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The following two fights went by with little enthusiasm from the audience. Their thirst for blood had been beyond satiated, and now they were simply left sick. Foley withstood his opponent’s attacks as always, waiting for him to tire before opening his defenses and striking back. Saimallah crushed his opponent without touching him, ending the match in seconds.

He attacked Ingram, and the two went at it again, exchanging kicks and punches while the audience cheered them on. The winged fighters were throwing everything they had at each other, with adrenaline flooding their veins and the blood steaming as it flowed from their wounds. Every lesson they had ever learned, every technique they had acquired, every spark of experience they had, they directed into their moves, punching and kicking as hard as they could, with mana roaring around their limbs.

Sarah swallowed; her mouth suddenly dry with nervousness. She was sweating from the strain of holding herself in place, but that sudden slickness gave her an idea. Easing her pressure on the bed her body weight now mostly fell on her father, her breasts crushed against his chest. Pushing forward with her hands her body slipped an inch down her father, and that inch translated to an inch down below. It was more sudden than she intended, her father’s tip pushed fast and hard past her lips and into her dripping pussy. She moaned in ecstasy, unable to hold it in. She could feel him inside her now, stretching her opening and with it, feel the beat of his heart in her most sensitive place. She was on fire.