Chapter 160 Red Sand Cave

Yochuka curled up in the cave, dark stones fell from the sky, and after a while he found that it was the shadow of the too low cave top pressing on his retina, or perhaps the darkness came from the depths of his painful nightmare, from which dark blocks of color were born, gathered in his eyes, making him unable to breathe in his dreams.

He didn't want to cry, since he was caught in the arena, he didn't want people to see his weakness, he shed too many tears, but he couldn't even wake up from the nightmare.

His hands hurt like burning wood, the smell of burning remained on the slave mark on him, along the bloody legs and the pain, grabbing his purple skin, the stinging through the palm even dispelled the ignorant humiliation and trampled self-esteem in the young soul.

The blood rolled out from his stomach, along the goose bumps on his cheeks and turned into fanatical eyes, he wanted to escape, wanted to die. He heard everyone laughing at him, from the high platforms floating above in the audience.

He wanted to forget Hongsha, struggling to swim away from the sulfuric acid, the hot, damaged and torn skin was peeled off, the maggot's eyes fell like rotten sawdust, his head hurt, the temperature was higher than the sun in the middle of the arena, it was the branding iron of the high-level rider...

A cool touch penetrated deep into his throat, wrapped around his trachea and blood vessels, and the clear amber took him into the silent trickle caressed by the wind, and the peaceful color embraced his cheeks. He began to miss his mother and father, and the time without Hongsha.

He didn't know if they were still alive. Maybe he would die of pain tomorrow. He was bitten to death by the beast today. The black teeth pierced his palm. The maggot eye brought disgusting cheers. The crowd shouted to place bets, betting on the blood of wolves and the knives of sea beasts, the feet of giant elephants and human intestines...

"Yochuka," amber was calling him, topaz was calling him, the red rope was pulling his falling hand, his fingers twitched and hooked the fallen thread of the red rope, "Yochuka, wake up, it's okay, I just want you to wake up..."

The heavy voice and the hot breath of the beast enveloped his head, so powerful and low, sad and painful, the bright yellow color approached, illuminating his damaged and curled body from the inside out.

The blood stains left his hair, and the mixed torture of cold and heat was gently taken away by a pair of rough hands like a father. He melted and stretched in the light, and the self rose from the abyss of pain and distortion, hovering on the edge of return.

"Dad..." He made a sound in his throat, and finally felt a palm on his shoulder. Amber and topaz turned back into the giant's gentle and painful eyes, the red rope was wrapped around the giant's waist, and the blood scar remained on his skin. Honor itself was humiliation.

Angron, the undefeated red sand beast - the high-level riders called him that, but Yochuka didn't like it.

Yochuka buried his head in Angron's shoulder, and his skin, which was hot in the high fever, absorbed the coolness. He tried to hold back his tears. Angron hugged him and gently rubbed his head. Yochuka also reached out and patted Angron's head, and some short stubble pricked his palm.

"I've caused you trouble again." Yochuka said in a muffled voice, "I don't want this, Angron."

Angron put a finger on his forehead and frowned slightly because of the high temperature. He picked up a piece of animal skin and wrapped Yochuka to preserve the boy's body temperature.

"It's okay. Thank you for being alive," Angron said. "It's a dark night tonight. Can you sleep, little Yochuka?"

Yochuka tried to slow down his rapid breathing, letting the more gentle breathing rhythm take him to sleep.

His mind gradually became dizzy, but the next thought woke him up. He asked himself why he had to live until tomorrow. Yochuka knew that this was wrong, and his death would make Angron sad, but he had already made Angron suffer enough, and Angron always felt twice the pain for him.

"Angron," Yochuka said, "I can sleep."

"Let me tell you a bedtime story, child," said Onomamos. He is the elder of this cave, taking care of all the fighters, especially Angron.

When the giant is next to Onomamos, he will become less fierce or tall. His warmth is more revealed, and the gladiators find the gap between their hearts and form brothers and sisters with Angron as if they are connected by blood.

The old man tore off a piece of cloth and slowly bent down to change the cloth bandaging Yochuka's wound. "Long, long ago, there was a great fighter, a fighter who never lost."

"Like Angron?"

Yochuka knew that Onomamos was comforting him. He took the initiative to cooperate with him, letting the pain in his heart fade in the communication.

"Maybe." The old man said softly.

