It tended to its wounds at a spring, putting some water on a myriad of cuts and gouges across its angry red flesh. The Conqueror let out a low growl as the cold water chilled the throbbing wounds. It did not understand why its wounds would not heal even after two days. Even with its instant regeneration and antibodies that adapted to any poison or illness, its wounds would not patch. Minor wounds, yes, but wounds nonetheless.

The other humans had jabbed at it with their puny tools but could not break through its armored skin. It was when that man came that it sustained these wounds.

The man it ate.

The Conqueror smiled, baring its curved teeth pointed like daggers. As an apex predator, it understood the human's strength, and as a sign of respect, ate him. That was the greatest gift it could grant: a chance for a life-form on this planet to enter the greater organic sea of the Hive. An astounding privilege that a lowlife drone or grub on its home planet could not ever consider.

Only the strong were worthy.

With that man's organic data inside it, the Conqueror had learned. It gained the humans' speech, a semblance of their forms, and some understanding of how their minds worked. From what it found, it felt disappointed.

These 'humans' were weak. They did not have claws, tough skin, or strong muscles. They, like the tinkering races of its home solar system, relied on tools to make up for their biological imperfections. The Conquerer knew from the memories the Hivemother had imparted to him that the tinkerers could be formidable enemies. They had guns that fired scorching beams and ships that did not rely on wings to fly.

However, the tools he saw on that battlefield two days ago were pitiful.

Wooden sticks with pointy metal ends. Sharp bits of steel they waved around with clumsy swings.

But that man's weapon was different. It looked like another little piece of pointy steel, but when it hit the Conqueror's hardened carapace, it sliced through, managing to nick the flesh underneath. It was at that moment that the Conqueror decided to consume the man, for he had proven worthy.

"Hayke," said the Conqueror, testing out its new human vocal cords. That was what that man had called himself. It would remember that name.

The Conqueror closed its eyes and began calling for its Hivemother. It relished this connection, this mental thread that connected it to its mother even light years away. It would report to her that this planet had a few promising samples, but that it would need further time to assess whether a full-scale invasion was in order.

"Do you pride yourself in eating our captain, monster?"

The Conqueror swiveled its head around, lips curled back to reveal multiple rows of teeth. Some sharp like blades, others hooked, others barbed. One bite from that jaw capable of shredding spaceship hulls would render any limb unusable.

Tarkus trudged forwards with heavy steps, his plate-armor clunking as he walked. He stopped when he found himself about twenty meters from the monster. His eyes scanned the creature through the slit in his cast-iron helmet.

About three and a half meters tall. Humanoid proportions with two arms, two legs, and a head.

However, this wouldn't be like fighting a large humanoid like a troll or ogre. The creature was noticeably larger and had bladed weapons.

Claws on its fingers that curved like scythes. Spikes protruding from its elbows and joints. Thick, plated carapace, red like blood, that outlined its sizable musculature, and yet its figure remained lithe.

A perfect mix of raw strength and agility.

Its face stared at him, its four slit-pupil eyes emitting a yellow glimmer that reminded him of gold. Horns protruded from its skull, but unlike the curled horns of a demon, they were shaped for warfare – one set of horns curving around the head as a helmet and battering ram and another curving down, guarding the chin and face while doubling as mandibles.

Tarkus shivered under his armor. His instincts, his very cells, understood that he was looking at the pinnacle of biological performance.

A predator unmatched in any environment – and he was challenging it.

Even so, he stood his ground. As a member of the Knightsguard, he had sworn to defend the honor of his Order, and avenging Hayke was first in his mind. The other Knightsguard did not follow him, too afraid of facing down the living incarnation of misery they saw on the battlefield.

But Tarkus had something they didn't: faith.

Faith in the Greatfather, the god of light, warmth, and all that is good in this world. As a paladin, he had grown to trust the Greatfather's light no matter what he faced down. Whether he stared at an army, a demon, or a dragon, he could stand firm knowing the Greatfather blessed him with divine protection. And so he had the will to don his armor, all blackened by the fires of a drake whom he slew single-handedly many years ago, and grab his sword and greatshield. In the two days it took for him to hunt this monster down, he did not once hesitate or think about turning back.

"Greatfather, give me strength." Tarkus bowed his head for a second. He entered into stance, his greaves tearing up the grass beneath him. "Face me, monster! For my captain's honor, for the honor of the Knightsguard, I will cut you down!"

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The Conqueror grunted and roused itself, baring its claws and fangs. It felt an irresistible urge to fight, to never back down from a challenge. Where it came from, it did not know, but the emotions that welled up inside it, a deep, burning sensation in its chest, felt good to go with.

"Very well," it said. "I hope you will be another worthy meal."

The Conqueror's body went rigid, its leg muscles expanding with explosive force. It's clawed feet dug into the earth and its fingers splayed, each bladed nail glinting under the sunlight.

Tarkus felt cold droplets of sweat rise up on his neck and forehead. His breathing quickened. He would not survive this charge. Not with his own strength.

With a grunt, he slammed his broadsword down. It looked like a black cross, the way its blackened blade and crossguard oriented themselves. He knelt down, and in his peripheral vision, he noticed the monster observed him, thin folds of pale flesh glazing over its four eyes as it blinked.

All the better for him. He would show this creature that granting him time to call upon the Greatfather was no light mistake.

"Greatfather, bless me with your divine protection!"

Sunlight beamed down from above, wreathing Tarkus in a bright mandola. A golden bubble arose from the ground, surrounding him in a shining capsule of divine light.

