Well I hope you're happy, December. I totally WASN'T comfortable, by the way. You could at least roll a brother over once in a while. Jerk.
Ah, right. Brand-spankin' new stuff!
This was hard. I'm not sure I can get away with starting a story this way, either, but I think it's an experiment that needs to happen. So, willing subject...
This is episode 4 in a series I'm calling Arbiter. Episode 1 is here. To start at Episode 4 (hey, Star Wars did), click below. Now, off you go, minion! FOR SCIENCE!
Chapter 1: Natural Selection
Blood was on the air, and the taste became thicker by the moment. It took all of his discipline - and the promise of a greater reward - to keep him from pouncing on its sources. They squabbled on the forest floor below him, ignorant of their growing audience.
Those without patience would simply join the fight; if they didn’t, the brawl would have ended by now. All of them felt the temptation to do the same, but the brighter onlookers knew it was too early. Might, skill, and most importantly: patience. The last combatant was likely to be the victor.
Besides, the Ambusher’s favorite sort of fight only lasted for an instant. His weapons were superior when used with surprise, were unwieldy once the enemy became wary of them..
So the show went on, surviving off the constant supply of intruders to replace its dying cast. A biter freed a fellow contestant of its throat, only to have its skull collapse under the blow of a smasher. Two others fell to the smasher’s might before if was mauled from behind by a pouncer. The pouncer could barely finish the job before it was skewered by a stabber.
The best time to secure a kill was when the target was distracted by something else, and nothing required focus like securing a kill on a distracted target. Each successful ambush was rewarded with another, and even when failures were punished by their would-be prey, the punishment yielded a better opportunity for a more competent attacker.
The Ambusher wiped a trail of drool from his chin; he couldn’t afford to be too entranced by the dance. That’s how it victimized all the others. The Ambusher wanted to be its master, to perform the final step. For that, he would need to keep control.
What had started the melee? The answer wouldn’t matter, but maybe such a triviality could keep his mind away from any suicidal temptations. Perhaps the instigators had fought over some dumb prey who wandered into the darkness? Was one brawler stupid enough to venture into another’s territory? Was it by some manipulation by the Miracle? As he expected, ‘why?’ was a useless question; he was sure it started when one fighter spotted an opening and a third exploited the subsequent new opening.
Blood erupted from the center of the chaos; this was a good sign! It meant a more patient - and powerful - combatant had reason to believe it was time to end the free-for-all. The Ambusher salivated again; what might this fellow taste like?
Not yet. He rhythmically shifted his weight between legs and kneaded the branch with his claws. Soon, but not yet…
It took special eyes to see anything in the Dawnless Woods, and he he had them as this sublime scene played on. This new champion was optimized for crowds, fast and sharp and potent. It clove through the horde like a blade through reeds. Pointed appendages stabbed at any aggressors trying to exploit its turned back, and the Ambusher admired its ability to use its many limbs in tandem.
With luck, this one has the makings of a winner. With luck…
Heavy footfalls heralded the arrival of a juggernaut, the thuds of its stride becoming crunches of bone and armor as it plowed into the fray. It bowled through the thinning opposition straight into the swipes of the other champion. The blades embedded into the newcomer’s armor, but only enough to lock the wielder in place. It made one feeble attempt to free itself before its armor caved under the blunt force of the new champion.
Its armor was thicker and likely enhanced with an earth affinity, but the Ambusher knew how to get through it. The angle is so good, too. It tensed its body, but restrained itself. Not yet. The Ambusher shouldn’t get complacent, even as it finished off the rest of the horde and began to feast. Not yet!
The feasting champion lashed out at a hint of movement among the corpses, successfully snatching the wormy offender. It held it in front of its face, confused by the twitching bit of tendril. Neither the feaster nor its stalker realized in time that it wasn’t severed from its host…
Someone new, half the size of its target, leaped at the distracted anchor. Its elastic tendril accelerated the flight, granting the attacker enough momentum to plunge the point on its oversized arm into and through its victims armored chest.
Now! The Ambusher began its preparation as soon as it saw the blur. It leaned back, preparing to use its special arms to slingshot into this latest opportunist.
The larger fighter groaned as it died on its attackers arm. The smaller one cackled, masking the scratch of bark above and behind him…
The Ambusher winced and froze in place as a light engulfed the his prey. He seethed in pained anger; even candlelight would hurt someone with eyes like his. This was many magnitudes worse.
The flash only lasted an instant, but his eyes needed several seconds to readjust. By that time, the spear-armed creature had fallen with a smoking hole through its head, and its killer stood alone on the field of corpses.
