Part 3
Spenoeres- Hunt Planet 538
Elder Glandis’ cleansing squad is preparing to travel down to the overrun hunt planet. Nine of the Fihgi Clan’s sturdiest hunters have been chosen for the task. Three teams of three, each responsible for exterminating the dangerous black serpents within their assigned area.
N-Vorl flexes his hands in anticipation of the hunt, his first after many cycles of a season as an Apprentice Cultivator. Worry seizes N-Vorl’s mind, and he absently runs a hand over his combistick. He can only hope that his time as a cultivator has not softened his reflexes.
As if sensing N-Vorl’s inner turmoil, Hunt Leader Luusen saunters arrogantly into the weapons storage bay. His eyes immediately fall on N-Vorl. A snide smirk alters the hunt leader’s already monstrous countenance. The jagged white edges of a scar above Luusen’s right eye open like a tiny mouth trying to breathe.
“Well…Well,” Luusen exclaims in a mocking tone. “The son of the Master Cultivator…Tamer of chruksh. I never thought I’d see you on a hunt. Did procuring the elders’ elixirs become too much for you? Do you want for death?”
Behind Luusen, Curzu and Kiryzif—the other members of Luusen’s team—grunt or snicker loudly. This team is unusual, made up of three true-blood brothers. Of enormous stock and sturdy build; they dwarf even N-Vorl. This does not deter N-Vorl from speaking his mind. Only halfway turning his head to look at Luusen, N-Vorl offers the hunt leader a snide grin of his own.
“I may be a cultivator, Luusen…,” N-Vorl says in a low voice. “But by the eye of the universe….I swear an oath that you will be dead not long after the hunt begins.”
Curzu and Kiryzif glance over at Luusen with bulging eyes, only half-believing that N-Vorl would dare insult their brother—a hunt leader, no less. Luusen’s eyes narrow menacingly and he places a large hand on one hip.
“Oh…So now you are a seer? Then, why could you not foresee your father’s shameful downfall?”
Anger and wrath travels through N-Vorl like an untamed wildfire. His hand flies to his combistick without any thought of the consequences. Only Elder Glandis' booming voice stays N-Vorl’s hand.
“You will be still!”
Elder Glandis peers around the room, taking in every member of his contingent. Glandis’ green eyes linger on N-Vorl, and the combistick gripped in his hand—but not yet drawn. N-Vorl slowly, and ashamedly, removes his hand from his weapon. Every head in the room bows in deference to the approaching elder.
“We are all of the Fihgi clan. Whether we are cultivator….”
At this, Elder Glandis narrows his eyes in N-Vorl’s direction. He then turns his hawkish gaze on Hunt Leader Luusen.
“...Or hunter. The same blood runs through many of us. You will remember who the true enemy is. And it is not your hunter brethren.”
Elder Glandis sweeps the right side of his robe with a clawed hand, placing the same hand on his large hip. All seriousness is wiped from the patriarch’s face in a moment, replaced by a viral energy of excitement.
“Let the hunt begin!”
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N-Vorl storms down a darkened corridor. One of many which makes up the labyrinth of Yultimavo. Loud screeches from the deadly black serpents—the keinde amedha—fill the corridor. Though blood flows freely from several gashes along N-Vorl’s face, neck, and chest; he refuses to give in to the pain. An acid burn, made by the dripping talon of a serpent beast, showcases the symbol of his clan on N-Vorl’s left temple. The mark is only visible when the tired warrior turns his head quickly—beaded braids whipping every which way.
A serpent scrambles along the wall and launches itself at N-Vorl. His plasmacaster aims and catches the dreaded beast midflight. The creature is hurled up and back, acidic blood spraying away from N-Vorl. A second black serpent scurries up and onto a nearby pillar. The beast hisses at N-Vorl and its secondary mouth is briefly visible, the lips of the creature curling with hatred.
