A/N: Here's chapter 2 of Insatiable.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: It only took one tragic moment to turn his world upside down. Experience a tale of transformation that will shake the foundation of friends and camaraderie in Astera. But one thing's clear; the hunter will become the hunted. Who will rise to stop them from painting the New World red?
Chapter 2
Finally, fingers stirred to life after what seemed to reign an eternity. The man's fingers were the first to animate, followed by his toes, legs, arms, and lastly, his face. The man's eyebrows knitted as his body stirred awake—enough rest for now. A soft breath exited from his lips before his eyelids opened to the sights before him. It was daybreak.
"Uhhh…" That was all he managed to say.
Now that his body regained some life to its limbs, sections of his body throbbed in what could be best described as pulsating pins and needles. He wasn't a fan of it. Biting down on his lip, the Field Team Leader attempted to sit upright, but his body had other ideas; teaming with gravity, he was glued onto the mattress. Grumbling, he tried again. No luck. Expelling an annoyed breath, he gave up. Richard blinked; dark-colored eyes hopped across the room. Piecing two and two together, he was in the infirmary.
"How long have I been out…?"
"You're awake!"
Who said that? Richard turned his head to the side, watching the thin white curtain slide to the side, revealing a petite redhead. Ah, it was Lucia's niece, Megan. The young woman had almond-shaped, bright green eyes and freckles sprinkled across her high cheeks. She leaned on the thin side, including her personal assets. Megan was still a nurse in training, but without a shadow of a doubt, with proper training, she was on the road to becoming an excellent nurse. Also, she wasn't bad to look at, either. The girl beamed brightly at him, and then their eyes met. She averted her gaze, spouting greetings mixed with medical jargon. From afar, he noticed her cheeks flushed red.
That's cute.
Megan had a crush on him. It was undeniable whenever their eyes met or when she tried to speak to him. Sure, she'd attempt to keep her composure, but the way her eyes veered off or intentionally twisting in ways to show her breasts was endearing.
Richard cracked a smile. "Yeah… I just woke up. How long have I been out?"
Megan dragged a seat over and made herself comfortable beside him. "Three weeks."
"Wow," he exclaimed. He hadn't realized he was out of action for that long. Hm, no wonder his body felt stiff as a board.
Megan shuffled in her seat with a sentence perched on the tip of her tongue. Deeply inhaling, she spoke, "While you were asleep, the Commander stopped by every day to visit you. He worries for you, sir."
"He always worries." He smiled; eyes locked onto the ceiling above. "Seriously, he doesn't need to visit when he's not feeling well. By the way, how is he?"
The young nurse stayed mute for a couple of seconds, collecting her thoughts. She rested her hands on her lap. "He's doing alright, I guess. His lungs aren't in the best shape. You can hear him wheezing after he talks. It's horrible."
"Ugh, I told him not to go to Seliana, but did he listen? No." Richard complained, shaking his head. "Well, he's a Blake, and Blakes are bloody stubborn, don't you think?"
She giggled. That was true.
The Field Team Leader glanced at his left arm, wholly bandaged from the elbow down to his wrist.
The Paolumu.
Everything began with the Paolumu. Richard recalled its foaming maw, its needle-like teeth, and crazed howl. His memories reeled him back to the moment razor-sharp teeth met flesh and bone. How could he describe the pain? Imagine rows of bacterial-infected jagged teeth, sawing deeply into flesh, severing muscle layers one inch at a time. The sides of his mouth dipped when he realized his body was a breeding ground for pathogens, now crawling in his body. He should be dead, but… why hasn't he died yet?
"Sir," Megan's voice echoed from the side. "It's time to clean the wound. You… You might not want to see this."
"No, I want to." He insisted. "I need to know."
"It's not going to be pretty." She stood up, reaching for the bandages and bottles of liquid. Her eyes met his. "Are you sure you want to watch?"
With a confirming nod, the young nurse unwrapped his arm. The man's heart thumped in his chest, anticipating the moment his eyes made contact with the wound. It couldn't possibly be that bad, could it? His stomach knotted at the sight of discolored, disfigured flesh and its sweet, gut-wrenching putrid smell. Perhaps he should have taken her advice. He turned to Megan.
"That's necrotic tissue." She informed, gloved hands working away at cleaning the area. "We'll have to cut it out. Aunt Lucia managed to remove as much as she could, but it seemed more appeared afterward."
Richard couldn't even fathom how much skin was missing. Suddenly, he felt his stomach bubble, rising in his esophagus—
"Bucket," he said sharply.
Megan grabbed a wooden bucket beneath the bed and handed it to him. She focused on the wound as Richard's face turned deathly pale. Turning her head away, the man vomited into it.
"I told you so." She spoke calmly, dressing the wound with herbs and ointment.
As a nurse in training, it was a part of the job to possess a heart and guts of steel when presented with trauma. Made sense. Her fingers applied ointment into one of the deeper cuts, expecting the man to flinch or perhaps, flail. He didn't. He was engrossed in emptying his stomach. After one last attempt, the back of his throat burned uncomfortably, a sensation he never wished to go through ever again. Megan waited before relieving him of the bucket.
