Hunter & Prey

HUNTER & PREY

Lacrima picked her way through the rubble and debris of the broken town. Barely a few months before, this had been a bustling stronghold, a last outpost of the dwindling human race. Now it lay decimated, open to the bleak skies like an eviscerated corpse.
The half-elf scouted the area alone, checking for signs of life or, more importantly, signs of demonic infestation. Her sharp eyes scanned the ruins of each building intently, the deep green of her irises glittering in the fading light like emeralds on an ornate swords hilt.

She wore the standard issue slate grey jumpsuit and black body armour that designated her as a soldier in the Terran rebellion corps. Being a scout, Lacrima carried a more compact version pulse rifle and the jumpsuit was a tighter fit to allow almost silent movement. The thick grey material clung to her slim, lithe body, rippling as her powerful leg muscles propelled her through the terrain like a prowling feline on the hunt for prey.

Lacrima moved stealthily, her long years of training and combat experience making her movements fluid, almost feline. Her slender shape stalked the shadows, a wraith in search of prey on a desolate landscape. A light breeze ghosted through the empty streets like the last, racking breath of a dying man and it stirred the deep auburn hair that hung in loose curls down Lacrimas back in a long ponytail that reached midway down her shoulders.

Her patrol took her toward the centre of what remained of the town and the church at its heart. The ancient structure that once cut an imposing silhouette now lay broken. The spire that had once stood proud in its benevolence and glory to the heavens had been destroyed completely. All that remained were snapped rafters jutting toward the heavens like the dried, broken ribs of the town’s chest.

Lacrima approached the once great main entrance to the church, gaping wide open like a deep wound. Its doors had been ripped from their hinges and used as wood to burn the few that had survived the demon attack in a pyre to their fell lord. Lacrimas nose wrinkled as an offensive smell reached her nostrils and she was certain she could still smell the burning flesh of those unfortunates as she entered the threshold of the church, the stench forever tainting the very air that twisted and eddied in the light breeze.

The young half-elf darted into the once holy place and began her search of the desolate interior space when she froze suddenly. Her sharp eyes had spotted movement and she knelt silently behind the splintered remains of a pew to observe the scene before her with a sense of wonderment.

The one known as the hunter was knelt beside the churches altar. He was knelt in a pool of light that was cast through the shattered remains of a large stained glass window. The human had stripped his signature leather greatcoat and black body armour to expose his upper torso. The warriors skin was pale, a common sign of those that lived under the burned sky that now hung over the worlds diseased landscape and his body was coated in a thin sheen of sweat that glittered in the vaguely fragmented ray of light. Lacrimas skin tone was closer to that of her Elven kin making it paler still than even this hunters and this emphasised the freckles on her nose and upper cheeks and the young half-elf felt the warmth of a faint blush which she knew would only make them stand out even more. The hunter had his right arm rested on a broken plinth beside the altar and he appeared to be sewing a deep gash that ran most the length of his upper arm.

The humans muscles flexed and bulged with pain as the needle pierced his flesh and, although the scene before her was gruesome, Lacrima could not help but find a certain pleasure from seeing this half naked human.

At 43 years old, Lacrima was considered a young adult within her race, the equivalent of a human girl just out of her teens. This combined with the near constant training and battle meant that Lacrima had never had time to think much about males and she had never touched a males body except for when she was sparring or treating wounds. Now, crouched silently in her hiding place, she marvelled at the masculine specimen before her. The mans body was in amazing physical condition, his rippling stomach and large arm muscles sending unfamiliar shivers of pleasure through the half-elf’s slender body.

Despite her combat senses screaming in protest, the young soldier felt compelled to move closer and, breaking cover at a crouch, she silently, crept closer to the hunter as a moth would draw close to a bright flame. She could not explain her excitement or the want to approach but somehow, she just wanted to be closer to him and to gaze upon his from with better detail.

As she drew closer, Lacrima could see the warriors movements in better detail and stifled a grin as she realised he was evidently not a trained medic. The hunters stitches were neat and tight but he was moving at a slow and deliberate pace as one with knowledge but little experience would do. He had obviously read or seen how to perform field medication but had not had much practice and it was made infinitely harder by having to perform it on himself.

Such was Lacrima’s attention to the muscled human that she momentarily forgot the teachings of stealth and accidently kicked a small piece of fallen masonry, sending it skittering across the marbled floor. The hunter’s reaction was immediate and lightning fast. Combat reflexes that had been honed over countless battles snapped his hand down to the nearest weapon, a pistol that had lay out of Lacrima’s sight, behind the rock on which he had rested his injured arm and brought the sidearm up to point at the source of the sound. “Show yourself.” This was the first time Lacrima had ever heard the human speak and she was taken aback as to how deep and resonant it was, echoing around the desolate church in commanding, bass waves.

