The Josefs looked on in horror as mouth after mouth manifested behind One, each one easily 2 feet in diameter, bearing deliciously red slips and viciously sharp teeth.
“Y-you… you think a few extra mouths will scare us?! We can have as many mouths as we want!”
Each of the Josefs retched up another Josef, for a total of 22 Josefs. Then 44. Then 88.
Through it all, One did not react. He took out a giant toothbrush from one of the mouths behind him and started brushing all of their teeth.
“Who’s a good mouth? You are! Yes you are!”
“Are you mocking us?!” The main Josef shouted at One.
“I most certainly am. You are nothing if not mockable.”
All the Josefs gave One that face with raised eyebrow look. They could not understand his calm demeanour. No matter how many times they multiplied, he just kept brushing his sets of teeth.
“This is ridiculous Chris.” Mark Stackedbuns continued to chide the unpaid intern as if the mic was not on. But it was most certainly on.
“I asked you for a blueberry raspberry scone. Now look at this, you see this Chris? Barely any raspberry, one raspberry maximum in this blueberry raspberry scone. What you have gotten me, Chris, is a blueberry scone with raspberry, not a blueberry raspberry scone.”
Back in the cage the 88 Josefs were losing their patience.
“Come on, One, do something! You’re supposed to be the best vorer here right, then prove it!”
“King.” One responded curtly.
“You will refer to me as king. ‘One’ shouldn’t be spoken by such an unskilled mouth, I tire of hearing I from you, mongrel. The Scorpion Boys only ever wanted the fight of their lives, I was not their King, I was their leader. But you are not a worthy opponent, you are a pantomime, a clown masquerading as a vorer. Never speak my name again.”
“We will be your end.”
All 88 Josefs charged at One in unison. But he did not move. He did not so much as flinch. Every time a Josef got within striking distance, one of One’s mouths regurgitated another One on top of them. In a matter of moments the cage was absolute chaos, with dozens of Ones grappling with their respective Josefs, all of the copies biting chunks out of each other.
“Oh this is horrible. Back in my day, vore was a one on one spectacle, not 88 on 88, this is terrible. Maybe I would be in the right mindset for this if I’d gotten the right mid match scone, but I didn’t.”
It became clear very quickly that this match was going to take a minute, the mass of bodies within only thinning out slowly.
“Kobe, save my seat, imma go get some more fries.” Vorelando said as he rushed out to the food court. In mere seconds he found himself at Father Francis’.
“Yo Francis, what’s cookin’?”
“Nothin’ but fries, borther!”
He threw a box of fries underhand to Vorelando, who threw a balled up 10$ bill back.
“Keep the change Francis’.”
“You’re a good kid Vorelando, keep eatin’ out there!”
Vorelando rushed back to his seat while devouring his new fries. By the time he returned, it was clear that the Ones were winning, by now outnumbering the Josefs 3 to 1. He had only been gone a couple of minuets but that was an eternity inside the cage.
The few remaining Ones polished off all of the Josefs except the main body. They restrained Josef, and held him up like a crucifix.
“You get what you fucking deserve.” The true One said as he unleashed hell upon Josefs abdomen.
As his copies held him up like the lord Jesus Christ, the main One absolutely thrashed him, throwing punch after punch over every inch of his body.
“Ora! Dora! Kyaa! Muda!”
Over the course of the next hour the entire arena watched as he beat Josef into a pool of steaming liquid. They continued to watch as he got on his hands and knees and started licking up that mess of blood and pulverized bones.
“Well, he’s won folks. You may not like how he won, I don’t like it but he’s won. Copying your opponents signature move, beating them so badly they change state form solid matter to liquid and then licking them up off the ground may not be very sportsmanlike, but it is effective. This is just where the games going now, this is modern vore.”
With that, Mark had declared One the victor. The crowd below cheered for him as he stood proudly before them, face covered in blood.
But in the competitors block, there was nothing but silence. No one dared speak.
How the hell were they supposed to beat that?