Chapter 1: The Hunter and the Prey

The boy awoke with a splitting headache.

A damaged light bulb hung limp from the metal ceiling, flickering faintly as it cast faint shadows onto the floor. Smell of acrid smoke and haze hung heavily in the air, making breathing rather a difficult task. In the gloom, panic seized the boy even as he tried in vain to regain his bearings. His body felt heavy and ached; waves of nausea tormented his consciousness as his lungs desperately grasped for whatever oxygen was available. His mind was suspended in a limbo, paralyzing all faculties of rational thought. Something felt wet. The boy slowly stared down to his right arm to find his long sleeve torn, revealing many bruises....and blood trickling down his forearm.

The very sight of blood immediately kicked up something in him, sending his abused body into convulsions as the boy lurched forward to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Harsh and dry coughs escaped his lips as the boy mustered enough strength at last to let loose a string of curses. Despite the endemic pain, vomiting however did clear up a portion of his nausea to at last allow a coherent command to form inside him.

I need to get some air.

The boy weakly crawled to the opposite wall, and grasping the railing, slowly lifted himself to his feet. His body protested, but clenched teeth and newfound urge for sustenance overcame his present condition at the moment. He hobbled a few steps forward, his hands gripping the railing for support. He will be able to move on, for now. The boy looked around. It appeared now that he was in what appeared to be a dilapidated corridor, with a door on each end. A large pile of debris was blocking one of them, but the other door seemed relatively undamaged. Wherever it may lead, it was evidently the only way available to him at the moment.

Alright.

Even as the boy staggered towards the door, however, questions slowly started to pour into his consciousness. Despite his present condition, some movement seemed to have reenergized his mind once more. With it, one question in particular resonated boldly before him.

Where the skak was he?

The metal door was charred and scratched on its surface, but the glowing switch on the panel next to it indicated that it was still operable. The boy's hand hovered above it but paused as if sudden doubts—or was it fear?— surfaced about what he was just about to do. What would he find in there? What if he found something…potentially dangerous? The boy coughed again as stench of smoke stung his nose.

But then again, did he even have a choice?

As the door slid open with a faint hiss, the boy felt his mouth drop, sensing his previous questions dissolve only to be replaced with more questions.

His mind overwhelmed with wonder, the boy entered to find himself on what appeared to be a spacious bridge of a ship. Or what it used to be, the boy mused as he cautiously ventured through the thick smoke, pile of debris on the floor, and crackling sparks showering from the ceiling. The bridge was a complete carnage, as if a massive battle had taken place. Almost every single piece of equipment was indeed wrecked beyond recognition. Small flickers of fire licked at the rapidly blackening control boards; severed cables were aimlessly flailing about, power uselessly discharging into thin air; thin cracks had appeared on the viewing screens, which were only buzzing static at the moment. Many small holes were burnt and drilled into the walls, blackening the surface around them with soot and ash. Lasfire, the boy realized with growing alarm as he cautiously ventured forward.

Just what had happened here?

He felt his foot tread on something soft. With a cry, the boy leapt back as he looked down the floor to see a body sprawled out in a pool of dark blood. The corpse had been disemboweled by something sharp, and the twisted agony frozen onto his macabre face made clear that his final moments had not been too peaceful. Intestines spilled out from his gaping stomach onto the floor, small cockroaches skittering amidst the gory remains. As the boy stared around in abject horror, he began to notice, under the thin veil of smoke, other bodies littering the bridge. All appeared human and evidently subject to great and unspeakable abuses. Some too had been eviscerated, but others were missing eyes, ears, tongues, or even heads. Limbs and body parts were smeared on the wall with abandon, giving off a despicable stench. The boy felt his bowel heave slightly as he spied a body that appeared to have been totally flayed.

What on Terra had he stumbled onto? Panicked thoughts blindly raced through his mind as the boy looked around desperately for another door. The sheer brutality here was too much for his senses at the moment. But was there any place on this ship that was free from carnage? He had hoped to find some stability and relief, but rather seemed to found more trouble and questions needing answers.

Then turning right, the boy found himself staring into a face.

He froze for a moment with terror, until the boy realized that he was actually looking into his own reflection on a large window. Entranced, he stepped closer to the image, oblivious for a moment to the dire strait he currently found himself in.

