CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT—A TYPICAL MIKUMAN FARE OF RAW FISH
“Gaaahh!!!”
Shiro was battered about, his body turned and massaged as Akarilion attempted to disgorge him back out his throat.
Shiro couldn’t let that happen.
Not now! Not now that I have the upper hand!
And if he…
If he forces me back into his mouth, he’ll rip me to pieces.
Shiro screamed again, writhing to wright himself. It didn’t matter what his direction was, he realized. Pulling his katana close to his body, he angled the blade toward himself, stabbing into Akarilion’s fleshy throat and ripping into him with a sawing motion as the outside world thundered.
The dungeon boss thrashed and roared, its cries heightening in pitch as Shiro’s ears throbbed from the sharp vibrations.
Akarilion was in pain.
“Good!” Shiro called, grunting and screaming as he ripped about inside Akarailion’s throat and thrusting his blade as deep as he could.
Blood poured profusely, the dungeon boss’ thrashing increasing and his cries now a high pitched wale of pain and terror. Shiro cut his way through piles of flesh and slime.
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There was a sudden muffled thunder from outside and Shiro’s position was dislodged, his sword coming out of Akaralion’s flesh as it slipped out of his hands.
“No! NOOOO!!!”
Where is my sword?
Frantically Shiro searched about in the blood and slime for his weapon, but he couldn’t find it, certainly he couldn’t feel it!
WHERE IS MY SWORD?!
Remembering he had his glow stone inside his bag, he searched about, his hands riffling so fast through its contents he felt his fingers knock about the stones multiples times.
Screaming in frustration, he deliberately forced himself to slow his search until he lodged the stone against the inner corner of his bag where he was able to grasp it tightly and rip it free, its bright light giving him luminance to see by.
Inside of Akarilion’s throat was a cavern of knotted muscles with red and yellow networks of veins, all covered in mucus and blood, the gashes he had made a horrendous sight of butchered meat among this otherwise repulsive view.
Shiro caught site of his sword hilt, its blue crisscrossed fabric clearly visible.
My sword!
He squirmed, grasping and kicking against the muscles that jumped and contracted in an attempt to force him down the gullet. Screaming, he jumped for the blade, and had it not slipped from its crevice, he would not have been able to reach it.
“Hai!” he cried out in excitement, his lifeline found. “Haiii!!!”
Without a second’s hesitation, Shiro dropped his glow stone and thrust his sword back into Akarilion’s throat, but this time with more force as he pushed his palm against the flat back, forcing the blade to sink deep to create a rent gash.
Screaming, he pushed deeper, sawing at the flesh and driving his blade deeper and deeper, whales of pain emitting from within Akarilion’s throat that made Shiro cry out from the sound vibration where were almost a physical attack upon him.
Elbow deep in rented flesh, blood squirting up in geysers at his face, Shiro doubled and tripled his efforts as he sunk to his shoulders in raw-cut meat, screaming like a man gone mad.