"'Despite the best efforts of Mario and Co., the Glitzpit was forced to shut down two weeks after the defeat Grubba. Police shut down the fighting ring for two months- due to multiple health and safety violations charged during the investigation of the attempted murders of Mush "Prince Mush" Von Fungen, KP "King K" Pete, and Mario "The Great Gonzales" Mario. Unable to pay the fines (in addition to the repairs and installations needed to prevent repeat violations), the Glitzpit owners were forced to declare bankruptcy and sell the property.

Now without a job, former champ Richard "Rawk Hawk" Hawkins turned to the Glitzville "underground" fighting circuit. Mr. Hawking- fearing the dangerous and often lethal fighters- trained harder than ever. He would become champ again, no matter what. This mentality corrupted him, making him a serious danger to anyone who dared stand in the way of his goal. Rawk Kawk was now unstoppable.'

You've been told this account by many along your way during your own path to glory. While you've been winning battle after battle on solid ground, the rumors surrounding the former major league star have always piqued your interest. Were they really true? You've only ever seen one person ever go down for good in your own personal experiences, and while Glitzville's fighting scene certainly has a bit of a track record, you doubt that it could be nearly as vile as everyone says it is.

After all, the only written account you could fine online (provided above) has a clear typo in it: with Rawk Hawk spelt with a 'k' instead of an 'h'. Funny joke to be sure. For a kid at least; that is what all the kids in school who rooted for the underdog always called him.

So, you decide to find out for yourself. Could even be fun. Fighting against a wrestler who you watched every week on TV as a kid. A good ten years have passed since then, so, if anything, this would be no more intense than a sparring match. The old man mustn't have much fight left in him anymore. Despite your manager's pleas, you go forward with your plan of seeing your hero under the lights. Five days later, you are on a blimp to Glitzville.

One interesting thing is that there are no public spectators to ANY fight Rawk Hawk has been in for many years. Only private investors- the wealthy- the elite. In fact, no one outside of ring management has EVER seen Rawk Hawk since his matches went private. Others have seen this as a red flag, but to you, this was decisive evidence supporting your theory. Rawk Hawk doesn’t fight professionally anymore, and this is all just some ploy to drum up hype for the Glitzville underground scene.

After talking with at least five different security personnel and meeting one investor excited about today’s fight, you wait in a small, dingy looking locker room. Apparently, an old rival of Rawk Hawk was visiting the ring. You didn’t recognize the name, but you acted excited to please the businessman you spoke to. ‘It might be wise to suck up to anyone I meet here,’ you think, ‘since it could help with my chances if I ever come back to Glitzville. ‘

Finally, the time had come. I guard escorts further into the complex. You even see an old familiar face. Yeah, that was the guy the investor was talking about. You remember seeing him taking beatings from Rawk Hawk on the TV as a kid. After a while of MORE WAITING, you are again brought to another door by the guard. Cheering can be heard from the inside. You make a joke asking if this is another waiting room, but the guard remains stone-faced. You roll your eyes and watch as the guard swipes his card at a scanner and types in a PIN. Highly unusual. The door loudly buzzes and opens to reveal a pitch-black room.

You think, surely this can’t be the right place, but then you hear the voices again. Hushed voices and shushing now replace the raucous laughter and applause. You are told to walk straight forward. About ten feet until the ring. Just climb on, and the lights will turn on. You stare at him for a moment in disbelief, studying his eyes to be sure he’s serious. Dead serious you’re afraid. You thank him for the tour in one last ditch effort to see him smile and step into the darkness.

Immediately the whispering crowd dropped silent. There couldn’t have been more than ten or twenty in the room with how quickly the mood was able to change. The door slams shut, and the same ominous locking sound is heard. Only then did you realize that the previous fighter, the old wrestler whose name you had forgotten, had not yet exited. Your heart skipped a beat, but then you realized. Even if that guy had died, his body would still need to be removed from the arena. After all, this was blood sport, not some snuff exhibition. With newfound confidence, you step forward. You slow down the more steps you take, so as to not run headfirst into the ring. The sounds of water splashing onto the mat (and scrapping?) can be heard. The champ must be cooling off. Hopefully the ground isn’t too wet, that sounded like a lot of water.

You kick the ring in front of you and stop for a second. An audience member gasps. You reach up and hoist yourself level with your opponent. Deep breath. Better take stance. You take your first step forward and get in fighting stance. You wonder why you are nervous. This was all a show. A farse. A trick to lure newbies in. Right? A bright flash of light blinds you and a modest amount of claps and whistles are heard from each side of the stage. You wait a moment for your eyes to adjust.

Then you see it.

First confidence, then confusion, then worry. And then: pure unbridled fear at what you see on the ground. Oh God. He’s dead. He killed him. Not only that, but only his SKELETON remains! His cock! It’s huge! Is that… cum? What the fuck?!? WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK!?!

The crowd is now inaudible. You see Rawk Hawk’s beak flap, but can’t hear a single word over the sound of your heart beating up in your throat and your ears ringing. You pray to all the gods you never learned the names of that your fight or flight reflexes kick in, but, to your horror, you discover that all you can do is freeze.

He runs at you: full speed. Arms up, you turn and open your mouth, but you are unsure if you ever got the chance to scream. He grabs you by the head and shoves you into his. You writhe, trying for the first time to break free. Maybe you could get out and see if a sympathetic audience member could get you out of this. Or maybe not. The electronically sealed doors and metal bars dividing the fighters from the audience suggest the latter.

He grips onto your arms with such strength that you let out all your air in one howl in pain. Bad idea, as he shoves you deeper in. The walls of his cock are still slimy with the salty remains of “Craw Daddy,” but tight enough to keep the swallowing a slow process. It’s also tight enough to constrict your breathing. You try in vain to gain the air you lost from your exhale, but you end up just wiggling yourself deeper down his shaft.

You try to keep consciousness as the prized fighter shoves in your knees, your ankles, your feet, and finally your toes. You are passed the point of no return, you are afraid. But finally: a respite. Your breathing returns as you feel body open itself up again. It is pitch black again, but with your arms free, you feel ready to begin a possible escape plan.

Unfortunately for you, however, your hellish trip has not made its final stop. You are pushed forward more, and your body drops into a hot liquid. You stop. This is a very strange sensation. Very unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. A strange tingling. But it grows stronger by the second. You feel your arm, but touch something else instead. A weird, slimy substance. Its sticky. ‘But this is where my left arm is,’ you think. Then the tingling stops. Your fears escalate into nightmares, as the burning pain— far worse than anything you have ever felt in the fighting ring— courses through what remains of your body. You grip though what you are holding to find a solid center. A squishing sound rings through your body and the sticky, hot remains of your left arm hit your face.

This is it. No coming back this time. No second round. No shaking the hand of your hero. No going home. A cooling sensation then makes its way into your torso and head. You can’t feel much of anything now, besides coolness and regret. You lay your head back in the hot semen that used to be your legs and use the last moments of your life to reflect:

‘I was right. This was all just a ploy and Rawk Hawk was the bait. But he also ended up being the trap. And the goal wasn’t to trap money. Or attention. Or better fighters even. It was to attract idiots like me. I wasn’t the first. And I won’t be the last.”

You frown but think back to the initial idea of meeting Rawk Hawk. Your childhood idol. This is by no means the way you wanted it to happen, but what’s done is done. You open your mouth and let the cum poor down your throat. You won’t be able to see him (or anything) ever again, but at least you can die knowing that, at least before joining Craw Daddy’s puddle, you could be in one-ness with the greatest fighter on the planet.

You close your eyes and let yourself melt away.”