A rather pale face stared back at him against the backdrop of dark space, crowned by unkempt shoulder-length curly silver hair and a pair of violet eyes. He cut a rather thin figure, he noticed, although his height seemed to reach nearly about five-foot-five. For that brief moment, the boy forgot all the horrors, the smell, and the atrocity on the bridge. Wonderment, fatigue, and fear whirled as one upon his face, as the boy slowly reached up to the reflection as to feel it. The window glass felt cold to touch, but the unexpected pleasure of at last knowing his appearance was welcoming….until another questions popped in to ruin the serenity.

Who was he, really?

To much of his consternation, the boy suddenly realized that no matter how hard he tried, he could not remember anything about himself. Any attempts to reach within the deepest depths of his mind were met with headaches and scattered tidbits of details that combined to mean nothing. Even his own name escaped him. Was he suffering from amnesia? Painful headaches seemed to vouch his theory for sure, although the revelation did very little to cheer him. Here he was, stuck on a derelict ship without a clue about his own identity. Could he be more vulnerable?

The boy suddenly noticed on his reflection, to his delight, that a small nametag was pinned to the breast of his ragged shirt. Eagerly, he tore it off and rubbed its tarnished surface to read a name written in faded letters.

Matheas Caverell

The boy stood transfixed, his mouth wording the name again and again. Matheas Caverell…was this his name? The boy waited to see if the name triggered some automatic response from his mind, but none came. The name remained alien to him and no associated memories manifested themselves. Still....it was his name, wasn't it? Otherwise why would it be pinned on his shirt in the first place? Perhaps he would start to remember something once he started throwing the name around for himself....

Matheas Caverell, an amnesiac boy on a derelict ship. It was not the most fanciful title to have, but it was a start.

Matheas had just begun to turn away from the window when he heard it. It was rather low at first, but quickly, a high-pitched cackle began to ring somewhere outside the bridge. Sound of scurrying footsteps immediately followed, growing louder as it drew near.

Fear once again seized him. He had momentarily forgotten how dangerous his current situation was. The discovery of his name had dispelled any notion of speculating that perhaps, whatever foul creatures that had wreaked such carnage still remained on board.

He was in big trouble.

Matheas looked around for something he could defend himself with. One of the corpses sprawled near him held a laspistol in his grip, which Matheas proceeded to tug out. The energy cell was still almost full, he noticed, probably due to the relatively quick demise of its owner and hence only a short period of time to actually use the weapon. Still, he knew that the new acquisition would not serve him better than it had for other unfortunate deceased. Whatever would come through here would probably rip him into pieces more easily than it had others. He wouldn't make a stand, no; the best course of action here was to hide.

Matheas then noticed a door half-obscured behind a pile of rubble. He tugged it to find it open, to his relief, and quickly slid in. By now the footsteps have grown definitely distinct; someone—or something—was definitely on its way here. Matheas closed the door firmly behind him and looked around. He was now in what appeared to be cavernous cargo storage, filled with rows or metal containers and boxes. Dim light illuminated the various junk and tools lying strewn about the narrow paths between the container piles.

It was an ideal hiding spot.

Matheas quickly moved deep into the room, and choosing a tall pile of crates off to the sides, slid into the space between the wall and the containers. It was not a wide fit—he could only slightly lean against the wall standing up rather than crouching down—but would nevertheless serve as an inconspicuous sanctuary. Besides, the location offered a good vantage point from which he could get a decent view of the storage entrance through the small gap between the crates. Now all he could do was to wait and pray that whatever was on board with him would not think about searching here. Seconds passed, then minutes, until Matheas lost the sense of time entirely. He started to feel cramps creeping up his legs, but still, a part of him instinctively knew better than to venture out. Whatever danger that lay out there would be probably still lurking about. Better to remain hidden than not. Even so, Matheas hoped. Was he really well-hidden? There would be no chance in Throne that he would be found—

Then, with only the smallest of sound, the door slid open with a creak.

Matheas's insides turned cold.

Poking in just enough to get a good look around the room was a face from a nightmare, one that would haunt a mortal man for days and nights. Thin yet roughly humanoid, pointed ears, jet black eyes sans iris, and thin lips constituted to form a feature both inhuman and alarming. But the most terrifying aspect of the creature was the sheer aura of malice and cruelty that it exuded from beneath its pale skin. Despite the nonchalant expression it took as its eyes scanned back and forth, Matheas knew at once that this xeno was capable of immense brutality and horror upon anyone it encountered. A single name emerged from deep within his consciousness to enunciate the source of his fear in a more concrete form.

