Chapter 161 If I Die Here Today

The twelfth beast was torn to pieces by Angron, and its blood spilled in the hot sand. He grasped the two horns of the mutant beastman and twisted them hard until the beastman's bloody scalp and half of his skull were torn off by the huge force.

Of course, it might be the thirteenth or fourteenth beastman, he didn't count.

Behind him was Onomamos, his mentor and the old man who was almost a father, guarding each other's backs. In today's fight, they fought side by side.

The roar of the beastman sounded in his ears, turning into blood wrapped around his teeth, turning into a strong fishy smell, flowing back into his pounding heart.

The beast in front of him sometimes seemed to have grown pointed ears, and sometimes had the same disgusting face as the high-ranking rider on the platform.

He poured all his strength into the axe, which was almost a blunt weapon. The axe blade slashed the beastman's left rib, cutting through the dark and sticky internal organs from the middle. The black iron cut off the purple-red ribs and membranes, and cut into the red sand with a large amount of blood. The internal organs fell into the red sand in piles.

Wail and roar vibrated from the throats of the beastman and Angron at the same time, rolling up smoke and dust.

"Angron!" Onomamos roared, "Calm down!"

The giant's mind was spinning in his head, and he gradually separated his hand and the axe into two objects in his consciousness.

Unlike the usual numbness, anger burned in Angron's heart and strangely made him more awake. The bloody smell rushed from the tip of his nose to the bottom of his eyes. He swung the axe until the blood of the beastman stained the sand pit that had long been soaked with blood.

The beast tide was dead, and Onomamos was still behind him, breathing heavily, but still standing.

"What else?" Angron growled. "What else will be released?"

He knew that as long as their legs could support their bodies, the high-ranking riders would not give up.

The Maggot Eye appeared in the sky, and the host's dirty eye flew down to the field. Angron's fingers trembled. If he was given a chance, he would immediately jump up and tear the machine apart. But he couldn't-because Onomamos was still behind him.

"What an excellent fight, friends, how do you evaluate the undefeated Angron, or our old bear Onomamos of Ulcham! Today our Angron Tark has an extraordinary temper!"

The crowd cheered, and countless fists with thumbs up were raised, like a stupid and ridiculous ritual. A wave of joy came from all directions, like an electric current running through his hands and feet. Today, he resisted this emotion.

"But don't feel sorry, friends of Desia, because today's competition is not over yet!" The sharp voice of the Maggot Eye buzzed into Angron's hearing range, and his nails that had been broken and restored many times were dug into the wooden handle of the battle axe. "We have another special gift, worthy of your condescending arrival, worthy of every particularly noble audience, for which the gladiators will show all their martial arts, howling, tenacity and death!" The weak slaves imprisoned in layers of shackles pressed their bony hands against the huge cold iron, and the huge door was opened in the deep red sand pit, and two burly monsters of similar size to Angron walked out of the prison behind the door. Human skin hung on the spikes of their black iron armor and swayed weakly, and a pair of sharp iron horns stood up on their heads like two opposite scimitars, stained ochre by the coagulated blood. This is the vertical crown double horn symbolizing slaughter in Nuceria. "Introducing to you all, these are our star fighters, Ilknis of the Deep Prison, and Turgidon!"

As the two giant mutant beastmen approached the two gladiators at the top of the Mountain of Corpses, the cheers from the crowd grew louder. Oenomamus's leather-armored arm touched Angron as he reached back to grasp the end of the long handle of his weapon.

"Deep Prison fighters," Oenomamus said. "Butcher's Nail."

Butcher's Nail - Angron saw the cables hanging from the backs of the two Deep Prison fighters' heads. This eternal slave certificate of Nuceria, the metal spikes that penetrated the scalp, penetrated the brain like iron parasites, and stirred everything left of a person in the skull into a mixture of blood and gray matter.

Endless pain will forever drive the carrier of the Butcher's Nail, and all emotions except anger will be washed away. At first, the warrior will have no other emotions except the desire to kill, and later, when the warrior's spirit dies prematurely, this bloodlust will also disappear.

"They can't defeat us, Onomamos," Angron said, glancing quickly at the audience high above.

He needed a moment, he had to start preparing. When his brothers and sisters were ready, he would raise the banner of rebellion sooner or later. He would.

"They are terrifying," Onomamos said, "and we are invincible."