N-Vorl does not give the creature time to plan a move. Gripping a large blade on his hip, N-Vorl yanks it free and hurls it at the beast. As the blade spins midair, it opens to reveal two more serrated tips. N-Vorl’s aim is perfect, slicing the top of the serpent’s head clean off. The yellow network of nerves and tissues pulsates, acidic blood running down the black carapace of the beast. It screeches and lurches forward. Only to fall in a heap.
N-Vorl approaches the downed beast as if it is the most natural thing to do in the world. He kneels beside corpse and ejects his wrist blades. He severs what is left of the serpent beast’s head before sawing off the spiny tall and removing its secondary mouth. Spraying his wrist blades with another layer of neutralizing aerosol, he does the same for his trophies.
Climbing to his feet, N-Vorl attaches the dead serpent’s tail and smaller mouth to his implement belt. He cocks his head to one side and listens for the sound of talons scraping against stone or metal. All is silent, save for a few isolated screeches some distance away. No doubt dangerous fun for his fellow hunters to enjoy.
N-Vorl turns a corner and nearly trips over a large corpse sprawled across the ground. This corpse is not one of the dreaded black beasts. It is that of one of N-Vorl’s hunter brethren—Hunt Leader Luusen.
The deceased leader’s body is badly mutilated; most of the yautja’s head is gone and part of his left arm.
A large hole in Luusen’s chest indicates the point where a serpent’s spiny tail entered his bloodied torso. N-Vorl drops to a crouch and removes Luusen’s combistick from the hunt leader’s stiffened right hand. He will no longer need it.
Standing up once again, N-Vorl peers down the darkened corridor, in the direction of the loud screeches. The queen. He will deal with her next.
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Curzu and Kiryzif quietly stalk the labyrinth, plasmacasters angled and combisticks gripped in tightly clenched fists. A wound on the side of Kiryzif’s head speaks of a near miss with a serpent’s secondary mouth. Had Curzu not been there, to propel the beast backward with his netgun, Kiryzif would surely be dead.
They have seen no sign of Luusen since a much larger black beast injured the hunt leader and carried him off. If Luusen were able, he would have returned by now. He is most likely dead, or infected with the Wirik—dreaded offspring of the serpent queen. This knowledge settles coldly in the remaining brothers’ hearts, and they move forward with an abundance of caution.
Both brothers are unprepared when N-Vorl rounds the corner, combistick drawn and shoulder cannon angling. Curzu’s observant gaze falls to the second combistick attached to N-Vorl’s belt. The youngest of the brothers, Curzu gnashes his teeth and takes on a battle stance.
“Luusen’s battle stick….How did you come about it?” Curzu growls in a deep voice. “Did you lie in wait for him, while he was weakened by the serpent’s tail?”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
N-Vorl steps closer to the two brothers, causing Kiryzif to growl deep in his throat. Raising one hand, N-Vorl shakes his head in a negative fashion.
“Before we landed on this planet....I warned Luusen that he would be dead not long after the hunt began. His arrogance made him doubt my words. I only took from him what is owed me. I swore an oath by the eye of the universe. His battle stick....Now belongs to me. We can stand here arguing about it….Or we can kill the serpent mother together. Either way, we may never leave Yultimavo alive. Let us follow the words of our elder…And destroy the true enemy.”
Curzu is still angered by the idea of Luusen’s combistick hanging from N-Vorl’s belt—like a prized trophy. However, Kiryzif finds truth in N-Vorl’s words. He nods compliantly.
“Let us kill the serpent mother,” Kiryzif utters in a low voice. “Do you know where she is, N-Vorl?”
N-Vorl only smiles.
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Loud screeches echo through the queen’s antechamber as chaos breaks out near the entrance. Plasmacaster fire shears limbs off of scrambling xenos, as the four yautja warriors drop their cloaks and storm into the chamber.
