CHAPTER 1: A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH
Bad Blood Game Planet
5:00 a.m.
10/ 18/ 2219
The fight had gone on for hours. The opponents were equally matched, and both were tiring. Anon, however, was older. At a ripe age of 1,062, Anon was an Adjudicator amongst his kind, and with his help, Yautjain crime was distinctly low. Partly due to his habit of hunting down Bad Bloods who had committed atrocities against the Yautja Code of Honor. And so, he was here, in mortal combat with a Bad Blood criminal, a "genetically superior" Yautja, a self-proclaimed "Super Predator". A truly disgusting perversion of the Yautja physiology and mentality. S'lijt-Kaih, or "Single Blade", was a profound hunter in his time. He despised the Honor Code, believing it gave too much power to their prey. Soon, S'lijt-Kaih began experimenting on himself…taking performance enhancing drugs, illegally upgrading his equipment, and in drug-induced hallucinations, carved strips of his skin off of his head. Increasingly erratic and dishonorable behavior marked him for death. He ran away from his sentence. Anon was sent to destroy him. Thus, here he was, fighting with a disgraced psychopath half his age, one wild in his attacks. Experience vs. endurance. Anon roared at his opponent, who replied with a plasma burst from his plasma caster. Anon dived out of the way.
"You fight without honor, S'lijt!"
"I do not need Honor! Power is what matters!"S'lijt growled, and fired his plasma caster again. Anon flexed his left forearm, and a shield assembled out of his wrist console; a small, circular, bladed disk of metal. He threw his arm in front of him, deflecting the projectile. The force of the blast, however, threw him backwards. The Bad Blood swooped in, slamming his boot into Anon's face. His mask flew off, and he was sent flying backwards. He landed roughly onto the rocky dirt, the wind knocked out of his body. S'lijt approached, growling, apparently pleased in himself. Anon spat his thick, fluorescent-green blood out of his mouth, and glanced at his younger foe out of his good eye. Maybe this would be the end of his story. One millennia of hunting. Not bad. However, he wasn't going out like this. One more round. Plus, he hadn't even used his favorite weapon yet.
S'lijt raised his left arm, the signature single-blade of the dishonored extended, prepared to decapitate the Ancient hunter. Anon roared mightily, extending his dual wrist blades, and lashed out, cutting into the Bad Blood's abdomen. S'lijt yelped in pain, doubled over as his own green blood, dirty and dulled from years of substance abuse, poured from in between his clawed fingers. Anon jumped back up, endorphins coursing through his body, and proceeded to beat the wounded youngling senseless. A final uppercut sent S'lijt soaring through the air, landing a few yards away. Anon reached at his hip armor, and grabbed the hilt of his razor whip. Pressing a button near his thumb, a mechanism unlocked, and he cracked the hilt in the air like an invisible whip. The movement released the actual whip, a thin, serrated, segmented vile-looking piece of metal similar in appearance to a Serpent's tail. Centuries of training had made him a master of this weapon. Fully concentrated, he watched as S'lijt pulled himself off of the ground. Roaring at his opponent, The Bad Blood began to charge his plasma caster. In a graceful twirl, Anon span the whip around his body, then flung it at his opponent, who barely dodged out of the way. The point of the whip missed his opponent's face, but nicked the barrel of his shoulder cannon. The stricken edge was imperceptibly dented in, but it was enough. S'lijt fired, but the bolt was disrupted by the dent. In a dazzling explosion of plasma and metal shrapnel, the Bad Blood dropped to his knees. Anon put his razor whip away, pulled out his spear, expanded it, and casually walked to his defeated opponent. There would be no questioning, no chance for redemption, and no trophy. The dishonored one deserved none of it. He would be left to suffer. Burning flesh assaulted Anon's sense of smell, but it didn't matter. He stared at his opponent for a moment, who stared right back. The Bad Blood's mask was partially destroyed, split directly down the middle. The left side of his face was destroyed, burnt horrifically. Both mandibles were gone. Skull was exposed in places, and most of the flesh braids on the left of his head were scorched off. But the thing that got to Anon most was his eye, now the same milky color as his own. He was vividly reminded of the Serpent blood that had etched a horrific scar on his visage, and the dreaded memory on his conscience.
