Concotion for Destruction

Dachande groaned, a whole world of pain stabbed into his body, sparing nothing from its wrath. His fingers weakly clawed into the grained soil underneath, the smell of fire and metal seeped through the cracks of his mask, burning into his mouth. His chest was aching, something sharp stuck through the side and his thwei oozing all over where he laid.

He was sure that he was in dhi'ki-de but his eyes heavily opened, staring into the grainy ground on his stomach. With all of his might, he moved his arms to bring him up but they failed, refusing to obey his command. Pauk . . .

The vague memory of the brief fight between him and Tichinde, flames blooming through the walls and floor as the ship came crashing down on this planet. They exchanged blades, cried out for each other's death but in a split second, the ceiling finally caved in, forcing a separation. The last vague memory was watching his former student and his followers make a break for it before the world turned dark.

Now . . . he was lying on the ground, bleeding profusely and helpless as a pup with no doubt of rescue, everyone with him had been taken by the Black Warrior.

The sound of battle woke him up a little, his head tilted to the side to get a glimpse of the horror. The black form of the Queen, finally released from her prison, attacked with no remorse among its prey. He could hear gunfire, babbling, and screams of nonsense. Pale, small bipedal organisms that babbled and screamed while shooting their unique burners. Ooman?

Sure enough, the Queen grabbed a hold of a nearby pyode amedha, raised it high before piercing its tail through, then ripped the howling ooman in half. A rain of crimson blood and pieces of organs sprayed among the others, drenching the sand and fueling the fear like it wanted, prey were easier to kill in such a state. When another ooman tried to shoot its burner, an escaped pki'tle latched onto its face. The ooman muffled and gagged before it dropped, its fate sealed as the tail and legs coiled in a tight embrace.

As fast as it happened, everything went quiet.

Dachande hissed, another round of pain in an attempt to get another look when he realized the Queen was staring down at him. Her lips curled inward, baring her teeth in pure angst and hunger for flesh. She came closer, outer jaws parted to extend the inner ones. Clear, wet, and warm saliva rained on his temple, her h'dui'se screaming clear for death. She was a beast no less, and his species their greatest enemy but he wasn't afraid despite being unable to move even a claw to fight. If it was time to meet the Black Warrior . . .

Then so be it.

But then, a rumbling noise shook the earth and sky. The Queen turned her attention to the air and that's when she and Dachande noticed an object jet blasting over the cliffs, an ooman ship by the designs other hunters have told in stories. More trouble . . . Great. He watched as she sniffed, titled her enormous crest before howling in pure joy.

Whatever flew over them, there was no doubt. She found her next prey.

Within a split second, the Queen bursted into a full sprint, heading to the location of the unknown object with her new brood incubating in the oomans. Dachande felt betrayed, the Black Warrior refused him an honorable death, not to mention the Bad Bloods had escaped from his grasp. Now he had to face a slow and unforeseen end that may or may not come soon.

Cetanu . . . Why have you forsaken me?

His vision bangs to falter, his strength fading to a point that he could no longer feel his fingers, other than being cold, his head felt like it was going to explode. His end was coming near and he knew it all too well.

*Mumbling*

Dachande suddenly heard noise, disoriented and incomprehensible. His eye opened as his mask detected a presence, shocked to see another ooman kneeling over him. No . . . He tried to hiss a warning but his throat was parched. The ooman baffled its nonsense language, reached out to his mask.

Stay away, ooman! He tried to growl again, vision almost in full darkness. Stay . . . away . . .

"Oh my God . . ."

Rodgers couldn't even begin to contemplate the scene before him, didn't even seem real, like he stepped into a murder scene for a grand movie. The rest of the crew were scared, easy to know with some of them gasping, even one almost threw up, no one can blame the reaction. When he got the distress call, this isn't what he imagined they would find.

Bodies littered the surrounding area of the crater, almost everything had been touched by the blood of the deceased, along with a few ripped limbs and guts. The stench alone was horrid, even in the open air, as the group searched for any survivors with Rodgers taking the lead.

