2 Bad Blood chapters

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JehdinThwei

New Member
This is chapter 4 and 5 of something I am working on. There are also honorable preds and human heroes, integrated with a love story and some very human humans. But here is a slice of what the Bad Blood looks like. Bad enough?


Chapter 4

Blood. It was the name given him by his clan back when he had a clan. In his race it was considered a good name, and one that set him apart from the others. But Blood had left his clan. In reality, the clan would say that they had banished him for deeds “unbefitting a warrior”, but Blood knew the real reason, and that it was because they were jealous. Jealous of his ability. Jealous of his drive. Jealous of his uncanny capacity to learn. Jealous of his quick movement up through the ranks of Hunters. Jealous that he was the ony Hunter who had been blooded with his first kill before he had arrived at adulthood. Who needed the Clan? He had everything he needed right here on the planet of his “banishment”. He had the freedom to hunt at will, and the freedom to also have a little fun with the humans from time to time without the elders chastising him. What did they know of the hunt, or the thrill of life? He was Blood. He was death incarnate. He was his own boss and would remain so until some lesser being got lucky and killed him, or until he grew too old to hunt any more. But that would be a long time from now.

Blood looked down on the group of 3 humans as they sat around the fire of their camp and communicated to each other in their garbled gibberish. It was too bad there were none of the females of the species here, but Blood would still make it entertaining for himself.
Blood stood on a branch high up in a tree where humans never thought to look. He missed the use of the technology that he once was able to wear as a member of the Clan, but he would make do without. He particularly missed the cloaking device that made him all but invisible even in bright daylight. How fun it was to stand practically in front of prey without them seeing him and then torture them with a quick knife wound, moving around to the back to cut them again, and again, and again, and spend the better part of the day keeping them alive while watching them writhe in pain. Or he might break their limbs and then skin them alive while they screamed. Oh how he loved the screams and the twisting of the body racked with pain while he delighted in his deeds. But…these were the very deeds the Clan did not understand, and when he left them, they took all of his gear and technology from him, leaving him to survive with nothing but his wits and physical prowess. That was just fine with Blood. He didn’t need their “stuff”. Still, he missed it.

Blood was from a race of hunters, who were born, lived, and died for the hunt. They traveled from star system to star system in their interstellar ships, finding new prey worthy of their hunt. There would be advance probes sent to planets and moons well ahead of the travelers to determine the atmospheric quality, quantity and type of living organisms, of both flora and fauna, and to determine the risk of detection by other races before a world would be chosen for a hunt. Readouts were sent from the probes back to the ships and then plans would be made for the hunt. Initially a small group of reconnaissance hunters would disembark to insure the planet or moon was exactly what the probes indicated it was. This was often just a preliminary precaution, but occasionally there were false readouts given by the probes and it was not worth it to risk the entire Clan to either detection or annihilation. These recon scouts were not to hunt, but only observe. They knew that they were not to interfere with the pureness of the hunt to come by taking a trophy before the hunt had even started.
The scouts were typically chosen from seasoned hunters who were above succumbing to the emotion to kill despite regulations or mandates. It was a strict code that the Hunters held, and the code was to keep the hunt pure and to preserve the Clan for future hunts. They would spend the equivalent of 3 days on the Clan’s home planet investigating the new hunting grounds and then take their shuttle back to the ship to report in.
The elders would then take council on who deserved this hunt, how many would go, which new-bloods or un-blooded should be allowed to go if any, and how long they should stay. If game was plentiful enough, there could be multiple hunts. In this scenario a small group would be dispatched to hunt for a time and then would return to the ship, telling stories of their deeds and accomplishments, showing off their trophies and accepting praise from their clan mates, while another group would start their own hunt. This cycle would continue until the plan laid out beforehand was complete.
Once the entire hunt was over, and any unfortunate messes were cleared up so that there was never any clan gear, deceased hunters, or technology remaining for other species to find, they would continue on their way through the galaxy, constantly receiving information from the thousands of probes sending data back in.
Hunters who had lost their lives would be given honorable mentions and a ceremony for the dead would be held while they were in between hunting worlds. There was no greater honor than to die during a hunt, as long as you hunted well and maintained honor.

