Chapter 47 Dirty Tactics and Victory

The tension was high as Shakar and Slasher faced each other in the fight pit. Shakar, the gobliman, stood tall and imposing, almost twice the size of a regular goblin. His lean, muscular frame exuded a quiet confidence born from years of hard-won battles. In contrast, Slasher, though half Shakar's size, was a wiry and vicious opponent, his body a testament to countless brutal skirmishes. His beady eyes gleamed with a sinister cunning, and his grin was a twisted promise of rat acts. 

The crowd around the pit, a mix of eager guards and trembling slaves, watched with bated breath. This fight would determine not just the leadership but the very nature of their future. Shakar, the seasoned warrior, versus Slasher, the embodiment of underhanded tactics.

Slasher wasted no time. With a guttural snarl, he lunged at Shakar, aiming a swift kick at his knee. Shakar sidestepped the attack with ease, his eyes never leaving his opponent. 

 Without wasting a second, Slasher darted forward, his movements fast and slippery, aiming a dirty jab right for Shakar's midsection. But Shakar was no novice; he easily sidestepped the blow, his reflexes sharp, and swung his fist in retaliation. The punch whistled through the air, but Slasher ducked under it, grinning viciously as he kicked up a cloud of dust from the pit floor, throwing it directly into Shakar’s eyes.

He knew that Slasher would employ every dirty trick in the book but even knowing that he still could not guard in time. Blinded momentarily, Shakar staggered back, furiously blinking away the grit. The crowd roared as Slasher saw his chance. He rushed in, landing a series of cheap, rapid strikes - elbows to Shakar’s ribs, a knee to the thigh, and a brutal punch to the kidneys. Each hit was calculated, not for maximum damage, but to weaken, to frustrate, and to slowly chip away at the larger gobliman’s defenses.

"What's the matter, big boy? Can't see?" Slasher sneered, circling his opponent like a predator, his grin growing wider as he saw Shakar’s annoyance build.

Wiping the grit from his eyes with a quick motion, Shakar planted his feet firmly in the dirt, his muscles tensing like coiled springs. Slasher darted in again, this time aiming a vicious swipe toward Shakar’s throat. But Shakar, anticipating the move, blocked the attack with a massive forearm, the impact of the blow sending a shockwave through the pit.

As Shakar regained his footing, he delivered a precise jab to Slasher's ribs, the impact eliciting a grunt of pain from the smaller goblin.

Undeterred, Slasher feigned a stagger, drawing Shakar in. As Shakar moved to press his advantage, Slasher spat a mouthful of dirt into his eyes. Blinded momentarily again, Shakar stumbled back, his guard down. Slasher seized the opportunity, raking with a sharp piece of bone across Shakar's chest, leaving angry cuts in its wake.

"Think you're tough, Shakar? You are nothing without your guards to help you! Weak and pathetic! A coward!" Slasher hissed, circling his opponent like a predator, trying to make Shakar lose his composure.

 "You're just a big, stupid gobliman and I'm gonna kill you!"

Shakar wiped the dirt from his eyes, his vision clearing just in time to see Slasher rushing at him again with a jagged piece of bone he had concealed in his hand. With a swift, fluid motion, Shakar caught Slasher's wrist and twisted it, forcing the bone to clatter to the ground. He followed up with a powerful knee to Slasher's gut, doubling him over in pain.

But Slasher was nothing if not tenacious. As he gasped for breath, he swung his other hand up, aiming for Shakar's face with a hidden shard of glass. The sharp edge sliced across Shakar's cheek, drawing blood. Looking calm, Shakar backhanded Slasher, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

The crowd roared with excitement, the guards cheering for blood while the slaves watched in silent terror, hoping against hope for Shakar's victory.

"Is that all you got, Slasher?" Shakar growled, wiping the blood from his cheek.

 "You're gonna have to do better than that."

Slasher sprang to his feet, eyes gleaming with sinister intent. With a swift motion, he reached into his tattered tunic and hurled a small pouch at Shakar's face. Shakar instinctively swatted at it, but the pouch exploded in a burst of fine, stinging powder. A thick cloud enveloped him, making his eyes burn and his throat constrict. He coughed and sputtered, stumbling backward, momentarily blinded and disoriented as the irritating dust clung to his skin.

Seizing his chance, Slasher leaped onto Shakar's back, wrapping his legs around the larger goblin's waist and his arms around his neck in a vicious chokehold. Shakar's vision darkened as Slasher's grip tightened, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch, the guards sensing a shift in the tide.

But Shakar wasn't done yet. Summoning his remaining strength, he reached back and grabbed Slasher by the scruff of his neck, wrenching him off his back and slamming him into the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of Slasher, and Shakar wasted no time, following up with a series of powerful punches to his face and torso.

Blood sprayed from Slasher's nose and mouth as he desperately tried to fend off Shakar's relentless assault. In a final, desperate move, he reached up and gouged at Shakar's eyes with his thumbs. Shakar roared in pain, but he didn't relent. With a final, bone-crunching punch, he drove his fist into Slasher's jaw, knocking him out cold.

The fighting pit fell silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of the exhausted combatants. Shakar stood over Slasher's form, his chest heaving but he was victorious.

