The Brutish Salvak slugged his smart disc back and forth between two trees with a grumbling boredom.
"Has he made contact yet?"
"No, stop asking." X'ol hisses back.
"He could have died, we should go investigate."
"You just want to fight more, you know he made it."
"Then why isn't he making contact?"
"I don't know how he works."
"You know nothing about nothing."
"He knows how to piss you off apparently, then again so does everyone, including the hard meat."
"You're delusional, still dizzy from that fall, I see," Salvak grumbles
"Go run into a tree somewhere and be quiet"
X'ol hissed and checked his com once more
—Leader brother, come in. Do you read—
—
He slammed the comm panel shut in frustration.
He continued to make his way up the mountain. Despite his tall stature, the only sound that came from him was the rattle of bones from the spinal column and skull attached to his belt.
L—dr b—r, c—- i—. D—r—d
He flipped it back open, he needed to get back to his team and report, and more importantly, he needed to rewire his damaged camouflage, he checked the statistics of the equipment through his glitchy wrist comlink screen
—All Thermochem technology— Offline
_Light Camouflage—…. Malfunctioning.
He lifted his cracked helmet and began to tinker with his readings.
The thermo camouflage was a newer technology, X'ol would know how to fix it, for now, the Yautja diverted all his working power to standard light-bending camouflage, this more than did the trick since the traitor had rendered his plasma cannon unusable, but the distribution rate seemed unstable. What else had that nuisance fried?
He groaned, even if the com was malfunctioning he would have to go up the mountain for a better chance of finding his teammates and ensuring the safety of the mothership's hard-meat hatchlings.
This was only the beginning.
He started the trek, poking at his com in annoyance.
Hopefully, after this mission, they would award him with more durable equipment.
Right now as it stands, he couldn't even detonate a self-destruct bomb if the hatchlings took over the forest.
—
When she saw Pretty Boy Patrick jog down the main trail Shana jumped out of her seat and ran to him.
"There they are!"
"You owe me money if they were sucking face." Angela trailed behind in a speedy jog.
"What the— I never made a bet!"
Patrick seemed to be startled that the ladies ran to him. It was like a horror movie
What was that Jordan Peele movie called again?
Before he could recall, the girls were both questioning him at the same time, their voices almost blending together with different words.
"Girls, one at a time please."
"Oh shut the fuck up Pat," Angela spat, looking around him briefly for signs of the girl. "What did you do to Cassandra?" Shana shouts back, sending led tipped arrows into Patrick's poor heart with her intense stare.
"What!? Nothing! I-I thought she was back here—"
"Okay, but were you two out sucking face or what?" Angela butt in before he could even finish.
Patrick almost fell back at the amount of intimidating interrogation he was getting from these two girls, both shorter than him.
"sucking face?"
Like tiny ferocious ants.
"First off," he stepped back, pleading his case. "you know Cassandra has the temperament of a black mamba, so since I'm not missing half of my face, the answer is clearly—NO."
"But would you?" Ange put her hand on her hip intuitively.
Patrick looked fucking dumbfounded.
"Nevermind that—" Shana Shot. "Where is Cassandra, and why isn't she with you?"
Patrick looked down at his sneakers, slightly scuffed from the trek down the trail.
"I…I don't know. We got separated, there was a tower that went down on route 300 and we lost each other hiking up the trails." This was partially true, sans the more obvious juicy details like him leaving her alone to fend for himself to talk to hiking girls about Fabletics.
however, he couldn't tell them that or his ass would be served saluted on a silver platter.
'Since when did Angela care about Cassandra anyways?'
Shana's legs seemed to shake a little bit. A mix between anxiety and anger. Without a word, she had side-stepped Patrick to charge uphill.
"Stop!" Patrick said, grabbing her and holding her back her legs kicking up into the air but only slightly.
"Let me go or I will bite your face off, Pat!"
"I tried to go look for her, but the camp officials wouldn't let me pass."
"Why not?" Shana screamed, throwing her arm out of his grasp.
"It's too dangerous! There could be a landslide. As soon as they find her they'll bring her back to camp." He had Shana by the shoulders now, trying to talk sense into her.
It was slightly awkward though because she was nearly taller than him.
