Sack Smack League - Jungle Juggernaut

Hunter has become the rising star of the Sack Smack League, crushing opponent after opponent and developing an ego to match his winning streak. But now he faces the Jungle Juggernaut. Whose balls will be wrecked?

Pictures courtesy from the ballbusting game Cherry Pop League

Leo had been swallowed whole by a Chemistry 101 project that his partners had managed to bumble into a disaster of catastrophic proportions. Apparently, something about a failed titration and a ruined lab report that threatened to tank their collective grade. His nose was stuck in an assortment of different chemistry books, cursing the name of every teammate who couldn't tell a beaker from a flask.

While Leo was fighting for his GPA, I was fighting for sport. Sack Smack League to be exact.

Every evening, the moment the clock struck six, I slipped back into the polymer sheath. The lingering soreness from my first match had long since given way to eager anticipation. What had once felt like unfamiliar equipment now fit like a second skin. My pulse quickened whenever the VR headset powered on, its amber glow signaling that the set was ready to load my consciousness into the world of ballbusting.

When the world snap into focus, I was no longer just another gamer.

I was Sack Smack League's worst nightmare.

Five. I had five new trophies mounted on my wall.

The obsidian floor of my private sanctuary acted as a dark mirror, reflecting the glow of the crystal-blue walls and the silhouette of the Theseus avatar. This room was a gallery of fallen pride. A series of mahogany plaques were bolted on my wall, each one bearing a cock. My trophies.

But the centerpiece, the crown jewel of my collection, remained the trophy of Atlas. His massive, bronze-hued organs hung from the plaque for all to see. Every time I looked at them, I felt a surge of that first, intoxicating victory. Atlas should have crushed me, but instead, he was the one who had transformed me from a curious newcomer into a rising star, launching my career with a single, devastating Nullification.

"Welcome back, Hunter."

Startled, I recoiled and spun around only to see a beautiful woman. She was translucent, the color of glowing fuchsia, and naked. Astrid is a NPC and the guide, referee, and match coordinator of Sack Smack League.

"I will never get used to you popping up out of thin air." I grumbled.

She closed her eyes and smiled. Through her glowing chest, I could see the faint, pulsing core of her heart, beating as if she were alive.

"Five victories in a row," Astrid voiced cheerfully, her voice swirling around me like a warm breeze. "Your continued streak of dominance has turned many heads in the League."

She glided closer, her fuchsia form casting a soft, neon glow over the polished obsidian floor. She paused, her expression shifting from its usual cheery demeanor to a more serious tone. "But the honeymoon phase of the lower ranks is over. To move beyond the B-rank ceiling, you must participate in a ranked match against a A-ranked player."

She flicked her wrist, and a holographic interface bloomed in the air. A single, imposing silhouette appeared, flickering in a deep, menacing crimson.

"While winning any match is important," Astrid explained, her voice humming with a crystalline resonance. "A ranked match is particularly so. Winning a ranked match will allow you to ascend a tier where you will compete against other similarly ranked players. Lose a ranked match however, and you will stay in your current tier, competing against other same tier opponents until you win enough battles for the chance to participate in another ranked battle."

I stared at the crimson silhouette.

The silhouette shimmered, the crimson light condensing into a physical form that solidified with the heavy thud of a foot hitting marble. This wasn't the grotesque bulk of Atlas, nor was it the lean, sculpted agility of Theseus. This man occupied the golden mean of masculine perfection and a masterpiece of proportion. He stood a head taller than me, possessing a frame that felt architectural in its precision. His chest was a broad, sweeping expanse of hard-packed muscle, transitioning into a waist that was tapered and tight. Every muscle was toned to a razor's edge, the skin stretched tight over a physique that looked less like flesh and more like polished mahogany. Upon that smooth, velvety skin was multiple tattoos on his chest, back, and left arm. He was the embodiment of an elite athlete—handsome, symmetrical, and radiating a quiet, predatory confidence.

