"Eye of the Hunter"

[Black Dragon]

"Eye of the Hunter"

Chapter 1

It had been four months since the incident with the Black Dragon in the Mudika Village. Magar still shuddered to remember the dragon’s glowing silver eyes and the feeling to be alone and helpless as she held him in the palm of her hand, then tossed him into the woods with no way of returning home. Magar had been stumbling around for those past four months in the forests of the Northern Wild Lands. During that time, he learned to gather food, build shelter, and know something that he had never felt before: freedom. It was an incredible feeling, knowing that he was his own master and could decide what he was going to do that day. He would have stayed in that forest forever if it hadn’t been for a rival group of bounty hunters lead by Lanar, Magar’s rival, finding him one night. Knowing he would be persecuted to the fullest extent if he admitted to wanting to remain free, Magar pretended to be lost and ungratefully returned to the Magog Cartel. Now he was sitting in his quarters, gently pushing a lint ball around with the claw of his index finger. His quarters had remained the same: a small metal room lit by fluorescent lights that were in the ceiling, and a poster of the current Glukkon General facing the opposite wall of his steel bed. He sighed and thought dreamily of being outside in the forest again, with only the boughs of the trees shielding him from the elements. There was a harsh knock on the steel door of the room and a stern voice barking, “I need ter talk to ya, Magar!” “Yes, sir,” Magar replied, silently mumbling something to himself as he opened the door and walked out. He looked down to see that the owner of the voice was none other than the very Glukkon on his poster: General Nakkar. “Come wit’ me, Magar,” the General ordered, chomping on his cigar. Magar sighed and reluctantly followed. He despised Glukkons, especially this one. He had liked things much better before General Dripik was killed, when he was his right-hand soldier and had all of the best missions. But those days were long gone, as he was now taking orders from the third General in a row. The Black Dragon had killed the last one after he tried to control her. Thinking about this, Magar realized he knew how she must have felt. The General marched both of them into his quarters, which was an enormous metal room, decorated with picture and statues of him, as well as having all of the best luxuries that money could buy. Magar sneered at a large portrait of General Nakkar as he walked by it. Nakkar turned his back to Magar for a few moments, sending up puffs of smoke from his cigar, before turning around and walking up to him. Magar had to bend over to be eye-level with him, something he had always considered a bit of an advantage over Glukkons. “Magar,” he said in his gruffy voice, “You an’ I need ter have a lil’ bit of a talk. I’ been getting’ da feelin’ dat you ain’t puttin’ as much effort inta yer work as yer used ta.” Magar straightened up. It was true, he had been rather lax in his work ethic lately, but he didn’t think it would come to this. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll try harder in the future,” he said, trying not to let his fear show in his voice. “No, Magar, I think I know what really happened back dere in the Mudokon camp. You failed to capture da dragon ‘cause it was too much fer yer ta handle. Den yer got lost in da woods and had ter fend fer yerself, and you began to like da taste of freedom. Yer wanted ta stay in da woods, but when Lanar found yer, yer was afraid da Cartel would find out and come after yer, so ya came back. Ya see, Magar, when workers get dat taste, dey never ferget it and dey begin ta long fer it. Once dat happens, their productivity steadily begins ter drop and den dat’s it, dey become of no use ter us.” the General said, staring Magar right in the eyes. “No, no sir, I swear, I’ll try harder from now on, I promise!” Magar stammered, but the damage had already been done. “Ah ha, I knew it, dat was da true story! Sorry Magar, that fool Dripik mighta seen potential in yer, but I just see yer as an obstacle. Take ‘im away, boys,” the General smirked. Two large BBS’s, one of them being Lanar, clamped chains on Magar’s hands and around his neck. Then Lanar yanked fiercely on the chain, causing Magar to choke until he followed them.

They led him into a room where he received a dishonorable discharge. In the Cartel, that meant you were stripped of not only your medals, but also your armor, gun, facemask, and pants. Now reduced to nothing more than the status of a lab animal, Magar was dragged down to the train station. There they loaded him onto it, still chained, and accompanied him. It was the worst ride he had ever experienced in his life. Lanar kept insulting him in vulgar language while the other Slig occasionally beat him with the butt of his gun or tugged hard on the chain attached to his neck. On one occasion, Magar had snarled like an animal and snapped with his jaws. “Ooh, look out Hetak,” Lanar said sarcastically, “Magar the hunter’s gonna rip yer head off!” After what seemed like an eternity through hell, the train finally came to a halt and Lanar and Hetak were dragging him off. They walked down a dark metal corridor and came out into a small room. In there, a voice said “New specimen?” Magar lifted his head, which had been hanging sadly before. “Specimen? What der ya mean by that?!” he shouted in terror, but they ignored him. “Yep, been doin’ poorly at his work, so the General canned ‘im,” Lanar responded. The strange voice tut-tutted, “Such a shame, heard he was the best in the business once. Oh well, I have his punishment se up.” If things were bad before, they had gotten worse as the owner of the voice stepped into the dim light in the room revealing itself as a Vykker scientist. Magar growled lowly as the Vykker walked around him, occasionally muttering something to himself. The Vykker reached out a spindly arm to touch him, but Magar snapped at him then tried to break free of his bindings. “Yes, he’s perfect,” the scientist muttered evilly, a sly smile crossing his face, “Bring him to the kennels. The experiment will take place tomorrow at dawn.” Hunter roared and struggled all the way to the kennels. There, they chained him inside a large barred cell and locked him in. He threw his weight against the metal bars and roared after the backs of Lanar and Hetak “You bastards will pay for this!! You hear me?! YOU WILL PAY!”

