I stepped out of the room of unwashed food. My shift with the cattle having ended as my replacement took to prowling the corridors behind me. My feathered digit pressed the button to the doorway and let it slide shut, erasing the grating noises of the few creatures still in there from our journey here. Hhh... Keeping animals alive on space trips was a luxury that was only afforded to command ships, but the tradeoff of a fresher kill and meal was worth it to the frozen or preserved stuff. There was little sport to hunting and killing wild animals though, so it would never compare to what we were about to embark on. The ones who played at civilization and possessed higher thinking were infinitely more interesting. I licked my lips at the thought.

With a scratch at the tip of my muzzle I kept walking, trying to suppress the annoyance I felt from having had to sit in there for a couple hours before getting to the actual exciting part of our duties today. The hunt, and what a glorious one it’d been promised to be. We weren’t hunting animals today... Well, not animals in that these ones were a bit more of a fight. Coalition hunts were always a privilege to embark upon.

No amount of excitement could have prepared me for the undertaking the Domn had announced days ago. “An end to the Cyonian resistance.” The Oracle had said, and she was never wrong. Came with the territory of her name I supposed. She’d taken the moniker of Oracle on after her ascension to Domnitor of Az’ta as a form of authority and intimidation. Any who defied one of her ‘futures’ was branded a traitor and killed.

With steady steps my form strode into the battle bridge of ‘Laznel’s Teeth’. A fairly large carrier intended for at a distance resupply and fleet support. Someone had to refit missiles on our smaller compliments out in the field after all. Already out the fore window I could see the dazzling show on display. The fleet had been engaged for a little over half an hour now, which had caused me no amount of anxiety to get off cattle watch duty... At least it fed well.

I stepped past the captain’s chair and toward the partially occupied hanger operations consoles, even as he slammed his fist into the chair arm and tore our communications operators a new hole. One benefit of being on a battle-logistics craft was that we acted as an in-between for command and control for a portion of the fleet. You got to hear all sorts of things. “What do you mean our early parties are failing to land?! We’ve sliced a hole a gas giant wide in their pitiful defensive ring.” He said, gesturing to the tactical display below the view window.

And it was true. Thousands of red dots that denoted the defensive flotilla for Atalor were all engaged, their line having collapsed after we’d brute forced thousands of lander ships and their escorts past their weak left. Causing a panic as some retreated to try and intercept, which we’d easily taken advantage of. Perhaps if they’d still had contact with their colonies and the rest of their ships engaged in a feinted raid on Illis-03 they might have held us, like they had in the past. The foolish prey creatures had been midway through refitting a key communication buoy in deep space when our cunning Domn had it destroyed. Ensuring the only way they got help was if they outran our FTL blockers out of system. So far none had made it past our ships prowling on the outside of the defensive belt, at least I presumed since we hadn’t posted any scouts outside the star’s gravity.

I pulled from my musing at the sound of Captain Vike’s question getting an answer. “The Cyonians have in atmosphere manned interceptors.” Came the contemptuous but restrained and respectful tone of the subordinate. It prompted an annoyed puff of air from Vike, a quick back and forth around the ship ensued.

“Tactical! Anti-matter on their airports.” Came the demand. “We’re not getting anything from sensors!” Which in turn prompted a response from sensors. “We cannot find them, the vegetation and non-sapient life is thick on the surface, and they’ve concealed their takeoff zones-” A roar of authority from Vike to shut down the infernal bickering between all the stations. He didn’t care if our lifesign sensors weren’t working, he wanted it done. “They’re just prey, they aren’t clever enough to hide them for long! Hanger Station!” I stiffened, having been singled out by my commander’s fury and rage. Trying to pretend I’d not been staring at the tactical display I turned to him with utmost respect in my voice. “Yes, captain?”

