As Vorelando stepped into the cage, he knew he was in for a real fight. His opponent in the first round was a 5 star recruit from the University of Voregia. Jose Wombo, a foreign transfer student from Brazil, his skin wasn’t skin, it was millions of microscopic mouths imperceptible to the eye. He was a walking ball of vore, a special kind of talent.
Of course, Vorelando knew that he could easily win if he just used his own reverse vore ability but he wanted to win on the basis of his own fundamental skill, not a heritable vore style. It was always there as a last resort though.
He had spent the best part of yesterday going over film with Kobe, looking for weaknesses in Wombo’s game. They found none. It was going to be an absolute slugfest no matter which way they sliced it. He just needed to be faster, stronger and more skilled, there were no shortcuts to victory this time.
As Vorelando strolled from the locker room to the cage, there was an anxious buzz around the crowd. Not the anxiousness that comes with anticipation though, it wasn’t quite silent, most of the attendees were murmuring to the person beside them.
Vorelando tried to put it out of his head, he needed no distractions from his fight with Wombo. As Vorelando took his place in the cage, Marv Alsquirt, the announcer for Voratorium 1, picked up his mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to say that I can now confirm the news I’m sure you’ve all been speculating about…”
News? The news of new news was news to Vorelando. He had left his phone at the hotel that morning to avoid distractions. He hadn’t even talked to anyone since yesterday.
Marv continued “… Jose Wombo is no longer with us. His car was hit by a rogue blimp on the way to today’s match.”
Vorelando’s thoughts started racing. He should’ve expected this. That was no rogue blimp. He had gone over every available piece of info available in preparation for this fight and hidden in the recesses of the internet was a radio interview Wombo had given back in Brazil.
He had talked about a lot of things but there was one recurring theme. All throughout the host kept asking Wombo if he was alright. Wombo’s response: ‘Esse dirigível vai me pegar’
That blimp is going to get me.
Now the reports earlier in the week of random blimp sightings made sense. It had followed Wombo all the way from Sao Paulo to Voregia. It had merely taken the blimp a long time to cover the distance from Brazil but finally, it had scored its kill.
None of that mattered now, Vorelando had to refocus. He knew the standard practice for this was the draft in one of the reserve fighters always kept on standby for emergencies.
“To honour Jose’s spirit, the show must go on. It’s only right that we make this match one to remember, for Jose Wombo!”
Marv’s attempts to hype up the crowd worked. Through the tears and the stuffed noses, the crowd chanted Wombo’s name.
“Now, to introduce our two competitiors for the annual Jose Wombo Memorial classic.”
The light show routine began.
“To my right, vore’s simulatenously rising and fading star, he’s not into vore, he’s into more! It’s Vorelando Jones!”
As the spotlight warmed Vorelando’s skin, a chorus of cheers and boos filled the arena. His reputation was mixed to say the least. Most hated how he had disrespected the game of vore but a small percentage of people respected his passion for feet.
These passionistas were much smaller in number than the haters but much greater in voice. Just by sound, one would think that the crowd was split 50-50, for and against him.
“And to my left, arriving on short notice, Fernando Ballendistro!”
As the spotlight shifted across the cage, a few cries of ‘who?’ rang out from the crowd. But they were short lived. They were blinded. Fernando was striking a pose in what was now his light. His outfit was all black but covered in studded jewels that reflected back into the souls of all present.
“Damn, look at that boy shine!” Marv screamed.
With one arm raised above his head and one hung below in a mirror image, Fernando proclaimed a request.
“Señor Jones, I can only hope for a worthy match, that we may compete on each other’s terms.”
“I’m only here for the W, Ballendistro, anything else is of secondary importance.”
“Then it seems that I will have to change your heart before I take my victory.”
Ballendistro closed his eyes but kept his flamboyant pose.
“Let’s kick things off!”
Marv signalled the start of the match and Vorelando got himself ready to charge at Fernando. But he paused. That signature Ballendistro flair was too much.
Still sparkling under the lights, Fernando ripped open his black shirt, throwing his hands back behind him flamboyantly and revealing his chest. He was ripped, but more importantly, where his nipples should have been, there was instead two high fidelity speakers.
He tweaked both of them simultaneously and some seriously slick salsa music started playing.
“Dance with me, Señor Jones.”
Vorelando got into a defensive stance, ready for whatever attack was coming but it never came. Fernando Ballendistro had no intentions of attacking his opponent. His soul was not one of vore, he was carried by the will of salsa. He danced seductively across form Vorelando, waiting for him to respond.
“Is this a joke?”
“I would never joke about my beloved salsa.” Fernando thrusted.
“This is a vore match, bozo. No place for your admittedly sexy salsa!”