A Dark Eldar. Terror reigned inside Matheas's mind.

Matheas held his breath as the alien took a few more cursory scans, fortunately looking not too interested in his duty. Presently, it began to turn away, drawing his head back past the door. Matheas's heart leapt. It hadn't found him at all; the alien would be on its way....

Then halfway out the door, the eldar suddenly paused, hesitating for a tad moment. This time, it quickly stepped past the door once more in a single stride, with a frown and curiosity etched onto its face. It cocked its head to the side as if pondering something, blinking several times. Then it sniffed, and gradually, a look of raw excitement and giddiness overtook its features. Gracefully, it bounded into the storage and eagerly began to look about.

Whatever on Terra was it doing? Matheas thought with growing alarm. What could he be possibly drawing him back—

Then it hit him. Half-wishing that his realization was incorrect, Matheas slowly looked down to his right arm. Although the blood flow had been relatively slowed by now, his arm still shone red with fresh blood, glistening under the dim light. And it stank. A lot.

Panicking, Matheas tried to dry the blood with his shirt, only to freeze when the eldar suddenly called out into the room.

"I know you are in here, little mon-keigh...."

The dark eldar's voice was curiously accented, his low Gothic pronounced with a slight lisp; but the sheer malice and hunger dripping from every syllable were unmistakably manifest, each word sending shiver down Matheas's spine. It had sensed his presence; now it was going to hunt for him.

"Come out, come out....wherever you are...."

A quick glimpse through a small gap between the crates offered Matheas a better sight of the alien. It was now slowly advancing through the boxes with alarming grace, darting here and there as if it was floating in the air. The xeno was morbidly thin yet lithe, its figure accentuated by black and purple spiked armor that hugged its form. A combination of long hair rising in a topknot, emaciated-looking face, a pair of glittering black eyes, and a gaping mouth full of needle sharp teeth looked even more nightmarish closer up. Matheas shuddered at the thought of being in the clutches of one such creature.

The eldar drew closer and closer to his hiding spot, its fingers twitching as if itching to grab at something. About five feet away, the alien paused and sniffed at the air, letting out a hiss of satisfaction. Matheas could hear its ragged breath loudly and clearly from his hiding spot.

"You're here somewhere, little fly, close by....I can smell your fear....I can smell your blood...."

Matheas shut his eyes and caught his breath, silently praying that the alien will not find him. Imagination was a killer, and its dark tendrils were slowly invading his consciousness, immobilizing him and sending cold sweats and shudders breaking out from his body.

"I don't mean any harm, mon-keigh....I just want to have a little....fun, that's all."

The xeno's voice turned sickly sweet now, though its coaxes hardly masked its malicious intent. Harsh screeches resonated as it ran its sharp nails over a metal container. Matheas gritted his teeth as goose bumps rose from his skin. The sheer terror of the situation, combined with the psychological pressure, was almost unbearable. He could only pray that the moment will pass soon.

Emperor on Terra, protect your child in distress, and may I live on to serve your glorious name....

The silent prayer was spilling out of his mouth before he knew it. Was this something he had been taught before? It was as if he had memorized it to heart such as to utter it automatically. The sheer vulnerability devouring him inside out was calling urgently for some other form of self-assurance, and the soothing effect of the prayer, however marginal, was welcome.

Suddenly, Matheas realized that everything had grown silent; he could not hear the sound of breathing nor any movement from the eldar. He stole another peek through the gap, only to find the alien gone from the spot. Where has it gone? Could it have possibly moved on without finding him—though unlikely—perhaps given up on his search? Matheas tried to crane his neck outwards to get a better view.

"Here you are...."

Matheas jerked his gaze upwards, his jaw involuntarily dropping in surprise. Perched on top of the crate pile and leering down at him was the eldar, looking smug and happy about its discovery, Razor sharp teeth filled its wide smile in a neat row, glistening bright with saliva. It reached down its hand, its long wry fingers topped with sharp nails outstretched wide.