“Recall and retask our fighters, they’re to break from void combat and escort landers. And priority to shoot down those primitive buckets.” He nearly hissed on the end of the order. I nodded. “Yes.” Came my curt response. No need to engage in more words than were necessary when Captain Vike’s mood was sour. I set about my task with a hunter’s efficiency. First typing, and then tasking the order to our engaged fighters. This station was a job even a juvenile could do, and so I’d signed up for it between my core duties as a way to learn from the minds here on the bridge. Oracle would not miss those fighters, I thought to myself. Her fury and cunning would inevitably destroy the Cyonian’s pitiful navy without our help.

As I went about my duties my mind wandered to a place of solitude, to simmer in my thoughts and concentrate on the hunt itself. A gentle sigh escaped me as I pondered. The Cyonians, had they been hunters themselves, they would have been close to being equals with us. They had endured far longer than they had any right to these last fifty years. They’d suffered on the front line of our attacks, and of the ones we interrogated when captured... Well. This planet of Atalor, it was a regional power in the Coalition according to them. I could see it too. A number of lander ships had returned from their missions in atmosphere to our hangers for repairs. There was battle scarring, and damage that was far and above what you’d expect from a planetary defence force. The Coalition wasn’t suited to in-atmosphere combat usually. These Cyoanians were one of a choice few exceptions. Perhaps only beaten out by the Isstal and perhaps the Trikua, though the latter was too far removed from our region of space to ever taste their abilities. Perhaps if a full scale conflict ever came about I’d have the privilege to meet them?

My mind wandered back to the planet out the fore window. It would be amazing to get on the ground, the tropical atmosphere, the wide open forests and woods, the plains and hills... Wide breaths of land uninhabited for a Bala’ur to be on a hunt with their pack, or simply enjoying the wilds as they were intended. It’d almost be paradise compared to all but the most reserved spots on Pamant.

I thanked the ancestors silently that I’d been born into the bloodline I had. Having been chosen as one of the first to sample its beauty once we’d pounded out resistance was a privilege onto itself. My time since ascending from whelp to serving in the fleet could be measured in months, but here I was! On the frontline of a blow that would shatter the entire sector’s ability to resist our hunts!

________________________________

I cursed the Ancestors silently as I held my hand to my right eye, the bleeding had stopped, but the throbbing to my skull had not. A blow incurred by my commanding hunter, as we rocked about in the lander. “-and as Qinal has so helpfully demonstrated, talk of bloodlines is cheap in my hunting party! You will keep Oracle’s orders in mind, you will follow me, and you will respect the party system.” Verner, the captain’s offspring. I winced at the memory of her whipping her arm around to slam my head minutes before with that backhand. She’d tried to humiliate me when I’d come aboard, and I’d tried to rebuke her with my ancestors, and their many deeds. Did the hypocrite just presume she’d gotten a hunt command on her father’s ship by circumstance of her cunning?

I seethed, quietly. My arms working at the firearm strapped partially to my chest. It looked to be a standard make, albeit shortened for more urban settings... Or perhaps the tight fighting you found in dense woodland and jungle. A snort came from me at the thought. The Cyons were said to be twiggy little things. Tree climbers. No good, powerful species ever ascended from tree climbing as their primary survival method. It was an inherently cowardly way to evolve.

I may bear some respect for what they could have been had they been hunters themselves, but in person they’d be like most Coalition prey. Terrified, weak, and occasionally tasty. It was easy to be brave when behind the controls of a ship, or a plane, or a gun emplacement. Even for them.

Thankfully, despite the prey’s tenacity for hiding their air assets in mountains and deep forests we had successfully secured the airspace around a number of their cities. The stubborn arboreals certainly had a shocking amount of air power, and the only reason they had been forced to ground it in our target zones was from dedicating armoured fighter-bombers from the void fleet above. Perhaps wisely or from cowardice they were unwilling to attack our landing zones now that we’d shown our teeth in force.