Then, my gaze dropped. Between those powerful, columnar thighs hung a member that was equally impressive. It was thick and heavy, resting against his inner thighs with a confident sway. His scrotum was a tight, muscular pouch, holding two firm, high-set spheres. He didn't look like a man who had ever felt the sting of a neural spike from a kick to the nuts; he looked like a man who had spent his entire career delivering them.

I felt a faint blush creep across my face. I wasn't gay, but I couldn't help staring at

the imposing physique of the avatar before me.

"What is his name?" I inquired, never taking my eyes off him, even as Astrid answered.

“This is Jugg3rnaut87 and he uses The Jungle Juggernaut build you see before you." Astrid replied cheerfully. Then her smile faded, her voice turning more serious. "But be careful, Hunter. He has a reputation for being especially ruthless.”

"I think I'll be fine," I said. There was a smugness that only comes from a winning streak. "I dismantled a titan before, a 'Juggernaut' is just another trophy waiting to be mounted on my wall."

I snapped my fingers, and in an instant I was enveloped by the form of the Theseus avatar. Warmth surged through my body like a rising tide, flooding every vein with unfamiliar power. My frame expanded rapidly, my shoulders broadening as every muscle thickened and hardened into dense, sculpted strength. The transformation was overwhelming yet exhilarating, as though I had stepped into the body of a living demigod.

When it was over, I lowered my gaze and saw a physique carved from marble, radiating confidence, power, and vitality and a thick, slab of masculine meat swaying between my legs.

Astrid smiled, “I applaud your confidence Hunter. We will begin momentarily."

Then the trophy room vanished. There was no slow transition, just a sudden, jarring displacement of atmosphere. One second I was breathing the sterile, ionized air, the next, my lungs were filled with a thick, humid soup of decaying vegetation and damp earth.

Instead of black marble, the small arena was covered in warm dirt. Above me, a canopy of colossal ferns and twisting trees blocked out the sun, filtering the light into a hazy, emerald gloom. The air was heavy, smelling of exotic flowers and fresh mulch, and the air was filled with the sounds of jungle birds.

Stepping into the arena, the Jungle Juggernaut emerged from the foliage. He sauntered to his position, his head high and his tan skin blending with the jungle. The tattoos on his chest seemed to pulse under the filtered sunlight as his dark brown eyes locked onto mine.

"So, you're the one they're calling the Giant-Slayer," the man spoke, his voice a smooth, resonant baritone that lacked the typical arrogance of the higher ranks. He came to a halt a few feet from me, his posture relaxed, almost inviting. "I'm Jugg3rnaut87. Or, as the logs probably list me, the Jungle Juggernaut."

I shifted my weight, feeling the heavy swing of the Theseus avatar's manhood against my thighs. I looked him up and down—the mahogany skin, the precision of his musculature, and that formidable, heavy set of balls. His physique and massive manhood were even more impressive up close and in person. A small, confident smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

"Ultimate_Hunter05," I replied, my voice rumbling through my chest. "And you must be the man who thinks he's untouchable in the brush."

The Jungle Juggernaut let out a short laugh. "We'll see," he spoke, his voice carrying a strange, calm quality that didn't match the 'ruthless' description Astrid had provided. He didn't sneer or posture; he simply stood there, though his eyes remained as sharp and focused as a hawk’s. This man felt less like a monster and more like a seasoned professor of combat, waiting for me to make a freshman mistake.

The silence of the jungle stretched, broken only by the distant shriek of a tropical bird, until a shimmering ripple of fuchsia light manifested beside me. Astrid appeared, her translucent form glowing against the deep emerald backdrop of the ferns. She didn't look at me, her gaze fixed on the countdown timer that suddenly materialized in the humid air between us.

"Players, prepare yourselves. The match begins shortly." Astrid announced. The Juggernaut and I walk to our respective starting positions.

Once in position, numerals of midnight black suddenly appeared in the air above our heads, ticking downward. Ten. Nine. Eight. My heart beat against my chest as the numbers counted down. The Juggernaut didn't blink, his brows furrowed as his gaze locked onto mine.

