I do not own Predator vs. Alien
I do own the species of the little hunter, and her herself.
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Chapter Three
Hunter
The War was fruitful. With the knowledge that something in the forest was utterly decimating warriors, the predators did not do the human thing to do. They did not bomb the forest. They did not shriek like ninnies and run away. They did not run in guns blazing.
They did the predator thing to do. And the predator thing to do was to hear of a challenge and go out to meet it. The predator thing to do also required a hunter suitable to such a challenge. A hunter for such a challenge generally had a mind that blared loudly "ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET!" to the little hunter.
Thoroughly gorged on the carcasses of two of its trackers it slept silently on a sunbathing rock, its skin once more that luxurious tan and pale bluish mix. Like a lioness content with the hunt it sunbathed. And like a falcon, it woke at the first hint of danger.
Far in the distance. A Xenomorph. The monster, tail bared and ready, waited innocently in the highest branches. Below were several youths on their Kainde Amedha Chiva- the Xenomorph test. They were there to hunt the Xenomorphs to prove they were hunters, and to mark themselves with the acid blood. Many of them moved with silent predator grace. A few were noisy, where they were excited or irritated or simply ungraceful.
And thus, they would probably die first. The Kainde Amedha Chiva was not meant to be an easy trial. Only a hunter would survive and come home victorious.
The little Hunter's hunger was sated. It scanned the area around it for a long, long time. Then it slowly crept off its rock, slinking through the tall grass. Now it was time to sate curiosity. It reached the forest and went into a full-blown run, nimbly dodging through branches and bramble, its wings spreading a foot or so at various intervals to help it glide over a particularly hampering and elongated obstacle. In moments it was there, perched nimbly on a branch, something between a feline and an eagle- a griffon perhaps- watching the scene below it with avid interest.
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Observer
For all the fact that it was the mightiest of the skilled, in the art of the hunt, it was an extremely curious being. And now it watched the young Yautja move wearily across the ground, trying not to make sound. It's eager, and perhaps just slightly afraid, jerking movements caused twigs to snap and leaves to rustle. And aside from all that the Xenomorph could see him. It was watching him even now, lowering its body into position, its tail slowly sliding downwards.
The tail tensed, the creature ready. And just as it jerked its deadly tail forward the predator spun. His spear slammed into the side of the tail to knock it off course, his magnificent strength just overcoming the Xenomorph's overwhelming power. The tail blade grazed his shoulder armor and went askew. He turned the spear, plunging it up into the massive monster and dragging it downwards.
Acid spewed around him, just missing the clawed hands that gripped the spear. And he'd just nicked the creature's lower abdomen. The tail retracted as the creature jumped to the ground behind him, whipping its tail at him. He spun again, just countering it. With a swipe of it's wrist blades the tail was torn off, the tip falling to the ground with a thud.
This, however, turned out not to be a good idea. In most animals subtle attacks and goading weakened the animal, draining its strength slowly. In a Xenomorph, blood ran acidic. It whipped its tail, spewing acid over his facemask and chest armor. Alarmed, the predator let out a surprised barking growl, dropping his spear and ripping the helmet and armor from his body. Dropping both to the ground.
A mistake. The Xenomorph charged, pouncing on the defenseless predator and slamming him to the ground. His wrist blades sank into its sides where the acid would spew outwards and not drip on him, but this, unfortunately, had no effect. The monster's jaws parted, black lips peeling back as its shimmering teeth spread wide.
The poor young predator's eyes widened in utmost regret and self-targeted rage at the realization of what was going to happen. The inner mouth contracted and then spit forward.
It thudded hard into the creature's domed scull. No queen dominated this area. This warrior was a renegade; cut off from the rest of it's kind both by space and by communication blocks. And thus, there was no reason to call a face hugger.
The forehead cracked and puckered, florescent blood coating the predator's face and the monster's. His body tensed, paralyzed by the sudden deadly blow to the nervous system, his eyes held open wide in death.
The mouth didn't slip entirely into the skull.
The forehead cracked and puckered, acid blood coating the alien's face and the little hunter's. Its body tensed, paralyzed by the sudden deadly blow to the nervous system, its mouth still opened, tongue extended. Brutally it was torn from the carcass of the predator and thrown to the side.
The acid, like all other substances, ran quickly off the little hunter's face feathers, leaving no real indication of what its face looked like this time. It landed on the ground, looking at the dead predator, thinking and waiting. Then, slowly, like something emerging from a cave, uncertain, into the light, it crawled forward. Nimble, supple fingers gripped onto what was left of the predator's armor and it hopped nimbly onto the predator's chest, examining what was left of it's head and brain matter (the fluid of which was currently dripping on the ground from the open wound). Then, slowly, it lowered its head.
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Healer
And rather then eating the unfortunate alien, it started secreting something from its mouth, slipping into the wound. Its whole body expanded, like a dragon ready to breath fire, and then gave a powerful contraction as it spewed up a blue-green shimmering fluid into the wound in the predator's skull. The tail manipulated perfectly into position over the scull and lowered, shooting a high power volt into the creature's scull.
The Yautja gasped, shaking and twitching, it's whole body convulsing, as if in a seizure. The little hunter completed it seal of the wound almost instantaneously and then jumped from the poor predator, stepping away to observe the results, whether they be positive or negative.
After a moment the Yautja went limp, breathing weakly and clutching its forehead, feeling the slick goo that slowly converted to bone, muscle, and skin (and below that, brain). His eyes widened, whirling with astonishment and pain. And bewilderment. One could not expect a creature hit that hard in the head to not retain some cellular damage. In this case, his motor functions seemed to be rewriting what was lost and healing what was damaged. It was only his memory that was irreplaceable. And all that died of that was the battle.
He had no idea, what so ever, how he had gotten from walking in the forest to lying on the ground, coated in his own blood, with a massive wound regenerating in his skull. After a long time of recuperating and recollecting his thoughts in silence, the predator stood, walking over to the Xenomorph corpse and staring down at it. Did he do that? No, no. He shook his head. That blow in its scull was far different then what his spear could do. His spear! Where was it? His wrist blades were gone from the acid they had endured, but his spear was resistant- ah... there... He moved over to it, kneeling down and picking it up, retracting the weapon. And then he blinked, looking at ruins written in acid along the edge of the handle. They were in his language. And they read quite simply: "H'chak: Nan-ku." Mercy:Life. His eyes widened as he looked around uncertainly, trying to understand what happened.
No answers came to him. Nothing was there but the foliage, which moved gently in the wind.