I do not own Predator vs. Alien
I do own the species of the little hunter, and her herself.
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Chapter Two
The Perfect Cameleon
The Little Hunter was a perfect chameleon. As it watched the Predator below it bend down, sifting its hand across the ground and picking up small shards of bone, the hunter was, to the Predator's eyes, no more then the scenery. It is well known that the Yautja see only in infrared- they see only heat unless they were to change their masks to view a different specter. Because of this the Little Hunter also regulated her heat, mimicking its surroundings on the heat spectrum as well as the visible light.
This Yautja was intelligent. With him, he had a type of motion radar, aptly tuned to pick up even the tiniest movements around him.
Unfortunately for this Yautja, this didn't exactly help. Not only was the little hunter neither moving nor breathing, but it also passed the radar waves right through its body as easily as it passed light and heat. And again, the little hunter was invisible to all eyes.
The Yautja stood. He was intelligent, having realized that nothing but the jawbone was there, so it must have been planted. Now, after his second day of searching, his brilliantly keen eyes and trained use of his different lenses had allowed him to locate the real 'scene of the crime'. Slowly the little hunter calmed its own heart, its body going still as all motor functions ceased. Like a gargoyle having turned to stone, and like a puff of air impregnable to radar, heat, and sight all at the same time, she waited, perfectly and entirely still. The Yautja stood slowly, cocking his head to the side and listening intently. He heard nothing. Bones rattled gently from around his throat, chest, waist and hair as he moved to a tree and leapt into it, perching with ease upon the branch. Then, deftly, he pounced into another tree, making his way back toward the clan.
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The Psionic of Deed, Thought, and Heart
The little hunter watched him go silently. The creature did not want war. It was hungry, and it hunted the evil rather then the innocent animals, but it was not a creature of war. It debated over killing this Predator... but it was intrigued... He walked with a gentle respect for nature and searched with a keen, animalistic eye. Never once had he hunted a sentient species... though he was entitled to visit earth, and he might do so soon, he was a hunter of the wild by nature.
Through his mind the hunter had seen his kills. All were animals, all done without cruelty or taunting. And all that were edible he had feasted upon afterward. No, he was not one to be killed. There was still a soul locked within his pitiless shell.
So now the little hunter need only wait for the coming hunt, and the reversal in the role of predator and prey. For hunters took down Predator and prey alike. Yautja and animal alike.
But it was hungry.
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The Paladin of War
Thick gores opened in the Xenomorph's shoulders. It screamed, confused, rearing up on all four legs. As it did so 8 massive slashed opened up in its chest. It shrieked to the sky, lashing its tail madly. And then the scorpion tail slammed into the top of its head, thudding all the way into the bone, till the tip stuck out the other side. Acid coated the stinger as it ripped out of the creature's brain and let it collapse to the ground. Then, coated in the monster's acid the faint outlines of the little creature appeared, tearing at the head of the Xenomorph, engulfing it's brain matter and lapping up the acid with glee. Its face was childish and smooth, almost beautiful, it's eyes two delicate, slanted, swirling orbs. Its hair was, in truth, a mane of feathers, cascading around its shoulders and upper back. The skin of the little hunter was covered in soft, skin like feathers, the lips made of soft scales.
The lips parted, revealing fangs and knives like baleen. And with a mouth like a shark or meat grinder, it tore with a ravenous, constant pace into its food, swallow massive chunks whole. The tail flitted behind it, moving in bug-like, awkward motions. Rather then being smooth and mobile like a snake tail, ridged like a scorpion tail, delicate like a lemur tail or whip-like like an iguana tail, the little hunter's tail formed in segments. Each one of these powerful vertebrae-like segments could be folded in a 180-degree turn in any direction. For those not skilled in math, the entire segment could fold over on the segment behind it, like a Jacob's ladder. This meant that it moved in a robotic but smooth fashion, allowing the tail to twist into almost any shape or path to reach its prey.
When the acid stopped pumping from the creature's body, and what was not lapped up had lost it's potency, the little hunter gripped the Xenomorph by the tail with it's powerful jaws, yanked the creature onto it's back, and jumped up into the trees, carrying its burden effortlessly to be eaten in solitude.
The little hunter did not like Xenomorphs. They were viruses, and they killed- not like animals- but like diseases. The little hunter did not mind even its wildest dreams if the predators killed a Xenomorph with all the madness and hatred in the world.
It did, however, have a problem with them raising alien Queens