A/N: I did it! A new chapter is up after months of silence. I had the idea in the back of my head, but I couldn't find the words to write it out. Thankfully, my muse returned just in time to produce this chapter. Thanks to all who read this; it means a lot to me. Enjoy!
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 3
"Hey, do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"That! Can't you hear it?"
The male Hunter scoffed with a raised eyebrow at his female comrade, panicked by howling songs transported by the wind. Tonight was identical to every other night in the Coral Highlands; the sky boasted black and blues with small pockets of silver-lined clouds. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; his friend looked left and right, curling her arms around her knees in a slight panic. The man huffed. Her imagination kicked into overdrive forcing the Hunter to hear sounds that never happened. He couldn't give a lick.
A string of howls from the southernmost camp sent Kelbi and coral birds fleeing in droves. The golden tent served as ground zero to an emerging monster, twisting, convulsing, salivating. The Field Team Leader gripped his left arm, now black and hot like charcoal, scorching his skin on the outside. Richard squirmed, drooled, and growled, nails dragging into his bronze skin. His eyes watered. His hand scratched the area from a sudden itch burst. One scratch. Two scratches then three, Richard repeated the motions over and over, battling the sensations of a thousand worms writhing beneath his warped skin. He cursed, sinking his teeth into his tongue, drawing blood. Dark brown eyes locked on the opened wound, bloodied and black. He watched his skin wiggle, his veins colored back, racing up the rest of his arm.
He roared, slamming his left hand into the hot tea kettle to end the nightmare. At best, the heat offered temporary relief from the writhing and burning. His head pounded, the sensations of perhaps a hammer cracking open his skull five times over. In sheer desperation, the Field Team Leader snatched the hunting knife, driven by the need to end the nightmare. His mouth foamed, eyes red, and the silver knife poised over his tormented left arm.
"I DON'T NEED YOU!"
An explosion of crimson blood festooned his vest. Richard unleashed an animalistic cry and ground his teeth, doing his best to withstand the burning pain. He growled, contending with the madness consuming his paper-thin psyche. The Field Team Leader rocked on the stool cradling his deformed arm soaked in blood and disease. A puddle of blood seeped into his cot with little resistance, extending its bloodied tendrils to the hunting notebook. Suddenly, a crunch from outside the tent interrupted his moment. His eyes snapped to the entrance. His nose caught wind of a human.
"Sir? Is that you?"
The voice belonged to the Handler, Emily. Richard drew out the blade and gripped it tightly. With eyes peeled to the entrance, he calmed his heart, masking the pain.
"Yes, it's me. What is it?" He answered in a sturdy voice.
"I came to deliver your medicine, sir. By instruction from the head nurse as you haven't returned to Astera."
Busybody. He growled. "Leave it out there," Richard said gruffly.
"I'll put it here,"
His hawk-like gaze tailed her shadow, watching her bend over before resuming her bipedal stance.
"The Council asks when you'll be back, sir. Do you have an estimate?"
The Field Team Leader glanced at his deformed arm and back at the lingering shadow. "Two weeks. I haven't located my prey—no—the Paolumu yet. Tell the Admiral to take over during my absence. If you can't find him, locate Fay Burnsbright, your Pard, instead; she'll know where he is."
"Oh, okay," Emily said. "I'll let him know. See you around, sir."
Footsteps crunched on rock surfaces faded to silence. The wing drake squawked, transporting the woman away, leaving the Field Team Leader alone once again. Slouching over, he breathed deeply, filling his sandpaper lungs with much-needed air. He had no clue how long he'd be able to breathe like this; it was a matter of time until his body failed him. Releasing an expelled breath, Richard wiggled his fingers. He barely felt any movement from the rest of his arm despite moving his hand and wrists; nothing. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Drops of blood continued pooling before his eyes, his left puddled around the soles of his boots. Strangely, the man felt an overwhelming sense of calmness after the mad episode. Was this how it felt like when your life slipped between your fingers, knowing the heart may stop any second?
"I'm going to die, aren't I? Never thought I'd go out like this." Richard spoke in raspy tones, the back of his throat burned.
Richard opened his vest and looked down at the disgusting black veins grouped around his heart, its veins pulsing and pushing against his tanned skin. Anyone who saw him now would call him a monster. Reaching for the jagged-edged knife, the man tore a hole through the tent, catching a glimpse of the silver moon. Another wave of calmness filled his heart knowing tonight was the last night he'd ever witness its shimmering beauty. A soft breeze entered through the flap of the tent, giving momentary life to inanimate objects. Another breath escaped his lips. His eyelids were heavy with every passing second. With little time he had left, Richard took these precious moments to reminisce.