Binyolsir, the largest of the warrior group, charges madly forward. The giant hunter’s body is completely covered with various pieces of shiny armored skin--taken from his serpent foes. The other yautja are also armored in black or brown carapace, the stolen skins helping to hide their presence from even the serpents’ eerie powers of sight.
Kiryzif and Curzu focus their attacks on any approaching serpents, while Binyolsir clears a path for N-Vorl. A path to the queen.
N-Vorl aids Binyolsir in his task as much as possible, firing at enemies, and taking down others with his combistick. At one point, N-Vorl rips free Luusen’s combistick from his implement belt and fights with a combination of both. Before long, only a small cluster of xenos is all that stands between N-Vorl and the cursed serpent mother.
Along Binyolsir’s body, cracks and gouges are evident in his carapace armor, where teeth and talons attempted to rip skin from bone—only to be met with the skins of their serpent brethren. Binyolsir nods to N-Vorl once, and motions for Luusen’s combistick. N-Vorl reluctantly hands it over. How can he deny one who is willing to die for him? For them all?
Gnashing his mouthparts, and flaring his mandibles, N-Vorl lets out an eardrum bursting roar. The nearby serpents screech in answer, before surging forward. N-Vorl does not wait to see what will happen. He aims his netgun at the queen’s enormous head crest and fires.
Unlike with other netguns, N-Vorl has modified his gun to also eject a grappling hook and chain. Gripping his weapon tightly, N-Vorl travels upward, propelled toward the queen by the tremendous force released. Leaving two converging serpents spitting and hissing below.
The nethook punches through the upper portion of the queen’s broad crest and she screeches loudly, tossing her head to one side. N-Vorl swings wildly, at the end of the chain, but does not let go. He expertly begins to climb, as the chain draws back in.
The queen continues to toss her head, snapping her gargantuan teeth and hissing. More than once, she attempts to angle her head in such a way that N-Vorl will fall into the side of her mouth. Each time, N-Vorl manages to escape her jaws by only a hair. Growing desperate, the queen uses her own tail to jab at him. She ends up with several bleeding wounds for her troubles. She bellows with every failed attempt.
N-Vorl seems to be in many places at once; dodging, stabbing, climbing, and strategically firing his plasmacaster—tenderizing the hard meat. Acid drips fall on his hands and legs from the queen’s bleeding wounds, but he ignores them. Their pain is nothing compared to what she will do if she catches him between her fearsome teeth.
Finally reaching a favorable spot, at the top of the queen’s head, N-Vorl plants his feet and roars loudly a second time. The queen answers him with a loud screech—a call for aid from her scurrying children below. There is no time for a rescue. N-Vorl plunges his combistick as far into the queen’s head as it can go.
The serpent mother lets out a shrill bellow and tosses her head back. N-Vorl, moving to escape a large gout of acid, nearly slips off of her head. The netchain in one hand, he uses a foot to stomp his combistick further into the queen’s ginormous cranium. Her teeth gnash and she shakes her head slowly from side to side. The secondary mouth slides out of her maul—the outer lips of her larger mouth curled in agony and disbelief. After a moment, she is still. Her large body held stationary by the vile ovipositor and clear membranes connecting her to the walls and ceiling.
N-Vorl cautiously crosses the distance from one side of her head to the other and peaks over. The noise of plasmacaster fire has lessened. Only two warriors are left standing—bleeding and fighting against the remaining horde of serpents in the antechamber. N-Vorl’s heart drops when he is unable to find Binyolsir. In a far corner, Curzu and Kiryzif continue to fire upon their foes. From his vantage point atop the queen’s head, N-Vorl attempts to even the odds.
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By the time the battle in the antechamber is finally over, the warriors’ plasmacasters are red-hot from firing. N-Vorl rips free his nethook from the queen’s crest and makes his way to the ground. A few meters away from the serpent mother’s hulking corpse, N-Vorl finds Binyolsir.