The Conqueror put power into its legs, driving up two great sprays of dirt as it ejected forwards. Tarkus did not even have time to blink before the Conqueror had clawed across the shining bubble. Its claws skidded across the smooth surface, scratching up great showers of sparks that pattered on the grass. The bubble shattered like glass, its crystalline shards fading in the wind.

Cocking its head, the Conqueror glanced at its claws. They were still sharp, still bared, still capable. Though it had pulled its punches, it still did not expect this flimsy barrier to stop it, if even for one blow.

It searched its implanted memories. Though it did not have many waking hours to its name, it could sift through a veritable ocean of memories. The collective knowledge that its species shared, letting it learn from all the battles and struggles its race had toiled through from its inception. A knowledge base that the Hivemother granted with to only her most trusted children.

"Forcefield?" it grunted, finding the best possible explanation for this barrier. "Where is your generator?"

The human clad in black did not respond. Instead, he took his sword from the earth and pointed it at the Conqueror.

"Greater blind!" the human bellowed.

The Conqueror stepped back, bright light sapping vision in all of its eyes. It clicked its claws and listened, tracing the echoes of sound, nodding when they came back after they bounced off the human. The human was close, its arms reared back and gripping its pointed metal stick for a swing. The Conqueror stuck itself on the ground, its very muscles deflating as it turned almost flat. Black metal whistled above it.

Grinning, the Conqueror pushed out its arm, making sure to ball its fists so that its claws would not skewer the man.

Tarkus felt an impact crush into his breastplate, caving it in with a heavy thud. He soared several meters back, landing on his back, trying to jam in pained breaths through several broken ribs.

The Conqueror did not understand how it had became blind.

It searched its memories again.

"A flashbang?" The Conqueror's sight came back. It looked down at the human, hearing the faint differences in frequency in his breathing that told of internal injuries. "But where was your grenade?"

"Greater heal," wheezed Tarkus. A gentle light enveloped him, painting his black armor with splotches of shining white.

He stood back up, sticking his broadsword into the ground and leaning on it a little.

The Conqueror clicked its mandible horns. "Your species can regenerate? Strange. I have consumed one of your kind, but I find no genetic code for restoration."

"I know not what you speak of, monster," said Tarkus. "But we are not like you beasts. We are greater, better. We gain strength from our hearts and from the gods."

The hearts and the gods? The Conqueror did not know what a 'god' was. Perhaps the heart led to it? Then it would tear this human's heart out for inspection.

The Conqueror reached towards the human's chest.

"God Force!" shouted the human.

A sudden burst of force blew the Conqueror back, making it cover its face with its arms as squalls of wind pushed against it. It dug its feet into the ground, its claws finding good traction while they acted as brakes.

The Conqueror searched its memories, trying to find a means to rationalize this human's curious tricks.

"Gravity bomb?" The Conqueror let out a wondering growl. "But where was your device?"

The Conqueror widened its eyes, looking at the human with all its different sets of photo-receptors and color cones. It stared at the exhausted human across all wavelengths, wondering if the human had cloaked his weapons.

The human let out a spirited cry into the air. He dropped his shield and took his sword in both hands.

He charged.

The Conqueror reacted to the human's sluggish, inefficient movements. It stopped the human's blow mid-air with the flat of its armored palm. Metal clashed against condensed flesh harder than any known alloy. It closed its hand, keeping the sword clenched in its grip.

"This is the only tool I see on you," the Conqueror said. The human struggled, grunting as he pulled back on the handle. The sword did not budge.

The Conqueror squeezed, and the blade shattered.

"My beloved Nightblade," said the human under his breath as he stared at the pieces of black metal falling onto the grass.

"You call these metal sticks Nightblades?" The Conqueror nodded, looking at the sparkling pieces of black in its red palm. "They are useless. Why do you stop using your flashbangs and gravity bombs and forcefields?"

The Conqueror waited for a response, but the human stood there, staring down at the pieces of the toy it wielded.

"No matter," said the Conqueror. It sent the human flying back with a backhand. "You are very weak. Much weaker than the worthy human from before. Not worthy of consuming."

Tarkus looked up to see treetops. He'd been sent flying twenty meters. Adrenaline dulled the pain at his side, but when he tried standing, he couldn't. Breathing felt hard. He touched his side. His cuirass had shattered, its pieces digging into him. He tried rationalizing the damage he took.

More than a few shattered ribs. A punctured lung. Too much damage.

The monster's red figure stood above him, blocking out the trees. It did not look at him, but stared up, beyond the trees.

"I will report this to the Hivemother," the monster said. "You humans have a way to keep your tools hidden. Not like the tinkerers we've faced before. I thank you for your contribution to the Hivemother's knowledge."

The monster closed its eyes, and Tarkus desperately tried to muster some strength. He needed to use this chance to strike the defenseless creature. He couldn't kill it, but if he could leave even a scar, he would be proud that he could do some honor to his captain. But he couldn't. His body wouldn't listen. It grew number by the second – death come knocking. When all seemed lost, he saw it. A thread of light blue that emerged from the creature's head, spiraling into the sky. He recognized this. A connection between a sorcerer and a familiar. Between a god and a herald.

Now he understood. The monster before him was strong because some god gave it strength. There was no other explanation for its oppressive power. He hoped that he would be doing humanity a favor with his last breath.

Tarkus managed to push out a smile with the last dregs of his energy. "Greatfather's Dispel."

The Conqueror clicked its mandibles. It could not reach the Hivemother, and for the first time in its life, it felt fear.