Shakar’s victory, seemingly secure, was not as solid as it appeared. As he turned his back to the downed Slasher, the crafty goblin's eyes flickered open. The crowd, still buzzing from the intense fight, failed to notice the subtle movement. Slasher’s hand crept towards his boot, fingers curling around the handle of a hidden, rusty dagger. With a surge of malicious energy, Slasher sprang to his feet, the dagger poised for a treacherous strike at Shakar's unguarded back.

But Shakar, a seasoned warrior, was not so easily deceived. His keen senses picked up on the movement, and he spun around just in time. Slasher’s dagger thrust towards him, but Shakar's reflexes were swift. He caught Slasher’s wrist in a vise-like grip, his fingers digging into the smaller goblin's flesh.

With a snarl, Shakar twisted Slasher’s arm, forcing the dagger away from his body. He drove his elbow into Slasher's arm, snapping it with a sickening crack. The dagger, now loose, fell into Shakar's other hand. Without hesitation, Shakar redirected the blade with lethal precision, plunging it into Slasher's chest.

The rusty dagger pierced Slasher's heart, and the goblin’s eyes widened in shock. His mouth opened in a silent gasp as the life drained from him. Shakar held the dagger in place, ensuring the fatal strike, before releasing Slasher’s limp form. The goblin slumped to the ground, his death swift and silent.

The crowd erupted into cheers and gasps, the goblin guards reluctantly acknowledging Shakar's dominance. The slaves, though still fearful, felt a flicker of hope. Shakar had proven his strength and resolve, and under his rule, they knew they had a chance at survival. Slasher's death was a brutal reminder of Shakar's strength and ruthlessness.

Shakar stood over Slasher’s lifeless body, his chest heaving with exertion. He pulled the dagger from the corpse and raised it high, the bloodied blade glinting in the sunlight. 

"Let this be a lesson to all who would dare challenge my authority!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the crowd. 

"I am the leader here, and anyone who dares to disrespect me will be punished with death!"

The guards pounded their weapons against their shields in approval, while the slaves exchanged fearful glances. Shakar’s dominance was undeniable, but the price of defiance was now etched in their minds.

Turning away from Slasher’s body, Shakar made his way back to his quarters, his mind already racing with plans to fortify his position. The goblin leader knew that he couldn’t afford to rest on his laurels. He needed to consolidate his power, to crush any remaining dissent, and to ensure that his reign remained unchallenged. 

The crowd dispersed, the guards returning to their posts and the slaves to their work. I looked at Slasher, crumpled on the ground. His body lay still and peaceful, tears started to trickle down my dirty cheeks, but they were not tears of joy seeing that our tormentor was finally gone, but tears of frustration. 

I could not believe how easily Slasher got away with it, a painless death like that was like an insult to all of the torment me, Kaka, and every slave had endured by his hand. Each of us had felt the weight of his sadistic tortures and beatings, living every single day in suffering, fear, and anxiety. Our lives were a living hell because of him, and yet he got such mercy, to be killed without even tasting a tiny fraction of the suffering he had inflicted upon us. This injustice ripped me apart from the inside, like raging tornados colliding with each other.

I burst into frustration-induced convulsing sobs, my body shaking uncontrollably. My small, scrawny frame trembled with the force of my frustration and despair. How could the universe be so cruel as to let him die so swiftly, without the lingering agony he so richly deserved? Every mark on my body, every scar on Kaka’s, every memory of the nights spent huddling in fear, all seemed meaningless now. The only thought that kept me going was the small comfort of knowing that Slasher was no more, that he couldn't hurt us anymore. But even that comfort was tainted by the bitter realization that his end had come too easily.

I turned my head to look at Kaka and saw his face. He gazed at Slasher's lifeless body with a vacant expression, showing little emotion. He looked sad, yes, but also more depressed than ever. His eyes were dull and lifeless. A realization hit me like a cold, hard slap: Even with Slasher gone, there would be no hope for us. The evil goblins were all just like Slasher, and soon enough a new one would take his place, ready to beat and torture us all over again.

"Kaka..." I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying. 

"What's going to happen to us now? Even with him gone, we're still trapped here. They’ll just find another Slasher."

Kaka turned to me slowly, his movements sluggish and heavy with the weight of despair and his injuries. He shifted his beaten, trembling head toward me and smiled, his cracked lips squirting with blood.

 "I... don't know... little Hermit," he said softly, his voice cracking with sorrow. 

"I don't know. It feels like... there's no end to this nightmare. I... can't go on... anymore. Too broken... too tired... I'm sorry..."

His words only deepened my sense of hopelessness. I could see it in his eyes - Kaka had given up. The years of abuse had finally broken him, and without his strength, how could I ever hope to survive? My tears fell harder, mixing with the dirt on my cheeks, creating tiny rivulets of mud.

"We need to stay strong, Kaka," I choked out, more for my sake than his. 

"We can't let them break us completely. We have to hold on to something, anything..."

My words trailed off as I asked myself, "But what was there to hold on to? What was the point?"

 Every day was a struggle, every moment a battle against despair. The evil goblins were relentless, their cruelty a constant reminder of our powerless existence. Even now, with Slasher’s body cooling on the ground, the other goblins would be deciding who would take his place as our new tormentor.

Kaka nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Slasher's body.

 "I'm tired and broken... but... you're right, little Hermit," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

 "We have to try. But it’s so hard... so very hard."