Blood’s problem was that the Hunter’s view of honor was shortsighted. The Clan would never kill an unarmed being or a being who was not a danger to a hunter. Beings that were predators were always considered good hunting targets for the clan. Beings that could take up arms and kill the Clan members were considered good targets as well. Beings that grazed and had no wish to fight back were never considered, but an herbivore that would fight back with tenacity was considered an honorable kill. It all seemed unnecessarily complicated to Blood. Humans or other intelligent life that were for some reason weak or sick were never considered. The young of any species was never considered. The Clan believed that the only good hunt was one in which the Hunter could die. Only in this way was it a challenge and worthy of praise. In fact, Hunters were encouraged to make the playing field even as much as possible. Killing from a distance using a shoulder cannon was not honorable if the creature being hunted could not kill from the same distance, so a hunter might discard his cannon. Creeping up behind a prey in stealth mode and killing from behind was considered cowardice and also not worthy of honor, so a Hunter might turn off his cloaking device and approach from the front. In a race of hunters where honor was everything, Hunters did all that they could to make the tale of the hunt one in which others would be inspired to do the same on their next hunt, or do something even greater. They constantly vied to outdo each other in valor, honor, skill, and trophies. It was all about hunting the good hunt, and fighting the good fight. The closer a hunter came to dying and then overcoming the odds and winning, the greater the respect and honor.

But what did they know? They had no idea how to live and how to feel the elation that came from doing things outside of the Clan’s code of stiff and archaic ethics. They didn’t know the euphoria reached when a puny and weak being was tortured and killed simply because Blood thought they were too weak to deserve to live. They had no idea what it was like to listen to an intelligent life form female scream as he entered them and then killed them at the point of his biological expulsion. They had no idea what peace and satisfaction could fill a Hunter’s soul by watching a prey hang upside down from a rope, attempting to free themselves for hours while they slowly bled to death from a small incision made on their throat, and how joyful it was to see their ugly red blood blind them as it dripped into their eyes as stars moved through the night sky. No. They didn’t know. Nor would they ever know. They were too wrapped up in their weak ideas to know what it was like to live. But he would never need to worry about that again. He was Blood and he was free.
His only wish was that the clan had not inserted the tiny metallic tracking bug under his skin on the side of his neck. He could feel the coolness of it when the night air became chilly, or the heat of it in the noon sun. He could feel the invasiveness of it continually as a reminder of “them” and their stupid codes. He reached up and touched it, once again trying to dig his talons under it and dislodge it, but once again he felt the barbs pull on his artery and knew that to remove it was death. The simpleton bastards! He would show them.

The humans were still talking in their ugly language. It bothered Blood’s ears to listen. He would put a stop to it now, and teach them to never make such an ugly noise again. Blood cursed the Clan and dropped silently to the ground outside of the firelight of the human’s camp.