I found myself comparing their behaviours to that which I’d studied of other Coalition species. They were just as weak and snivelling as any of them, but... Something here was different. The usual disarray of their ground forces the second we’d hit their soil like other worlds had never come. Even now I could hear a nearby communicator picking up signals from the first wave trying to clear out the less significant suburbs around the silly slab of concrete these creatures called a city. If this had been another homeworld all cohesion among them would have broken down by now.

I was broken from my musings by a guttural growl from our commander. Her index digit pointing to the exit door of the lander. “Thirty.” She intoned. I reached my claw up, grasping at the shuddering handle on the craft’s interior to steady myself as I stood up preemptively. My party of seven standing with me as we all made ourselves ready. I could hear two of them off to the side conversing in old Ta’alish, the prospect of hunting in an urban setting was going to be fun seemed to be the gist of it. The clicks and chirps that made up Ta’alish was admittedly lost on me sometimes, and I didn’t have my translator engaged... Hh- My hand went down to my belt and clicked the small box on, hearing the ping in my ear piece alongside the radio channel.

Moments passed... And then I felt the craft touch down, and the cabin was lit up as sunlight poured through the gap of the exit, instantly my nose was smothered in the exciting smell of fear, blood, and smouldering ruins. We stepped out, my own claws hitting the packed dirt of the side street before the lander shut its door. The pilot and accompanying crew would keep the engines warm, and the top mounted guns manned to prevent retaliation to its presence. It’d be waiting here for us when we returned with snackfood and intelligence. Now that the opening waves had softened the city it was time to actually get a bearing on what we were dealing with.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Verner spoke up now as we found ourselves prowling through one of the many streets, the sun high above us. “Listen. We’re tasked with finding why one of the early hunting parties that made it to surface but went quiet.” She surmised simply, glaring at me in particular just a moment as she took to leading from the front. Each of us took a position around or behind her lead, moving in semi-independent searching sweeps. I took to walking the side as close to the buildings as I could, taking pulls of air for any scents that weren’t stagnant. Unfortunately, this place was teeming with so many scents it was hard to discern much of anything. At least for now.

As we moved deeper, I could see simple street signs, my translator figuring them to those amusing names like “East Pawville Drive” or “Branching Street”. I felt myself working my jaw, I was getting hungry. The food in this place though had mostly fled, it seemed.

There was the occasional sign a particularly ravenous party of our own had slain and gobbled the majority of a caught meal on the spot, but the scraps left behind were already being picked at by insects, and not very appetizing for my taste. Raw meat could only be appetizing to the first wavers, really. They were low on the rungs in the mental department. You only volunteered for first duty if you were desperate to sink your teeth into something besides the farmed or wild caught stuff. A slave to your instincts.

You’d have to be desperate for the rush of a hunt against a real threat that could fight back. There was something tantalizing to it, of course. Otherwise we wouldn’t all be here. Hunting something that could put up an intelligent resistance instead of some wild beast. No sport or thrill in killing a Zelabeast from four hundred meters away with a bullet when it didn’t even know the applied sciences of a wheel. Only the most demented of our kind would find killing animals anything more than necessary for eating.

“How far in before we see the piled dead?” I mused. There must have been plenty of leftovers by now, yes? I could sear myself a quick munch to hold over until we actually got to the real stuff.

One of the others spoke up, her scarred brow denoting her seniority through sight alone. “Choke points, deep city... Places where many of them had lived. We won’t be finding many here. Why? A little over-eager are we? Don’t want to hunt one down yourself?” She motioned the point of her gun to the residential area. Its density was that that each dwelling was not more than meters apart, but I took their point. There were no bomb drops here, the beings that had lived here had had a chance to escape before we’d landed.

The ambient warmth of the planet was welcoming to my feathering. A bit... humid for my own preferences, but the prospect of staying here longer term was a good one. My claw tripped at something on the ground, my snout turning as my eyes bore down on what it was. I blinked, then sniffed.