Where's Dr. Revna? He should be—

Rodgers stopped as soon as he saw a body lying under a streak of blood decorating the cliff face. Even before reaching it, he knew right away it was the poor doctor. The damage done to him was far from any creature he'd ever seen, brutal and unmerciful. His head split open like a cracked egg with bits of flesh coming out that he figured was what remained of his brain. He had to hold a fist to his mouth not to puke his lunch from hours earlier.

"Who could have done this?" A rancher came from behind.

"Not who . . . what."

Rodgers didn't want to think about it but the words came out. Whatever did this wasn't human at all, the question being how big and how dangerous it could be. Now, he had to face cleaning the mess, worse was to inform Miriam of her husband's passing and not having an answer to what caused it.

"Hey! I found some survivors!"

Everyone gathered on the other side of the crater, a few people lying unconscious while others were barely waking up. Rodgers rushed to the first one, holding him up, "Are you alright? What happened here?"

The man blinked a few times but curled into a ball out of nowhere, trembling like a wounded animal. It surprised Rodgers, watching the survivor tug on his blonde-short hair and chatter his teeth. Geez.

"It's okay," Rodgers patted his back, "You're safe now."

The man mumbled,"No, we're not."

"What?"

"The black Devil came . . . for us. We are dead . . . all dead." He rocked back and forth, clawing at his chest, "It hurts."

"I know," Rodgers rubbed the man's shoulders, "We'll take care of you and the others. But I need to know what happened? What did you see?"

All of a sudden, the man wailed. Rodgers and everyone jumped away in shock as the guy curled in a fetal position, rocking back and forth while mumbling. His eyes were wide, absolute fear inside that struck Rodgers to the core. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

"Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know . . ."

"He could be sick."

The gossip going around the rest of the party wasn't encouraging news, Rodgers had to get this under control before all Hell broke loose and it will when they return to Prosperity Wells, "Get this and other survivors on the hover bikes and head home. Take any you can carry and we'll come back for the bodies."

Despite the reluctance, the others followed their orders, quickly gathering everyone. Rodgers watched as they took the broken man away, but that action revealed another problem. Hidden underneath where the man laid, there was a spider-like creature on its back with its skinny legs curled inward. What is that?

It appeared dead but he tapped it with his foot, sighing when it didn't twitch. Good but I don't like it one bit. I've never seen anything like this before.

"Sir! We found something!"

A group of men were standing over something near the crater, the look of worry on their faces said it all. Rodgers thought fast, grabbing a leather bag to scope the dead alien and stuff it away from sight before hurrying towards the crowd. Pushing a few men aside, he froze at the sight. Just when things can't get worse, more shit I don't need.

A humanoid creature laid on its stomach, the first they'd ever seen of his kind. Reptilian skin with dark splotches of black but lacked scales, nets covering each limb where its gear left exposed and tubes for dreadlocks. Rodgers noticed a spear not far from the fallen warrior and some kind of gun strapped on its shoulder. This guy doesn't seem peaceful if he's carrying weapons.

One of the men was already there, reaching out for its mask. Rodgers reacted when he heard a faint growl, "Don't touch it!"

Everyone scattered back, Rodgers pulled the man away before he could do it himself. As he turned around, the mysterious creature hissed in a weak attempt to give warning. A stillness in the air for a minute before the creature stopped moving.

"Is it dead?"

Rodgers answered, to whom he didn't know, "I don't think so."

Another man asked, "Do you think it was responsible for all this?"

He kneeled a few feet away as the men gossiped, noticing some green neon liquid seeping from its side where a metal piece stuck out, it's chest wheezing slightly. Barely alive. But I have a bad feeling about this.

He tilted his head to the side to get a better angle under its mask. What are you?

"What should we do?"

Rodgers stood, taking a deep breath to contain the shiver of fear inside, "Take him back with us. If he is responsible in any way, we need to keep him alive."

"Are you insane!?" A young teenager stepped forward, "We should kill it! As far as we know, it killed Keshar and our friends!"

