A/N: Sorry if I don't translate the song "Allouette" for you. It kind of ruins the sound of the song if you try to put it into English. There's a Wikipedia entry on the song, though.
A hiss. A roar. Another hiss, soon replaced by a wailing skreeee as the thing that made it uttered its last noise among the living.
The hunt was nearly over. The hunter yanked his spear free of the obsidian black creature's corpse, only to whip it around to rend another in half as it tried to stand and strike him from the back. A coward's attack, as it was considered amongst his people. It was dishonorable to be attacked from or be dealt a mortal wound to the back, but it would have to be expected from a simple animal.
The hunter held his stance, spear and wrist-blade help up, slowly cocking his head from side to side, seeking more of these creatures to kill. From what this hunter had heard, the pyode amedha, or "Oomans" as they called themselves, called these creatures "Xenomorphs" or "Aliens". His own race, whom the oomans had dubbed "Predators", called them kiande amedha; it meant, in a rough translation to ooman, "hard meat".
After a few minutes, the hunter relaxed when nothing moved or made a sound amongst the black resin-covered walls of the kiande amedha hive. To a normal person, the humid and very warm air would be considered very uncomfortable. But this was no normal person; this was a Predator. To him, the heat was a dreamy reminder of the tropical jungles of his homeworld. The hunter kneeled in front of one of the kiande amedha corpses, flipped open his wrist computer on his left arm, and began to press some buttons.
This hunter had no need to take off his mask like an unblooded pup on his first "Chiva". This was an experienced hunter with at least a century of experience on a routine hunting trip to a medium-sized hive, gone to gain the best trophies in solitude, with no dispute over "who killed what with this weapon". As a static noise was emitted from his wrist computer, he stopped fiddling with it, and pulled a knife from his right foot's boot.
"Ahh, oui, oui! Une alouette parfaite à plumer et rôtir! [Ahh, yes, yes! A perfect skylark to pluck and roast!]" the computer transmitted, no doubt from one of the tidbits of sound the hunter must have captured when hunting pyode amedha. The hunter waited a few seconds before this particular Frenchmen began to sing.
"Allouette, gentile allouette, allouette, je te plumerai ," the hunter held his knife near the oblong banana-shaped head of the xenomorph.
"Je te plumerai la tete, je te plumerai la tete. Et la tete, et la tete, allouette, allouette, O-o-o-oh!" As soon as the song started again, the hunter plunged his knife into the neck of the xenomorph and began to decapitate it. It didn't need its la tete anymore, did it?
"Je te plumerai le bec, je te plumerai le bec. Et le bec, et le bec, et la tete, et la tete, allouette, allouette, O-o-o-oh!" Then, after the head was severed, the hunter held open the mouth of the creature to begin extracting the teeth and its deadly secondary jaws, moving with practiced grace and efficiency. He took extra care to avoid contact with the hissing acidic blood, not wanting any more burns from the fight in the hive.
As the song continued, unbeknownst to the Hunter, a xenomorph, infuriated at seeing its siblings slaughtered by the intruder, silently stalked towards the almost-gleeful predator who was cleaving carapace from bone from one of his trophies.
All of a sudden, as the song was progressing to pluck the back of the allouette, the hunter's knife snagged on one of the tube-like protrusions on the xenomorph's back. His knife was lodged in a particularly tough spike of bone.
The silent xenomorph took the opening.
With a cry of fury, the xenomorph tackled the predator, knocking him over the corpse of his trophy. He let out a warbling roar as some of his chest began to burn from the acid. The xenmorph was a tangle of jaws, claws, and legs on top of the hunter.
Cursing himself for not being cautious enough, the hunter made a last effort to push a button on his wrist computer. The xenomorph spotted the last ditch action, and brought its flailing tail on the hunter's hand with the computer, severing the limb up to the elbow.
Another warbling cry split the quiet caves in the hive.
The predator tried to lift himself up on his stump of an arm and other hand, but the xenomorph drone brought its fearsome jaws to bear on the untouched-until-now shoulder. The sharp mouth full of metallic-looking razors bit through nerves, muscle, and flesh, stopping the effort to get up dead in its tracks. The xenomorph rolled away from the predator, taking a good chunk of neon green meat along with it.
By now, the hunter was crying dark-blue tears, something he had not felt since, since… a very long time ago. The xenomorph pushed the now immobile and slightly dazed hunter onto his back, stopping to blow a good wad of mucus and spittle into his face. Then, its tail stabbed something with a neat little shlink and began to wag it in front of the hunter's face. The hunter nearly had a heart attack when he saw his arm dangling in front of him, and at the prospects that the xenomorph was suggesting. A suggestion of death. A very slow death, it would seem.
"Who could know they would have the capacity to do this?" he thought silently. The xenomorph used a claw-tipped finger to press a button on the wrist computer. "Oh please, oh please, oh please, be a good stupid animal and press the big red button." His hope was in vain, though, as the song record played backwards, like it was being rewound.
"Oh Paya… Not this way to die…"
Primal terror gripped the hunter, a feeling almost entirely forgotten until today's unfortunate series of events. He used the last bit of his strength to activate his wristblades and drive it into the foul-smelling beast. Of course, the xenomorph was expecting the blow sooner or later, and used its tail blade to separate the gauntlet and hand that were trying to use the blade against it.
The song, now entirely rewound, started to play: "Ahh, oui, oui! Une alouette parfaite à plumer et rôtir! (Ahh, yes, yes! A perfect skylark to pluck and roast!)".
The xenomorph let out a cackling hiss as it sharpened its tail blade against the relieved wristblades.
One last warbling cry echoed out of the caves and into the tropical forest outside, making many birds leave their perches.