Six. Five. Four. I shifted my weight and settled into my fighting stance. Years on the wrestling team, combined with countless hours honing my skills in Krav Maga and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, had taught me how to control a fight, read an opponent, and stay calm under pressure.

Three. Two. One. Zero.

I didn't rush in blindly. Instead, I launched a measured, probing attack, stepping forward with a sharp, snapping lead jab aimed at his solar plexus to gauge his reaction time. I was mindful of my balance and careful not to overextend myself.

The answer came in a blur of mahogany skin. With a subtle shift, the Jungle Juggernaut slipped the punch by a fraction of an inch and countered with a lightning-fast leg check that collided with my shin. The impact was a dull, heavy thud that vibrated up my leg, a reminder that his strength wasn't just for show. He followed the check with a sweeping low kick that nearly took my feet from under me, forcing me to pivot violently to stay upright.

This wasn't the clumsy, oversized power of Atlas or the desperate flailing of the lower ranks. His footwork precise and disciplined. I could tell he was truly experienced, a legitimate martial artist who had translated real-world combat logic into the simulation.

We became a whirlwind of mahogany and bronze, two beasts locked in a deadly dance. For several minutes, the jungle arena echoed with the raw, primal sounds of combat. Neither of us gave an inch. Every time I attempted to close the distance for a clinch, the Juggernaut would pivot with a fluidity, slipping my grip and countering with a stinging snap-kick that whistled past my thighs.

I leaned into my wrestling roots, attempting to disrupt his balance with a sudden, low-level shoot for his legs, but he anticipated the move. He sprawled with deadly precision, his massive chest pinning my shoulders into the dirt for a fleeting second. I could smell the humid loam of the arena as I fought to scramble back up. We broke apart, circling each other in a wide arc, our heavy members violently swaying in the wind like the heavy branches in the canopy above.

As the battle intensified, the Juggernaut’s calm demeanor shifted into cold fury. He launched a flurry of strikes including a thunderous roundhouse kick that grazed my ribs. I absorbed the blow, the force of it rattling my torso, but I used the momentum to roll backward, narrowly avoiding a crushing stomp to my groin.

But the Juggernaut didn’t give me a moment to breathe. He stepped into my guard with a breakneck burst of speed, his right leg snapping upward like a steel spring. I tried to pivot but my heel slipped on a patch of slick moss.

SSMMAACCKKK!

His shin collided with my groin in a sickening, concentrated impact that caught the very center of my sack. The neural spike hit me like a bolt of lightning, a white-hot surge of agony that paralyzed my diaphragm. Deep within the simulated anatomy, I felt my testicles throb with an agonizing intensity, the internal pressure spiking so violently that the outer membrane of my balls began to develop microscopic cracks. It felt as if a thousand needles were being driven into the core of my manhood, the structural integrity of my nuts shuddering under the weight of the blow.

For a second, the world turned a shimmering, nauseating shade of grey. My vision blurred, and my legs turned to jelly, threatening to buckle and drop me into the dirt. Every instinct in my body screamed for me to collapse, to curl into a fetal ball and surrender. But the Theseus avatar was a vessel of resilience, and the stubbornness of my own spirit anchored me. I gritted my teeth, forcing a frenzied roar from my lungs to drown out the pain, and remained upright.

The Jungle Juggernaut didn’t offer a nod of respect for my fortitude; instead, he viewed my resilience as an invitation to be more thorough. Without hesitation, his foot snapped upward in a secondary, more vicious strike right into my nutsack.

SSPPLLAAATTTT!!

The impact sent a fresh wave of electric agony screaming through my nervous system, but it brought with it a terrifying physical transformation. Inside the simulation, the trauma triggered an inflammatory surge as my testicles began to swell. I felt them expand, stretching the skin of my sack as they grew heavy and taut into two bloated spheres of agony.

As the pain peaked, the paradoxical response of the League’s neural mapping kicked in. The game's developers built in a unique physiological response to severe bodily trauma. Once a player's pain surpassed a certain threshold, the avatar experienced an involuntary orgasm, flooding the body with dopamine and temporarily dulling the pain.