Chapter 5

Tommy was drunk. It was his choice to stow away some bottles of brandy in his pack and he was glad that he did. The night air was chilly and the fire was warm and he and his friends were drunk. It was their first night out into the wilderness and now he was sorry he did not bring more booze. The way they were drinking tonight, the brandy would not last the 5 days they planned on being out. But who cared….they had tonight.
Earlier in the evening when they came into camp they made a plan to get up early in the morning and go fishing. Yeah. That wasn’t going to happen. He would be lucky if he woke up before noon. Damn it! He forgot to bring aspirin.
“Either of you two assholes bring aspirin?”
Tommy’s friend Harold retorted “Awwww, little Tommy needs aspirin, Ha Ha Ha Ha!”
The third member of their party whose name was Larry slurred “I brought some. I’m like a fuckin’ Boyscout, always prepared”.
That made Tommy feel a bit better. At least he would not have to carry that damn pack with a headache. Hell, maybe they would just stay in this camp all five days. It was nice and they wouldn’t need to work so hard paddling, hiking, portaging, paddling, hiking, portaging, again and again and again. They had made two portages their first day and it wiped them out. That was nothing that a bit of brandy could not fix. He should have brought more.
Tommy stood up and started to dance around the fire, in mock Native American movements with a bottle in his hand. He would not know a Native dance from a Polka, but in his state he felt as if it was authentic as he stomped the ground chanting; “HiYaYaYa, HiYaYaYa” and moving around the fire in drunken rhythm. He lost his balance and almost fell into the fire, but managed to correct himself in time to make it look like just another dance step, at least to him. After a few moments of challenging his friends to join in to no avail, he fell down near the log he had been using as a chair and lay on his back staring up into the night and the trees. His mind swam but he was having fun.
“Hey, I wonder if there is a Bigfoot out here” suggested Harold.
The three of them had driven up from Arkansas and had spent plenty of time in the Mid-south forests hunting rabbit, squirrel and deer, but being in the Northwoods was new and alien to them. It was wild and unknown. They knew there were wolves and bears and who knew what else.
“No,” muttered Tommy,“We left your wife at home” and then busted up laughing at his own joke while Harold filled the night with profanity.
Tommy sat up and he felt dizzy. His head swayed a bit as he tried to focus on the fire without falling into it. He climbed back onto his log and looked across the fire at Harold and then Larry. Then his head sunk back down in a mental stupor and he closed his eyes. He attempted to keep his world from reeling without success so he opened his eyes again. That is when his world turned to hell.

Tommy was slow to react as his mind could not fathom what he witnessed. In what seemed like half of a second there was movement behind Larry and then a stick or spear came thrusting out of Larry’s throat straight towards Tommy’s face from across the fire. It was then retracted immediately and Larry fell, face forward into the fire while making gurgling and choking sounds. Harold screamed something and fell to his knees to push or pull Larry out of the fire. Tommy stood and saw what looked like a large yellow skinned human with dreadlocks and wearing a loin cloth run incredibly fast back into the woods. He sobered almost instantly as burning flesh reached his nostrils and he fell to the ground to help Harold with Larry, rolling him in the dirt and peat moss to put his clothes out that were still on fire. Once the flames were out, they rolled Larry onto his back while nauseating smoke rose from his body and clothing. Larry did not move. He did not twitch. Blood covered his body from his pierced throat. Tommy looked around frantically to see where that thing was that had done this, but saw nothing.
Harold retched at the stench of his charred friend and then spit out the words “What the **** happened?”
Tommy couldn’t answer. All he could do was shiver and shake as he remembered what he saw mere moments before and knew it was still out there. Harold had not seen it. Tommy felt like he was going to retch as well but could not take his eyes away from the surrounding tree line as his head jerked back and forth desperately searching; not wanting to see that person or thing again, but knowing it was there. Tommy then felt a hard blow to the back of his head and he sank to the ground as the firelight dimmed from his consciousness. For the briefest of moment before his world went black, he hoped that he was dead.