"There's the Sapphire Star."
Beaming brightly in the northeastern most point in the sky hung the Sapphire Star. Even on a cursed night such as this, She twinkled brilliantly.
"Praise be to the Sapphire Star." He whispered. "When I'm gone, please protect my grandfather. That's my final wish."
He deeply inhaled. Richard rubbed his face with his free hand, mind afloat with boundless thoughts. His eye caught sight of his leather-bound notebook soaked in crimson. Before he had fallen mad, he documented his journey as far back as he remembered: the Paolumu encounter, the bite, the transformation to the insatiable hunger for fresh meat and blood, the struggles of eating cooked food, regurgitating it, and the list went on. His eyes saddened, rereading each word and damning sentence. The man prayed his words were enough to help someone else should they fall prey to this nightmare. Releasing a grunt, he reached for the notebook.
Picking up a fallen quill, the man's trembling hand dipped the tip of the feather into a glass bottle and started recording his ongoing symptoms. With each stroke made across the paper, his mind hopscotched, unable to form words or connect them into coherent sentences. Refusing to give up, he articulated his notes into digestible bullet points coupled with scribbles. The man did his best to suppress the ongoing pain, feeling the rest of his body tremble and ache in ways words could not describe. Steeling his heart, the Field Team Leader pressed on, recording the rest of his condition and ending them with his inner thoughts.
To whoever reads this, I have passed on to the Sapphire Star. When you find my body, I ask you to cremate my body on the beach and scatter my ashes into the ocean.
I never thought I'd write something like this. I believed I'd die during a hunt but instead, my life is cut short by disease. I have lived a fulfilled life in the New World, surrounded by elite Hunters I consider my kin. Everyone has a place in my heart. You've touched me with your laughter and kindness, and I could not be more grateful. Thank you for making me smile.
To my grandfather, I pray the Sapphire Star blesses you with Her grace, healing you. I love you, grandfather. May we meet again in the next life by the rolling shores standing side by side at sunrise.
Astera.
"Has Richard returned yet?"
The head nurse paced around the room, picking up medical supplies and rearranging items to not stand out like an eyesore. Look at this place; it was a disaster! Equipment and medical supplies were strewn on tables, countertops, and goodness, even the floor wasn't spared! If she hadn't known better, the room looked like a Kushala Daora hatchling went through it. Yes, it was an exaggeration, but argh, she despised clutter! Grumbling under her breath, the head nurse made a mental note to communicate her displeasure to the medical staff. She expected the infirmary to radiate cleanliness from top to bottom without a single dust bunny on any surface. As long as she was around and in charge, for that matter, dust bunnies were out of the question. What kind of place would this be if cleanliness was not its number one priority?
The Commander's aged eyes tracked the plump woman rearranging items on tables and counters and sounded huffs or noises he couldn't mimic. Clearing his throat, Marten repeated his question. Silence. Shifting on the mattress, the man grumbled, propping himself upright. Maybe she didn't hear him. That could be it.
"Lucia, where is—"
"I heard you the first time," she snapped. "No, the Field Team Leader hasn't returned yet. He's on a personal mission doing god-knows-what."
"What?"
"What what?"
"A personal mission? That sounds unlike him." Marten's face dimmed at the news. His grandson always mentioned where he'd go in case things went south.
Lucia removed her classes and cleaned the lens with a fresh handkerchief. Returning it to her nose, she continued, "All I know is he went to the highlands to search for a Paolumu, sir. That's all I know."
Marten arched an eyebrow. "A Paolumu of all things?" He questioned before unleashing a string of violent coughs, shaking his frame to the core.
Lucia flew to his side with a glass of water and rubbed his back. "Take it easy," her voice lightened. "Think about yourself first before thinking about your grandson. He's a grown man; he can handle himself."
Downing a couple of sips of water, he pushed away from the glass. "Of course I worry, Lucia. He's all I've got here."
"I know, I know."
The woman guided the Commander back down like a newborn child, tucking him in.
"Rest now." She beamed. "When Richard returns, I'll let you know."
Hearing those words eased his heart. "Thank you, Lucia."
Three weeks later.
The Field Team Leader strolled into the Tradeyard at noon flashing his iconic smile, its glare matched the high noon sun. Greeting Hunters with hellos and friendly compliments, the man beamed with a zest for life. Walking by the Provisions Manager, Analytics Director, and Chief Engineer, the trio waved at him, welcoming him home. He was glad to be back. Straightening his back, Richard marched confidently to the Council Table with Marten at the helm. The white-haired man swiftly maneuvered around the table with outstretched arms, wrapping tightly around his grandson. The Huntsman remained cemented on his wooden stool, copper eyes flickering in delight beneath the steel helmet. Patting his grandson's arms, the Commander searched for any cuts, bruises, and bumps.