I felt the familiar, insistent thrum of arousal surge through my veins, fighting for dominance against the pain. My member stiffened, thickening into a rigid, pulsing pillar of heat. The combination of white-hot pain and mounting sexual tension was overwhelming.

The Jungle Juggernaut paused. A small, knowing smirk played on his lips as he looked down at my rigid, pulsing member and the grotesquely swollen state of my groin. He let out a low, resonant chuckle. The previous calm demeanor was replaced by a predatory glee.

"You're about to blow your load, aren't you?" he grinned with malice. He stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the taut, shimmering skin of my scrotum. "In the League, that kind of peak arousal during a trauma-spike is a tell. A small tap is all it takes for one of those precious family jewels to burst like an overripe melon."

I tried to retort, but my voice was trapped behind a wall of endorphins and agony. I was suspended in a state of sensory overload, my mind struggling to process the war between the pleasure of the impending climax and the structural failure of my balls

The Juggernaut took the initiative. His hand snapped forward in a precise, open-palm strike, into my swollen, straining scrotum.

SSPPLLAAAATTT!! …. SSPPPLLLOOOOSH!!!

The impact was catastrophic. My left testicle, already stretched to its absolute limit and throbbing with internal pressure, exploded in my sack! I screamed as I felt the excruciating pain of my tadpole factory disintegrating into a slurry of biological debris. In a split second, the sphere of my left nut vanished, replaced by a pile of mush.

Simultaneously, the sensory compensation system hit its absolute zenith. The violence of the rupture triggered a neural overload that bypassed every filter in my brain. I let out a choked, strangled cry as my cock bucked violently, launching a massive, torrentially powerful stream of iridescent seed as my body convulsed. My man chowder splashed across the Juggernaut’s mahogany chest and splattered the damp jungle floor in heavy, white ropes. I felt my core contract in agonizing spasms as I unloaded all my baby batter onto the Juggernaut, myself, and the arena floor.

The Jungle Juggernaut didn’t flinch as the iridescent torrent splashed across his sculpted body. Instead, he stood perfectly still as I baptized him with heavy, white ropes of DNA that momentarily clung to his sweat-covered skin before slowly trickling down the curves of his pectorals. With a slow, deliberate motion, he dipped two fingers into a thick pool of seed clinging to his abdominal muscles and brought them to his lips. He licked the seed clean.

"Hmm," he hummed, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He licked his lips, savoring the lingering aftertaste. "Remarkably sweet.”

He stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the mushy ruins of my left testicle. A dark, satisfied smile curved his lips. "I've always had a particular fondness for castrating Theseus avatars. There's something profoundly satisfying about watching a demigod's balls being blended into a nut meat smoothie.”

“You should be flattered, Ultimate_Hunter05.” the Juggernaut grinned, as he circled me.“I don’t just fight anyone. I curate my victims. I’ve spent the last three seasons training specifically against Theseus builds. I know every twitch of that marble musculature, every predictable lunge and desperate pivot.  I also know your fighting style, the fact that you are skilled in Krav Maga and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. To me, you’re an open book and I have read the ending.”

The revelation hit me harder than his palm strike had. Not only was I fighting a skilled opponent, I was fighting someone tailored to neutralize my strengths and exploit my weaknesses. For the first time since entering the League, I felt like the prey.

Before I could respond, he stepped in with a blurring velocity, his forearm colliding with my jaw. The blow spun me like a top, and before I could find my center, he drove a heavy knee into my solar plexus. The air vanished from my lungs in a ragged wheeze. I hit the damp jungle floor with a heavy thud, landing flat on my back, my limbs splaying out like a fallen insect. I tried to push myself up, but my muscles were unresponsive, dampened by the lingering afterglow of the trauma-induced orgasm and the sheer force of the impact.

The Juggernaut loomed over me, blotting out the violet sky. With a slow deliberation, he planted his massive foot between my thighs, hooking his heel under my knee to wrench my legs wide. Then he stepped forward between my wide spread legs, stopping directly in front of my exposed, ruined anatomy.