Perhaps it was lucky that quick thinking managed to reach Matheas just before fear did. Mustering all his strength, Matheas braced his back against the wall and pushed against the pile of crates with both feet. The pile tottered, and even before the eldar could react, it toppled to the floor with a resounding crash. Clouds of dust rose into the air, obscuring the sight of his work. Scrambling to his feet, Matheas ran towards the back of the storage without looking back, weaving through the crates and dodging low-hanging pipes. Harsh laughter echoed from behind him, and as Matheas stole a peak to his right, he spied, with horror, that the eldar was catching up to him with ease, that horrible smile still hanging from its face. Leaping from crate to crate, the eldar almost seemed lazy about his pursuit; it was obvious that it could overtake its prey anytime he wanted. Matheas realized that the alien was in fact toying with him, savoring the moment and choosing the time of his demise at leisure. Helplessness swooped down onto him like wind even as he tried all the more to gain speed.

Without a sound, the eldar gracefully landed a few feet in front of him, barring Matheas' path.

"Fight! Struggle all you want, mon-keigh!! I want my prey fresh and kicking when I take my knife to it!!"

The eldar cackled wildly as it closed the distance with alarming speed. Panicking, Matheas managed to bring his laspistol to bear, only to have it flying out of his hand with a powerful swipe. For having a slim figure, the dark eldar was surprisingly strong. The laspistol fell far behind him somewhere with a loud clatter.

Disarmed, Matheas now turned and fled back the way he came, his legs straining to carry him forward as far as possible. Still he knew it wasn't enough. He was like a fly caught in a spider's web.

"Where are you going, little fly? Entertain me!! Show me what you can do…"

The voice of the eldar rose behind him, followed by another cackle of laughter. Still not running him down, Matheas thought. This alien was determined to sate his appetite for pleasure to the fullest. But he would deny it, not out of some determination, but purely out of fear and desire for flight.

Matheas took a right turn in between two large containers and skidded into a halt, pressing himself tight against the metal wall. His lungs gasped for breath as sweat and grime slowly but inexorably soiled his tattered clothes. Clearly, taking flight was not working out to his advantage nor was it even helping him to avoid his fate. He would have a better chance of survival if he faced the danger head on.

His tired mind didn't even grasp the ridiculousness or the sheer impossibility of the idea at that moment.

Matheas saw a single crowbar lying on top of one of the crates and picked it up. Though it was quite heavy, he could heft it quite well with both of his hands. Drawing close to his chest, Matheas waited, trying his best to stifle his ragged breath and thumping heartbeat. Although soft, the eldar's footsteps were audible and growing louder as it drew near. His grip on the crowbar tightened as the prolonged wait magnified his fears tenfold, the image of possible dire consequences of failure finally starting to register in his mind. But it was simply too late to turn back now. With a loud cry, Matheas leapt as soon as a lithe form appeared in his sight.

Matheas wildly swung at the eldar, his body almost toppling forward with momentum. Despite the evident advantage in surprise, however, the alien avoided the blow almost lazily as if it had been expecting him. The stroke only landed on a nearby metal crate, drawing a shower of sparks upon impact. Before Matheas could recover, the eldar lashed out and backhanded him savagely. Stars flashed before his eyes as Matheas forcefully crashed onto the floor, even as he felt his right cheek swell and his mouth fill with blood. His crowbar slipped out of his grasp with a clatter. The eldar slowly walked up to him, a look of disdain and scorn etched onto its horrible visage.

"Stand up and fight, you wretch!!! I demand to be entertained!!!"

The alien kicked at him, only drawing out coughs and sputters from the boy.

"My, my. Out of count already? Tut tut tut. And to think I have been expecting more from this pathetic mongrel. What a useless specimen, even for a mon-keigh."

Matheas managed to raise himself halfway as he coughed out a broken tooth. The xeno was now drawing out a serrated knife from its belt, eyeing him and licking its lips.

"I guess I have no use for you now....But on the other hand.... I haven't had any breakfast yet. Yes, and young mon-keigh flesh would be very tender and juicy...."

Softly chuckling, the dark eldar slowly advanced upon him, apparently savoring the look of desperation and fear on its prey's face. Matheas could only clench his eyes shut as he half-heartedly massaged his throbbing arm. He had run out of options now; there was no way he could outrun the alien let alone defeat it. The only fate in store for him was to nourish the alien as his morning meal; he had been doomed from the moment it caught the scent of his blood.