The half-elf intruder did not move from her place hidden behind a bench, frozen like a frightened rabbit in a set of intense, masculine headlights. She gulped hard, somehow knowing the demon hunters’ weapon was aimed directly at her. The hunter’s voice sounded once more, this time dropping to a dangerously quiet level that nevertheless carried a weighty tone of malice. “I know you skulk in the shadows, now step where I can see you or I will send you back to the cursed spawning pit that birthed you.”

Slowly, as if afraid that she would be shot at the slightest movement, Lacrima stepped out from her crouched position behind a shattered pew and stood, head bowed slightly like a school child caught by a tutor. Long moments passed as the hunter appeared to study her silently from beneath the gunmetal shades that he was never seen without. Lacrima felt a sudden chill and a sense of nakedness passed like a shudder down her spine. It was as if the human was looking through her, seeing past her physical form to study her inner being. This highly uncomfortable feeling was only accented by the sight of the pistol that was pointed at her head.

After what was likely only a minute but, what felt like an age to Lacrima, the hunter stood and descended the steps from the altars dais, onto the filthy marble of the churches main floor. His movements were slow but fluid, resembling a predator approaching its quarry. Despite the obvious danger to her person, Lacrima could not help but notice his build. The man was easily close to six feet tall and she was drawn to the way the directional light from the broken window shimmered from his pale skin and threw the musculature of his body into an ever changing landscape of light and shadow. The pistol never once strayed from Lacrima, true proof of this hunters martial prowess.

The hunter approached Lacrima in silence and the half-elf felt unable to move or speak, somehow held in a trance by this human. All she could do was stand and await her fate, her emerald eyes watching the now dim light reflect from his naked upper body which seemed to accent his already impressive musculature, and wonder why she felt such conflicting emotions of fear and another, more confusing feeling…was it desire?!

The hunter came to a halt a score of paces from the half-elf and slowly lowered the weapon although Lacrima noted that he kept a pew between them to keep her from approaching him at speed. Once before her, he spoke once again, this time without the dangerous malice but a note of wariness still rang through its deep tones.
“I have seen no activity in this place for several days now.”

As he approached this intruder, the hunter appraised the potential threat. It was certainly human or of a humanoid race. It wore the uniform of a rebel scout and was female judging by the way the armour had been shaped around the chest area.
As he got closer, he could make out more details and he began to think this was no attacker. The being stood before him was a half-elf, one of the new races that had emerged after the initial demon invasion of Terra. This specimen was around average height for one of her race, around 5’ 6” and slender. Her hair was a striking shade of red, pulled back in a tight ponytail although a few stray strands framed her almost ghostly pale face. With a slight flush of realisation, the human came to note that this accentuated the females already considerable beauty.

Most half-elves took on the elegant, sharp features of their elven parent but this one had much softer facial features. The almost translucent pale skin of her slender face had a healthy, porcelain smoothness and was broken only by a set of freckles that ran across her cheeks and small, button nose. Her pointed ears and full, pale lips gave her an exotic, alluring aspect, greatly accented by her slanted green eyes and it was into these emerald orbs that the hunter found himself gazing. The females eyes glittered with an energy and intelligence that he had rarely encountered and the human felt long repressed feelings stirring deep within his mind.

Lacrima saw faint confusion flickering over the humans face in his eyebrows and lips and she wondered what must be going on in the hunters mind. So preoccupied was she with this turn of events coupled with her own confused emotions that she almost jumped out of her skin when the warrior spoke again.
“What brings you to this area soldier?”

The hunters voice still carried an almost ingrained air of authority but the scout could detect a warming of his tone and she attempted to cover her fear by throwing a veil of confidence over her flustered state. Squaring her shoulders, she stood before the human, and fixed him with what she hoped was a nonchalant glare.
“The same could be asked of you sir.”
Her statement met silence and the young scout decided to continue
“A number of scouts have been sent from outpost Dacorum Theta to assess if this area is safe for rehabilitation. The demons appear to have slaked their thirst for blood here and moved on.”

The hunter nodded slightly but said nothing and Lacrima was left with the uneasy sense that he was analysing everything she said, searching for any falsehoods. Silence ensued as the two seemed to assess each other. In the heavy silence, Lacrima found her gaze meandering over the muscular torso of the hunter and she felt very unusual stirrings within her, it certainly felt like desire but why? She had only ever seen this human from a distance and never spoken to him so why should she feel anything but curiosity for this lone demon stalker.