It had been a pockmarked explosion into the road about a couple hand lengths across. I smelled dried blood, our blood, my eyes turning to look around. There were other marks. I gave a quiet growl to alert those around before moving slower, more deliberately. Up the street for a long stretch there was nothing but those little pockmarks, hundreds of them. Kicked up pieces of road, and more importantly what looked like red meat chunks. The remains of my kind. What kind of weapon had done this? With stealthy steps I stalked up the road in the shadows, keeping my eyes on the front, though Coalition weren’t nearly as predisposed to ambush tactics as we, the possibility was never zero, and my nerves at this being my first outing on anything even approaching a raid had the best of me. My nostrils flared... Something was nearby.

It was as we moved in silence that I spotted one of those creatures, their weak frame was peering through what must have been some sort of magnifying device. It was clearly distracted, and I thought I spied on its side a firearm, keeping it in mind as I pointed a claw to signal to my hunting party, and then levelled my rifle, lining up the shot to take it out before it even knew what had happened. Just as I’d been taught. As I went to pull the trigger on the perfect shot though- Verner shouted out from beside me. “No, silver-tail!” Alerting the blasted thing as it scampered. A pathetic squeal that translated to a “No!” in my ear. Aghk! By the Ancestors! I pulled the trigger, but a feathery hand on my gun pushed it to the side, making my bullets go wide by precious claw lengths that allowed my quarry to disappear from view.

“It’s a silver-tail!” She affirmed again, already running after it. “Did you not hear Oracle’s general instruction? Captured silver-tails are worth accolades beyond just a snack! They grow meatier, catch it alive!” I hissed back at her, but a warning glare told me if I pushed it my other eye would receive a bruise as well. Just why was the Oracle interested in keeping them alive anyway? For planned hunts of her own? To keep them from extinction? Tch...

I began to run with her, intent on capturing it myself then. If she wanted to collect tails as trophies to show off to the captain, I would at least put the effort in to scoop them out from under her. That creature would be mine. Even as she was approaching the gate of the high fence separating the street from the backyard of the home I instead opted to charge, bashing through the shoddy woodwork with my shoulder. Kkra-kss! As I came out the other end, my eyes fixing right on the fleeing form. Suddenly... with my eyes dialing in on the fleeing creature and my feathers picking up with my own speed it made me realize just how much more of a thrill this was than I thought. Nothing about the simulators or training had prepared me for this instinctive feeling in my body. So this was why we hunted. This... Was intoxicating.

I was spiteful in the moment, I wanted to refuse to see the silver in this creature’s tail. But... It did appear to be one of the silvers.

I saw the evasive form claw up the back fence into an alleyway then ran between the two rows of houses with back access out of their yards. My shoulder ached from the first run, but I couldn’t afford to let this creature escape, and I was already ahead of my hunt lead. A squeal came from it in babbling speak, before my translator informed me it’s meaning. “I won’t!”

I felt my pounding legs instead leap the height of the fencing, my foot paw catching on the top lip as I continued into a stride to drop down onto the other side. Gaining precious seconds on my quarry. My form solidly rocking into the opposing side of the alley from my carried momentum. I hissed after them, throwing my body into a deep forward lean and leaping after the Cyon intent on trapping it in my jaws. One bite and it’d be over, our saliva made certain of that.

It wouldn’t die if I was ‘gentle’, probably. Just as I was on the precipice of snagging the infernal creature two palms slammed into my back and yanked me back, my jaws snapping into empty air. “I said don’t kill it!” Came the call from my assailant. Verner again. I felt myself hit the ground from the force of her interruption.

Before I could breathe my defence and defiance she soundly kicked my jaw from my prone position, and continued the chase on her own. I snarled, if we didn’t already have prey to take out our instincts on I would have challenged her right to lead right then and there. I could feel blood tingling in the back-right of my mouth where a tooth had punctured my gums. So be it. I stood up defiantly and again went to chase at the two of them.