Angron took a breath, and the blood filled his mouth. The "they" Onomamos referred to was not the same person Angron thought, but Angron did gain more determination from it.

The old warrior raised his sword and knocked his shield, walked straight towards the deep prison fighter, and shouted loudly: "Rest in peace, slave of fate!"

Angron waited for his one to approach, and then the moment of sword and axe.

He observed, swung, and the iron braid of the Butcher's Nail flashed past, smashing the skull hanging on the black iron armor with an axe, blood splattering, and his left abdomen to shoulder blade was chopped open, and he was injured at the same time. The Butcher's Nail reflected red light, cut, blocked, roared, and blood foamed, blocking a fatal blow for Onomamos. He dealt with the enemy in front of him in an orderly manner, and his anger turned into the power of dissection, hidden deep between his trembling teeth.

The Deep Prison Fighter fell, and Angron threw away a piece of the beastman's spine that he had dug out in his hand, and squatted down to support Onomamos, who was injured to the point of being unable to stand upright, ignoring the crowd's cheers that shook the clouds. The old warrior needed rest, and Angron hoped that today's battle would be over.

But the maggot eyes are still circling.

"Dear viewers, have you all in Desia enjoyed today's gift? Our two warriors, beloved stars, tore two deep prison fighters apart!"

The roars of joy gathered into a frenzy of collective consciousness, shaking the red sand that was full of blood.

"So, do you guys want to see, between our two warriors, who is the real darling of fate? Who can kill whom in a fight to the death!"

Onomamos struggled to raise his head in surprise, a clear understanding of fate flashed in his eyes.

He put his hand on Angron's arm: "I hope you will be favored by fate in the future battles, my warrior."

"No!" Angron suddenly roared loudly.

Kill his mentor, his companion, his father?

No!

He gripped the giant ax tightly, standing on the bones and blood sea of ​​corpses and roaring, staring straight at the high platform at the top of the arena.

It was only then that he realized that he had made a mistake - what a bullshit patient preparation, what a fucking patience and compromise, what a bullshit escape and retreat! Look what he got. If you resist, you will die. If you don't resist, can you live? Destiny's darling?

He has been a slave to fate for half his life! Did his companions survive? His despair cannot buy even a fresh life!

Deep in his bleeding heart, a thin thought emerged from the broken scars.

If he died here today, no one would suffer because of him. The brothers and sisters in the cave are his shackles, and he is not their shackles.

"Oh, our star baby is going to oppose us," Maggot Eyes sneered sharply, "Listen to what he has to say? 'No, this old man is my dear companion,' he is going to cry!"

What do I say? The High Rider is waiting for me to speak, Angron thought. Every syllable that comes out of my mouth is just fodder for the audience's amusement, so why should I waste my time talking!

He looked around. Before thought, his fighting instinct offered him a path that had been waiting there for many years, a path that had been clouded by reason and deep sorrow, and now it was so clear.

The bones that have not yet been cleaned today are natural bunkers, and the beastman's huge frame and hardened skin are the best shields. If he charges to the left, the spikes in the field will be the first springboard. He will find the space between the spikes to land and jump out on the strong wooden spikes. His jumping power is enough to let his fingers get stuck in the sulfuric acid. The mouth of the pipe, as long as he pulls himself up the pipe quickly enough, the next landing point will be the unrepaired crack in the brick wall, and the next landing point...

Grandstand. The word popped into his head, but the stands were still not the highest point he could reach.

Along the walls of the stands, he could run faster than bullets, and the highest gilded platform was close at hand.

Is there any difference between the pointed-eared head that fell to his feet like the most fragile tumbleweed in the night yesterday and the slave owner on the high platform today that is greater than the difference between heaven and earth?

There was a vibration in his chest, and the rush of blood drowned out the jeers and cries of the crowd. He heard some trivial buzzing sounds, like the most annoying mosquitoes and flies, and laughter and cruel catcalls slid through his body, flowing into the bloody new wounds, turning into anger and melting into the flesh.

An old hand forcefully patted his arm. It was not the care of the elders for their descendants, but the strength of encouragement between warriors.

Onomamos looked at Angron intently. Angron didn't know what he saw in his brass irises. He only saw a kind of light shining in the old warrior's eyes.

Then Onomamos gave him a gentle pat. "Go ahead."

