The Yautja warrior knelt, head bowed low, in the darkness of the chamber. He chittered quietly, his mandibles flexing. Before him, on the cold metal floor, were pieces of armor. He slowly reached out his arms, and picked up the mask. The Yautja raised it to his head, and placed it over his face. It clicked and hissed, now stuck on. The Yautja thought about how this mask had served him previously in his hunts and battles. He chittered, as the memories came, washing over his consciousness like a tidal wave at high noon.
Wolf sped through the trees, a mere blur as his powerful leg muscles carried in the dense foliage. It was all-out war, his clan and the Bad Bloods, battling it out for honor, glory, and the right to call one another true warriors. At the moment, Wolf was chasing one of the Bad Bloods. His mask picked up small explosions of heat all around him, but he focused on the blur before him. He powered up his plasma caster, ready to take the shot. He chittered quietly, and fired.
The Bad Blood's head exploded in a mass of neon green gore and flesh.
Next, the warrior proceeded to place on more pieces of armor, beginning with the lethal wrist-blades. He tested the functionality by mentally ejecting the blades.
The Yautja roared furiously, his blades clashing with the other's. With a powerful kick, he sent the Bad Blood tumbling across the room. He immediately jumped up, growling in fury. The two Yautja warriors circled each other, daring the other to advance. The metal of their wrist-blades gleamed in the light, lethal, ready to take the other's head off at any given moment. Wolf sensed a high level of pheromones in the Bad Blood's body, and knew victory would be his. The other roared and charged. Wolf pivoted, and slashed his back with the extended blade. His opponent howled, and fell to one knee. Wolf grabbed his dread locks and forced his head back, raising his arm. He was prepared to take the kill.
He swung, and the held the Bad Blood's head high for the crowd to see, roaring his superiority.
Satisfied, he moved on.
Grasping the chest-plate, he placed it on, almost reverently.
Wolf flew back, crashing into the wall. Smoke curled up into the air from his chest. He growled, getting to his feet. He glanced down at his torso. A black spot was over his heart area, singing his armor. Thank Paya he had been wearing it at the moment.
Next came the shoulder guards, followed by the plasma cannon.
Wolf ducked, barely missing a killing shot. He backhanded his enemy, taking his head off with the blades. Spinning, he faced a new threat, one with a plasma caster. He roared, the guttural sound echoing into the stony night. Long distance battle was lethal, and he knew it would be a hard fight. With a single thought, he brought his plasma caster out onto his shoulder, enjoying the smooth sound of the gears whining into place. He powered it up, letting a powerful blast fly towards his opponent.
Finally, he clasped the leg guards on, before finishing up with his sandals. The Yautja stood, now clad in armor, and chittered again. Turning on heel, he walked over to the wall behind him, and grasped a combi-stick, testing its balance. Satisfied, he exited the room.
So began the hunt.
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