"Jurassic World: Why So Blue?"
Chapter #36
"Makings of Greatness"
Part 2 of 3
As two years went by and Muerte aged to a maturing adult, many things changed….but, according to him, not all of the right things.
It took time and persistence, but the male was eventually able to progress from his role of nest duty, and convince the pack members to let him take part in the hunts. This may have resulted from an incident in which he'd snapped at a hatchling and angered the nest mothers….but in Muerte's opinion the little whelp had it coming. They had been biting and crawling all over him since the day they could walk.
He was tired of being treated like a pincushion by sniveling brats, year after year. Besides…..the youngling lived, didn't he? He'd only bled a little bit. And he didn't get an infection from the wound down his belly.
The whelp's mother should've been grateful. If it wasn't for Muerte's own mother defending him, pardoning his aggressive actions, he would've been gutted on the spot.
Despite over the years he had developed a terrible temper, and a "greater than thou" air about himself, he was still just her frail little baby in her eyes. He was still something for her to protect….though in hindsight, maybe if she had a heavier claw on his discipline, he'd have grown up with more manners.
These aggressive incidents were becoming more frequent with him. He was bigger now; hitting a late growth spurt that nobody was expecting, reaching his brothers' heights but still the most slender of them all. This made him agile and quick. Skilled in ducking into the key spots of a hunt to dart in and make the killing blow.
Muerte's blows were full of anger and without hesitation. Kills were messy and overdone, and made his packmates uneasy. He was enjoying the freedom given to him late in life, and he had a lot to prove.
Weren't they proud of him now? Did father think as highly of him as he did his brothers?
But Father looked at him with a wariness. The three brothers still held his favor, and that made Muerte all the more angry. It made him bicker with them and pick fights, sometimes so violent that he or the brother came away with a few scars to show for it. He learned their weaknesses and loathed them for finding his.
They were supposed to let him win. They were given everything they wanted in life, why couldn't they take a step back to let him enjoy it for once?
As with most raptor packs, once the new generation of males grew to full maturity in their second or third year, it was up to them to choose what fork of life they would take. To stay with their parental pack and find a mate within the unrelated members….or venture out as a bachelor and seek to establish a pack of their own.
Muerte and his brothers had reached this stage of life. It was time to choose to stay in the pack, or to venture out as bachelors.
Finally. Neither his parents or his brothers could dictate where his place was in the world.
Of course, Muerte's choice was clear. No chance would he willingly stay in the pack, where he was the second rate brother, the hatchling biter, and the weak suitor.
He tried his hand at courtship amongst the pack's females, and ended unsuccessful. At this age Muerte had begun to feel those male desires to find himself a mate, but he was still the temperamental runt in their eyes. He tried and tried harder…..until one of the females said he'd gotten too close and too intense, and he won another scar from her rejection.
They didn't know what they were missing.
When the time came for the bachelors to leave the pack, a leader was to be chosen from their ranks. The strongest and most capable male to be in charge of them until he would split off to make his own lineage.
In most circumstances, a worthy male would be peacefully decided. Typically the raptor that already held high ranks or social standings in the pack to begin with.
This raptor was the biggest of Muerte's brothers, gentle in personality and obsessed with justice…and Muerte's biggest conflict. He wasn't going to stand for being under his big brother's control…
He wanted that title as bachelor alpha. He had waited for this his entire life…
The leadership was contested, and Muerte fought like hell. All the times of fighting his brothers seemed to pay off, and he was ruthless with his strikes as usual. The pack could only look on and hope for the best results.
When the dust cleared Muerte was declared the winner. His brother was broken, but alive, and fell in line behind the other bachelors now under new leadership. They bowed their heads to him and that was that; they bid their parents goodbye and then set off to find their place.
This feeling…..this was good…..he could get used to this.
For a good time, Muerte's rule went unquestioned. He wasn't a natural born leader; too heavy handed and not patient enough to deal with differing opinions or independently thinking pack members. But his display upon winning the title of alpha was enough to keep protest at bay.
Whilst wandering the open territories, they'd stumbled across other bachelor males like them, and opted to merge together in order to become a more powerful force.
