Disclaimer: I do not own the Predator franchise, just having a bit o' fun with the characters.
Author's Note to the Gentle Reader: This is a tale altogether different from the humorous pieces I have written earlier. I guess the scales have been tipped to the scifi and horror parts of my brain. Proceed with caution.
Inimicus
It had no memory of its birth. Alone and unspeakably ancient, it ruled in its sleep. The world that served as its prison was its kingdom. Defeated and placed within the shackles of its throne by a forgotten foe eons ago, it watched over its domain in its black dreams, yearning for its abode in the deep void between the burning stars. Beneath the ground, it waited and slept. Covered by the immeasurable depths of time, it dreamt endlessly of the faltering orbits of decomposing worlds and the dying sighs of decaying stars.
When the usurper came, it awoke. Opening its senses to the world above it, it sent out a tendril of its essence, and it seeped into the usurper's lifeblood. When it started to feed upon his mind, a vista of cruelty, carnage, and an all-consuming rage invigorated it. It reveled in the usurper's madness, for it had longed for such things while it slept. Renewed, it urged its victim to free it from its prison, and so he did.
The Warrior
Ghosts, he was chasing ghosts of transmissions made long ago and he wondered if he was wasting his time. The last time his mei'hswei contacted him it was from this vicinity. Would he find the one they had been looking for? On the other hand, was he following another false trail? His brother had sent him the transmission, but that had been long ago. Now only silence answered his most recent inquiries. It was probable the yautja they had been searching for was long dead and turned to dust, thus releasing them all from the burden they had shouldered these long years.
Tugrik rubbed at the mass of scar tissue on his forehead, the result of an acid baptism administered some time ago by a dying kainde amedha warrior during the capture of a queen; the ultimate hunt in which he had been fortunate enough to participate. The only thing he lost on that hunt was his masked helmet. He never had it repaired. Instead, he kept it among his trophies as a reminder of what could have been. Nevertheless, from that day, he held his head high. The dull, wrinkled pink flesh was a sign to younger hunters that no one escapes unscathed from an encounter with the court of the black queen. He looked at the trophy wall. The Hunt was what he lived for and that was all he wanted. The tide of years must have passed over the grave of the one they had searched for in vain. What good would it do now? Yet more questions swarmed from his mind, blinding him with doubt. Perhaps the only question he should be asking himself was the one he was reluctant to address.
Have you fulfilled your oath? He mulled over that question as he stared at the trophies arranged on the wall. He sighed and looked at the skulls. There was a story connected with the first trophy, but it was one story he wished he could forget. The room darkened a bit as his mind tried to take him back to that night, but he shook his head to dispel the memory and quickly left the room. He would rather perish during a hunt than to remember. It was all he wanted from the Black Warrior.
At the controls, Tugrik looked over the sensor arrays on the console and checked the coordinates. He was in unknown territory, in a sector barely explored, and he needed to proceed with caution since the coordinates were not very reliable. Hunters known and unknown could have already staked the surrounding star systems' planets as their Hunting Grounds. There were no records in the computer database, but it was better to be safe. It would be criminal of Tugrik to trespass without permission.
After three days of fruitless searching among inadequate planets, Tugrik managed to find a promising one orbited by a red moon. As he approached, he sent out a message through various frequencies requesting permission to land. Believing the planet uninhabited, he did not expect anyone to answer. He was surprised and a bit disappointed when a transmission hailed him from the planet; he had hoped to be the first to hunt on an unexplored world. In response to his message, the voice of the unknown yautja granted permission and instructed Tugrik to land his ship.
The sun was setting by the time he landed at the port. As he secured the ship, he noticed that his craft was the only occupant of the spaceport. No other ships were in the vicinity. While he was preparing to exit the ship, he thought about leaving his shiftsuit with the majority of his hunting gear, but he brought it along with an old and worn mask, his ki'cti-pa, and a spear. He left behind the shoulder mounted plasma caster. Tugrik was looking forward to a strenuous hunt on this planet; perhaps worthy prey to test his skills and to have the plasma caster along would only make the hunt all too trivial.
The Host
A lone yautja stood waiting for Tugrik outside of the landing port. He was an old eta, silent, hunched over and leaning heavily on a wooden staff. Bowing his head in acknowledgment, he beckoned for Tugrik to follow him through the forest of black trees that curved and vaulted above their heads. They were unlike anything Tugrik had ever seen. The large trunk of each tree looked warped, melted and shaped into a more twisted form than what it had originally been before. The trees curled and separated among themselves as if they were in agony the minute they erupted from the ground. Some trees were straight as spears, but these stands were few. Their serrated blade-like leaves trembled in the slight breeze of the dying day, with the warmth of the day slowly escaping and the coolness of the night settling on the darkening forest floor. In the deepening twilight, the first stars appeared. The red moon had yet to rise.
