the stadium echoed.

"Right, may as well go in.", Mower said, prompting the five of them to walk onto the stadium pitch.

"Good luck, Fig!", Terv called after the hare. Sil was too fixated on the coming bout to respond.

As they entered, so did their opponents. Sil recognized none of them from the round he'd participated in, and that was likely due to how quickly they'd been dealt with. Typically the ones that scored goals in their respective rounds were picked for the final round, and while exceptions were made in cases where the scorer suffered an injury in the process, Fig was somewhat of an exception even with that in mind.

Sillick positioned himself at his designation, now finally able to see whom they would face at what position. Before him stood a white horse, possibly one of the more worrisome types of players to go up against face to face, as a hoof in the wrong place could mean an instant injury. Though most players rarely opted for kicking anyone who wasn't already on the floor, leaving Sil with some hope of leaving the match relatively unscathed. At the center, opposite Screech and Crash, stood a greyish-black ferret with a brown bull behind him. Opposite Mower, a pale grey rhino stood sentinel, looking eager to get his hands on the ram. Plate's counterpart at their goal was a brown buffalo, large and muscular, not one Sil wished to go near, yet would likely have to.

Sil gulped as the one minute countdown began, the smells of blood and sweat from previous rounds heavy in the air. He looked at the horse before him, only to see a fury in his eyes that served only to intimidate and make Sil shirk in anticipation. He would have to move fast and hit hard, assuming physical contact with the stallion couldn't be avoided. Sillick did a few extra squats to prepare for what was to come, as well as took the chance to readjust his soft parts. Times like this he wished he could stow his balls away in his abdomen, instead they were hanging as low as his lycra pants allowed, the heat in the air making him perspire even there.

"10...", the voice began to count down. Sil cussed in his mind and now turned straight at the horse. By the look of the horse's stance, he would have to face him head on, and while he did have a trick or two up his sleeve, he knew all too well failure could prove catastrophic for him. "2... 1!", the voice concluded, prompting the next round of pandemonium to begin.

The horse ran right at Sil, and he did likewise, though only for two bounds before he leapt into the air and folded himself into a ball, only to extend right back, legs-first into the horse's abdomen. They both flew away in opposite directions, landing and skidding across the grassy turf. Sil quickly leapt back to his feet, relieved to find his attack had caused the horse enough grief to, at the very least, remain floored on his back, gasping for air. Feeling the horse would soon rise back up, the hare ran on ahead, using the stud's downed state to add an extra hit that'd potentially keep him down longer.

"AGH!", the horse squealed out as Sil's studded boot stomped down hard on his crotch, causing the hare to slip and almost fall over himself. Sil managed to keep his footing and ran ahead, leaving the stud to fold around his horribly hurting groin while he assessed the situation.

Sil managed only to notice Screech was currently tumbling around the floor with the opposing team's ferret before the ball flew right at him. He managed to catch it just in time to stop it from clocking him in the face, and now looked from behind it in surprise, seeing Crash was now in a punch-bout with the bull. He took no time to find where Mower and his counterpart currently were, and ran ahead towards the goal, even as he continued to scan his surroundings for teammates.

He thought that perhaps this was it. He would end the round in this one throw. He charged on ahead, the buffalo standing at the ready to intercept, intimidating and big, but he was only one person, and Sillick was feeling lucky. That was when something big and heavy slammed into his side, sending him rolling over the field like a rag. Yet he kept hold of the ball.

Panicking, he looked around for someone he could pass the ball to, but once again found himself alone, the rhino's oncoming form looming over him. Sillick looked at him in terror and rolled into a protective foetal position, thinking of how to maintain possession of the ball. Yet even in that moment part of his brain was quite profusely suggesting that he let go in favour of protecting himself. With the rhino now a step away, Sil blindly threw the ball away, sending it skidding and bouncing along the turf to destinations unknown. The rhino looked down at the hare with some displeasure, then pulled him up by one of his legs, only to put his other hand over Sil's crotch and clamp down hard.

Sillick screeched as hard as he could as the rhino's heavy hand put pressure on his comparatively tiny testicles. He pawed at the rhino's fist, desperately trying to pry the considerably bigger male's fingers off of his manhood, but managed only to ease the pressure. He then began to blindly kick with his free leg, until finally, the rhino decided this was not an engagement worth having and threw the hare a distance away.

As he tumbled over the grass and came to a halt on his side, still cupping his hurting balls with one hand, he did little other than look up at the audience stands. Everyone was up in their seats, a roar rising as something beyond his own sight drew their attention. It faded as soon as it'd started, a reserved cheer risen from half the stadium while the other half immediately sat back down in dejection.

Sil pushed himself off the ground and back to his feet, readjusting the pants around his crotch region as he moved away from the buffalo and his goal post. He looked around to see what was now going on on the field when the ball once again threatened to smack him in the head, and ended up caught in the last second.