"You had me worried, young man!" Marten exclaimed as he should. For several nights the man endured terrible nightmares, ones that spoke of his death. Feeling his heart at ease, Marten continued, "Don't ever do that again!"
Richard smiled, holding onto his grandfather's frail hands. He had lost more weight; his skin almost draped over his bones. Despite his illness, Marten continued to smile and pretend he was healthy. Illness? What illness? "I promise I won't ever do it again. Astera seems to be in working order despite my absence."
"The Admiral is eager for your return; he's itching to return to his three-month-long expeditions. You know how he gets when he's in one place for too long."
"Grandfather, that shouldn't be a problem now that he's enthralled by a certain Hunter who's pretty much his work wife now. She takes care of him and keeps his mind off mundane tasks."
Marten chuckled. Draping an arm around his grandson, the Commander encouraged Richard to go on a stroll with him. Parting ways from the Council Table, the Field Team Leader listened to his grandfather's updates about Astera. It was business as usual; welcoming new Hunters, discovering Deviljho mating rituals, and flowers that bloomed under the cloak of night. Listening to the updates meant little to the man. Nodding to a vague statement, Richard fixated on the new scents his nose picked up. Looking westward, his eyes locked onto the canteen and immediately caught the smell of boiling Kulu-Ya-Ku curry bubbling in the iron-hot cauldron. A pinch of spices and herbs followed like clockwork.
Arriving at the bustling canteen, the Field Team Leader spotted the Admiral gobbling down a well-done aptonoth steak, doused with Meowscular Chef's ultra-secret sauce, garnished with greens and spices imported from the Old World. Beside him stood a half-filled goblet of ale, and seated next to the man was Fay, his assistant dubbed the "Work Wife" with her nose buried deep into the pages of a book. The blonde man hadn't noticed the Commander until he was startled by a tap on the shoulder.
"Marten! Richard! It's good to see you both!"
"Hey Drake," Richard greeted. "I heard you're dying to return to the field, aren't you?"
"How'd you guess?" Drake dabbed his mouth with a napkin. A sheepish grin bloomed. "Am I that easy to read?"
"I've known you since I was wee tall," Richard shrugged. "I know your habits inside and out, and they don't change. They never change."
The blond hollered. He was right. "My assistant and I plan to go on an expedition into the Ancient Forest. I heard stories of bioluminescent slugs appearing and hunting birds using their highly specialized harpoons. It's quite terrifying and spectacular if I do say so myself,"
"I'd categorize that as terrifying," Richard laughed, eyes drifting to his assistant, a silver-haired Huntress who the Admiral fancied but never voiced his admiration publicly.
Marten took a seat next to his friend. "Astera needs some good news, friend. When are you going to planning to ask her to marr—"
"Well, why don't you look at the time!" The Admiral cleared his throat and stood up. "Fay and I need to head out into the field now. Research doesn't write itself, you know! We'll be back in, let's say, several weeks or so, give or take. See you around."
The woman tucked the book away and excused herself from her superiors, catching up to the Admiral who magically zipped out of the canteen with lightning speed. The Commander shook his head and laughed. Some things never change, don't they?
"For a large man, he's agile as hell," Richard stated flatly. The Field Team Leader sat next to his grandfather. "You'd think he'd want to settle down by now."
"He's married to his work," Marten thanked the Palico who served him water. Quenching his thirst, he continued, "Though, it was only recently he fancied our naive Hunter, paying more attention to her than his work."
"That's because she helps him out with reports, and you know Drake, he despises reports. It's clear as day he admires her, but I'm not sure he realizes it. He's probably in denial."
Marten softened his eyes at his grandson. "What about you? Do you plan on starting a family?"
The Field Team Leader processed his grandfather's words, and without hesitation, he answered, "No, not right now at least. There's so much to do, and let's be honest; the work we do is intensive and dangerous. The idea of having a family and not returning to them at the end of the day doesn't sit well with me,"
Marten hummed in agreement. Still, he hoped Richard could settle down one day and start the next chapter of his life here. It sounded selfish of him to think of these thoughts, but realistically, time was not on his side. Kept between Lucia and a handful of nurses, his lungs were infected by an airborne disease he contracted a while back, relentlessly attacking the organ. Even the Guild's elite apothecary specialists and doctors were powerless to contain the infection, robbing him of air and replacing it with bloodied coughing fits. The tools to aid the man were simply not available. One day, he hoped to confess to Richard, hoping his grandson would be ready to take the helm and guide the Fifth Fleet into a brighter tomorrow. He certainly wouldn't be alone; the Huntsman and the Admiral would support him even after retirement.
