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How had it come to this so suddenly?

All around me is the hot stink of sweating flesh, the sun overhead baking the smell into every breath I take. The cloying dust curling around my bare feet seems fresher somehow than the very air I breathe. There's a hundred of us here, trapped together, yelling, sweating, stinking, and dying.

Or at least there were a hundred when we'd started.

My short gladius comes up, deflecting the thrust of a trident aimed for the tender meats of my guts. It goes wide and I step into the tiger wielding it. He's naked except for a loincloth bound tightly around his hips and hanging down between his thighs. His cock pushes out against it, as dire and desperate as the grimace on the feline's face as I plunge my blade into his ribcage.

"URRRAAAGH!"

His trident falls from his numbed fingers as he looks down in horror at the blade sheathed inches from his still-beating heart. His cock, relishing its imminent destruction, or perhaps seizing one final attempt to spread its seed, erupts in a gush that sends a streak of the warm cream across my left thigh.

How had it come to this!?

How had I, a peasant fox, found myself standing in the arena amidst a hundred warriors, ending the life of this tiger?

Did it matter?

The tiger falls as I pull my sword back with a jerk of my arm. I'm sweating as much as everyone else by now. The feline's body collapses backwards, landing in a heap atop a fallen elk. He twitches several times before falling still, eyes wide and glassy, tongue slack and dangling from his mouth stupidly; a noble death, say some.

I wipe the sweat from my brow with a forearm, turning in time to find a bat bearing down on me. Body marked by tribal tattoos, he seems to hail from Germania. His blonde hair is ragged from weeks on the road only to have his journey ended here in the heat. He's naked, pink prick bouncing lewdly as he lunges towards me.

My sword comes up and locks with his. The sun glints off the weapon and hits his eye; it's luck, pure and simple, but I'll take it. His head turns as he briefly shuts his eyes against the blinding light and my knee slams into his bare balls. His mouth opens in a shrill cry that's drowned by the cavalcade of death-cries and victorious roars which surround us. Pushing my weapon against his, I throw him off balance and his guard disappears as though it'd been mere smoke blown away by a strong breeze.

My sword seeks out his throat with a precision only a lust for death could provide; we all have our targets, and mine was that delicately grey-furred throat.

"GRRRGLLLAACK..." The bat's head tilts back as my sword cleanly enters his neck and severs his airway--along with at least one major artery--immediately. He falls to his knees, my sword still stuck in him as blood gurgles messily from the wound. It leaks from the corners of his mouth as he stares up at me, choking on his blood as much as my weapon. I stare back; what else could I do?

As his eyes roll back into his head, I brace my foot against his chest before pushing. My sword slides free and his body tumbles into the dust. Blood still pumps from his throat, his cock hard despite the blood loss even as he breathes his last. He doesn't cum like the tiger had; poor bastard didn't even get that small pleasure. His eyes are glassy as I step over his freshly fallen corpse, his hands curling a little as his wings settle listlessly in the dirt of the arena floor.

"HYAAAAA!" A shout from beside me!

I feel heat along my side as a blade opens my skin. Blood seeps into my orange fur before sneaking into the white fur of my belly as I clutch at the wound by instinct. Sidestepping the second swing, I heave my sword into a wild arc at my assailant even as I turn to face them. The sudden move almost pays off, but the black panther hops casually out of the way. He's wearing a red sash around his waist, but it only partially covers the impressively large prick and heavy balls between his legs. The rest of his body--more muscled than my own--is like glistening obsidian; darkness personified.

White teeth bared at me in a primal show of dominance, the panther--older than I'd taken him to be at first glance--steps into me. His claws seek out my throat, looking to end me as I'd ended the bat, but I drive the hilt of my weapon into his gut. I have little room for leverage, but it's enough to knock the wind from his lungs. The smell of blood wafts on his breath, tickling at my nose like a sledgehammer. I can feel the crimson river running down my side, and I realize my disadvantage a second before his fist hits the side of my head.

Even as I fall, dazed, I know what I have to do. I hit the arena dirt on my side, and I swing my sword before I bother try to stand. I hack into his right leg, and he falls heavy and hard like a stunned hippopotamus. Gaining my feet as he bleeds into the dust, my sword comes down and takes his head off at the shoulders even as he desperately tries to crawl away from me. The stunned look of pain on his face is immortalized as the head rolls away from the body, as though hopeful to escape a fate that had already found it. His corpse jerks, sensation alone drawing an orgasm from the vanquished shaft of the slain panther; cum sprays across his belly like a virgin oil-well being tapped. It runs down his sides, pools in his bellybutton, and dries quickly in the indifferent sun.