"What if they don't find her?" Her eyes darted back with the ferocity of a wild snake.
"I...I don't know." Patrick mumbled at a loss.
"What's going on here?" Professor Aldirez crosses his arms at the young adults behind him, the older professor was making his way over as well to investigate.
They all stared at him.
"Shit…"
"Who's going to tell him that Pat lost Cassandra in a crisis?" Ange muttered
—-
He waited in silence for his comm to recalibrate itself. After many trials and errors, the camouflage hummed into succession. It was suboptimal at best, but it would keep him hidden from the enemy and oomans until he could make it to his brothers.
For now, he departed with the severed traitor's head, letting it hang from a high branch, letting the neon fluids drip from the skull and spinal column. The severed head was still rich with pheromones that could be tracked. It would also confuse his scent masking his scent with that of the dead Yautja. He eagerly anticipated the traitorous ex-clanmates would find it and learn the future of their fates.
Certain parts of Yautja carried different levels of pheromones, mostly through the torso to the lower body but even the head on the dead Yautja left a trace that could be followed. and it would be. He would use it to lure them in if he didn't find them first that is. If not, the next insect will follow its scent and be webbed up and devoured just like the last. Even the hatchlings could not resist the pheromones of a Yautja, however, both the hive and his clan would prefer them preying on Oomans. The hard meats, for a faster incubation time, and the Yautja, to avoid any unintentional gene splicing. The serpent on its own was a formidable opponent, but abominations would not be permitted to exist. Which reminded him, He needed to get his mask fixed, if a hatchling with queen serum got ahold of him for even a second it could be game over. He would be sure to be extra vigilant now until he made it to his brothers.
He would circle back for the severed skull and spinal column. The trophy could be cleaned later, as long as it sent a message to the bad bloods it would serve its purpose for now.. The highest priority now was regrouping and giving his barely-working machinery at X'ol to fix and recalibrate. Then the hunt for the two bad bloods could continue. With the juvenile hard meat in their possession, they should be able to use its DNA to track its siblings fairly easily.
He started to walk away only to pause. And turn back to it, memories replaying from their fight.
"If you were my brother, maybe I would be stronger, my loyalties would lie in a different spot." Celtac Murmured by the trees. "Then I wouldn't have to feel bad about murdering one of my den mates."
"You are not my brother, you are a coward and a traitor to your own kind. You don't belong to this clan and you do not belong to anything but your own calling to death."
"I knew that's what you would say, it's too bad I have to prove you wrong, C'Jck C'brahr."
How had he known his name? the older and more experienced Yautjas would surely know, such as his father, the elders, and clan leaders. But when it was sworn away in the blood trial and eventually lost, it was also no longer spoken. Being younger than the nameless warrior, how would he have learned his name?
He studied the facial features of the dead Yautja. Was it really possible they shared a father?
It was definitely possible, a yautja could sire endless amounts of offspring during its lifetime. His father wasn't even nearing his older years, only a few thousand years old as opposed to his blooded son's solid 173. By the looks of the head shape and the length of his dreads, the predator had estimated around 134, a blooded warrior but still very inexperienced outside of the ship training area and one of the many Blooding temples hiding beneath earth's more modern architecture.
He couldn't see a resemblance to himself or his father in the hanging head. Its skin was even slightly off from his and his father' woodsy with slow dark browns and more charred greens compared to his lighter torso and face. He was uncertain if the dead traitor's words had any merit at all, maybe he had said it for the sake of provoking him. He couldn't possibly imagine what that was supposed to insinuate in him.
Not that it mattered now, he was dead, and he had failed.
He took one more look at the green blood dripping down before taking a step back. The hum of light-bending technology slowly faded into the sounds of the forest.
Patrick stood, nervously dumbfounded between the sea of Angela, Shana, and The two professors. They were all grilling him from each side, making him the point of a small triangular aquarium.
"Where is she, Patrick?" The Professor narrowed his eyes as his student still lacked an important Answer.
His lip almost visibly quivered as he was now on the defense between getting a zero on a very important grade and getting his ass whooped by She-Ra incarnate. Shana was in the corner. seething.