Tommy felt pain in his skull that made him open his eyes much sooner than he would have wanted. He saw the fire and shut his eyes again, but the throbbing pain was too much to bear in the dark. He opened his eyes again. The firelight shot daggers of pain into his head. Again he closed his eyes only to open them again. There was no relief from the jackhammer throbbing going on whether his eyes were open or closed. He tried to move and could not, yet he was standing. As he squirmed, he realized he was bound to a tree with his hands pulled behind him and around the trunk of a tree, tied together there. He looked down and noticed his feet were tied together also. He struggled hard and then harder still, pulling and twisting his limbs in an effort to free himself. The pain in his head was excruciating and now he felt sharp pain in his wrists as well and was confident that they were bleeding. He stopped moving, closed his eyes, and opened them once more to take in his surroundings.
He saw the smoldering body of Larry. Something looked strange but he couldn’t place it. Then off to the left he noticed something that made him realize what was strange about Larry. Not far from Larry’s smoking corpse was a stake coming up out of the ground, standing four feet high. Impaled on the top of that stake was Larry’s head. It looked ghoulish and unreal; like a grayish blue mannequin head from a Halloween shop, but Tommy recognized his friend’s features in that mask of death. Tommy got sick and the vomit ran down his chin onto his clothes. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!!” he cried.
He then thought about Harold. What had happened to him in this nightmare? His eyes darted around the campground and saw nothing. Maybe he escaped. Was it too much to hope that Harold was running through the wilderness right now in the dark and unknown, as a better alternative to what was happening here? He was not an overly religious man but at that moment Tommy prayed like he had never prayed before; both for himself and for Harold. Then he saw the thing.
It walked through the camp with long slow strides, so completely different than the athletic speed it exhibited earlier. It was as if it was taking a slow walk through a park, savoring the flowers and fresh air, but here it was dark, lit by a hellish flame casting macabre shadows, and there was smoke from a corpse which had been Tommy’s friend. The being strode up to Tommy and he could see this was no freakishly large human. Its skin was yellow with reddish markings on it similar to a reptilian pattern. It had mandibles on both upper and lower jaw, giving it the appearance of some crab-like monster. Its forehead was large and sloped back like a round crest at an angle, with the same type of skin coloring and patterns as the rest of its body; yellowish blending into patterned red around the perimeter of the crest. Tommy could see long dreadlock like hair falling beyond shoulder length behind the thing’s otherworldly face, but it was not hair. It appeared rubber-like and had rings around each “dread” as if it were a fashion statement. As the monster drew closer, Tommy could see that these rings were made of bone pieces, and likewise it wore a necklace of the same small bone pieces. Then it was close enough for Tommy to see its eyes and smell its breath, and Tommy involuntarily urinated. The eyes were no eyes Tommy had seen before. The sclera portion which is white on humans was a yellowish green and the iris was a darker pale green. There was a crimson red ring immediately around the black pupil giving it a blood lust appearance. Tommy felt terror as no human had ever felt terror before. His body shook and he squeezed his eyes shut, forgetting the pain in his skull.
The thing grabbed Tommy’s throat with one large black taloned hand and shoved a knife between Tommy’s teeth and into his mouth with the other. It then started twisting the knife in small circles which made minced meat of Tommy’s tongue. He felt the hot blood run out his lips and down his chin, mixing with the vomit. Tommy felt ribbons of flesh which used to be his tongue inside of his mouth, as the thing’s only intent was to keep this human from ever making any more of the ugly gibberish sounds again. The monster would let this human live to teach him a lesson, as long as it didn’t die from shock. Tommy on the other hand prayed for death.
As Tommy’s eyes started to roll back in his head he saw what looked like a slaughtered animal hanging from a tree above. It had no skin on it and was a sickly reddish black. It twitched as if it were still alive. It made no sound as it dripped blood into the ring of firelight. Tommy realized it was Harold hanging upside down .....skinned alive. Then Tommy slipped into the warm comfort of unconsciousness with thoughts of hell and damnation and pain.
 
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Estelle

New Member
Wow! My word ! o_O.. Yeah he’s bad enough alright. Down right sadistic! As much as I like preddies, I would in no way want to run across Blood. Now, he’s what you’d call a demon who make trophies of men, emphasis on DEMON.
But on a lighter note, that was a pretty good read. I enjoyed it, fast paced and interesting, kept me on the edge of my seat. Definitely would love to see more of this…
~Estelle
 

JehdinThwei

New Member
Thanks Estelle.
As bad as Blood is, the good pred is that much better to the good. :D ....I'm on chapter 9 right now.
 

Nritja

New Member
Wow, that is really good! I love how you write and it is hard not to want to read any more. I would really love to read more of this novel of yours :D
As for Blood. Yes indeed, he seems bad enough! o.o damn.... I wouldn't ever want to run in to him! And thats a strange thing for me to say, being a preddyphile and all!

Good job on this story :D and where can I read more?
 

munson

New Member
I loved the story. Great detail and I agree with Estelle that it kept you on the edge of your seat. Very well written....Blood seems like my kinda Pred! Can't wait to read the next chapters to your story.
 

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Plasmapredator

New Member
great,man. keep working on the book and definately try to get it published when you finished, i would definately want to read the whole story of this. good luck!
and yeah,blood is DEFINATELY bad enough. DEFINATELY.
 

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