Her green eyes moved to him. Richard was an enormously proud man from the day they met. The man carried himself with his head high, driven by the mindset of setting a positive example to the hunters. It was part of the job, she mulled. Not once had he ever expressed weakness in front of anyone, and to see him bedridden, wounded, and vulnerable was… heartbreaking. Was that the appropriate word? Well, this proved to her the Field Team Leader was human, after all, and not some untouchable celebrity she imagined him to be.
"Feeling better, sir?"
He nodded, sinking back onto the pillow.
"Today is not my day…"
"You should rest." Megan leaned down, hands fluffing his pillow. She hummed.
He didn't mean to let his eyes wander down her shirt.
Clearing his throat, he asked, "When do you think I'll be discharged?"
"In a couple of weeks or a month, depending on how well you heal," she answered, doing her best to make him as comfortable as possible. "We need to keep a close eye on your arm to make sure it doesn't further spread. But…"
"But?"
She stopped and faced him. "I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but if the necrotic tissue continues spreading, we will have to amputate your arm, sir."
His heart tanked to the soles of his feet.
"But rest assured, our medical team will do everything to make sure it doesn't happen. Aunt Lucia is one of the best nurses on the planet. She'll know what to do!"
Her words offered little comfort to the realization he could lose his arm. His hunting career rested on Lucia's shoulders. The man couldn't fathom what life would be without the enjoyment of hunting or participating in mundane activities. Could he enjoy living life as a one-armed man? Richard was unsure.
"That makes me feel a bit better," he masked his pain.
Megan smiled again and held his hand, comforting him.
"You'll be alright; I just know it. Now, rest. You're going to need it."
Two months later.
The Field Team Leader was back on his feet, walking throughout Astera, greeting hunters brightly. The man greeted everyone with his almost healed left arm, waving at them or giving out the occasional fist pump to the younger hunters. Richard couldn't be more thankful for Lucia's valiant efforts in saving his arm and Megan for her attentive, around-the-clock care. He dared say he was almost back to normal. Walking over to the Council Table, the brunette greeted his teacher, the Huntsman seated on the stool with arms firmly crossed. Beneath the man's outdated exterior was a firm yet kind man who opted to speak with his actions rather than words like ordinary people. That's his charm, Richard supposed.
The Huntsman—Frederick—observed his pupil meander to the table's head with eyes focused on the world map. The man's copper eyes landed on Richard's bandaged left arm, a reminder of the terror that took place two months ago. He was thrilled to see Richard return to his serious and sometimes bubbly self again. Astera needs him more than ever, primarily when the Commander fought a harmful lung infection.
"Are you sure you're ready to lead again?" The Huntsman asked, his voice dampened by his armor.
"You bet," Richard answered brightly, eyes locked onto the Highlands.
"All of this started with a Paolumu, is that so?"
"Yeah. I want to return to the Highlands to see if I can find and capture it. Our ecological team would love to study it more. And who knows? They might learn a thing or two about it."
"Of course, you do." The older man spoke. "But this time, take extreme caution when tracking it down, Richard. During your absence, I've dispatched teams to track it, but our hunters return home empty-handed."
Richard hummed, acknowledging his mentor's words. "It's a dastardly creature, teacher." He looked up. "I'm going to camp out there for a couple of weeks and record my findings. There must be something we can learn from it; where it patrols, what it eats, how it lives, and such. I'll send in regular updates."
The Huntsman nodded. "Promise me to signal an SOS when you encounter it. Is that clear?"
"Sure."
The armor-clad man observed his pupil walk away from the table, heading directly to the Supply Box. Knowing Richard, he wouldn't signal an SOS; he was too prideful for that. The Field Team Leader went through his supply box for necessary herbs and other curatives for the long hunt ahead. He made a note to bring along a handful of nulberries, tranq bombs, shock, and pitfall traps. Perhaps a couple of slices of Astera jerky wouldn't hurt, just in case, he crossed paths with a patrolling Odogaron.
"Um, sir?"
He wheeled around and made eye contact with Megan holding a basket.
"Are you heading out?"
"That's right. I'll be out of Astera for a couple of weeks."
She softened her eyes. "I had a feeling you'll be heading out into the field again." Megan reached into the basket, pulling out three sandwiches wrapped in blue wax paper with printed Poogie drawings. "I made these for you."
He received them. "Thanks, Megan. You're always prepared."
She giggled; her heart fluttered in glee. "That's why I'm training to be a nurse. Anyway, do be careful out there, and don't forget to allow your wound to breathe! Oh, and don't forget to clean it!"
"Roger that." Richard finished prepping for his trip. "Well, I guess I'll see you around."
Megan smiled. The redhead boldly stepped forward, planting a quick kiss on his cheek, then dashed away. He blinked. Shaking his head, Richard whistled for his wingdrake, departing to the Coral Highlands with a childish grin on his face.