Weak laughter escaped from his lips. Was this the fate in store for him, to die without knowing who he was?

Get up! Live!

Time seemed to slow into a grinding halt as Matheas flinched with surprise. Did he just....hear a voice? There didn't seem to be anyone else in here besides him and the eldar. The next thing he knew, however, Matheas noticed with surprise that his body was beginning to respond automatically, filled with a sudden urge to move. It was as if he knew at the most basic level to obey whoever spoke to him. He fumbled around for his crowbar and grabbed it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Matheas spied a rusty oil sprayer—mainly used for lubricating machinery, perhaps—discarded onto the floor a few distance from him. A desperate plan then formed in his head, sounding more foolhardy than viable. Yet there was no time even to consider its chances of success. The only option left now was to act on instinct and forego the usual logical process of mind. Gathering all his strength, Matheas leapt just as the eldar struck, his body driven only by a concentrated primal desire for survival and self-preservation.

He felt the blade slice through his pants and across his right thigh, burning pain erupting from the wound as he hit the floor. Somehow by some miraculous chance, he was still holding onto the heavy crowbar. Gritting his teeth, Matheas scrambled up to snatch the oil sprayer from the floor with his free hand. Aiming the stout nozzle at the eldar, he squeezed the handle frantically, prayer of libation passing through his head in a flash. With a squelch, a jet of black oil squirted and spouted from the sprayer and splashed the alien. Streams of ooze dripped from its armor and its pointed visage.

The eldar's expression took on that of surprise, but quickly changed to accommodate irritation and sneer. With a snarl, the eldar began to close the gap between him in strides.

"Is that all you could come up with, mon-keigh? As to be expected from a primitive mongrel....your kind's stupidity never ceases to amuse me…."

Gathering up all the remaining will inside him, Matheas brought his crowbar above his head and swung as hard as he could against the metal pipe next to the eldar.

With a harsh screech, shower of sparks cascades from the impact onto the xeno.

With a loud whoosh, the oil coating the xeno burst into flame as sparks ignited upon impact. In an instant, the dark eldar was enveloped in flame, his armor, skin and flesh starting to burn with an acrid smell. A shrill scream of agony echoed through the air as it flailed about, its dagger swinging with wild abandon. Matheas' relief was however brief, as the stricken eldar suddenly began to advance upon him with alarming speed, lashing out with frenzy. Its eyes burned with unmitigated hatred, seeming to ignore all the pain. Matheas barely managed to avoid a single slash that left a large cut on his shirt.

His right foot caught something metallic as he backed against the wall; Matheas looked down to see his lost laspistol just lying next to him. The sheer luck of it would've made him laugh at the incredulousness of it, but time did not allow for such an occasion. Snatching it up, Matheas began to shoot blindly at the stumbling eldar. The first shot caught the alien on the shoulder, burning off a portion of his armor, but the subsequent blasts punched straight through more vulnerable areas now exposed by the burning fire. Taking a few more steps forward, the eldar fell onto its knees, little flames still crackling and eating away its flesh. A final shot to the head finally took it to the ground where it lay still, smoldering and smoking.

Matheas slowly let out a ragged breath as he lowered his pistol and leaned against the wall. He had been on the verge of a gruesome death only to come back alive. As a matter of fact, he shouldn't have. That a young boy like him could defeat a full-grown alien all by himself was simply impossible. If only the eldar had not let down his guard and decided to toy with his prey, thought Matheas, it would've been using his flayed skin as a handkerchief by now. Silently, he gave a brief prayer to the emperor for his generous gift of protection and luck.

A sudden pain reminded Matheas of the earlier injury he had received. His right thigh sported a shallow but painful gash where the eldar's knife had nicked him. It will heal if treated, Matheas noticed, although the wound was strangely sizzling. Wobbling to his feet, Matheas stared once again at the eldar's body lying in front of him. It lay still, burnt beyond all recognition now and still smoking. It seemed hard to believe that it had once been a creature that almost took his life.

"Entertained now?" Matheas whispered, although he was not really in a mood to gloat. He still needed to find a way off the ship and find a place where he could recuperate safely. Turning away, Matheas took a couple steps forward. He was still in one piece, and for the moment, Matheas felt something similar to satisfaction creeping up to his consciousness.

