Fresh Start . . . or Is It?

It was dark and cold, an abyss that stretched to infinity. Despite the shadowy sensation, she kept walking, something drawing her close . . . what it was, she knew nothing. She was at the mercy of her subconscious, unable to fight back.

After what felt like hours passed, she was stopped by an invisible force that hauled her legs to go stiff. She blinked, finally seeing something coming to her, slow and decisive in its purpose. It had no form, not solid at least, merely a fog of darkness that stood out from the rest. A sense of wariness flowed through her veins, forcing her heart to beat wildly. She took a step back . . . and then another.

Nei'hman-de . . .

A voice called to her, heavy and assertive. She stopped her retreat and looked around. Nothing was in sight except for the shadow. She had the urge, commanding her to lower in submission as it got closer. What to do? What is this thing coming?

Nei'hman-de . . .

It called that word again. Strange . . . Why?

Her fingers trembled, her legs and arms went rigid as a board. Regardless if she wanted to retreat, there was no going anywhere and no will to leave. She was at the mercy of this unknown being.

A part of itself stretched, sending shivers down her spine. It came closer and closer but as it did, it began to take shape. A small part materialized into a massive hand, black with dagger-like claws, adorned with scales like a reptilian but appeared soft. Unusual.

Nei'hman-de . . . The ghostly hand reaching toward her face with unknown intent. The heaviness of the darkness was climbing, too much for her to bear. She closed her eyes, scratched her scalp and opened her mouth in a silent scream. Stop!

Nei'h—

The alarm buzzed in her ear like a siren. She gasped, flung herself up in panic, trembling in cold sweat. It took her a few seconds to realize she was in her room, lying on the bed. Pushing her face into her hands, she waited a little longer to calm down. That was too real. Again?

Neera grunted when the alarm continued. With a slam, it fell to the ground, tumbling away to a sudden stop next to her desk. She didn't need this right now but she regretted it somewhat. Judging from the dim light seeping through the blinds of the window, she was late for her duties but chose to wait until she settled down. Her heart raced a couple miles per hour, mostly exaggeration. I'm going to regret this when Revna finds out.

Neera got up to dress, walking around to exert some of the anxiety. There wasn't much brought from Earth to decorate the metal box called a room. A few trinkets of movies and music discs from the 80s but nothing else. She didn't have much that was sentimentally, nothing really mattered after departing her homeworld, it was better that way. She'd hoped this would be the end of her problems, a new beginning they said, but the feeling of dread followed her . . . like something was about to happen soon and it was far from good.

She headed for the bathroom, decided to wash her face to clean the sweat, splashing cold water. It relieved her some as she looked up to the mirror. Bags were under her green eyes, her messed up black hair draped over her shoulder. What a mess.

Quickly dressed in casual black leggings and a t-shirt, Neera headed out, weaving through hallways of rooms until reaching the exit, pushing it open to the outside world. The view from the balcony would have amazed most, if not all.

Prosperity Wells . . .

It was a small colony built decades ago on this planet they called Ryushi, mostly to have cattle ranchers come to do hard work for the company. A new start for many but an opportunity for the CEO and employees of Chigasa Industries, interested in raising their own profits. Other than that, the planet wasn't much to look at in her opinion. A wasteland that stretched to the horizon with a few canyons to add, not a place she would pick but the lesser evil of choices when facing the big picture.

Neera sighed and headed down the stairs. Nei'h . . .

The voice was there again, as if whispering in her ear. She gritted her teeth, held her head towards the metal frame of the building as it quieted down. She shook in denial, sighing in frustration. After a minute, she took a deep breath and headed down the stairs.

Great. Hearing voices during the day. What next?

"Initiate evasive maneuvers and shoot back!"

The commands of the Leader roared as many Yautja scrambled for their armor and weapons, like insects forming ranks to defend their hive. He didn't have much optimism though, only two skilled Yautja warriors were with him that maintained the man'daca's control and the rest were recently Blooded from their First Hunt. Despite the milestone, one hunt didn't make them gods of battle, not like himself or any Leader for that matter.

The man'daca swerved back and forth in a dance to dodge the bombardment of blasts, the enemy ship had already damaged the exterior skeleton and took a chunk from the right turbine. The controls alerting the power failing at various points, G'yum and Sklur trying their best to keep it from falling apart.

Another blast hit close to the front, sending Sklur from his seat to smash into the wall with so much force that his skull shattered like an egg, green luminescent blood caked on everything it touched. C'jit!

A Blooded warrior lost, leaving him and G'yum to lead the others and maintain the ship, "Find a planet close by! We'll be blasted out of space if we stay here much longer!"

"Wait, my Lord!" He halted as G'yum switched on the monitors. The screen showed what he feared, another ship heading for them, zooming close to their side. Guns pointed at them as a metal bridge erected, connecting with the hold zone and disarming the locks, their intent was crystal clear.

They're boarding the ship! But why—

"They're heading for the holding cell!"

The Leader flinched in silence, the horrible realization of what was coming made clear. If they're going there, then that means—!

The Leader departed like a comet, exiting the pilot hold and rushed through the hallway with spear in hand. G'yum called for a command but there wasn't time. He had to reach the enemy and exterminate all before it was too late, the hopes that he would find his students early enough to mount a counter attack were dimming rapidly.

There was no mistaking the sounds of battle, metal striking together, roars of defiance, and a musk filled with blood and death just around the corner leading to the kehrite. He ran faster, knowing that time is of essence and the fear of what he might enter. His students weren't the best in his silent opinion, despite recently Blooded, but they had to fend for themselves and their ship if they were to gain glory against such monstrosities.