The Juggernaut leaned over me and reached down with both hands to seize my groin. His grip was an iron vise, fingers digging deep into the delicate flesh of my scrotum. With a sudden, violent jerk, he exerted a bidirectional torque, pulling the skin in opposite directions. I felt the tissue stretch to a screaming tension, the surface becoming translucent and pale before the structural integrity of the skin finally surrendered. 

RRRIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPP!!!

The sound was like heavy canvas being torn in half. The longitudinal split opened a jagged, weeping canyon from the base of my penis down to the perineum. Immediately, the contents of my ruined left side erupted. A thick, visceral slurry of disintegrated seminiferous tubules and interstitial fluid gushed out in a warm, iridescent tide, flooding over my inner thighs and soaking into the jungle loam. It was an evacuation of biological wreckage that was once my magnificent tadpole factory.

The sensation of my scrotum splitting open didn't just register as pain but also as intense pleasure due to the League’s compensation system, triggering a catastrophic sensory paradox.  My body reacted with a violent, involuntary spasm, my hips bucking upward as a second, massive torrent of iridescent seed erupted from my rigid member. It was a geyser of Greek DNA that sprayed upward, coating the Juggernaut’s thick thighs and splashing across his chest in thick, pearlescent ropes.

The Juggernaut didn't flinch at the hot, viscous deluge, nor did he pull away as the seed drenched his skin. He simply watched the fluid drip from his pectorals with a look of malice and amusement, towering over me as I emptied my tadpoles onto the jungle dirt.

It was obvious he knew exactly what he was doing. I was simply another nut sack in a long line of those foolish enough to challenge him.

“I bet your testicles are exploding in pain in real life," he laughed. “It’s time to finish you off.”

The Juggernaut sank to his knees between my splayed thighs, reached out, and cupped the remaining survivor: my right testicle.

It was a grotesque sight, partially exposed by the jagged rip of my scrotum. The organ had become a bloated, purple orb, lightly covered in the pulp of its former twin. I could feel the rough skin of large hand grating the surface of my sensitive bollock. He cradled it, feeling the internal pressure of the my seed-producing gonad churning to produce more of my tadpoles.

He began to fondle the orb with a gentle curiosity, his thumb tracing the curved underside of the sphere. He rolled the heavy mass from side to side, kneading the flesh with the precision of a sculptor working with wet clay. Each slide of his calloused skin against my hypersensitive anatomy sent a jolt of conflicting signals to my brain; the friction was a searing burn of agony, yet the tactile intimacy triggered a fresh wave of dopaminergic pleasure. He lifted the heavy, swollen ball upward, stretching the remaining connective tissues, letting it hang for a moment before letting it drop back into his other hand.

PLOP…

Then the Juggernaut’s grip tightened, his massive fingers curling around the solitary, engorged sphere of my remaining testicle. He began a slow, methodical compression, massaging the gonad as if were a breast to be milked. I felt the external pressure mount, the bollock stretching to its absolute limit until it felt thin and translucent, like a balloon pushed to the point of failure. Searing pain erupted from my groin, causing the rest of my body to spasm uncontrollably as I screamed. I could feel the seminiferous tubules buckling and the internal fluid churning in a frantic, trapped whirlpool. 

Just as the orb was about to detonate into a shower of nut goo, a primal instinct surged through my nervous system. Summoning every last ounce of strength, I let out an earth-shattering roar and launched my foot straight into the center of his groin.

My heel connected with the Jungle Juggernaut’s groin with the force of a hydraulic press, catching the entirety of his massive, low hanging sack. The sheer upward trajectory of the strike launched the giant from kneeling position to an entire foot off the jungle floor.

But the physical displacement was nothing compared to the internal devastation. The force of my heel created a catastrophic pressure wave that rippled through his reproductive anatomy. Both of his colossal testicles, caught in the epicenter of the impact, suffered a simultaneous and total structural failure.

SPPOOOOOSSSHH!!!!…SPPLOOOOOSSHHH!!!