They’d both suddenly turned into an alley running horizontal to myself, off to the right and between what looked like a more squared building for some sort of business. As I skidded around the corner a couple seconds later I saw that it broke out into a patch of ‘garden’ for decoration in front of the ‘Grocery Store’. Feed shop would have been more appropriate, judging by the overabundance of grains I could smell wafting off it.

Our hunt commander had trapped them, more or less, after the short run. The smaller, terrified Cyon was up on one of the branches of a flat leaved tree with few handholds. It was clear it wouldn’t have made it much further before tiring. Having been forced to take refuge where we could eventually get it. From what it sounded like over my live communicator the other five in our landing party had taken to examining the corpses and fighting scene I’d been investigating before spotting this miscreant. Although a couple alarm calls in shorthand from another hunting party drawing closer seemed to be on the air around us in the opposing direction we’d come from.

The Cyon was too busy screwing its eyes shut, shivering as it held onto the branch for its life.

Verner was growling and swishing her tail up at it like that would persuade it to come down. “We can just shoot it down.” I heard myself say. “Enough from you!” She pointed a claw at me. “You’re off my hunting party when this is over!” She hissed warning at me to stay back. With a defiant march forward I felt my chest feathers puffing out in challenge, legs bundling up with muscles intended for ambush and pursuit. I leaped, and felt my hands let off my gun, instead grasping deep jagged clenches around the thin trunk of the tree, alongside my foot talons doing the same as I began to slowly and noisily climb up it. If this had been a thicker tree I’d have fared better, unfortunately the trunk was too thin.

The entire thing shook with my weight, and I heard a squeal from above, paying it no mind. “P-please! Geal! Anyone! Leave me be!” It was bad form to acknowledge prey speak unless you were speaking to it intentionally, so I blocked out its cries.

Piercing eyes belonging to Verner were following me right up the tree. “Are you a fool?” She grabbed at my ankle before I made it too far and yanked me right back down. I felt my grips fail and a moment later my body hit the dirt. My blood was boiling by now, she’d ruined my catch twice by now, bloodied my eye, drew yet more in my jaw. Who was she to treat me like this? Her position and her strength were a sham! I shoved back with an amount of strength I hadn’t known I had, my tormentor stumbling back with the brunt of the sudden insubordination and falling into the tree. Her larger body audibly cracked the thin trunk of it when her full weight fell upon it.

The whole thing tumbled almost in slow motion as more and more of the flimsy twig cracked at the base. My eyes locked on my prey again. Already I was leaping to be there when it landed, and yet again Verner was already back up. Throwing me down on my back and trying to pin me with her jaw around my neck, my eyes and head stuck eating the gravel of the road.

The tree fell with a slam beside our heads, but I was too preoccupied to try and blindly grab for the prey. I could hear it giving a high pitched bark of alarm, scrambling paws and- Three snapping booms sounded from my right side, the unmistakable discharge of a firearm even to my inexperienced ears. The loud noises clapped into my head from mere clawlengths away.

I felt Verner slouch over me, and a horrible stinging pain had slammed into my right shoulder from- somewhere. The gun! It had had a gun! In my rage I’d- I shoved my incapacitated leader off of me, and rolled over to get my bearings, binocular eyes staring as a terrified Cyon was already hightailing it at full speed into the second story window of the prey feed shop. Its scrambling paws hauling it over the lip. I tried to aim my rifle to put the thing down but- my shoulder reported back I wasn’t raising my shooting arm. “Gnaa!” I roared in frustration and pain. A few more seconds and I could hear it leaping out the back window.

That was a lost cause, there was no way I was catching it now. I wheeled on Verner. “Your foolish behaviour has ruined the hunt!” Came my piercing yell. In my enraged state I kicked them over to face belly down. It was only then I realized... Her left eye was gone. She wasn’t breathing. The panic shots from the silver tail had...

Oh no. Oh no no. My mind reeled. Just who would be blamed for this? I was frozen in place. Ancestors... I’d- we’d- it wasn’t my fault. It couldn’t be.