"What did he do?" Angron asked in a low voice, not to wake up the others who were sleeping in the cave. Tomorrow, all the living slaves will be thrown back into the arena. They need sleep.

"He conquered all the cities in the world with an army, one after another, piece by piece. The high-ranking riders fearfully offered him everything they had." Onomamos stood up slowly. "And called him 'the one who devoured the world.'"

"Where did he go after that?" Yochuka asked, closing his eyes.

"He lived well, very well." Onomamos said, and in Angron's brass eyes, the old man saw the sadness of enlightenment.

Yochuka nodded, wrapped himself tightly in the animal skin, and regulated his breathing obediently. Angron patted the little slave's back gently and rhythmically until sleep made Yochuka's eyes stop moving uneasily.

Angron's sleepiness had dissipated. He actually couldn't sleep most of the time, and tonight was no exception.

He silently pressed the ringing chain on his arm, bowed and left the depths of the cave, approaching the entrance. The gray-bearded gladiator followed him, away from the snores of the gladiators.

A glimpse of the night view of Desia, the main city of Nuceria, was the closest place to hell that the imprisoned gladiators could see. Today's night is particularly dark, and there seems to be a thin and eerie sound flying in the red sand, like a thin blade cutting a thread or a long staff cutting through the clouds.

"Onomamos," Angron asked, "what became of that fighter?"

"Rumors say his name is Desia." The old man said.

Angron didn't shake his head or nod. He sat silently, watching in the dark night, waiting for the wounds on his body to heal, and for tomorrow's wrestling match. After the sun rises, his emotions will rise and fall again with the entire arena, and the cheers of the audience and the pain of the enemy will be injected into his soul at the same time.

His hatred and joy are both unfounded, and as he strangles his emaciated foe with his bare hands, he inherits his desperate rage, a burning fire that turns back into a buzz before scorching his bones and evaporating his blood. The roar of thirst and the swelling excitement of the Desians in the audience. He will immediately begin to despise himself after his high self-appreciation.

In the end, all that could be left on his body were scars, the scars on his waist, and the broken scars on his heart.

"I heard they captured a new mutated beastman." Onomamos said, "Maybe they will become our opponents tomorrow."

Angron's heart sank. It had nothing to do with fear, his heart was just sinking, sinking deeper and deeper day after day.

"You should go and rest first." Angron advised, "I don't need sleep."

The old man studied him. "Cheer up, Angron," he said. "We are all alive."

"I know." Angron said.

Onomamos returned to the relative warmth of the depths of the cave. The old man's breathing soon merged into the restless snoring of the sleeping gladiator. Angron tried to close his eyes and rest, but he failed.

The wind whistled. Is there such wind this season? Angron wasn't sure.

Everyone is dying. He wanted to die in his hands, or in the hands of others. He didn't know if Yochuka would survive the night.

The light rain of flowers on the arena seemed to be falling continuously, and the weapons, chains and his hands merged into one. His distaste for fighting had built up in the fighting itself, his ego dissolving in the hot sand, and Angron knew he needed to find himself again, stronger. But he couldn't find a reason.

Mutated beastman. he thinks. what else? Prison fighter? He knew those creatures were worse beastmen - they had steel cables hanging from the backs of their heads.

Suddenly, he heard something rolling from outside the cave. A nearly round thing with a distant smell of blood.

Angron increased his vigilance and intercepted a gust of wind as it struck him. The sharp hidden weapon scratched his skin, but he did not fall into a hazy dizziness, and the hidden weapon was not poisoned.

A piece of cloth was nailed with a hidden weapon and flew towards him. This sudden incident made Angron's heart beat faster. It was unclear whether he was excited or hesitant.

He took off the strip of cloth and tried to read the words on it.

Angron's extraordinary understanding helped him easily decipher most of the meaning of these words, but this only added to the confusion.

"Xi Gao Le, Xi Gao Le, let you laugh and get through the troubles. The midnight gospel comes from the dark capital, and the Laughing God tells you not to be surprised. The Lord of the Red Sand is waiting for help, and the demigods are coming to save the people in danger. The blood relatives are ignorant and have nothing to do, and we are helpless and sigh in our hearts. . I will give you my gift, pray for your trust, and hope to work with you for a long time. ——Aman Laroni.

He looked at the signature at the end of the banner and wondered who would do such a prank. However, it was undeniable that a new fire gradually glowed red in his heart.