I charge forward now. Piles of bodies litter the ground; blood runs thickly in the dirt, and the surviving fighters dwindle.

A female rabbit leaps into my path, a pair of daggers in her hands. Her ears are tied together and laying as flat as they can, hanging against the back of her head like a ponytail. She isn't stupid; her plan might be uncomfortable, but they were a liability sticking straight up. She isn't much of a fighter though.

I barely slow down. Her red hair shimmers in the sunlight, her slightly bucked-teeth bared as green eyes narrow in anger towards me. She wears a bikini made of leather, which offers no protection as I spin on my heels, briefly facing away from her as I build up momentum in my swing. She comes in for the stab, but the momentum of my sword does as I'd hoped it would. Her daggers are knocked aside as my heavier blade shears through her defenses, and opens her belly.

"ERRRAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Her scream is loud as she throws her head back and howls into the blue skies above. I can see her guts trying to escape her as her arms move to clutch them, cradling them as she falls to her knees. I don't slow down, sidestepping her, trying not to see the look of stunned horror in her wide eyes. I hear her hit the ground behind me, falling face-down into the dirt where her ass twitches twice as her body shuts off rather than deal with the agony of such an injury. I don't see the juices soaking through the supple leather between her thighs, and the smell is lost to the other odours that waft in the dry air.

There! A chance to rest! The fighting is thinner here. It seems some grand warmaster had claimed this portion of the arena as his own territory. Bodies lay haphazardly around him as he takes on one challenger after another. He's huge. A stallion truly deserving of the title; his wide muscled frame towering over most of the competition. Covered in fur as black as the panther's, the male's hair falls behind him past his shoulders, kept short in the front. A barbarian, he wields his greatsword like a master of the blade, using it both to kill, and defend himself through sheer indomitable offense. The scars which cover him are a testament to this belief that defense was only useful to those too afraid to attack.

He's busy though, so I'm safe.

A long-necked crane has him distracted. The surprisingly delicate looking avian's spindly neck just begging to be severed. He seems skilled enough to avoid such a fate, however. The bird's sword and shield move in unison, a strike from the blade being followed up by a shunting blow from the shield. The stallion is losing patience though. Even as I fall to my ass, sitting in the arena as I catch my breath, I can see that the fight has already been decided.

The crane dips in to attack again, trying to stay close enough that the stallion's large weapon was useless. He doesn't expect the horse to simply reach out and grab him by the neck. The bird's surprise keeps him from thinking to strike while the large equine is occupied, and he instead lets out a terrified squawk. Realizing the openness of the stallion's body a second too late, the crane makes a futile attempt to stab forward even as the horse snaps the smaller male's neck. The head immediately flops downwards, beak open and strange tongue hanging out loosely with a strand of saliva still dripping from its tip.

With a grunt, the hoss tosses the corpse away, standing up a little taller as he vanquishes another challenger to his supremacy; I'm in awe. The crane twitches and dies at his killer's feet, his loosely fit tunic rolling up his back as he spasms, exposing his ass to the crowd.

I'm nearly caught staring at him. The thought of killing such a monster is far beyond my ability to imagine. I stand, ready to run if the horse should come at me, but he heads for a small cluster of distracted fighters instead, and I realize I need to see to my own survival once more.

Who would be next though?

A strangely marked fox, standing tall but not wide, charges me. He's nearly ten feet away and screaming like a lunatic. The rainbow shifting of his chest and bellyfur is hypnotic in its own way, and it's only through instinct that I manage to grab a dagger from the ground--had this one belonged to the rabbit?--and launch it towards my attacker's body. The spear the fox held proves useless to stop the weapon, and the dagger lodges itself in his throat with a distinctive slapping sound.

The look on the male's face is almost comical. His charge becomes a mad stumble, his purple bioluminescent cock bouncing up and down as his wide eyes refuse to leave me. Five feet away now, he simply falls face-down in the dirt. I can hear him choking out his last few seconds of life, blood growing in a larger pool around his head as he bleeds out into the arena dust; at least in this heat the dirt would be well watered. His ass humps off of the ground once, holding itself in the air as his paws--as though possessed of a will of their own--scout around his neck for the source of their approaching demise.