The group erupted into cheers, calling for its execution. Rodgers, however, feared for the outcome if they chose such a path, "Enough! I have the command so shut up and do your jobs!"

He refused to glance at his men, letting the silence to rethink their decision, "George, Harold, and Dave. Get this guy strapped on a hoverbike. Now."

"Yes, sir."

The men struggled to carry the humanoid alien to the strongest bike they used for heavy loads, strapping it with rhynth leather. Rodgers paused in thought then reached for his radio, tuning it to a private channel. Checking to see if the green light was on and no one was watching, he spoke, "Sir?"

"Who is it?"

Rodgers flinched, the voice tones with frustration. He's not in a good mood.

"It's Rodgers, Sir."

"Rodgers?" There was static for a moment, "Aren't you supposed to be with Kesha in the Amazonis Planitia? If so, then you're wasting my time calling me."

"We're not. Keshar is dead."

Another pause but much thicker, unbearable on both sides as Rodgers waited for his boss to respond. After a minute, the radio came back to life, "Where are you?"

Rodgers swallowed, "At Iwa Gorge. We found litters of bodies and . . . something else. Something . . . foreign."

"And you haven't told anyone about this 'thing' you discovered?"

"Only a few members of our team know."

"Then keep it that way. We can't risk a breach in security when we're close to payday on the rhynth. Bring it back to the lab and anything else you discovered."

"Yes, sir."

"And Rodgers," There was a long pause, "You better make sure no one else knows."

The radio went dead, leaving a heavy heart in Rodgers. He knew just as well the purpose behind that warning. If the executives of the company found out, quarantine would be issued and their profits would be delayed for months if not years. Many would complain and tons of paperwork would be issued, not to mention the pressure from the higher ups. Deep down though, he knew this was wrong.

He stared down into the leather bag, still carrying the dead spider around. Bad vibes made the hair on his arms stand, stomach tightened into a knot. I know my boss told me not to but . . .

"We're ready to go!"

Rodgers jumped, hiding the bag behind him as a guy with glasses approached, "What's gotten into you?"

He didn't answer, "Charles?"

"Nothing." He waved his hand, "Let's just go home, Harold."

He walked passed, refusing to make eye contact as he headed for his hover bike, taking one last glance at the masked alien barely breathing. He shook his head, started the engine and took off in a hurry, the others following behind.

Let's just get the fuck out of here.

Tichinde chuckled, his mandibles chattering against themselves as the oomans took away the old leader and their injured kind, infected with the kainde amedha. It was a great concoction for a bloody and great Hunt, deserving of stupidity in low life creatures such as these bipedal m'rkata who thought they were superior with their burners. His fingers tingled with the pleasure to come.

"Shouldn't we go after them?" He sneered as Da'lk uncloaked, "Dachande still lives."

"No. We will wait."

"But this is our chance to—"

Tichinde backhanded him in the face, sending him to his knees, "Do not question my decision."

He glanced to see Da'lk lowered his head in submission, he puffed before staring back at the dust cloud that the oomans left behind, a path leading back to their base. The pleasure returned, imagining holding the new trophies he would soon have, roaring in victory.

"Let the wound fester. Dachande will be killed by the hulij-bpe oomans and they will ensure their own demise with the kainde amedha and the Queen. Then . . . we will have our chance."

Tichinde tapped on his gauntlet, opening communications, "Is everyone in position?"

"Yes, my Leader."

"Good. Rest until tonight for further orders."

He turned them off, staring toward the sun set over the mountains, the darkness of night creeping to take over the sky. The oomans were far from sight but the trail in the sand would be enough. It wouldn't be long until the Hunt would begin.

Soon. He chuckled, tracing his blade, imagining the blood of his fallen victims. Very soon.

Thank you all for the support! Hope to hear from you soon and the Hunt is coming soon!

Good Hunting!

Normal = Humans speaking human (ooman) language

Bold and Italics = Yautja speaking yautja language

H'dui'se = Scent

Hulij-bpe = Crazy

M'rkata= Monkey-like

Pki'tle = Facehugger

Thwei = Blood