All of them were lower than Muerte, of course. He was certain to establish his place in the pecking order as quickly as possible. A peculiarly colored albino was far too timid and no threat in his eyes; too much of an anomaly to ever be worth it. A burgundy striped raptor with sharp yellow eyes and an equally sharp attitude tried to step up to him, but eventually decided against it in a strategic retreat. All Muerte had to give him was a glazed eyed look of "I dare you".
Particularly, there was only one bold male who tried to challenge him for the alpha title.
When the young contestor made his move, Muerte caught him low in the gut with his death talon. The screams of pain were music to his ears as the muscles in his leg flicked, and he ripped straight down, right through the male's pubis region, completely ruining him to die of blood loss.
His first kill of a raptor kin…..not uncommon amongst their species, but no less impactful. For a long moment he just stood there and took it all in.
The three brothers' faces held a look of dismay after that fight. It gave him a thrill to see the fear…...realizing that he himself had put it there. He had an advantage of intimidation over them. HE was finally truly the stronger one. HE was deserving of power, and it became a lust in his mind.
Muerte wanted more…..and a plan started to develop in his slowly twisting mind.
His first official hunt leading the bachelor pack had been more successful than he could have ever hoped. After the pecking order was effectively established, the bachelor group took a sub-adult Edmontosaurus, which had been no easy feat.
He had used it as the perfect opportunity to exercise his lust for power. The perfect satisfaction to a childhood of loathing and wishing to prove his strength and cunning.
It began when Muerte purposefully handicapped the largest of his brothers, at a key point in their hunt when the prey was aggressive and unpredictable. He cut him deep in the leg, through major muscle tissue and tendon, just as the Edmontosaurus was stampeding through their group. Unable to get out of the way in time, he was trampled and stomped until dead. Brute force wasn't even required to get it done, and the pack was none the wiser as to who was truly responsible.
A necessary loss to secure Muerte's future as alpha. His big brother was always a threat and peace of mind wouldn't be had until he was out of the picture. However there was still more work to be done.
The smallest of his brothers had been a relatively easy kill. He didn't have to use plans or stampeding Edmontosaurus to do it…..just his own strength, and his death lust loved it.
His brother was on den watch that night. All he had to do was approach him, acting as family mourning the loss of a dear sibling. As they rubbed jaws, he reacted with lightning speed to clamp his teeth around the unsuspecting victim's throat, cutting off his cry before it was even uttered, ripping out his windpipe and guiding him down to the ground where he drowned in his own blood. He cooed softly to him. His heart was racing a mile a minute and his muscles were trembling in giddy excitement. His eyes gleamed with that eerie look of glee.
The death of Muerte's last remaining brother had been public, to make as an example so that he would face no opposition from the rest of the bachelors. They, who were so ignorant to the power game taking place, would watch his strength and capability and know that he was where he belonged in the ranks. He wanted to see the fear settle in their eyes just as it had in his brothers'. He wanted to see them submit to him.
So, he had taken his brother from behind when he least expected it, damaging his spine so that he couldn't put up much of a fight. It was all a game after that…...a merciless thrill.
His brother was very much alive when he ripped into him. Starting at his leg joints and arms to immobilize them, listening to the way the tissue and bones tore in his jaws, then moving onto the stomach.
The soft fleshed stomach…...so painful…..so easy to tear with his claws. It was starting to become his signature move.
His talon sunk deep, and his brother's screams were almost deafening. He opened him up from his breast bone to his pubis, painting his foot red, filling the air with putrid smells. He gave screeching snarls amidst the screaming and writhing. His yellow eyes distanced into the death lust, feeling no guilt or sorrow for what he was doing; torturing and killing his own flesh and blood.
Why?
It all ended when he pulled his brother's intestines out onto the ground, and the blood loss became too much. Right until his final breaths his brother pleaded and cried for mercy, or at least some version of it in being put down in an escape from the agony, but he refused to grant such a wish. He stood upon the twitching body after it was finally done, staring at it with heavy breaths, before lifting his head and posturing in the biggest feeling of…...pride…..
With black crest of feathers poofing and chest extended, He regarded the remaining terrified bachelors left to survive. He drank in their expressions, then…...like whimpering dogs, they began to lower to their bellies, exposing their throats and begging him for their lives.
This was what power felt like…...and he loved it.