I look away--back to the battle--a second before those hips fall and he lays still amongst the dead.

Nearby, a large badger--as well muscled as the stallion but shorter and stockier--wrestles bare-handed with a smaller hyena. The hyena tries to put up a fight, but it was no use. Crushed into a bearhug, the struggling hyena's teeth grit and grind with effort. His body creaks, and when his spine finally snaps, his whole body spasms powerfully. His upper-body arches backwards to an unnatural degree, and the badger drops him before roaring out in approval of his own victory.

The badger turns to me, but a trident finds his side. Thrown by a net-wielding snow leopard, the feline's weapon lodges itself just below the third rib of the badger's chest. All three prongs of the trident disappear into the badger, and the mighty male crashes to the ground. Both the snow leopard and I move forward. The badger is trying to lift himself up despite the assuredly mortal wound inflicted on him. Spit and froth flies from his muzzle as his black eyes turn to me. My blade stabs down into his gut, several inches above the throbbing meat of his erect penis. Still he reaches out and grabs me by a shoulder, sitting up partially. The snow-leopard's short sword finishes him, however, driving into the badger's neck and pinning the raging mustelid to the dirt floor.

"HRRRRRGL--" bloody froth leaks from the badger's mouth as his eyes roll back into his head. His fingers lose their grip on me and fall limply, even as a final--though disappointing--trickle of cum runs down the underside of the slain male's shaft. He's dead. Praise be to Zeus for his mercy. I look to the snow leopard, both my saviour and likely my next opponent. Instead, I'm surprised to see him backing away, looking behind me as he turns to find easier prey. Again I prove luc--a blow sends me careening into the dust.

The wound in my side shrieks out in protest as I crawl weakly along the ground. The silent eyes of a dead otter stare at me as I move slowly past his corpse. I'm intensely aware of the brown sigil-like swirls painted into the slain male's chestnut fur, my foggy thoughts focusing on them as though they were somehow meaningful. When I feel a hand on my back, I scream out in embarrassing surprise. I'm pulled to my feet and turned to face the black stallion from earlier. He hadn't forgotten my stare after all. Hot, fetid breath washes over my face as he leans in before slamming his head into mine. The headbutt sends me reeling back, fresh blood trickling from my nose as the world begins to dance before my eyes.

I trip over the sprawled leg of the rabbit girl I'd killed earlier. My balance is gone entirely now and I'm in a slow-motion free fall. I hit a pile of corpses, nearly seven bodies sprawled in a heap of reeking death. Landing face-up in it, I bring a hand up to ward off the stallion bearing down on me. His greatsword held by his side, I realize that my own weapon had fallen from my hand.

"Misericordia" I beg, pleading for some small mercy from the warrior intent on ending my life. He snorts out, offering no other response as he plucks my weapon from the ground. Beneath me I can feel the yielding flesh of the slain, my feet trying to push me out of range of this behemoth as though it were something possible to achieve. His brown eyes meet my grey ones, and for a moment, we understand each other. I've killed, today. Now, I was to be killed. There was honour in that somewhere, but as my own weapon is thrust deeply into my chest, I can't be assed to figure out where that honour lay.

"GRAAAAYAAAAH...." I'm not embarrassed by the sound of my own piercing deathcry. Hot steel jutting from my chest, I accept my fate with all the grace I can. Blood pours down across the trim expanse of my belly as I writhe. My heart is on fire, pounding a million miles a minute; It was going to explode and kill me before the sword did.

My body stops responding. I fall limp against the bed of corpses I lay on, my legs spread and the thin cotton loincloth I wear soaking up the bulk of the warm cream I'm spraying into it. The rest oozes down my shaft, pooling in my crotchfur and growing sticky against my impotently emptied balls. My arms fall into a tangle with the limbs of my fellow fallen, and my head lolls back, dangling into a small niche formed by the spread thighs of a dead collie, and the half-turned body of a cheetah.

"ppbbtl..." the sound is too low for anyone but me to hear it. It's the last sound I make as blood oozes from my lips, my spent shaft softening as my open eyes cease to see. I die.

Vincidem placed his foot on the dead fox's belly, pulling the blade free with a sickening slurp as the corpse tries to retain the weapon that had destroyed it. Breath coming in heavy, powerful, bursts, the arena champion turned away from the pile of meat he'd just added fresh fox to, and looked towards the surviving warriors.

Who was next?