The Coral Highlands was often silent around noon. Hunters barely visited the Highlands at this time from the intense humidity clogging their lungs. The sun hung high in the sky, casting dark shadows all around. The Field Team Leader paid no attention to the shadow play; his mind was fixed on setting up camp and heading out on an expedition. A part of him knew he might not locate the Paolumu. What chance did Richard stand when elite hunters were unable to track its shadow? Seated inside the tent, he referenced his notebook and circled areas the fiend often patrolled.
"I'll find you. Just you wait."
Topping up on a stamina drink, Richard exited the camp searching for the rabid Paolumu, hidden somewhere in the Highlands.
Five days later. Nightfall.
The brunette leaned by a rock cliff and heaved, running a hand through his hair. He searched high and low for the creature, and yet, his search proved futile; it wasn't here. The man had no intention of admitting defeat. No, not yet. Tilting his head skyward, his eyes locked onto the twinkling stars above, woven in a blanket of blue and black. A relaxed breath escaped his lips; if there was one thing he loved about the New World, is its beautifully dotted night skies. Shifting his eyes to a cluster of incoming clouds, a black shadow zipped past it. Richard's hunting instincts kicked in; his hand dove into his pocket and retrieved binoculars. His heart drummed. The black shadow swerved, circled, then dove.
"Found you."
The Field Team Leader made haste, rushing off into the distance. Richard hoped, no, prayed it wasn't a Nightshade Paolumu. Still, there was a slight chance it was the same Paolumu that bit him. Weaving through the Highlands like clockwork, he appeared in a large area with a tilted slope. The man's hand coiled around his Giant Jawblade, steeling his heart. A ball of sweat rolled down the side of his face. A cluster of clouds masked the silver moon, transforming the area around him into an abyss. The only lights he could see were fireflies hovering over low vegetation and moonflowers. Richard could feel how close he was.
Taking a couple of steps forward in desperate anticipation, his eyes adjusted to the cloak of darkness. Bingo. There, in the far distance, was the Paolumu he desperately searched for. The Paolumu stepped forward, nose sniffing the air for predators and prey. With each taken step, its clawed feet sunk into the sandy ground. Richard got closer and closer, silently equipping a scatternut and aimed. The creature stopped and sniffed the air. A string of snarls rolled out of its jaw, and ears flexed.
It whipped around, snarling at the hunter. His entire body froze to stone; human eyes met lifeless, beady ones. Shaking out of his stupor, Richard wasted no time launching an attack, swinging his weapon to connect with its face. The beast effortlessly jumped away, snarling at him with a foaming mouth. Thoughts raced through the man's mind, thinking of one thing: capturing the beast. With each swing and dive, his left arm stung.
"You did this to me!" he roared, launching an overhead attack.
Each executed action was unlike Richard. The man was usually calm and calculating before dishing out his next move. The dance with the Paolumu proved otherwise; he was desperate to best the beast, delivering sloppy attacks and strikes. With every move, the Paolumu countered him. Digging its feet into the sand, the creature unleashed a devastating tail whip, knocking Richard off his feet. Landing with a loud thud, his weapon slipped out of his grasp. The man scrambled to reach out then found himself pinned by the slobbering foe.
Again, they were eye to eye. He watched a curtain of drool pool on his chest. The Paolumu roared directly into his face.
"No, you don't!"
His right hand curled into a tight ball. In one powerful motion, Richard delivered a devastating, bone-shattering punch to the Paolumu, sending it crashing into the cliff. The man scrambled back onto his feet, eyes flashing crimson. The Paolumu wailed, its jaw hung open, swinging with the tides of gravity. Richard approached it with ill intent, eyes scanning for the next area to maim. Almost in a possessed state, he grabbed one of its wings and drove his boot into its forearm, crushing it with destructive force. The Paolumu howled in agony. Its flight instincts kicked in. The creature madly thrashed, trying to escape yet to no avail. Richard made quick work of both its wings and legs, grounding it. It knew it was going to die.
Releasing a high-pitched shriek, the man snapped out of his thoughts and stumbled backward in shock.
"What the hell…?"
He looked down at his hands, coated in blood. His eyes withdrew to their dark brown orbs, looking at the downed Paolumu.
"Did… Did I do that?"
The Paolumu whimpered, dragging its battered body across the sand. A tsunami of guilt crashed into him. Hunting monsters was one thing but outright torturing it to the brink of death? No, that was not him. That was not him!
"How… How did I… Why would I do such a thing?"
The whimpers amplified, worming deeper into his consciousness.
"Please, stop." The Field Team Leader shielded his ears, sending trembles down his frame. "I'm not a horrible person! I'm not! I'm sorry!"
The wounded creature managed a couple of feet, leaving a trail of red behind it. The smell of blood filled the air; the animals in the Highlands stirred. In the far distance, a high-pitched howl raced through the coral forest, announcing the arrival of a large male Odogaron. Its beady, clouded eyes beamed at the weakened Paolumu. Richard saw the crimson beast. Biting his lip, he leaped toward his Giant Jawblade, slung it over his shoulder, and zipped out of the area. All thoughts of capturing the Paolumu evaporated; its broken form was too much for him to handle. Shaking his head, he opted to leave and allowed nature to take its rightful course.
Today, it was the first time Richard lost the meaning of being a hunter.