As she tried to force her path of thought onto a different track, her green eyes settled on his wounded arm. The Half-Elf had heard many a rumour about this human, he was a loner and little was truly known of his background or intentions. All that was really known was his ability and desire to destroy demons wherever he encountered them. This is my chance perhaps, Lacrima thought to herself. Perhaps I could find out more about this human and prepare a report back to the council. The rebellion council were extremely interested as to how one man could survive so long in the wildernesses and cursed plains. Any information she could gleam from him could prove vital for future plans.

After taking a few, calming breaths, the half-elf softened her face slightly, taking on what she hoped was a convincing mask of a concerned face. Lacrima then adopted a quieter, friendlier tone as she addressed the hunter once more.
“Your wound looks deep, would you like to see one of our healers? It is not a great distance to Dacorum…”
There was a moments hesitation as, suddenly, an image flashed into her minds eye of her small hands stroking the naked skin of the muscular humans arm her pale hand on the smooth, warm flesh as it glittered in a pool of light. She could almost feel the firmness of his muscle on her fingertips. The heady rush of blood to her cheeks caught Lacrima off guard and it took effort not to gasp with surprise. Quickly trying to re-centre her thoughts, Lacrima managed to continue unsteadily.
“..Or…perhaps…allow me to help you?”

An awkward silence followed with the hunter remaining static as if he hadn’t even heard the young scouts’ words. The pause allowed Lacrimas mind to run riot with images of her touching this pale, muscular limb. Her skin tingled as her mind tried to recreate what this warriors body would feel like to her delicate touch and this sent an intense flood of emotions through the young half-elf forcing her to draw on her inner strength in a desperate attempt to not stagger back from the mental onslaught. Such was the intensity of the images, Lacrima found herself panting faintly and, with a sudden stab of realisation, she knew she was blushing deeply.

Dim light that filtered through the ruined windows and open roof, catching the reflective surfaces of the hunters shades. The human stood before the scout like a statue of ancient times. I marble carved warrior king, stripped to the waist and battle scarred. The poetic imagery did nothing to help Lacrimas flustered state and, when the hunter finally did speak, even his quiet tone caused her to jump in surprise at the sudden shattering of silence.
“No, no healers.”
Another short pause and this time, the shock had sharpened the young scouts senses and she could detect a feint note of confusion on the hunters stoic features. Was he thinking similar thoughts of her?! His head flicked to look down at his wound and he brought his arm up to allow closer inspection.

Lacrima was transfixed by the movement. Rarely had she seen such a beautifully masculine limb. Whilst being well muscled, it was not over-built and unsightly. Each muscle moved and bunched with smooth control as the hunter flexed them, testing the depth of the wound and even the wince of pain as he moved damaged tissue wasn’t enough to halt the half-elf’s reverie.

After a few moments, the hunter came to a conclusion and lowered his arm, fixing the young female in his gaze once more and Lacrima hoped she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. The hunter spoke and, for the first time since their meeting several minutes before, she detected a note of kindness in his voice. It was very feint but it was there nonetheless.
“It may prove useful if you could aid me. You are trained in field medicine?”

Lacrima nodded dumbly, unable to form words and hoped it would be enough. After a long moment, the hunter nodded in return, a slow, short movement and turned away from her, heading toward the dais steps.
Taking this as a silent invitation to follow, Lacrima fell in behind. As she walked, Lacrima allowed her gaze to roam a little more freely over the humans back now she didn’t feel like her every thought was being scrutinised by his intense stare. The human had virtually no fat on his body which allowed Lacrima to see the musculature of his back. She watched the small muscles around his spine sliding back and forth with his gait and the large, impressive muscles of his shoulders as his arms swayed at his sides. The scout looked over his figure and felt a warmth in the base of her stomach as her eyes took in his slim waist and broad shoulders. This truly was an excellent specimen of masculinity. The only thing marring the image was the state of the human’s skin. His back was a latticework of scars, most healed but a few stood out an angry red likely making them fresher and Lacrima found herself building a new level of respect and wonder for this lone warrior. She would have to ask for more about these wounds when the time arose.

Mounting the steps to the altar plinth, the hunter led the half-elf to the position she had first encountered him beside the great, stone slab. There she found the humans armour and equipment laid out in almost perfectly straight lines, not a single item out of place. The young scout stifled a giggle on seeing such tidiness. She had no idea a warrior of such stature and obvious skill also lived a life burdened with Oppressive Compulsive disorder!