"I swear to god she was right behind me, sir. Then I turned around and these men in black were there and w-were all like "are you winning son?" And I couldn't even say anything and they wouldn't let me double back for her."
"And do you expect me to believe that, 'son'?" The older professor shot, hand on his hip as he stood beside his younger student-teacher assistant, who pinched his tanned brow in frustration. Trysander broke from the triangle formation to step forward to his student, he grimaced, licking his teeth under closed lips, trying to refrain from strangling a straight-A student.
Although he hated to admit it, that little twerp Cassandra has chalked up to be one of his favorite students, she seemed to be the only few in the class, along with Shana and Angelica, and the red-headed one, -what was her name? Bridget?-, who cared about their art, craved it and nurtured it. that took him back to the days of studying the gods of the renaissance, Bernini, Da Vinci, Van Gough, and Brunelleschi. Each one of them shined in its own way and seemed to reflect their art like tortured starving artists.
"And now she's alone while all communication towers are down to fend for herself in an unfamiliar area all because you wanted to hike all the way to the ass-middle of nowhere for a flower? When did you have time to work on your project if you lost Cassandra on the way there? What have you been spending your hours on since we arrived at the camp?" chimed back in, dusting the fresh charcoal dust off his 'Raise the Steaks' grilling apron. He had been prepping the grills for dinner tonight.
"I really am sorry, , Professor Trysander. The hike is straight up, I agree it's taxing but it was worth it for the potential art journey, Cassandra didn't seem to have a problem with it, hell, she was one step ahead of me the whole time— that's how we got separated."
Patrick knew what he said was far from the actual truth, but the last thing he needed was another teacher mad at him. It was bad enough knew that he had a low attention span when it came to certain things, especially quality sports leggings like the two girls, Marina and Kim, were sporting very valiantly. He wasn't a pig though, all they talked about was camping and then Fabletics, the girls' skiing hobbies in the winter months. However, he did get Kim's number and Snapchat so she could show him the tutorial on how she perfected the frost-tip dyed look.
—which they could never find out, or it will be Smoked Patrick that will be dusting off his corny apron next.
After a long moment, Professor Trysander sighed and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, I know it's not entirely your fault. I will head over to camp security and see what can be done about tracking her down, until then no one is to go up the trails. , I leave you in charge."
"Are you sure? I could go, you're not getting any younger, Alexander."
"It's me or we all eat burnt hot dogs and hamburgers. You don't want to see me raise the steaks, Enrique."
"Right," said in defeat. "You're the sandwich guy."
"I'll be quick," the older professor nodded. "I'll be back before dinner starts."
—
Angela had stood patiently over Shana, who was sitting at the camp eating area with a blank stare on her face. Sitting at the dark wooden picnic table, hands in her lap.
The camp 'dining area' consisted of three grills spread out and a few dining tables— like the one in which she sat, straddling the bench.
According to Patrick, other camps had bigger dinner areas, the one he stayed at previously even had a pavilion. The art kids were eating under the stars. But hey, it could be worse. Some campsites didn't even have cabins or a working shower.
Hopefully, rain wasn't in the forecast
Even though Angela's ginormous boobs were well in frame of Shana's peripheral vision, (hell, they took up half of her view of the entire camp) she remained silent, Wishing that she had been Cassandra's partner instead of Patrick who had snuck off to his cabin to hurriedly sketch a project up so he wouldn't lose points.
"Shannon," Angela called.
Ugh. Shannon.
She hated when people called her that. Granted, it was her name, but it felt too… personal and intimate. Only her mom could say it and not send mucus to rise in her throat like a sinus infection. She can't remember when she first felt estranged by it from others, it's been the case ever since at least her teens.
"Shana is fine." She corrected her politely. Shana was easy on the tongue and friendly. Not as personal as her full name.
Angela's humongous bosom didn't appear to move much from where it was 2 seconds ago.
"Shana," Angela said with a sour note.
Why correct her on something that was already correct? It annoyed her slightly but not as much as the Sulking tall blonde refusing to look up at her. It's not her fault Patrick was off chasing tail and ditched her quirky friend.
She didn't immediately notice that Shana was now looking up at her.
"Yes?"