Fernando sped up his dancing, the ripped fabric of his shirt fluttering around him in time with his hair, the jewels creating a light show of themselves.
He continued “I can feel your heart, Señor Jones. You are like me, you may not dance down the salsa highway as I do but nor is it in you to jump into the mouth of the masses. I sense your reservation, you don’t want to be vulnerable, but that is a mistake! The only way to be comfortable in your own skin, is to impose your will on the world!”
Ballendistro hit a ridiculous front flip and then extended his hand out to Vorelando.
“Vore may be no place for a man like me but that is exactly why I dance across the cage. Nothing will stop me from sharing my love with the world, the whole world. Won’t you join me? Won’t you dance until one of us collapses? Won’t you show the world what you’re made of?”
Vorelando could do nothing but stare in awe of the man in front of him. He did not want to fight someone with so much soul. The gaul of Fernando Ballendistro, to enter the cage of a dead man and refuse to vore. He was more than Vorelando could even aspire to.
He thought about forfeiting the match.
But then he heard a voice deep in his mind.
Fight… Vorelando Jones.
He had encountered this kind of passion before.
Scream… Vorelando Jones.
And he had promised Eggmond that he would see his journey through.
DANCE, VORELANDO JONES!
And so he would dance!
He would dance past this chapter in his fable or he would die on his feet, it would be a fitting end to his story if that was what came to pass.
“OK, Ballendistro, you’re on!”
Being shirtless, Vorelando was already dressed for the occasion. He still hadn’t gotten around to replacing the shirt he’d lost in Crackremento, which was his only one.
He clapped his hands together above his head and shook his ass to the left. He repeated this move as he closed the distance between him and Fernando.
“Sí, Señor Jones! This is the passion these people need to see!”
He rubbed his speaker nipples to change the music to something with a higher tempo and then started walking sexily towards Vorelando.
The two tango titans met in the center of the cage. Vorelando shook his chest towards Fernando, who responded by shaking his hips back.
Fernando grabbed Vorelando by the hand and spun him around. He thought this might catch his opponent off guard, but Vorelando was prepared. He got down low on his left leg, lifting his right one up behind him while continuing to spin. He looked like a glorious swan caught in an elegant tornado.
Fernando barely managed to dodge Vorelando’s spinning leg but when he did, he adjusted quickly. He began jumping over Vorelando back and forth as he spun, in between his outstretched leg and arm.
Vorelando stood up out of his spin and cartwheeled backwards, Fernando pirouetted away in response. Without words, they new what was next and began running towards each other. Just before they would’ve crashed together, Fernando created a platform with his hands that Vorelando stepped onto before being vaulted into the air.
His legs were caught gracefully under Fernando’s arms on the way down, who pulled his crotch up near his neck and started spinning. Every time it seemed like Vorelando’s neck was about to be cracked off the floor, he shifted his weight to prevent it. The up and down motion he made as Fernando spun had the audience mesmerized.
Eventually, they broke, Fernando sliding backwards as Vorelando ended in a handstand. But things were only just beginning. They both returned to the center of the cage, Vorelando now dancing id handstand as Ballendistro crawled back towards him on his hands and knees.
They shook their bodies relentlessly at each other, the sweat flying off them in every direction visible even to those at the back of the crowd.
It was a filthy spectacle, borderline pornographic, stimulating in a way vore had never been before. It went on for hours. Even though the arena was well air conditioned, every single person in the crowd had stripped down to their underwear, the steamy nature of this encounter getting to them mentally.
At some point the roles reversed and Vorelando started taking the lead. He would step forward and Fernando would step back. At one point, he raised Fernando above his head and started spinning him.
Fernando cried tears of joy.
“When they asked me to fill in for this match, I never thought it would be like this. You must eat me, Señor Jones. I will never dance like this again, and knowing that, I have no further need to live. But you can change the hearts of many millions, I sense that potential within you.”
“I understand. Goodbye, Fernando Ballendistro, you have changed my life.”
With one final exertion of his muscles, Vorelando threw Fernando up in the air before unhinging his jaw. As the sweat glistening, jewel studded figure of Fernando Ballendistro fell back to earth, he shouted one last time.
“Viva la salsa, viva Señor Jones!”
A moment later, he was no more. He had fallen cleanly down Vorelando’s throat, who gulped him down with tears in his eyes.
“Vorelando Jones from way downtown! What a vore! What a match! Viva la salsa, viva la salsa!”
As the music from Ballendistro’s nipples gradually faded in Vorelando’s stomach, the sound of cheers began to become audible.
In only a single match, everyone forgot about the foot fiend they though him to be. All they could remember was the image of Vorelando Jones: the undisputed salsa king.