“Something amuses you?”
Startled, Lacrima snapped her head up and realised with a start that she was once more in the humans shaded gaze. She had had no idea she had been smiling outwardly and took on a sheepish expression.
“My apologies sir, I meant no offence. It is just not often I encounter a male with such…order.”
A pause ensued and the young scouts heart dropped as she feared she had annoyed the hunter and blown any chance for knowledge. Then, something completely unexpected happened which made her heart sing. For the first time since their meeting, the hunter smiled. It was a brief curling of the lips accompanied by a quick exhalation resembling a snort of amusement but it was enough to bring a beaming grin the female’s mouth.
“Indeed my lady. My mother taught me well to organise myself in all things. An organised mind is a potent weapon in battle she used to tell me.”
The smile dropped from Lacrimas face at the warrior’s use of past tense
“Your mother…she is…”
“Dead. Yes.”

Those words spoken, the hunter turned and walked to the fallen slab where his med kit was laid out and sat down, looking down at his arm where, Lacrima realised, the needle was still embedded in his flesh where he had been stitching before her interruption.
The finality of his movements gave evidence that his mothers death was a sore subject which was understandable. Nobody could take such an event without great sorrow but there was something about the stiffness of his turn and the look that flashed across his face before doing so that made the scout think that there was more to it than natural causes. She would perhaps broach the subject when she had gained more of his trust.

Silently, the half-elf slipped into a crouch beside the hunters injured arm, taking it in her hands and gently cradling it while she took a closer inspection of the wound. Before she even touched him, Lacrimas head was getting fuzzy. The first thing that she took in was his scent which was unlike any male before. Most of the men she knew were soldiers in the rebel corps and they smelled of sweat and dirt. This human had a certain muskiness to his scent but he didn’t smell unclean, the aroma was also cut through with a fresh, almost floral scent that sent the young half-elf almost dizzy as she thought that this was how all true men should smell.

On taking his arm, Lacrimas gloved hands felt the firmness of his muscles before the soothing heat of his body penetrated through, heightening what the scout now realised was her arousal. Again, confusion rose in her mind as she tried to fathom how she could be having feelings like this, everything was wrong. These were feelings that she had never experienced before, this was a man she had never met until today, in a place that had, barely a few weeks before been a charnel house of blood and decimation. In an attempt to take her mind off her tingling lower regions, Lacrima focused on the warriors injury.

A deep laceration ran down a good length of the hunters upper arm, almost perfectly slicing between his bicep and brachialis muscles. The tear was ragged which made it unlikely that it was a blade or sharp object that had done the damage and even through the warmth of her aroused state, a chill ran down Lacrima’s spine at the depth of the rip and she knew this must be causing a huge amount of pain to the human despite his outwardly calm state. She looked up quizzically
“How did this happen? It is a truly nasty wound.”
The hunter uttered a single word that made the young female bite her lower lip with fear and concern
“Daxzkepyl.”
The word repeated in Lacrima’s mind, Daxzkepyl, an officer in the demonic armies. This type of officer was a horrendous amalgamation of man and crustacean, his main weapon being a huge, armour plated claw that resembled that of a lobster or crab. To take down one of these abominations was difficult for a squad of mortals, to do so one-on-one was almost unheard of.
“You fought a Daxzkepyl on your own?!” she gasped incredulously
“I did. The damned spawn died hard and not before causing me this.”
The hunter gestured angrily at the open wound as if such a beast didn’t deserve to be able to cause one such as him pain. Lacrima wondered at this warrior’s martial prowess and made a vow to herself to try and learn as much as possible about the battle. It would likely contain a wealth of tips on how to take on the demons.

Examining the ripped flesh closer, Lacrima made sure the wound was clean and then checked the hunter’s stitching.
“Stitching up a wound like this is difficult, especially if you’re trying to do it alone.”
Dropping his arm gently, Lacrima removed her gloves to enable her to treat him properly and looked over his medical supplies, nodding slowly as she ran through the procedures out loud.
“Your med kit is well stocked sir. By the looks of it you have started well, injecting the blood-flow inhibiter to slow bleeding and, judging by the torn packaging, you have well sanitised the area.”
Trying to lighten the mood and thinking he had begun to relax, Lacrima grinned
“You’ll not make a seamstress I’m afraid judging by the quality of your stitching though.”
This comment was rewarded with a grunt of merriment and a smile that completely changed the hunter’s face.