The brave warrior is still alive—barely. A severed serpent tail sticking up through his ribcage. Green blood completely covers Binyolsir’s torso. He will not have long to live.
N-Vorl drops down to a crouch and touches his hunt brother’s shoulder. Binyolsir forces his eyes to open and stares up at his childhood friend.
“You made it,” Binyolsir says between a wet cough. “You killed the serpent mother. Not bad for a cultivator’s son!”
Though N-Vorl is aware that Binyolsir is only teasing, the joke makes him recoil inside. Will he ever be rid of his father’s shame? Maybe. Maybe after word of this battle has spread. And after he takes Baileinakh as his mate. Then, the others will see.
“Yes,” N-Vorl manages to say. “She is dead.”
Binyolsir raises a hand and N-Vorl grips it firmly. Binyolsir’s body trembles and his eyes briefly flutter shut. It won’t be long now.
“Why did you not come with us, N-Vorl?” Binyolsir inquires. “Why did you not join with Elder Glandis when the clan was split? You were always one of the best fighters during training. Why did you choose to be a cultivator….When you could have been a great warrior? I know, you will be still.”
N-Vorl lowers his head and looks away. When he turns his head back, Binyolsir’s eyes are lifeless and empty. N-Vorl places the back of his hand against Binyolsir’s forehead in mourning. He glances up to find Curzu and Kiryzif staring in his direction.
Climbing to his feet, N-Vorl opens his wrist device and inputs the detonation sequence. He marches back to the queen and shoves the device into her partially opened maul. When N-Vorl takes off running, Curzu and Kiryzif are not far behind.
7 Seasons Later
Home
Upon arriving home, N-Vorl is met by a throng of excited and gaping yautja—old and young, male and female, cultivator and hunter alike. Several females eye N-Vorl favorably, one female offering him an elixir of sloso and utiy—a powerful and intoxicating drink for times of mating. N-Vorl takes any offered gifts, and offers many greetings, but his eyes search the crowd for only one face. Baileinakh. When his eyes do not find the one he seeks, N-Vorl pulls a fellow cultivator aside.
“Ghylri….Have you seen Baileinakh?”
“Last I saw, she was in the nursery,” Ghylri says. “She was performing some tests on the latest crop.”
“Thank you!” N-Vorl exclaims.
Slapping Ghylri’s right shoulder, N-Vorl rushes toward the plant nursery. He only stops when Ghylri calls to him.
“Congratulations on the hunt, N-Vorl! Now, you are a true warrior! Never forget that!”
N-Vorl nods agreeably and hurries off.
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N-Vorl rips free a sprig of chruksh and removes everything but the flower. With a wide grin, he heads for his favorite spot. The place where he and Baileinakh made known their passion—the marble bench in the heart of the nursery, beneath the gaze of his famed grandfather. Parting the leaves, his heart does a frantic leap. Standing a few yards away is Baileinakh, but she is not alone. She is in the arms of a fellow yautja—a fellow cultivator.
N-Vorl’s eyes narrow and his mouthparts work as if he is masticating the very image before him—trying to digest its meaning. He slowly begins to back away, the truth becoming clear.
Baileinakh seems to sense his presence and glances up. Baileinakh’s eyes widen and she releases her grip on her lover. She shrugs loose and races towards the retreating N-Vorl.
“N-Vorl….Wait! You don’t understand. It’s not what you think!” Baileinakh pleads uselessly.
N-Vorl keeps his voice level as he addresses her. His green eyes are another story, revealing pain deeper than any he would ever think to speak aloud.
“I understand perfectly, Baileinakh! It is not that you do not wish to be mated to a cultivator. It is that you do not wish to be mated to this cultivator. You should have told me before I went to Yultimavo. I would have remained with my uncle’s contingent. Maybe….It is not too late.”
Turning on his heels, N-Vorl practically marches away from Baileinakh. He will seek out his mother and father—before returning to Elder Glandis’ flagship.