Anon shook his head clear of the memory, and in a swift motion, impaled the "Super Predator" through his chest, pinning him against a tree. Despite his strong urge to see the Bad Blood bleed out, he had to make sure he would die. Anon grabbed S'lijt's left arm and ejected the single blade from it. It shot speedily to the ground, and Anon plucked it out of the ground. Pressing buttons on his wrist console, a single slit appeared beside the control panel. He put the flat end of this single blade in, and the motor accepted the foreign object. Testing the controls for a moment, he turned his attention back to S'lijt. He opened the young one's wrist console, and set it to self destruct. Anon walked back to where his mask lay, picked it up, put it on, and without a second glance at the dying Yautja outcast, ran for his ship. Safely in the aircraft, he set it to launch. While in space, Anon sat in contemplation. All he's ever done since the Serpent cleanup two centuries ago was track down Bad Bloods and hunt Serpents. It had lost its luster. He craved for a challenge. Human warriors. In his opinion, THEY were the ultimate prey. By themselves, they were dangerous and unpredictable. In groups…how he had once savored the fear of the others as they were picked off one by one. The risk of being caught meant certain death. And the leaders of the warrior squads provided most interesting prey, and high honor trophies. His inflections were interrupted by a hologram, and the caller was the leader of the Council of Ancients, the Elder, Vy'Drack. Anon bowed his head in deep respect.
"Rise, veteran warrior. Relay your mission."
"At once. I found the disgraced one on the hunting planet Ry'shi-tah. After a lengthy battle, I defeated him, and set his wrist bracer to overload. He is defeated."
"Excellent. Report back to the home planet. I have another mission for you. You are to take three Young Bloods out on their Blooding hunt."
"Yes, Exalted One."
"Anon. There are human warriors there. Do not forget your mission, but you are allowed to do hunting there yourself." Anon nodded his head in a respective dismissal. The hologram evaporated, and Anon laughed to himself. It was time. Finally. Anon set his ship to Yautja Prime…
BACK AT RY'SHI-TAH:
S'lijt watched Anon's ship rise into the air. When it disappeared, he used his remaining strength to pull the spear out of the tree and his torso. Collapsing to the ground, he pulled in a raspy breath. He wasn't dead. Not yet. The incessant beeping reminded him that the device was about to explode. Panic gripped his heart, and without an option, S'lijt grabbed a nearby shuriken, activated it, and swung down at the wrist bracer. It was cleaved in half, as was his forearm. Green blood gushed out of the wound, and he crawled towards a dying campfire. Whimpering, he stuck the stump into the white-hot embers, welding the wound shut. He howled in suffering and wrath, and the only thought he had was to hunt down Anon, to make him suffer for days on end. That thought kept him moving. And he would use the spear that nearly ended his life to do it. Yes. This was the start of a new life. He felt the singed remnants that were the left part of his face. Yes, a new life. A new name. H'klai-Frusj. Half-Face. That was fitting. Looking down, he saw his severed hand, twitching in the dirt. He kicked it into the fire, and after a moment, ran to his own ship. In it, he administered strength supplementing drugs, and pain killers. Then, he applied a basic disinfectant to his wounded shoulder, face, and arm. It took him a moment to remember the bleeding slash marks at his stomach. He stapled those shut, then went to his armory. A new blade, plasma caster, smart disk, and mines were stored on his person. Then, maybe just to spite him, he grabbed a thin, hooked chain to use as a whip. After some preparation, he set his ship to track Anon's. He began to laugh. It was time. Finally. H'klai set his ship to Yautja Prime…