This was a jarring turn of events. The Ambusher had exhausted his patience, if he’d acted any faster he’d have been at this newcomer’s mercy! Plus, what was this feeling? The scent in the air, and the strange appeal to this creature’s lithe figure…
Cooked meat. Men and women. Family, order, beauty, good and evil. It had been so long since he’d given such things any thought. For some reason, this event had brought those concepts rushing back. He briefly wondered what part of this scene he was associating with those memories.
The distraction was strange, but not unpleasant. It wasn’t enough to keep his mind off his delicious task for long.
The Ambusher leaned back and pushed with his legs, stretching the elastic filament in his arms until he could see them between armor joints. He jumped to force his arms to their limit. The tendons killed his backward momentum then shot him forward, leaving the branch shuddering behind him.
The victim could scarcely whip around to face him before they collided. The long, curved blades under his arms and over his shoulder clamped around his target, cutting and crushing as the two of them bounced and rolled over the forest floor.
His body was honed to absorb this kind of impact; even his rigid blades were shaped to transfer the shock to his flexible core. His prey didn’t have any such protection. Its form was limp, broken, and bleeding in his embrace.
Their tumble finally stopped, and for several long moments his victim didn’t move. With an abrupt convulsion, it struggled to raise its head and look him in the eye. It opened its mouth and labored to exhale.
Speech. Another long-forgotten concept brought that strange nostalgia rushing back. It wants to speak. What will it say? The ambusher leaned closer so it he might better hear…
Idiot!
He snapped out of his trance and bent his neck away just before a plume of liquid fire escaped his prey’s throat. The light blinded him, but he could tell it hit his left shoulder-mounted blade with enough force and heat to pass straight through.
The blast freed his victim, but it was also dead before it hit the ground. The Ambusher staggered a few steps back and waited for his eyes to recover. He felt giddy; truly, this was a worthy prize.
Memory and meaning alike slipped away as he gorged on the dead burner. Eating was awkward while he held his severed blade in place, but he finished quickly once he’d consumed enough armor to fuse it back into place. The meal wasn’t large, but it was amongst the richest he’d ever had. This small body carried an enormous amount of substance, proof of a long life and countless victories. The Ambusher could hardly wait to see how his body would use these features in his next evolution.
Something scratched against his skull, a sound so soft that he wasn’t even sure he’d heard it. He froze; if it was real, he’d need to be careful.
Whosoever brings me the most from this collection of heads will become my newest Curator. A series of human faces cycled through his mind. One was more prominent than the others. This one is worth three of the others.
As feared, it was a message from the Miracle. Contrary to expectations, this was good news. The best possible news! Not only did he have a chance to receive a potent blessing from the Miracle, but this meant the old Curator was gone!
He tried to imagine what the corpse looked like. Had he died slow? Did they torment him, subject him to the same humiliation the Curator had inflicted on the Ambusher? He hoped the killer began to consume the old Curator while he was still alive, forced him to watch as they devoured his organs. More than that, the Ambusher wished he could have been the one to do it…
He’d tried, once. Several mutations back, when the Ambusher hadn’t known about the Curator’s ability to read thoughts, he tried to stalk the Miracle’s pet. The Ambusher found the perfect angle and took the perfect shot. He could remember everything up to the moment his blades were supposed to clamp around the Curator’s neck.
When he woke, his body was no longer his own. The Curator had changed something, altered his brain so the vessel could be controlled from a distance. After a few hours of playing with his new puppet, the Curator got bored and released him. The Ambusher fled, tried to find a place outside the Curator’s range of influence. No matter where he went, he always caught occasional glimpses of his overlord. The Curator would stroll by, pretend he didn’t notice the enmity of his slaves watching him from the darkness.
There could be no mistake, though. Whenever the Ambusher had dared to hope he went unnoticed, the Curator would cram reality back into his subject’s thoughts.
No, tool. You are mine. You always will be.
No more; he was free! Not only that, his freedom came with unprecedented opportunity!
West. My prey is South and West. The Ambusher chewed faster, shoved bigger portions of the meal into his mouth. There wasn’t much time, but he couldn’t abandon such valuable scraps.
He committed the faces to memory as he chewed, especially hers. The Ambusher didn’t know if the message was going to every denizen of the forest or a select few of the worthy ones, but he’d prove he was fittest for this duty. While he couldn’t fathom what made this human female so valuable to the Miracle, but he’d be happy to deliver her mangled skull to him.
He only hoped she’d survive until he found her.
