Humiliation. That’s all that Johnson could feel. It was even worse than the pain from his broken nose and battered body. He wished everyone would go back to their sparring, but alas, not a single fighter wanted to miss out on the action, and every watchful slave was thankful that it wasn’t them in Johnson’s place. He couldn’t stall any longer.

“I can’t do that, I’ll do something else though,” suddenly Johnson felt a searing pain in the back of his head as he was once again stepped on and suffocated in the sand. Garth chuckled as he watched Johnson’s legs thrash around violently, and the slave’s hands quickly tapped the top of Garth’s boot in submission, but this did nothing for Garth who enjoyed watching the life drain out of him.

Garth released Johnson’s head and he immediately gasped for air. Tears and snot dripped down his face, and they mixed with the blood and painted a miserable picture.

“I told you,” began Garth, “All you have to do is give me a quick blowie and I’ll stop hurting you,” Johnson was silent as he tried to wipe the mess off his face, but he was just buying time and this was obvious to everyone who had been watching the spectacle, “If you would rather just continue suffering, I’m okay with that,” and he grabbed Johnson by the throat and started choking the life out him.

No one helped Johnson. Not even Brow felt like ending it. It was just better for Garth to get his enjoyment, and then he would leave the rest of them alone. Finally, he stopped choking Johnson, and everyone could tell that he had finally given up. He slumped over, and it looked like his soul had left his body.

“Fine,” he whimpered with a voice that was barely higher than a whisper. In his mind, he figured that being sexually humiliated in front of a room full of people might be better than repeatedly having his skull crushed, and tortured endlessly.

Johnson very slowly pulled himself together and stood on his knees just a few inches from Garth. Lifting his dirty tear-stained face, he watched as Garth undid the strings of his prison slacks.

The pants dropped and Garth’s junk was revealed. It was large, fat, and hairy. Jonas and Simon both grimaced as they noticed how close Johnson’s nose was to Garth’s cock and the people in the room could only imagine how bad it smelled.

“Go ahead,” Garth said with a very kind smile, “Just put it in your mouth, it’s okay,” and there were so many emotions going through Johnson’s eyes at that moment; hatred, fear, confusion, humiliation. He used every fiber of his being to convince himself that it was just a blowjob and that survival was more important than his pride, that he could always get revenge once he was stronger.

He opened his mouth and brought it right to the tip of Garth’s cock, but just as he was going to take it in his mouth, Garth swung a massive fist and punched the slave hard in the side of the face, “You fucking faggot!” Garth barked loudly as he began laughing maniacally, “I can’t believe you were about to suck my cock!”

Fighters, dummy slaves, and even gang lackeys all looked at Johnson with pity on their faces. Not only had he been willing to humiliate himself for salvation, but instead he had somehow found himself humiliated even worse than he originally should have, “Do you honestly think I wanted you to suck me off?” Garth looked offended and his voice was accusatory, “Someone as fugly and pathetic as you?” and he shook his head back and forth like he was disappointed in the slave.

Johnson laid in the sand and there was no hatred left in his expression, just blankness, and Jonas could tell, a willingness to die in peace, “Now if I was going to have my cock sucked by another man,” Garth began, “Don’t you think I’d rather it be by someone who looked like him,” and he pointed a large dirty finger towards Jonas.

Those who had been spectating the fight followed Garth’s pointing finger and stared at a young slave they hadn’t paid much attention to. Although he was dirty, bloody, and probably could use a shower, there was no mistaking the fact that he was the spitting image of the ideal pretty boy.

Jonas didn’t feel anything having all those people staring at him, but he did feel guilty towards Johnson. If he hadn’t been lucky enough to transfer to a different fighter, would that slave have ended up stuck being humiliated and beaten by Garth? Johnson’s eyes fell on Jonas, and then he looked away.

“Oh fuck off, Garth,” said Jonas, and he shot him the bird, his Sin Scars were glowing bright enough for everyone to witness, “And pull your pants up, nobody wants to see your nasty little cock.”

“Still fiery as usual, Blondie” Garth smiled while slowly pulling up his pants, “I was surprised and happy to see you survived that little loving I gave you,” and Jonas rolled his eyes when he heard his near-death experience described as ‘That little loving,’.

“Don’t worry,” said Jonas, “I’ll make sure to pay you back. I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“I like your Sin Scars, they have a nice glow to them. Yes, I can’t wait to watch them fade away,” and there was a little hint of ecstasy on Garth’s face that couldn’t be faked.

Jonas shook his head, and Garth smiled but didn’t say anything more. Many of the lower-ranked fighters in the room were secretly impressed at his boldness, while the rest couldn’t believe how stupid one slave could be, having Sin Scars didn’t mean shit, all of the fighters there had them in some capacity.

Jonas didn’t care, either way, Garth had to die. His cruelty knew no bounds and if he was released into the public, Jonas shuddered to think what he would do to the innocent. The spectacle ended and the various fighters returned to their games of beating dummy slaves, and this included Ahmed, Simon, and Jonas.

“You provoke that asshole and yet you do not have the strength to beat him,” said Ahmed disapprovingly, “I’m not confident enough to say I could beat him, even if I went all out.”