Richard stretched. "I think I'm going to take a walk and maybe do a bit of surveying. Do you want to head back to the Council Table?"
"I think I'll stay here for a while. I'm eager to try today's specialty menu."
"Gotcha. I'll see you in a bit." Richard said warmly and gave his grandfather a loving hug.
Aptonoths raced through the thick foliage, meandering through the tight gaps and large rocks buried in the ground. The younglings were packed into the center of the moving herd, shielded by bodies of tough-skinned adults. The creatures ran as fast as they could from the approaching danger zipping in and out of the canopy. Menacing growls echoed with snapping twigs and branches. Hearts raced, pairs of feet trampled across uneven terrain, sending the animals into a survival marathon. The world was cruel and unforgiving; it cared not for those that feared being eaten alive. It was survival of the fittest, and the strong always claimed victory.
From the darkness, a body speared into an aptonoth that trailed behind. The brown beast wailed, its body crashed and skidded across jagged rocks, slicing its thick hide wide open. Legs flailed, guttural cries echoed through the forest. The herd was long gone, leaving the lone aptonoth to fend for itself. Before it could lift its head, a Giant Jawblade crashed into its spine, splitting solid vertebrae in two. A painful, heart-wrenching cry echoed through the forest until complete silence took its place. Tearing flesh out in bite-sized chunks using only tooth and claw was the Field Team Leader. Stones painted red, plants soaked in blood, Richard feasted on his prey, driven by hunger. He cared little about the mess he made; all he wanted was fresh meat and blood to quench his thirst since the day he regained life.
Wiping the blood off his face, the man leaned on the downed beast with eyes pointed skyward. Eyes red turned brown again, his hunger satiated momentarily. He breathed. Leveling his hands with his eyes, he wondered if the world was ready to accept a beast like him, a man who perished by a disease only to return to life weeks later stronger and more alive than ever. Richard didn't understand the science behind it all, but he was convinced it had to do with the virus thriving inside. Running a hand through his hair, the Field Team Leader believed this was a gift from the Sapphire Star. It had to be.
"I transcend humanity," he said aloud.
His hands twitched.
"What do I do with this power?" Richard looked into his hands for answers. "Do I keep it to myself or use it for the greater good?"
Shaking his head, what kind of question was that? Of course, he'd use his newly awakened powers for the greater good. Imagine using these powers to help the Fifth Fleet and the Guild taking down troublesome targets or misbehaving Hunters who stepped out of line. Yes, that was the most logical thing to do. Knocking his head three times on the aptonoth corpse, Richard's mind fluttered to his grandfather. A thought crossed his mind; what if, he mused. What if he used these powers to heal his grandfather from his illness?
"Could the virus heal him? I died and came back to life, so in theory, he should too, right?"
Scenarios played in his mind, encouraging him to commit to the possibility of healing his grandfather, whisking him away from death's door. Instead, he could continue to play his part as Astera's Commander for many more years to come. Yes, that's what he'd want. That's what everybody wants. Still, the thought of healing him was premature and risky at best. On the other hand, the virus could kill him, robbing Astera of their guiding light. Richard couldn't fathom the loss and the consequences to follow.
His heart vaulted into the back of his throat at voices coming westward. Snatching his weapon, the Field Team Leader scaled up the tree, eyes peeled to the rustling bushes. A petite woman followed by a tall Hunter emerged from the shadows of the trees, eyes scanning the horizon for clues. The tall Hunter walked forward, eyes dropped on the downed aptonoth. Scoutflies in his container buzzed excitedly, rattling the container. Richard observed the two circle the corpse, talking amongst themselves in whispers he heard at full volume at the top of the tree. The girl pulled out a notebook and began recording, doing quick sketches of the scene and the mutilated corpse. The other Hunter surveyed the area, heading eastward leaving his friend behind.
The girl stopped, feeling as if someone watched her. She couldn't explain it other than goosebumps dotting her skin. Shaking her head out of the clouds, she added more scribbles before darting off into the shadows of the jungle. Sniffing the air, the two Hunters wandered into another section of the forest, slightly bemused by the discovery. Jumping down, Richard resumed his feast, hands ripped through muscle and bones. For the first time in his life, he felt alive. Gobbling down tough muscles and marrow, the Field Team Leader felt stronger, powered by the death of another. With each bite taken, he grinned, eyes flashed red at the smell of copper-laced blood, satiating his hunger and ever-growing lust for life.
The nightmare in the New World begins now.