She was caught off guard for a moment. She never realized that Shana had hazel eyes. she had thought that they had been ocean blue like a Barbie doll, a 6-foot-tall all-inclusive athlete-themed Barbie doll. But no, they were green. She quickly realigned herself and sighed.
"Steph, Lisa, and I were thinking about going to hike down to the security station with , there's a shop down there too, we were going to check it out. Did you want to come too? We might be able to figure out if she's been picked up by camp security."
Shana had a blank look on her face.
Angela? Being nice?
not that she was any Regina George but she definitely had her mean-girl moments.
She must have felt really bad for Cassandra.
Was she secretly a holy semi-feminist too?
Is that why she dangled Christian buyers by a thread right above her huge 'bazingas?'
Shana's B cups paled in comparison.
What even was that, an F!?
Maybe that's why Christian was so clingy with Angela. If that was the competition that was secretly being held she had lost by a long shot.
but Buyers could wait.
Cassandra she would never have to complete for.
The crabby Victoria Secret's girl, who liked anime and drawing cat girls in her free time. The self-proclaimed Hero of Women's Rights. her friend, her real friend.
"I'm going to stay here in case she comes down, but if you don't mind could you show me the way down tomorrow? I'll buy you something in exchange."
Shana knew Cass needed gear. Something that wasn't a bright color that would get demolished in the wilderness. She couldn't leave this camp until she knew she was alright.
This seemed to appease Angela her interest piqued, "Alright, deal, but you better have your wallet ready." With that, she had fled to her possie of beautiful girls, who happened to be laughing around as he set up the grills for dinner. Once Ange had waved the girls over they all got up and walked over to Trysander, who was waiting for them.
She watched them with their phones in hand, starting the trek down to security behind the older professor, his face was tired and worried. Surely this could be the last field trip the Rising Arts Club ever took if things ended badly. Or worse, a lawsuit would be in tow.
It didn't dawn on her that some of the students were heading down not only to shop but to have access to signal once again.
She pulled her own phone from her art bag and stared down at it.
One bar could be seen on the top of the screen, but it was a trick, a scam even by her service provider. She already knew the internet was completely unavailable out here. At least, in the majority of the campsite and hiking trails.
As soon as they disappeared down the trails Shana stood off the bench and slipped out of sight past the Cabins and into the trails leading up to route 300. Once out of sight, she started into a run.
"Hang in there C, I'm coming!"
—
The drawing was only the beginning, she brushed the charcoal petals briskly to give them more definition and shape, erasing the uneven edges to resculpt the faltering petals. This was why she became an artist. When Cassandra drew, painted, and sketched. She was not snippy or spiteful, even when it came to best-friend-stealing, Yummy-Boi Buyers. She was just Cassandra Faust the artist; focused, quiet, and relaxed.
Smoky gray fingers from rubbing the canvas and from occasionally leaving her palms in it too long by accident, causing her to have to double back and retouch the area she smudged.
Vine charcoal was so calming, so forgiving. You mess up, you wipe away the mistake with the swipe of the index finger. And could be stripped fairly easily with her kneaded eraser.
This was true zen.
She looked back over to where she propped the flower up and paused for a brief moment to admire the grass behind the flower and her bag which had laid flat on its side onto the grass and dirt by her hips. Entranced by the way the light bled through the shade of the trees casting imprints and expressions of the shadow of leaves above through pools of light that spilled on the bags and the grass. then she turned her attention in front of her with the sparkling blue dirt-stained slides glowing in yet another splash of light. This particular ray bounced off the blue sandal's sequins releasing small blue crystals of light onto her equally dirty socks— which didn't glow or sparkle but still draped over the grass in a fun and intriguing way. paired with the blue diamonds it created and light dancing when a light breeze would come. It made the scene a new composition entirely. She had to take a photo. The sandals and socks in the grass and the flower-in-the-grass composition as more light poured into the once-shaded areas. Maybe to humor herself, she would draw the socks and sandals combination too after her plant assignment drawing was complete.
It was clear to see how fast the hike up had deteriorated the sandal's sole
She made a mental note to visit the campsite store before the trip was over so that she wouldn't find it completely insufferable to trek up here again.