“That’s 'cause you’re a huge pussy,” Jonas was feeling fired up due to recent events. He hated bullying with a passion, and that passion seemed to be reignited from watching Johnson’s plight. Ahmed scoffed but used his fists to retort as he punched Jonas so hard in the cheek that it cracked the bone and left an indent in the side of his pretty face.

Something interesting happened because both Simon and Ahmed had expected Jonas to be sent flying from the force of impact, but instead, it was as if the hit did nothing more than forcibly move Jonas’ head as he swung a menacing right hook in retaliation. It landed cleanly on Ahmed’s pointed chin, causing his head to bounce so hard to the side it appeared as if he had just seen a long-lost lover walk by.

There was silence for a moment as Simon stared open-mouthed at Jonas, who was smiling at Ahmed, who was still standing in place with his head cocked to the side. Finally, Ahmed pulled his neck back and gently touched his chin which was stinging in pain, “I told you,” said Jonas quietly, “I’m going to win this bet,” but instead of standing in shock, a very pissed off Ahmed began beating the shit out of Jonas who could barely block let alone retaliate.

The beating lasted a very long minute where Jonas was held brutally by his golden hair and Ahmed rotated between punching him in the back of the neck and kneeing each rib until it cracked.

When he felt that he had redeemed his honor, Ahmed violently tossed Jonas out of the pit and then he made his way across the room and towards an area that housed a fighters-only workout gym.

“I’ve never seen Ahmed get that angry,” said Simon as he held out a hand to help pull Jonas up.

“Of course, you haven’t,” said Jonas weakly as he tried catching his breath, and it was a hard thing to do when he was sure his diaphragm had been ruptured, “I went from being unable to touch a hair on his head, to being able to punch his face in a matter of two days, that’s a huge humiliation for a warrior of his caliber,” and Jonas couldn’t help but smile a bloody grin that showed he was missing a few teeth.

“But it was just one punch,” Simon argued, “Nothing to get that upset over.”

“Have you turned a blind eye to his and mine argument?” asked Jonas.

“Of course I have,” said Simon indignantly.

“Well then,” began Jonas, “You should have noticed that Ahmed is trying to prove how awesome he is because he’s old, stronger, and more experienced, and I’m trying to prove that I’m much more awesome because I’m talented.”

“I got that much,” Simon said while rolling his eyes, “But that still doesn’t explain why he would get so angry, I sometimes hit him,” he added, “Albeit they are usually really unclean hits that are extremely lucky.”

“Ah, Simon,” Jonas looked pitifully at his friend, “You worship that man too much, he’s not that special, and neither is Garth.”

“That’s a bit strange coming from the guy who has had his ass kicked by both of them,” and this made Jonas laugh.

“This is true,” he said, “But you and Ahmed look at things way too simple,” Jonas explained, “You need to consider not what happened to me today, but what will happen to him tomorrow.”

“What the what?” Simon asked stupidly, “Don’t say random things trying to sound smart.”

“I’m saying,” began Jonas, “That Ahmed and you are too concerned about the fact that I can’t beat him today, but what you should be concerned about is the fact that I will eventually be able to,” and seeing the dawning expression of realization on Simon’s face, Jonas added, “That’s why he’s so angry that I hit him because it’s evidence that I’m improving at an alarming rate, and that it might be very soon when I pass him.”

“He’s embarrassed?” Simon confirmed in disbelief.

“Exactly,” said Jonas, “A guy like that who's been beating on weaker people for hundreds of years is bound to grow an ego and he’s bound to forget that he isn’t that awesome, that he has nothing to be prideful about,” and the two them spoke in hushed tones back to the slave room where they were locked away inside their separate cages.

“Do we ever get showers?” Jonas asked dully, his body's stench had become unbearable.

“Nope,” said Simon.

“Cheap bastards,” Jonas groaned as he rested on the cold floor of his iron cage.

“What is it today?” asked Simon, “Sit-ups, push-ups, or pull-ups?”

“All three,” Jonas added, and he pulled off his dirty prison shirt and grabbed the bars above him. Dangling his legs by bending them, he began pulling his body up, slowly and steadily, allowing the maximum amount of tension to his muscles. There wasn’t much he could do in that tiny cage, so he would rather spend it working out, something he had never been interested in before.

“I swear you put on weight,” said Simon skeptically as he shamelessly examined his friend’s naked chest.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jonas heaved as he continued to pull himself up and down, “There aren’t enough calories in this entire prison to allow me to gain weight,” and he added, “I’m so starved, I haven’t had a shit in five days,” and Simon laughed heartily.

“Don’t worry about that, once you become a fighter you’ll have access to some decent food.”

“And beer,” Jonas added as he fell to his hands and began pushing himself up off the ground.

“One thing at a time,” said Simon, “The first of which is making sure you live long enough to fulfill your bet with Ahmed.”

“Oh, I will.”

Jonas worked out for nearly an hour before dinner finally came and he wanted to savor that small bowl of rat stew, but unfortunately, it lasted three mouthfuls before it was all gone, and Jonas couldn’t help but look over towards Simon who had just begun sipping his own.

“Here,” said Simon as he passed the bowl through his bars and towards Jonas.