The sound was akin to two ripe cantaloupes being detonated by a sledgehammer. His testicles disintegrated, the internal architecture of his masculinity transforming into a coarse, chunky slurry of Juggernaut nut meat and seed. The force was so immense that the resulting explosion of nut pulp geysered outward in two violent, symmetric fountains of pinkish gray mush, spraying the jungle ferns in a rain of pulverized tissue and genetic material.

The Juggernaut's eyes bulged as a primal scream tore from his throat, echoing through the jungle with such ferocity that a flock of birds exploded from the canopy, scattering in every direction. He hovered in the air for a heartbeat, suspended by the momentum of the strike, before crashing back onto the loam with a thud that shook the ground.

Unfortunately I did not realize that when I launched my foot into his groin, his hand had remained locked in a vise-like clutch around my solitary, engorged orb. As his massive bulk was propelled away from me, I felt the spermatic cord pulling taut until the individual fibers began to fray.

The final surrender came with the vas deferens, the singular highway that had carried my tadpoles from the depths of my core. It didn't snap instantly; it stretched, thinning out like a piece of translucent rubber pushed to its breaking point, before finally yielding.

SSNNAAAAPP!!

As the tube severed, a shimmering mist of concentrated seed sprayed into the air from the ends of the severed tube in a pearlescent arc, painting the jungle air with a fine spray of my own essence.

The sensation was an explosion of white-hot agony that eclipsed the joy of his defeat as I saw my testicle being ripped off my body as he flew backward clutching my swollen orb. I watched, horrified, as the Juggernaut crashed back into the dirt, clutching my last gonad in his stony fist.

Then came the compensatory orgasm to counter the indescribable pain. But without my baby makers to provide my genetic material, the eruption was a thin, translucent stream of seminal and prostate fluids. It was male nectar, yes, but it was a lifeless liquid, a clear, salt-tinged dew that lacked the creamy weight of a true seed-burst.

We lay there in the jungle dirt, two ruined monuments of muscle, staring up at the emerald leaves of the trees. The air was thick with the metallic tang of mutilated reproductive remnants. I could see the Juggernaut lying on the ground. His fingers had lost their grip and my severed orb lay right beside his palm, rapidly cooling in the dirt.

The silence was broken by the soft, crystalline chime. Astrid appeared between us, her translucent feet barely skimming the surface of the seed-soaked soil. She looked down at us with a small smile on her lips.

"A stalemate of utter devastation," Astrid announced with her usual cheerful enthusiasm. "Both of you stands victorious but also defeated."

“By the laws of the League, this match is declared a draw,” she announced. “Therefore neither shall ascend, and neither shall fall. Your ranks remain unchanged in the wake of this mutual annihilation. However, your mental capacity for combat is spent. For the next twenty-four hours, you are both forbidden from the arena.”

Suddenly, the lush greenery of the jungle dissolved. One moment I was a castrated and lying on the moss-covered dirt, the next, standing and completely whole again in the sterile, cool air of the Main Lobby. I gasped as sensation between my legs rushed back, the transition so abrupt it felt like reality itself had snapped into place.

The roar of applause drew my attention. Players lined the lobby, cheering and talking excitedly. It dawned on me that they had been watching the match the entire time.

Standing a few feet away, the Jungle Juggernaut was undergoing the same resurrection. The mahogany skin was once again flawless, the sloshy remains of his orbs now replaced by fat, heavy man eggs. He looked at me, not with the predatory malice of the arena, but with a genuine, sporting respect. He stepped forward, his massive frame still imposing even outside the combat zone, and extended a hand that looked like a slab of carved oak.

"A draw," he grinned, his voice now a friendly, resonant bass. "But a draw that felt like a loss for me. I haven't been castrated by a Theseus build in ages. Most of them are all muscle and no grit. You’ve got a level of savagery in your technique that’s rare, kid."

I looked at his outstretched hand and felt a surge of irritation. The draw tasted like ash in my mouth. I had been seconds away from total dominance. I didn't want a handshake; I wanted the satisfaction of seeing him gelded and his cock on a plaque. Yet, the adrenaline of the fight had shifted into a strange, begrudging kinship. I reached out and shook his hand.