"I wouldn't celebrate too soon....mon-keigh."

Relief dissipated as quickly as it had come, only to reform as a singular lump of terror and despair as Matheas slowly turned. Three dark eldars were standing over the burnt body of their comrade with wicked smiles on their faces. They were similarly dressed as their recently deceased comrade, although more heavily armed. Exotic but deadly looking pistols and blasters hung from their backs and waists, spiked armor snugly fitting their lithe forms. He had not even heard them come up.

The expressions of glee on their faces were as if they had just realized their birthdays had come early this year around.

Matheas felt his legs give away before him, his will to resist draining. Fatigue and an inexplicable dizziness were overtaking his consciousness. He sank down to the floor, laspistol slowly slipping out of his grasp.

One of the eldar looked down on the burnt corpse with disgust and spat, chuckle of disdain emanating from its throat.

"Looks like this mon-keigh filth got the best of Daru'kel. What a disgrace."

"I knew he was a weakling from the moment I saw him, the fool. He's no better than the primitive mongrels we hunt." agreed the second xeno, kicking at the body in vain anger.

"Still....he was so gracious enough to leave behind a living prey for us to play with." The last dark eldar stared at Matheas hungrily, slowly licking its lips. "It'll be so much fun, no? I've been

actually dying to try out this new...."technique" I've learned from a Haemonculus I know of...."

Matheas felt a chill of deepest fear running through his spine, even as the edges of his vision began to blur. It felt so hard to keep his head up.

"Hmm, we would best hurry though," the second dark eldar mused. "It looks like our little friend here has been affected by our venom. He doesn't have too much time...."

Matheas looked down to see that the veins on his right thigh were slowly taking on a greenish hue. The knife must've been coated with some sort of toxin, he realized with dread. The leading eldar slowly drew out a wicked dagger from its belt, and licked along the edge of the blade with its tongue. Purple-black blood seeped out from the ensuing lacerations, which the alien proceeded to suck with gusto.

"Now, my little mon-keigh, it's time you learned the true meaning of pain....Oh no, the pain you are feeling now is not even comparable to what I'm about to introduce you. It'll be uncomfortable and not very pretty to look at first....but by the time I put an end to your miserable life, you'll be begging for more...."

The alien cackled loudly as it stepped forward and drew back the weapon high in the air. Matheas could only watch helplessly and pray that the poison would take him before the eldar did.

Without a warning, a large hole burst from the dark eldar's chest with a deafening roar, showering Matheas with blood and gore. With an expression of malicious glee still frozen upon its twisted visage, the lifeless corpse slowly pitched forward in a collapse.

Even before the xeno's body hit the floor, the second dark eldar's head simply exploded into thin air in a mist of blood and flesh. Its limbs briefly flailed and twitched about its body ridiculously before it, too, fell beside its comrade. The remaining dark eldar, now recovering from initial shock and surprise, whirled around with a snarl, but a huge rumbling chainsword swung out of the gloom and tore into it in a flash, reducing the filth into a steaming pile of viscera in a manner of seconds.

Matheas sat on the floor dumbstruck, his rapidly dimming consciousness overwhelmed by this sudden development.

A terrifying figure emerged from the darkness in front of him, its heavy footsteps shaking the ground with loud thuds. He was over seven feet tall and extremely broad, clad head to toe in a suit of metal-grey power armor. Multiple seals and inscriptions, written in indecipherable letters, adorned its surface. A large chainsword and a massive bolt pistol in his hands only served to make his presence more intimidating. This monstrous colossus—looking so indomitable and smug—was now staring down at Matheas, its red lenses seemingly boring into his very soul.

"Are you all right, boy?"

A deep, metallic growl emanated from the grille of the giant's helmet, more menacing than friendly. Despite his best efforts to reply, Matheas felt his body grow weaker, courtesy of the xeno poison crippling his body and perhaps, the shock of his recent encounter. He fell back to the floor feebly, and saw the ceiling spinning faster and faster as the room grew darker. His mind grew numb, the familiar sensation of pain enveloping his senses.

The last thing Matheas felt before darkness finally took him was a pair of enormous arms stooping to pick him up with surprising gentleness.

Sorry for the delay!!! R & R!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!