Predator is owned by Twentieth Century Fox.
Discworld is owned by Terry Pratchett.
PREDATOR/DISCWORLD
Watch the Hunt
By: Mozphoto
Chapter 5
It had not been a good couple of days.
The dessicated remains of Dragon King of Arms had been found by one of his assistants. Except for the skull.
At that point, both Vimes and Vetinari were in full agreement and the entire Watch suffered for it. Everyone was brought on duty. All leaves and holidays of any kind were cancelled. Patrols marched through the streets of Ankh-Morpork with such frequency, many thought martial law had been declared.
Angua came down the stairs of the Watch house as she buckled here sword belt. She had just returned from trying to follow the strange scent that had been left behind at the crime scene. She'd thought she was on the right track until she reached Gerhard Sock's slaughterhouse. The smell of freshly spilled blood and raw meat was too overpowering.
She sat down at her desk and began to write her report.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
Angua looked up from her writing to see if a cat had wandered in to the Watch house.
But she couldn't see one.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
She couldn't smell one, either.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
Then she remembered, she'd never heard a cat purr before in her whole life.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
Because.
Cats.
Hate.
Werewolves.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
Her chair shot across the room and out the door, nearly decapitating Nobby as he entered, as she lunged over her desk into the middle of the room.
She forced the transformation to come about faster than ever before.
She couldn't see it, but she could smell it. A mixture of blood and – something she'd never smelled before.
Watchmen piled into the building at Nobby's cry of alarm, weapons drawn. They were all very loyal to Vimes and every one of them wanted a shot at whoever it was that was stalking their commander.
Vimes and Carrot were just exiting the Patrician's palace when they saw the clacks signal: "Officer in danger, Pseudopolis Yard." Without a word they both broke into a run, watchmen joining up behind them as they went.
By the time they reached the watch-house, it looked like a war-zone. Swords drawn, Commander and Captain picked their way through the bodies. Most were dead a few were unconscious.
When they passed through the shattered doorway, the sight that greeted them chilled them both to the bone. The main room was splattered with blood. There were bits of Constable Shoe everywhere. His head was altogether another matter, but we'll get to that in a moment, because there was something else in the room and it was fighting Sergeant Angua.
Whatever it was, it was humanoid in shape, but that's where any resemblance to any of the multitude of species indigenous to the Disc stopped. It was easily ten feet tall, its skin a sickly pale green. Its musculature was even more impressive than Carrot's (Not that anyone was in the mood to make such comments at the time anyway.) and could be easily seen through the thin netting that covered its entire body and a few pieces of armour. It seemed to have braided its hair into several, long, black tendrils. But the worst part was the helmet. It bore a passing resemblance to a Tsortian burial mask, in that it was angular and totally void of expression, and was very skull-like in shape.
As it tried to skewer Angua on a type of pike, it was also shaking its left leg, in an attempt to dislodge Constable Shoe's head. It appeared that Reg had been decapitated while biting the monster's leg and was still holding on for dear after-life while grunting muffled obceneties at it ("Come on, you ugly mother-fucker! I'll bite your bloody knee-caps off, I will!" for example.).
Both Angua and the monster were bleeding profusely. The Sergeant's deep, red blood mixing with the creature's glowing, green in puddles all over the watch-house floor (Mrs. Cake probably would've been pleased with the colour scheme since red and green make brown.).
Angua lunged at the hunter, fangs bared, but was intercepted by a back- handed fist that connected with such a sickening crunch that left no doubt that the werewolf's neck was broken. Her body landed on the floor, limp and lifeless, at Carrot's feet.
Carrot drew his sword. "Mr. Vimes sir, get the men out of here." Without checking to see if his Vimes even heard him, Carrot strode into the room and squared of against the monster.
Discworld is owned by Terry Pratchett.
PREDATOR/DISCWORLD
Watch the Hunt
By: Mozphoto
Chapter 5
It had not been a good couple of days.
The dessicated remains of Dragon King of Arms had been found by one of his assistants. Except for the skull.
At that point, both Vimes and Vetinari were in full agreement and the entire Watch suffered for it. Everyone was brought on duty. All leaves and holidays of any kind were cancelled. Patrols marched through the streets of Ankh-Morpork with such frequency, many thought martial law had been declared.
Angua came down the stairs of the Watch house as she buckled here sword belt. She had just returned from trying to follow the strange scent that had been left behind at the crime scene. She'd thought she was on the right track until she reached Gerhard Sock's slaughterhouse. The smell of freshly spilled blood and raw meat was too overpowering.
She sat down at her desk and began to write her report.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
Angua looked up from her writing to see if a cat had wandered in to the Watch house.
But she couldn't see one.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
She couldn't smell one, either.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
Then she remembered, she'd never heard a cat purr before in her whole life.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
Because.
Cats.
Hate.
Werewolves.
PuRrRrRrRrRr
Her chair shot across the room and out the door, nearly decapitating Nobby as he entered, as she lunged over her desk into the middle of the room.
She forced the transformation to come about faster than ever before.
She couldn't see it, but she could smell it. A mixture of blood and – something she'd never smelled before.
Watchmen piled into the building at Nobby's cry of alarm, weapons drawn. They were all very loyal to Vimes and every one of them wanted a shot at whoever it was that was stalking their commander.
Vimes and Carrot were just exiting the Patrician's palace when they saw the clacks signal: "Officer in danger, Pseudopolis Yard." Without a word they both broke into a run, watchmen joining up behind them as they went.
By the time they reached the watch-house, it looked like a war-zone. Swords drawn, Commander and Captain picked their way through the bodies. Most were dead a few were unconscious.
When they passed through the shattered doorway, the sight that greeted them chilled them both to the bone. The main room was splattered with blood. There were bits of Constable Shoe everywhere. His head was altogether another matter, but we'll get to that in a moment, because there was something else in the room and it was fighting Sergeant Angua.
Whatever it was, it was humanoid in shape, but that's where any resemblance to any of the multitude of species indigenous to the Disc stopped. It was easily ten feet tall, its skin a sickly pale green. Its musculature was even more impressive than Carrot's (Not that anyone was in the mood to make such comments at the time anyway.) and could be easily seen through the thin netting that covered its entire body and a few pieces of armour. It seemed to have braided its hair into several, long, black tendrils. But the worst part was the helmet. It bore a passing resemblance to a Tsortian burial mask, in that it was angular and totally void of expression, and was very skull-like in shape.
As it tried to skewer Angua on a type of pike, it was also shaking its left leg, in an attempt to dislodge Constable Shoe's head. It appeared that Reg had been decapitated while biting the monster's leg and was still holding on for dear after-life while grunting muffled obceneties at it ("Come on, you ugly mother-fucker! I'll bite your bloody knee-caps off, I will!" for example.).
Both Angua and the monster were bleeding profusely. The Sergeant's deep, red blood mixing with the creature's glowing, green in puddles all over the watch-house floor (Mrs. Cake probably would've been pleased with the colour scheme since red and green make brown.).
Angua lunged at the hunter, fangs bared, but was intercepted by a back- handed fist that connected with such a sickening crunch that left no doubt that the werewolf's neck was broken. Her body landed on the floor, limp and lifeless, at Carrot's feet.
Carrot drew his sword. "Mr. Vimes sir, get the men out of here." Without checking to see if his Vimes even heard him, Carrot strode into the room and squared of against the monster.