"Next time," the Juggernaut continuing to grin, eyes narrowing with a competitive glint, "I will harvest you as you lie broken on the floor and slap you silly afterwards with your own severed cock."

“You wish. I’m going to crush your nuts and make you lick your nut pulp off my hands,” I voiced smugly.

He laughed but before he could say a word, the world of Sack Smack League vanished.

I woke up with a gasp. The transition was not a fade, but a jarring return to consciousness. The cool air of my bedroom greeted my skin. The lingering scent of Chinese takeout hung in the apartment, mingling with the faint odor from the laundry basket. Aside from the steady hum of my desktop computer, the room was utterly silent. After the chaos of the arena, the stillness felt almost unnatural. Astrid wasn’t kidding about the twenty-four hours temporary ban.

A searing ache erupted from my groin, stealing the breath from my lungs. My testicles throbbed in pain. The simulation had been terrifyingly convincing. Though I knew, rationally, that nothing had happened to my real body, my brain was still convinced of my gelding.

Despite the throbbing pain between my legs, I gingerly rolled off the bed, my legs trembling as they took the weight of my torso. I stood there for a moment, clutching my groin, afraid that my balls would fall out of my ball sack.

I had just managed to put on my pants when the door burst open. Leo didn't even knock this time as he barged into my apartment, his phone held aloft like a holy relic.

"You won't believe it!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with pure hype. He didn't even look at me, his eyes glued to the scrolling feed of the League’s community forums. "The match logs just leaked for the draw between Giant-Slayer and Jugg3rnaut87! It was a total bloodbath but ended in a draw! A double-castration!"

Leo practically vibrated in place. I hadn’t seen him this excited since I joined the Sack Smack League.

"Everyone had Juggernaut pegged for the win. Nobody expects a Rank B to even make him blink, let alone fight him to a draw!" He looked up at me, his expression a mixture of awe and genuine jealousy. "And I missed it! I missed it because I was scrubbing beakers and praying for a passing grade in Chemistry! I can't believe I spent my afternoon on this project while this absolute carnage was happening in real-time."

His excitement suddenly pivoted into a moan of despair, clutching his phone to his chest. "Dammit! My activity meter is plummeting! If I don't log in within the next few days, the system is going to flag me for inactivity. I'm on the verge of a demotion! I can't go back to Rank C, Hunter. The ego hit would be worse than an actual kick to the nuts."

"Relax, Leo," I said, slightly irritated. “You’ll be fine."

Leo groaned, leaning his head against the doorframe with a dramatic sigh of defeat. "Uggh, yeah you're right. I'm just overreacting" He looked at me, his eyes scanning my pale complexion and the slightly unsteady way I was shifting my weight. "Actually, you look like you’ve been through a meat grinder. Let's just do takeout tonight."

A thought flickered in my mind, echoing the vivid imagery of the Juggernaut’s pulverized anatomy and the ruined spheres of my own. I felt a sudden, ravenous hunger.

"Meatballs," I smirked, the word feeling heavy and satisfying on my tongue. "I'm in the mood for some big, fat, juicy meatballs and chunky tomato sauce.”

Leo paused, his brow furrowing for a split second before a wide, hungry grin mirrored my own. "Now we're talking. Mama Lucia’s?" He didn't notice the way my eyes glazed over, thinking not of pasta, but of the sight of the Juggernaut’s tadpole factories detonating into a slurry of pulp.

“Sounds great," I grinned.

“Yeah, make it two orders of the jumbo meatballs, extra sauce, and don’t skimp on the garlic knots,” Leo droned into his phone "Also don't forget the ...." 

I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. I had already surrendered my consciousness to the fabric of the couch, leaning back on the cushions as I gaze upon the white expanse of the ceiling. In my mind's eye, I was staring at a barely-concious Juggernaut, lying on his back in the jungle mud. I imagined standing between his spread-out legs, wielding the Nullification sickle. I could feel those heavy, ripe balls, those colossal, heavy spheres in my calloused hand.

I smirked. Tomorrow.