Right as he turned, he witnessed a young warrior kicked into a wall, badly injured with a missing arm and an unknown Yautja in black sleek awu'asa stepping closer with blades about to cut flesh. His student put up a valiant effort, hissing in opposition while raising his own weapon. He was silenced with his throat skewered, strings of tendons whipped across the air. The attacker, dressed in thwei, raised his masked face, shaking in victory like he won a war. It boiled the Leader's blood like lava. Ic'jit!

He charged with no warning, his spear stabbing between the awu'asa and through the ribs. The Bad Blood fought back tooth and nail, striking his blades on his armored shoulder but in such poor vain. The Leader grabbed his head, snapping the neck and pulled it clean from his shoulders, relishing in the life extinguished in a spray of green fluid. Although the impudent male deserved a slow thei-de, he had bigger fish to fry and a ship to save. Throwing the body away, he ran for the entrance to the holding cell nearby. He had to locate the orchestrator of this assault soon or else he'd face extreme consequences.

As he drove deeper into the chaos, litters of bodies left in such ruin occupied the hallways. Most had their limbs ripped off, skulls shattered, and a few decorated with holes still sizzling from the shot of a burner. Majority were his students with a handful of Bad Bloods scattered among the carcasses. He was disappointed in his students, sloppy and uncoordinated, breaking his hopes they would become great warriors. Now, they were worth nothing.

The Leader was close to the holding cell, noticing the door was untouched as he glanced down the broken hallway full of fire and live wires. Good. They haven't reached it yet.

He was halfway through, weaving as more blasts shook more wires out of their places, one managed to touch his forearm and left a burning sensation through his muscles, leaving a scar later no doubt. It didn't deter him from the mission, the holding cell must be protected or else worse consequences are to come. The Leader was a few feet from reaching the door, readying his gauntlet to active the emergency securities.

"Dachande!"

A roar calling his name stopped him in his tracks. He growled immediately as he looked back, counting a dozen armed Bad Bloods standing in formation, a force not to take likely even if they were unarmed and Unblooded. Despite being outnumbered, he wasn't about to flee, his honor wouldn't have it.

One male he recognized immediately, if the disgusting musk hadn't given it away. He stood a foot taller than the others, his awu'asa upgraded better but the insignia of a bolt with a cut in the middle was old . . . and all too familiar.

Dachande rose, displaying his aggression with his chest held high and arms widened, "Tichinde."

The male tilted his masked face, almost amused, "You remember me. I'm glad."

How could he not forget?

Tichinde was once his ua'jall, stronger and braver than any he ever taught. He had high hopes that he would make a great warrior and a leader someday, but his arrogance proved a nuisance. Many believed it was a phase, ignorance from one who didn't know of the lessons, and that it would fade over time as he learned. Seeing him turn his back on honor, it was like a thorn bringing disease toward his species and a bad name to the mark he bestowed on him.

"What do you want?" Dachande hissed.

"I'm sure you already know."

His mandibles scraped against the underside of his mask, "I won't let you have the Queen."

Tichinde chuckled, "You don't have a choice. Your 'students' didn't show the prowess expected from you. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed in them or you."

Dachande extended his wrist blades. Tichinde's followers reacted, aiming their burners and ki'cti-pa for the battle to come. He figured it was going to be tough, not knowing how high their skills were and the number against him, but no way was he going to back away like a coward. His honor would demand no less, "They deserve death if they fell by your hands. I won't make that mistake."

As per instincts of a Bad Blood, two males stampeded to him, roaring the Midnight Kiss. Dachande chuckled inwardly. If death is what they wish for, they'll get it.

As one warrior jumped, Dachande swerved into a circle, using the inertia to swing the end of the spear and severed the male's legs by the knee. The other was smart enough to dodge the initial attack and aim for the head, only for Dachande to bring his wrist blades to cut deep into the male's chest and rip apart his heart. The Bad Bloods were dispatched with ease. So much for a challenge.

Tichinde didn't even flinch, but Dachande saw the small signs, claws dug into the palms, itching to grab a weapon. He patiently stood, anticipating the next barrage of attacks.

"For an old, worn out warrior, you did pretty good." Tichinde calmly spoke, unusual in Dachande's eyes, "Guess I'll deal with you myself."

It sounded insane for Tichinde to challenge himself to combat. Despite the years of being isolated from the Yautja culture, he wasn't confident his former student would put up a fight but meant that he would play dirty tricks. He has to be extremely careful with the other Bad Bloods nearby, even a highly skilled warrior like himself cannot defeat several without grave injury.

Tichinde stepped forward, dah'kte extended as the ship shook intensely from more blasts. The walls were close to collapsing, a burst of flames emerged, bringing the thick smoke through. He didn't have much time, he had to end this now or else risk dying in space, possibly losing everything . . . but his honor would be intact.

The silence overbearing with tension as both warriors stepped closer, hisses and growls exchanged. Dachande resided his spear, waiting for the moment the tension breaks. This ends now!

Both males charged with fury, the excitement of battle surging their strength. Their blades clashed as the world around them turned ablaze, consuming everything in its path.

Awu'asa - Armor

C'jit - Shit

Dah'kte - wristblades

Ic'jit - Bad Blood

Ki'cti-pa - Combistick

Man'daca - Ship

Thei-de - Death

Thwei - Blood

Ua'jall(s) - Student(s)