CHAPTER SIXTEEN—THE SECOND MAW
Even screaming with sudden terror, Shiro was instantly aware of the caustic breath of the Hahkamorra.
The reeking stench hit him harder than a punch in the mouth.
“Kami-sama!”
As the muscles inside the beast’s throat pummeled him down to its stomach, Shiro’s scimitar hissed and spattered in the slimy wet environment.
The thing’s throat was far shorter than he had anticipating, so Shiro only got a few glimpses of his surroundings.
The muscles hugged and massaged him deeper in, convulsing—probably from the pain of his sword hissing against its red interior, the veins and blood vessels a smattering of greenish-blue webbing.
As he struggled for air inside the constricting esophagus, Shiro turned his head and muffled voices came from where he was being pushed.
As his sword got through first, someone screamed when Shiro tumbled into the belly sack with the rest of them.
“Shiro!”
It was Ali!
“Ali?!”
“Yes! Yes, my friend!” He laughed and kicked his legs, the men cheering.
As Shiro glanced about, he bent and nearly retched from the smell.
“Do not worry,” Ali said. “You will get used to the smell after a while.” He slapped Shiro on the back in consolation. As he said the words one of the Scorpions let go of his own stomach and emptied the contents onto the man beside him.
Gagging, Shiro said, “We are getting out. Sate! Sate! Now!”
“Thank the gods!” Yaser said, the slight boned healer with the thin and hawkish nose said. “Get us out of here, master!”
“Oh!” Ali gasped. “Shiro, you have no idea how good it is too see you, my friend! We thought we were all dead, but when this thing started moving around a lot, we thought maybe it was you—come to rescue us.”
“Hai!” Shiro said. “This… Hahkamorra”—he spoke as he felt at the wall of the stomach, ready to puncture it with his blade—“it has an extremely slow digestion.”
“We should be grateful,” Ali said.
“Even now,” Yaser said, lifting his reddened arms, “the acids are eating through us.”
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Do not be stupid,” Ali snapped. “It is hardly an irritant at this stage.”
“It does not matter,” Shiro said, trying to stand. “Because—hngh—we are leaving!”
He rammed the point of his scimitar into the beast’s stomach lining. His sword—a gift from Jessamine, was a scimitar in the usual sense, though the blade wasn’t as curved as they generally were, and so this made it easier for him to puncture the beast’s flesh.
Everything started thundering.
“It’s moving!” Ali yelled. “It is moving!”
The men inside the stomach with them jostled amongst each other, the slime and the stomach acid covering them all. They shouted in startlement as the Hahkamorra obviously began jumping about inside the cavern.
Shiro screamed, pushing the blade deeper. It hissed and cooked the flesh around it, and still he stabbed even deeper.
The farther he pushed his sword out, the more the beast squirmed, the more it’s stomach roiled and churned.
“Ahhhh!”
“Who is screaming?!” Ali snapped. “Why are you so terrified, man?”
A gush of fluid came from somewhere inside the stomach, but not from where Shiro was puncturing the beast.
That fluid filled the chamber, or stomach rather, giving them less air to breath. Suddenly the stomach kicked forcefully and Shiro was pummeled by men and reeking fluid tumbling over him.
He screamed, gripping his sword hilt as hard as he could so he didn’t lose it as he was slammed forward, his body pummeled and forced back through the monster’s esophagus.
Screaming, he tried to suck in air, but had none as the stomach fluid enveloped him. He kicked and squirmed, his foot hitting someone while his body was pummeled by the man next to him.
A large measure of light appeared ahead and Shiro burst out of the Hahkamorra’s mouth and onto the rocks.
The sheer force by which he was thrust out of the creature was surprising and he rolled over the rocks heavily, gasping and clawing away the slime over his nose and mouth.
All the men cried out, gasping and screaming relief and laughter.
Shiro just lay there breathing for a moment.
“Ali?” he finally asked.
A man came to him and nudged him on the shoulder.
It was Ali!
“Here, Shiro! Here! We are saved!
They got up and danced, singing and calling out excitedly in exultation to the gods that they had been saved—that they were alive.
“Kami-sama!” Shiro croaked, and the ticklishness in his throat expanded, his gorge coming up and out of his mouth until he emptied his stomach on the rocks.
Coughing, a man above him said. “Not bad.”
It was Razul, his tone bemused and yet bored.
“Yes,” Debaku added happily. “You did well, Shiro.” He thrust a hand down in Shiro’s face.
Nodding, he took the Mar’a Thulian’s hand and got up. Debaku seemed heedless of the filth covering Shiro.
“Oh!” Ali screamed. “I will never complain to the gods again about everyday discomforts.”
“Are you hurt, brother?” Razul asked.
“What?” Ali asked. “Me? No. I am fine! Raz, I am alive!”
“Indeed, brother.”
“No thanks to you!” Ali spat.
The Hahkamorra suddenly moved and all the men whirled and cried out in terror and anguish, fearful of being swallowed a second time. But the beasts did not come to eat them again. Instead, it kicked its powerful legs about the rocks as it hopped out of the cave.
“And where do you think you are going?!” Ali called as he made some obscene gesture in the direction the beast had gone. “Come back! So I can make dinner out of you!”
“Do you…” Shiro said, but trailed off. But he summoned the effort anyway. “Do you really want to eat that thing, after what—“ He retched again.
Ali laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said, patting Shiro on the back. “After about the fourth time you will be fine.”
“Kami—“
He retched again.
“...sama!”
Disgusting, Jessamine conveyed, and then disappeared completely from his consciousness.