Author's Note: I don't own the Predator universe, 20th Century Fox does. I own only those characters created for this fiction. Have a nice day.

Prologue

"I grow weary of hunting humans. They bring no sport. They provide no surprises. They never learn. So too do I grow tired of hunting the Serpents. They may be cunning and fierce, but in the end they are just animals acting out their primal programming. I need something more. Something better. I need to hunt something that could hunt me back. Something that could conceivably defeat me, at least in theory. I know where I could find such prey, though I doubt my Hunt Master would approve of my doing so. Still, the excitement provided by such a Hunt would be worth the risk. If I succeed, no, when I succeed, I will be remembered for all time by not only my clan, but all clans. I will be remembered as a Hunter among Hunters. Many will strive to duplicate my perfection, but they will fail, for only I am perfection. Only I am capable of this. Only I would even dare. Only I must do this."

Xothax, the master Hunter, stood up from in front of his tribute Shrine and stretched muscles that hadn't moved in hours. As he did so, he stared at himself in a mirror above the Shrine. His age was in the early stages of showing. His mandibles bore many runes, some old and some not, from his years going on Hunts for his clan. His dreadlocks were all ornately decorated with jewelry and even a few feathers. Many scars adorned his body like trophies and he was proud of every one of them. He was especially proud of three small horizontal scars he had under his left eye. They represented his success in a series of three ritualistic Hunts from when he was younger. After taking in his own image, he moved over to a stand that held his armor. With careful and practiced movements, Xothax began the slow, almost ritualistic, process of donning the armor. The armor itself was quite old, almost as old as its owner. It was green-and-black and completely full-body, something that was uncharacteristic for Hunter Yautja. Additionally, it was almost military-grade heavy, another uncharacteristic detail for a Hunter Yautja's armor. Dents, cuts, and hunting runes covered its entire surface and Xothax knew the origin of each one by heart. After he was done he walked over to his weapons rack and looked over his arsenal. Every weapon on display on the rack was almost as old as he was, but still functioned as if brand new. With held breath, he opened the rack and reverently considered each of his weapons. First he withdrew a set of three throwing discs that not only gave off a slight hum of energy, but the serrated edged surface of each gave off a faint glow of red. The center section of the discs also had numerous small cuts in it, each one indicating a life that had ended as a result of meeting this weapon. After passing a clawed hand over the blades of the discs, he strapped them to his belt. Next he picked up his shoulder cannon and gave it a look over. It was a noticeably larger caliber than most weapons of this type and significantly heavier as well. As with the discs, it too had many cuts in it to indicate the lives it had taken. With precise movements, he attached the cannon to the mount on the back of his armor. Instantly, the cannon came to life and moved side-to-side and up-and-down as if locking onto some invisible target. Next he pulled out his gauntlets and put them on. They were cut the same way that his other weapons were to note their body count. The gauntlet of his right arm was significantly larger than the gauntlet of his left as it not only held a larger pair of wristblades, but it also held his medical kit, portable data pad, and nuclear device. When the gauntlets were in place, he flexed his arms to gauge his mobility. Then, with a flex of his forearm muscles, the blades sprang forth and he looked at them in contemplation. The blades were identical except for three very noticeable variations. The blades on his right arm had almost four times the reach that the blades on his left had. They also had a slightly rounded tip to them whereas the blades on his left arm came to a very sharp point. Lastly, the blades on his left were highly decorated by ritualistic runes along their entire surface on both sides. Satisfied that all was well with the blades, he once again flexed his forearms and the blades retracted into the gauntlets. Next he withdrew an elaborately runed knife for which to take trophies from his kills and to mark the weapon that got him the trophy. Though the blade had almost no weight to it, its sharpness was above question. With careful and deliberate movements, he slowly put the knife into a semi-ornate sheath and strapped it to his leg. Then he pulled out his prized possession: his war staff. The center grip was nearly three feet long and ornately decorated with runes, bangles, and ornaments. Around each end were four notches into which the he slid a flat claw-shaped dart. With a push of a button, the shafts of the war staff sprang out and extended its overall length to nine feet. The shafts bore the distinctive cuts of the kill markings. Near both ends were tied a small pair of feathers. Finally, the ends themselves were claw-shaped and heavily etched with hunting runes. With the press of another button, the ends came to life with white-hot plasma fire that lit up the entire room. After pressing both buttons again, the war staff collapsed to its original size and he strapped it to his other leg, giving it a slight caress after he had done so. Satisfied that his arsenal was enough for him to do what he was about to, he reached for his mask. The mask was a match to his armor and displayed not only his rank in the clan, but also the same three horizontal scars under the left eye.

With much ado, he put on his mask and set out from his room. Everyone who saw him moved aside so that he was able to walk unimpeded down the long corridor to his ship. Adolescent members of the clan looked at him in wonder, as they had been weaned on his tales of glory. As the younger members of the clan looked on in awe, the older ones bowed their heads to him respectfully and bade him best luck in his Hunt. When at last he reached his ship, saw that two young Hunters were standing in front of the entrance hatch. Though their ritual runes and battle scars were different, it was evident that the two young Hunters were twin brothers. Once Xothax saw them the two young Hunters each put a hand over their heart and bowed their head to him.

"Father," they both said in unison with their heads still lowered. Xothax approached them and put an arm about each of them in a large embrace.

"My sons," he said proudly. "Your father goes now to find the greatest Hunt of his life. The Hunt he will be remembered for."

"And what is that Hunt, Father?" asked one of his sons.

"Yes," said another voice from above them. "Tell, what is this great Hunt you speak of? And why have you not told your Hunt Master of it?"

The three of them broke their embrace to turn and look up at their clan's Hunt Master.

"I have said nothing yet because I do not yet know where I will find this great Hunt," said Xothax. "That is why I go now to search for it."

"Do you mean to go on this Hunt alone?" questioned the Hunt Master.

"I do intend that," said Xothax proudly.

The Hunt Master's mandibles clicked in contemplative thought for a few moments while the others just stared up at him. "Then all luck to you in your search for such a Hunt," the Hunt Master said finally. "Bring honor to this clan."

Xothax bowed his head to the Hunt Master. The Hunt Master returned the bow and then walked away out of sight. Once he was gone, Xothax returned his attention to his sons. "Tell your younger brother that I wish him well," he said to them as he once again embraced them. "On the chance that our paths do not cross again in this life. Also, look after one another, all of you. Bring honor to not only the clan, but to our line as well."

"Father," said his one son. "You have never spoken to us like this before and you have always returned from every Hunt you partake of. Do you feel as though this time may be somehow different?"

"It may very well indeed be different," said Xothax. "And if it is, I want my final words to you both to be that of a Father and not that of a Hunter."

Xothax strengthened his embrace of his sons briefly before letting them go. When he was done, he reached up to a paired bangle on one of his dreadlocks and removed it. With great care, he separated the two pieces to the bangle and handed one piece each to his two sons. "I added this bangle to the others I wear on the day that your mother gave birth to you," he said to them. "It has always symbolized to me that when I hunt you are there by my side. Now that it belongs to the both of you, I hope that you will think of it as me being by your side when you hunt."

Both sons were left speechless by their father's gift to them. All they could do was once again bow to him and part so as to let him pass to his ship. After he opened the hatch, he turned to face them one last time. Putting a hand over his heart, he bowed to them briefly before turning back to the hatch and entering. Moments later, the engines of the ship came to life and the ship exited the hangar bay where it was stowed.

Once out in space and away from the main ship, Xothax plotted a course towards a distant planet where a rival clan had exclusive rights.

"My great Hunt begins," he said as he settled in for the long journey.

To be continued…