This is the counterpart to my other story "Faith", In a Predators POV about his little life problem. Im unsure that it like it as much as "Faith" but i really didnt think i could write and Alien story without a Predator one! On a side note there are errors in my other story and its causing my to lose sleep and slowly go insane. However i have an apparent handicap and can't seem to figure out how to fix it. If your reading this and can help it would be much appreciated.
Grace
Lying on the bed in the dark of his room he sighed for what felt like the hundredth time since he arrived here. Home world. Well he didn't feel very "at home" at all, his ship was nestled into one of the many docks around one of the greater cities. His sire had once said to him home was where ever the Plasma Caster pointed. In his younger years he used to believe that, even preach it. But the Plasma Caster was a weapon that tracked onto threats and there were unfortunately only so many threats in this universe. None of them he had previously encountered were alive to bother him anymore.
Why did he bother coming here? Oh, yes because the Council of Elders had extended an invitation to their ranks. Like he wanted to be an Elder, all the Male Elders did was watch over youngling hunts and listen to the Female Elders make all the decisions. They had called him a perfect addition, a well respected, aged, and trophy laden Hunter who had sired many pups. Many of which that had grow into strong, tough, and respected blooded hunters.
Like he kept tab on his pups, his sire had done little to enrich his life so he figured his involvement wouldn't affect his own younglings. They were probably content with using his status as a backing to their own growing ones. He couldn't even say how many he had sired, right along with the number of females he had bedded. They flocked to him in hoards larger and fiercer than hard bloods to get a glimpse at his trophy case.
Thinking of which he needed to clean his trophy case, or burn it, to make room. Studying the wall with an uninterested eye he noted how well he had cared for it in his young blood years. The soft meat skulls all grouped together, as were the hard meats in an upper corner, other various collected and respected prey skulls grouped in sense of species and size. All of it was designed around his first Queen hard meat skull that lay the middle.
His second one lay on the ground in the corner, piled with the rest of his more recent trophies, many of them only half polished. It was considered disgraceful not to care for ones trophies but part of his reasoning being that there wasn't enough room on his wall for them, the other part saying that none of those skulls were any different than the ones already hanging. The second queen skull was perhaps slightly larger than the first, but in all seriousness a Queen Hard Meat skull was a Queen Hard Meat skull in his race.
He picked up the one skull that had some worth to him, it never leaving far from his side, peering into its oh so familiar sockets. There was nothing physically special about this skull, no particular reasoning to others why he always kept it so close. It wasn't his first soft meat kill nor his hardest or fondest. He had reaffixed its jaw onto the skull with two small pins that allowed it to move up and down, the skull itself was worn and scratched from use, a few larger chips missing from where it clanked against his armor when he walked, hanging by a chain from its proclaimed place on his hip. Jaw often opened to its pins limit in an eerie scream as it swings back and forth, jostling with his movements. There were even a few phrases and images he had recently scratched into the back of the skull when waiting for the Elders to finish their speech.
How many had asked him the story on the skull? Countless. Many he didn't bother to tell, they were below him in status therefore he had no need to respond, the few that were above him he often made up elaborate stories even though he remembered every detail about the kill.
The soft meat it came from was a large one, built and muscular like himself, perhaps not as tall but well conditioned for his species. Not too bright however it would have made a better trophy if it was. Very animalistic, lashing out at whatever was stalking it in the hot a humid night, somehow it managed to pick out the shimmer of the cloaking device even in the dark and had charged him with a small blade and a battle cry. He had stood there and let the foolish creature impale itself on his extended combi-stick, he remembered the look of shock the soft meat had when he had uncloaked. Amazed at the spear that protruded from its belly it fell to the ground coughing up blood before shortly dying.
Now looking back at it he figured the reason he had taken the skull from an unworthy kill was a reminder. When you put your head down and charge without proper thought you 're gonna get yourself impaled on someone elses sharp object of choice. It was a ridiculously simple motto that had actually kept him alive for most of his life, even during his Chiva. Lately he hadn't been abiding by his motto. To his people the hunt is everything, you are to live, breath and eventually die for the hunt. Die by the hands of an equal in battle, it was the only death considered honorable. That's probably the real reason the pile of skulls began in the corner, he was too busy looking for his equal to clean them. Skipping from planet to planet, pushing his ship to its limit, with a "sleep was for the dead" kind of attitude.
And where had all that gotten him, a high title and a chance to be an elder. If they saw him at the moment, sitting in the dark in nothing but a loin cloth staring intently at his Ooman skull as if at any moment it would talk back to him, they would probably revoke his invitation. He scoffed at the thought of the skull replying to him, mandibles spreading into a grin. The grin quickly turned into a frown. Perhaps he had been sitting here in the dark for too long, now he was laughing at his own little jokes. Perhaps he was too attached to the one skull, maybe he should be rid if it along with this foolish thinking. He gripped it in his two hands pressing together and began crushing it. He could hear the worn bone just begging to give away.
Then he suddenly stopped and looked at the skull thoughtfully, this species had a word for what he was feeling.
On home planet it was referred to as a disease, a sickness of the mind, almost unheard of and when it was it couldn't be cured. To the soft meats it was a part of every day life, their men had it, their women experienced it, hell even their younglings whined about it. It could be understandable for him to be suffering from it. Honestly, he had hunted every known prey in current existence, had at least two of every trophy, seen sunrises and sunsets on distant planets, even witnessed a star being born. He had even taken the time to learn the human's language. Now he cleared his throat before testing the human phrase that he had heard their youngling's whine to the sires. Moving the skulls hinged jaw to the words, in a harsh and underused voice he told the dark room and trophy case of indifferent skulls peering down at him with empty black sockets.
"I'm so Bored."
P.S. My musings think its too perfect, what would happen for my two stories to meet? Faith a great king who would do anything to defend his purpose in life the Matriach. What is a greater enemy to the Matriach and the king than Boredom an unbeaten Predator looking for an equal to battle to earn his honorable death? Is it a good idea? -Grace-