That's right. She did it this time and she would determinedly do it again. If it meant beating Patrick at his own game, enjoying the sounds of the waterfall so up close and the warmth of the sun, and the peace and quiet of serene lighting and environment.
to show Patrick and anyone else who dared to mock her that she was in fact a real artist alone, she would make the club over a thousand times. This was like an extravagant bonus.
She was zoned out now in complete silence, aside from the sounds of the waterfall and the forest.
She had switched out her soft vine charcoal with the harder, sharper, and darker set of charcoal pencils. Adding contrast, more darkness than the vine charcoal could allow. Giving the piece the depth It needed to really pop from the page and create the faint casted shadow from the grass and flower that was doubled in size on her canvas.
It wasn't until she noticed out of the faintest change in tones, a light spot that wasn't created from autumn sunlight seeping in from the trees. She paused and readjusted to the changes in lighting, maybe it was due to a passing in time if this was the case she will have to resort to using the picture she took on her phone as a reference.
But there was a sudden glint in the shadows of the grass and darkness where the sun was supposed to be.
Not only that, but the glint was coming from multiple places across the small range that she had set for her canvas.
Something was there.
'Maybe', her rational mind convoluted, 'I'm just tired from the hike and dehydrated.' she slowly looked down at her sketchbook, realigned to it, and scribbled the charcoal against already shaded spots to get her mind back on track.
'I'm so tired and dehydrated that I'm hallucinating,'
yeah. That sounds about right. her mind relaxed and she began to almost get back in the zone.
That was when she heard a snap.
And In the corner of her eyes, she saw a slow correction of someone's foot causing definitive compression of her left sock and a slight flicker of color.
She held her breath.
She wasn't alone.
—
Katalik flared his mandibles in a blood-curdling scream. It was not of agony for his fallen teammate, but anger and hatred.
I knew you were too weak, you failure! You fool!
He spat at the limp body underneath neon blood-stained grass. His fist clenched and his body tense shaking with anger. If he had no honor left in him he would kick the soul back into the dead juvenile to knock it out of him once more.
The other Yautja growled lowly and Katalic whipped his dreads around to stare at the older, fellow traitor.
DaTaln had leaned against a branch, one of the few that hadn't been obliterated in the crossfire, -one of two great oaks had held the two of the hatchlings in a sling over his shoulder, behind him came two human men in black suits, carrying the other two hatchlings.
"The doctor will want that one." The man tilted his head at the limp body.
"The puny nothing is dead," Katalik spoke back in English.
"Even so." The man continues. "He wants it. He has held up his end of the bargain so far."
Katalik seethed. But DaTaln held up a claw to his protesting brother.
"Bring him," he said, his English tone slightly off from his mother tongue. he sounded whispy and low as opposed to the deeper growls of his own language.
Katalik hissed but dared not protest the older, more experienced male. He grabbed the dead thing by its foot and dragged it along the earth as they continued to the lab.
…
"I'd like to kill them" the Yautja traitor hissed at his older teammate. They stood in front of the lab's entrance. He dropped the dead body in front of the door and stared up at his leader.
DaTaln nodded briefly and extended a hand to the forest.
"Go." He said. "But leave them alive for the doctor."
"Alive?" Katalic spat "I want to KILL them" he reiterated
"The doctor needs them alive, do what you want, just return them to the lab with a pulse"
The younger Yautja shook his dreads and growled, turning and stalking away angrily.
DaTaln watched, amused before the doors opened and he disappeared underground. The two men in black were joined by two more men to help them carry Qeltac's deceased body.
'Don't die, brother.' He mused to himself
—-
(update: 3/18/23 - Author revised chapter to make more sense. and fixed a few typos - you would think Grammarly would wave a red flag as hard as it tried to correct me on the use of 'Rain," but no. it let me cook.-this chapter is more or so a romantic collaboration with the present Author-chan and the past 2021 Author-chan. chapter 9 will be continued from where it was left off being written in 2021, the next few chapters after that will be completely new and original to this year. some chapters will be getting newer revisions and have some parts rewritten or updated. if a chapter has been updated in anyway-especially the first few chapters, an authors note will be found below the chapter describing said change.) (this story itself still takes place in 2018.)