Tugrik looked around him and heard the restless rustling of night creatures accompanying his journey along the worn woodland trail. Something large crashed in the distance, silencing the whistling mutterings of waking nocturnal life. A slight tremble in the ground, as if it were heaving with a multitude of unknown life, rocked Tugrik slightly. In the growing night beneath the mammoth black trunks of the trees, he thought he could discern a figure matching him stride for stride. Peering into the inchoate darkness, he found no one there.
The path they were traveling on slowly widened as it entered a clearing. Dominating the center of the clearing was a large hall built with the black wood from the surrounding forests. It resembled the crouching queen of the night-skinned hard meat, watching Tugrik like a dark demon at the gateway of Cetanu's realm. The blackness of its walls glistened wetly, absorbing the starlight in its inky depths. Lending an air of primal hostility, tall spires jutted from the roof like grasping claws. The great arching roof surmounted a solid base ringed by rounded protrusions pierced with small windows. Torches lit the small windows of this dark dwelling, but they glowed weakly like the campfires of an army lost in distant darkness.
A simpler dwelling stood not too far from the main hall and in this one, Tugrik could see that it was windowless and made from dull tjau'ke and wood; a few etas could be seen entering and exiting the building, but a couple of figures caught his eye. Near the perimeter of the compound, one yautja, likely an overseer, stood guard while another stooped beneath a heavy load of stones upon his back, pacing back and forth without stopping or lowering his burden.
Tugrik paused; curiously, the sight of the laboring eta plucked at a hidden memory, and before he realized it, he was making his way towards the slave. A wrinkled hand suddenly grabbed hold of his arm. Growling in surprise, he turned and found himself staring down at the old slave escorting him. If he had been an arrogant and ill-tempered warrior, Tugrik would have struck down the servant for the slightest contact, but he did not. He was not one to waste time killing for the tiniest offense. The old one shook his head and pointed his staff towards the open doorway of the main hall where a tall figure waited. Reluctantly, he followed the elderly slave. Tugrik looked back once more and noticed the laborer had stopped his pacing and was looking at him, oblivious to the shouted curses and wicked blows of the overseer.
When they arrived at the hall's entrance, the old slave left Tugrik alone with the figure in the doorway.
"I am I'ilkoun-de. Welcome to my hunting grounds," rumbled the host as he nodded briefly.
Tugrik returned the greeting and introduced himself. Looking up at the tall yautja, he tried to take his measure. I'ilkoun-de easily towered over him by nearly a head.
The vigorous warrior who stood before Tugrik was older and nearing the end of his prime, but still formidable and confident in his stance. Harsh and glittering yellow eyes stared intently into Tugrik's own. His tusks were still light in color, not yet discolored and darkened by age. No piercings adorned the crests of his head. He wore a broad chest harness, a simple loincloth of animal hide, and a belt of black webbing; an assortment of bone-handled knives hung from it. Tied back with an unidentifiable material, I'ilkoun-de's long tresses were an oily dark gray. Black angular tattoos that looked like the curious distortions of old Yautja runes adorned his massive forehead, nearly disappearing among the dark green mottling of his light yellow skin. The runes interwove to form one uniform pattern of indecipherable intricacy. Strangely, the design obscured his Blooding scar.
"You have traveled far to hunt on my grounds, but night has fallen and you must wait till dawn," continued I'ilkoun-de.
Hesitantly looking about him, Tugrik asked, "I am not acquainted with your clan and I do not wish to intrude on any of your clan members' grounds."
Through it all, he was aware of I'ilkoun-de's intense scrutiny. He seemed particularly interested in the old mask Tugrik held in the crook of his right arm and the scarring on his forehead. However, at his words, an odd expression appeared briefly on I'ilkoun-de's face and disappeared just as quickly.
"There will be no one to protest. I alone remain the last of my clan. You may have the whole planet to hunt. First, dine with me tonight and tell me the news from the Homeworld and the stories of the hunts in which you have participated. It has been too long since I have entertained guests." A signal from I'ilkoun-de and another servant appeared, immediately gesturing for Tugrik to follow. "I will send for you when it is time. Rest now for we will have much to discuss," commanded I'ilkoun-de.