Disclaimer: I do not own the Predator franchise. Just having a bit o' fun.
Cruelty
The servant led Tugrik through the main hall and into another corridor. There were no doors lining these walls. At the end, a doorway framed a small dining hall. In the center of the room, an immense plank of black wood lay upon stone pedestals. Crudely hewn from a long dead forest giant, its surface bore the deep gouges and stains of countless meals. There were only two chairs at the table.
At the head of the table, the massive form of I'ilkoun-de presided. He gestured for Tugrik to sit down at the other end. "I see that you have rested well. The nights on this world are long and it will be some time until the star of this world peers again over the horizon. I trust it was warm enough in your room to be comfortable."
"Yes, it was," replied Tugrik. He refrained from telling I'ilkoun-de about the female. He looked about him and noticed several overseers standing along one end of the dining hall. The eta serving them attracted his attention. The slave had his head bowed and his eyes averted as he served I'ilkoun-de in silence. His long, matted dreadlocks were undecorated. The thick unruly strands covered the major features of his face. He walked crookedly, at times limping. His arms were horribly scarred and twisted and yet they carried the bulbs of c'ntlip carefully. When the eta was close enough to Tugrik, he lifted his head, revealing his ravaged face in the flickering light. It was brief, but long enough for Tugrik to see a thin scar curving down the right side of the eta's face. The scar ended below the slave's eye and just above the area where his upper right tusk should be. Tugrik knew this eta!
Tugrik started at the sight of his brother, but quickly recovered. He did not notice I'ilkoun-de studying him.
"You disapprove?" he asked.
Tugrik was relieved to note that I'ilkoun-de misinterpreted his reaction as disapproval. "It is not my place to disapprove, but what did he do to deserve such disfigurement?" he replied.
"Thekkur is a special case. He has disobeyed and gone against my commands on more than one occasion. For punishment, I had his upper right tusk removed."
"The Black Warrior must have looked upon this one with ill will," said Tugrik as he tried to fight the conflicting emotions that were welling up within him. 'I am now in the presence of my enemy,' he secretly thought as the cold claw of realization made its way down his spine.
"It is not Cetanu who looks upon him with ill will," countered I'ilkoun-de. "Thekkur did not learn from his first punishment. A harsh overseer terrorized the others and made it his personal task of tormenting Thekkur constantly. One night, the slaves found the overseer dead of a broken neck outside their compound. There were no witnesses, but one of my servants informed me that Thekkur had been the last one seen with the overseer. Upon this evidence, four of my overseers and I confronted Thekkur. In the process of torturing him, the s'yuit-de admitted to the murder. Once again he was punished with the removal of his remaining upper tusk."
"But why not take his life or allow him to take his own life? You could have at least spared him some honor in death instead of mutilating him," said Tugrik as he stared at the bulb of c'ntlip he held in his hand, crushing it slowly. The liquid slowly leaked out and flowed languidly between his fingers. He looked up in time to see I'ilkoun-de throw a wicked look at Thekkur.
I'ilkoun-de shook his head, "You do not understand. He is my special project, a symbol of failure and my experiment. You do not know the violence of Thekkur's rage. Not long after, he killed the servant who informed on him. He tried to escape then, but we managed to capture and punish him with the removal of his two lower mandibles. As you can see, no one escapes easily from my punishments, not even a former warrior. Thekkur bears testimony to that fact. The other slaves watch him carefully because he will kill without hesitating. They have begged me to kill him, to end his misery, but I do not."
"They must hate you." Tugrik could not help but look at Thekkur,standing in the corner, seemingly oblivious to their conversation.
I'ilkoun-de flared his mandibles slightly as he hunched his shoulders. The musk of aggression filled the air. Hissing in violent anticipation, the overseers standing along the walls shifted uncomfortably.
Tugrik felt his own anger rise, but suppressed it. Now was not the time, especially with I'ilkoun-de's overseers nearby. He noticed the writhing black design on I'ilkoun-de's forehead, wondering how it came to be there.
Sensing no forthcoming challenge from Tugrik, I'ilkoun-de sat back and resumed an air of indifference. "Let them hate, so long as they fear," he hissed. "But the thing that drives Thekkur, his ultimate goal, is for me to die by his hand."
The slave, his brother, stirred at this and looked up, his eyes boring into Tugrik's own. He could not turn away from Thekkur's face. It was now a map of cruelty, drawn by I'ilkoun-de and deeply engraved by the scars of countless torturous days. The youthful brother he knew was gone forever. Slowly rising to his feet, Tugrik felt the burden of an oath long unfulfilled pressing on his shoulders. From the corner of his eye, he saw his brother leave the room with an overseer following behind.
"Have I ruined your appetite, warrior?" asked I'ilkoun-de. It was a cruel barb and it stung.
"No, I am merely retiring and the night, as you say, is very long," said Tugrik as he left the hall. Another servant waited for him in the corridor. As he made his way down the passageway, Tugrik heard his enemy laugh.