"The demigods are coming..." he repeated in his mind.

More rolling sounds approached in the dark night. Angron intercepted the nearest thing and picked it up for observation. The next moment, his eyes widened and his heartbeat stopped for half a beat.

The object in his hand was a dead head. Those pointed ears quickly revived his childhood memories, and the alien appearance overlapped with a face that had attacked him many years ago.

He thought he had forgotten it. He found that he could never admit his mistake.

More heads rolled out of the cave with a disgusting smell. Among the group of aliens that had attacked him in his childhood, all the faces that had escaped now rolled back to his feet, with wide eyes and twisted expressions. The look on his face testified to the painful death that had befallen him.

What is this, a gift? To a slave?

Angron's heart was suddenly held up by thousands of complex emotions, hatred mixed with anger, shock mixed with relief. For the first time in many years, his heart rose so high.

With force in his hand, he crushed the head to pieces with one hand, and the plasma exploded along his hand and flowed downward.

"The demigods are coming..." he repeated a second time. The thick juice and broken bones gave rise to a surge of anger that made him want to vomit.

The gladiator clenched his upper and lower teeth, and the tiny sounds of the two rows of teeth rubbing against each other were transmitted to the eardrum along the bones. The brothers in the cave were still asleep, and he could only suppress the low roar back to the depths of his throat: Why after so many years of pain and death, there are such absurd promises coming from the night!

He looked around, his eyes wide open in the dark night of red sand, hunting for the traces of these uninvited guests from the smallest wind and sand, until the fine sand covered his eyes like the blood in the arena today, piercing out numb wet water droplets. Angron wiped off these rusty water droplets, and the blood was pitch black under the moon.

Angron grabbed another head on the ground, without the slightest joy of hatred being eliminated.

This pile of skulls came too late. He realized that his resentment towards the high-ranking riders had been condensed too thick, so that he could neither express nor relieve it, and it had even become a part of life, omnipresent and unnoticeable.

Absurd dizziness occupied his brain, and he felt a strong sense of detachment.

Inside the cave were his companions, his brothers. His day-to-day battles and fights were all concentrated in this dark cave. The dust falling from the rock wall and the ashes from the burning fire were the only real things in his life, and all the desperate reality he had that exuded a bloody smell. He spent years in this cave, watching his heart sink day by day.

However, on this absurd night, this ridiculous note and the real bone of hatred, the root of all the disasters he saw, suddenly fell into his hands.

In an instant, a hole was pierced in his inherent life, and sharp anger burned from the numb ashes. He suddenly had an incomparable desire to rush out of the cave and place a bet on today's battle against Yochuka - not only that, he wanted to tear apart all those who had been on the spectator stand and laughed loudly at the blood and broken bones of the gladiators, and crush the skulls of the torturers one by one with the bones of these aliens, and bury them deep in the red sand.

In this moment, he saw the possibility of tearing up the existing rules. He had done it many years ago, more than once. At that time, he was not tall enough, and his escape and resistance were all failures. He knelt in the red sand, watching his companions being tied up with chains and thrown into the herd, and the high-ranking riders laughed at his painful reaction. But this time -

What is the difference this time? His brothers and sisters who were unable to protect themselves were still lying in this dark cave. They had fever, broken legs, and were suffering from illness, and they were marching towards death in a long struggle. His resistance meant the death of everyone. The slave owners would execute them one by one, the moment he stood up and threw away the chains.

As for the "demigod" and "helping hand" in this note...

It's funny. Angron thought. The gladiators who placed their hopes on others have all died in the red sand or the mouth of the beast.

Angron broke the rocks with his bare hands, dug holes in the stone wall, and calmly squeezed the alien skulls one by one into the narrow pit, and then covered them with gravel and red sand. He did these tasks silently in the dark night, so that his brothers and sisters would not be suspected by the high-level riders the next day.

"Cheer up, Angron." He said to himself, life must go on, and he had no hope for the so-called rescuers. "Everyone is still alive."

But the enemy can be killed. He thought, and the seeds of unwillingness in his heart once again broke through the hardened soil mixed with anger and hatred. He clearly saw a possibility outside the cave.

What can he do?

Angron closed his eyes and gradually fell into a sleep. After so many years, he finally imagined the most miserable death of slave owners on the red sand of Nuceria in his sleep again.

Regarding many things that need to be stated: (too long to post so please see the picture orz)