Sparing himself no more than a moment of stunned silence, he turned on the spot and began to run towards the goal. He hesitated to try his luck again, and was somewhat relieved to see a teammate on the side. Screech was running towards the goal with the opposing team's ferret close in tow. Normally it was against common sense to pass to someone preoccupied with an opponent, but at that point it seemed a better idea than the prospect of trying to run for the goal again.

Sil threw the ball hard at the rat, who caught it, but only spun around on the spot, causing the ferret to run past and lose his footing, and threw the ball right back at the somewhat surprised hare. Sillick looked around the field for any other teammates, when he noticed the rhino and horse running at him. Sparing himself no time to think, he quickly began to dart towards the goal, his brain struggling to think of a way to get past the buffalo. A slide? No, that would welcome a stomp from his hard and heavy hoof. A dash to the side at the last second? He didn't trust the turf to carry him reliably. In the end, he decided to try and repeat his attempt from the third round.

As he leapt up into the air with his knee extended towards the buffalo's nether regions and pulled his arm back to throw the ball, he saw the huge bovine confidently and swiftly turn his pelvis to the side and outstretch his arms. At that point, Sil knew this would not end well, and decided to lob the ball upwards. He had no idea whether it'd reach its target, and now had other concerns as he flew towards his doom, powerless to alter course.

***

"...heads!", a voice seemingly from beyond reality said. A deafening cheer seemed to erupt in its wake.

Sil's face was pressed against the grassy floor, his entire body limp and seemingly paralyzed. That was until a familiar dull ache began to radiate from his groin, quickly becoming sheer agony unlike any he'd ever experienced, permeating throughout his abdomen. With a pitiful groan, he rolled into a ball on his side, no longer able to care what was happening beyond his immediate senses. It felt as if his balls had burst, and he was terrified they may've done just that. Amid the blinding pain, he let one of his hands slip down his pants and feel himself up. He was hardly an expert on the matter, but he was relieved they yet maintained their shape, even if the inspection itself caused him further pain.

That was when his confusion grew to new heights, as he felt hands grab at him from all sides, only to raise him in the air. He opened his eyes to find he was being hoisted in the air by his teammates, more than he could reliably count. They were cheering, and he still couldn't tell why, their words loud and incomprehensible. They carried him off the field, random hands touching him all over even as he continued to clutch his testicles in his hands. He looked up to find the dark silver and teal of the Spearheads waving excitedly through the audience stands, while the black and orange of the Firewings seemed deathly still. Only then did he realize they'd won. By his doing, apparently. Yet he didn't feel as elated as his teammates.

Once they'd reached the locker rooms, they set him down on his feet. He almost immediately sat down at a nearby bench. Though his pain had peaked and began to fade long before then, his legs were still trembling. He was suddenly knocked out of his pain-induced stupor when Terv suddenly leaned in and locked lips with him, rudely pushing his tongue into Sillick's mouth. Sil pushed him away in shock and annoyance.

"Pfeh! Damn it, Terv!", Sil complained, desperately trying to rid himself of the fox's taste, even as the rest of the locker room laughed.

"Sorry, wanted to show my appreciation for the man of the hour.", Terv said with a giggle. It was hardly a welcome gesture, yet one their locker room had seemingly come to expect from Terv, with most last-scoring players knowing to either go with it, or ward off the horny fox ahead of time. "Don't pretend you didn't like it.", Terv added after a moment, brushing the inside of Sil's right thigh with his hand. The hare was quick to ward him off with a frantic wave of his arms. The locker room only seemed to further boom with laughter.

"How's the nuts, Fig?", Crash asked with a cheer in his voice.

"Not great.", Sil said humourlessly.

"Maybe that'd be a better name for you. Nuts.", Screech jeered, to the approval of most around. Sil couldn't decide which was worse. "Fig" or "Nuts".

"Alright, let me through.", Xilin, the raven from their medical staff, said as he pushed past the crowd surrounding Sil. "Pants down, lad.", he said and placed a cooler and bag on the bench next to Sil. Sil wasn't too thrilled to be getting handled by the doc in front of everyone, but he decided to stem his inhibitions and pulled his pants down as instructed.

"Looks like everyone wants in your shorts today, Fignuts.", Crash said, even as he pulled his own pants down and went off for the showers, his loose parts flopping obscenely with each step. Unfortunately for Sil, Fignuts would become his new callsign, now a memento of two embarrassing events. On the upside, everyone else seemed to be slowly dispersing, save for Terv and some of Sil's other groupmates.

"Looks fine.", the raven concluded as he finished palpating the hare's parts. "Best put some ice on it to diminish the swelling.", he added and left an icepack with the lapine, before moving on to look over the other recently scuffed players.

"Want me to help wash you off, Fignuts?", Terv offered.

"Don't call me that.", Sil said glumly and rose to his paws.

"Best get used to it.", Terv said with a sly grin.

"I guess.", Sil admitted after a moment's hesitation. Fighting it only made the name stick harder, he'd learned from experience.

"Can I at least offer you a victory massage?", Terv offered once more. Sil sighed.

"Sure.", Sil said. "Just no diddling below the belt.", he added.

"I'll do my best.", Terv said without a hint of sincerity as they walked off for the showers.