Angron roared angrily, and suddenly smashed the maggot's eyes with his axe, jumped out of the pile of corpses and ran quickly. With the crowd shouting in absurd excitement, within a second, he crossed half the court and jumped onto the nail pillar. Blood spurted out from the soles of his feet cut by the spikes and dripped in the air.

He grabbed the nail pillar and twisted around, then kicked up hard, and the blood-stained high wall of the pit flew towards Angron. His fingernails scraped against the concrete surface.

The crowd's voice changed, "Execute him", "Kill him", "How dare he", their screams were finally filled with fear.

Angron's expression was distorted by the joy and sorrow that were born at the same time, and the beast's face was reflected in the twisted surface of the metal pipe.

If he died here today, he would have at least accomplished something that no one has accomplished in decades.

He turned over and jumped over the high wall, unaware of the pain of the laser penetrating his blood vessels. The wind from high in the arena blew through his hot blood, and the audience who were no taller than his waist fled in all directions. He was surprised that these high-ranking trash could be so small, and he couldn't help bursting into laughter.

The high platform fell back under his feet, "Nail", someone shouted tremblingly, "Shame", a word floated into his ears.

What is shame? Cowards who feed on the emotions of the weak are the disgrace of the world!

He had no time to tear apart the spectators in the arena who were feasting on human blood, not because of mercy - he had given up mercy today, and the extravagant emotion was crying in his arteries. He had no time to do anything, because the high-ranking knight on the gilded platform was about to escape.

His body shook violently, his joints cracked, and the bullet broke one bone, maybe more. Of course, he didn't count.

"Coward!" he roared, and pounced on the golden platform with the posture of a wild animal. What a pity, the leader of the Tark family is not here, and the great prince of Nukeria is not here!

Angron rushed towards the slave owners who were panicking like ants with all his strength, and their bodies turned into multiple corpses under his axe. Blood and broken meat fell, and more bloody trophies gathered in piles. Last night's dream was chopped into reality by him today. His huge axe was pulled back by the chain wrapped around his arm before it slipped out of his wet hands. His fist penetrated into the dirty intestines and crushed the head just as he did to the gift last night.

A wave of weakness spread in his body, and his body was breaking. The next moment, he fell to the ground, and blood flowed into the cracks of the platform.

Angron grabbed a handful of slave owner's flesh, bit it and spit it out, breathing heavily.

If he died here today, his message would be buried for the sake of the slave owner's face. But all the slaves could find that more than ten arena masters never appeared again.

All the slaves could tell from the fear of the audience who the undefeated Angron killed in the end.

He took out the axe from the bones, squinted his bloody eyes and looked at the last slave owner who was slumped in the corner. Then, Angron grinned and forced a smile.

"How many beasts did I kill?" he asked, then threw the axe and smashed the man's chest, "Add one more."

His consciousness was blurring faster and faster, and dark shadows filled his brain. He thought of Onomamos, and then he found that his heart was unexpectedly calm. His anger was burned out fiercely, and the ashes made up his severely injured body. His wounds never really healed, whether physical or mental.

High mountains, his childhood blurred, captured, he got a name at the top of the acid pool, Onomamos grabbed the boy's hand, he fell to his knees, chains tied his hands, beasts fell tusks, broken legs of Kleist danced on the blade, pain, some wailing, twenty-four slaves died in the battle, broken bones and blood, the stakes on him increased day by day, scattered flowers, gold coins were thrown, dead people, Yochuka curled up in the cave and trembled.

"Kill him, damn it, he's out of control!"

"He can't die! I bet three hundred gold coins!"

"Nail, nail him! He must pay his debt!"

"Wait, what are those?"

He barely made it out, recognizing the words of hatred floating from the depths of darkness. Nails... No, he would not be a slave again. It's over. It's all over.

Angron dragged himself, picked up his battle axe, and pointed the sharp broken point on the dull blade at his throat. The blood falling from his mouth stained the axe.

If he died here today, he would rest in peace. Although there would still be regrets that could not be made up.

It seemed that fire was raining down from the sky. It seemed that the illusion of death had caught him. He took a trembling breath, and the sound and color left him.

"Stop him! Quick!" An unfamiliar voice sounded, with the unique momentum of a superior. Angron was no longer able to sneer.

The next moment, lightning exploded in front of his eyes, and he hit his axe hard in the last moment before losing consciousness.