Chapter 2

Magar got only about an hour of sleep that night. He despised this place with all his might. From farther down the rows of cells, he heard the howls and cries of mutilated creatures all night. They sent chills down his spine and sent awful images through his brain. What’re they gonna do ter me? He thought as he lay on the cold steel floor. It seemed he had just fallen into a restless sleep when he was being woken by a gruff voice growling, “Get up, yer pathetic piece of flesh.” Three large BigBros were standing in the door of the cell, armed with guns, chains, and a whip. Magar stared at them for a few seconds thinking Yesterday mornin’, they wouldn’ a’ dared ter say that ter me. He snapped at them as they unchained him from the cell and attached a muzzle around his mouth. Magar couldn’t believe what was happening. Yesterday he had been the most honored bounty hunter in the Cartel, now he was bound and chained like an animal. They dragged him to a large room. The whole place glowed with an eerie purplish-blue light. On one side of the room was a large, odd machine, while the other was a large computer screen that showed in large green letters the word “Ready”. The thing that really made Magar cringe was what was in the middle of the room. A long, flat metal table was there with all kinds of sharp instruments hanging from the ceiling in robotic arms. Once again Magar struggled against the chains, but this time he received a sharp smack from a whip.
After a few minutes waiting, a door on the far side of the room opened and four Vykkers entered the room, dressed like surgeons. Magar felt panic shoot through his body like a torpedo. One of them nodded and the group of Sligs led Magar towards the table. He threw all his weight back in an attempt to stay put, but he was severely beaten until he complied. They strapped him so tightly to the steel table that he could feel the circulation starting to cut off in his wrists. Terror seized his mind as he looked around wildly. The sneering Sligs, the examining eyes of the Vykkers, the weird light, the flashing computer screen all wrestled each other in his brain. Before he knew what he was doing, he asked a question that had been bugging him ever since the General has discharged him, “What’re ya going ter do to me?” The Vykker who was now taking measurements of him replied quietly, “You’ll see when you wake up.” Magar didn’t like the sound of that. After taking countless blood samples and running them through the computer, the Vykkers began to talk to each other excitedly. He picked up words such as “Slog” and something he had never heard of that was code-named “DNA #759.” Now he was even more scared. He knew that anything involving DNA with the Vykkers meant trouble. When they were done jabbering, the one that had been taking measurements before walked up to him with a vile. “You will be put to sleep for a few hours and when you wake up, we’ll explain everything to you.” Magar felt a small pinch in his right arm before feeling very drowsy and drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

[ August 17, 2001: Message edited by: Black Dragon ]

[Black Dragon]

(Warning: Very gory chapter)

Chapter 3

When Magar awoke he could never recall feeling so sick. His body felt as if it had been ripped apart and thrown back together with little regard for correct placement. He slowly opened his eyes and found that he was back in his cell, his neck chained again to a pole in the middle. Magar licked his fangs and slowly got up on all fours. Wait a minute he thought, Since when do I have fangs and four feet? He ran to retrieve his metal food dish in the corner. He stared at his reflection and let out a scream, but what escaped his mouth was a low yelp. He now had long fangs, long arms with clawed fingers, a powerful tail, and two long, powerful hind legs with large clawed feet. What’ve they done ter me?! his mind screamed. His thoughts were interrupted by the clanging of a metal door and the familiar sound of Slig pants.
“Feedin’ time!” he heard one shout. Magar sulked into the shadows of his cell, waiting for them to approach him.
“Wuz dis one?” he heard a Slig ask as they stopped at his cell.
“It’s a new one. Dey say it was once Magar the bounty hunter.” The other responded.
“Yer kiddin’! Great Magar the hunter?”
“Yep, dey say he was slackin’ so da general canned ‘im. Performed da experiment yesterday, turned him inta a mutant…has some Slog in ‘im…. and some kinda DNA dey found in a meteor. Say it’s millions ‘a years old.”
“Alien DNA? That’s jus’ weird.”
“Yep.”
Magar listened carefully. Alien DNA? So, there was something in him that was a complete mystery. Magar looked at the measly little bowl of dry, processed food they pushed into his cell, and then he looked up at the two Sligs. I don’t want this crap, he thought, I want living flesh. A small bit of saliva dripped down his jaws and he licked it away, slinking closer to the Sligs.
“Good mornin’, #892,” one of the Sligs called to the creature in the cage next to Magar’s while the other stayed near his own. He hunched his back legs, then without warning, he struck. Magar grabbed the arm of the nearest Slig and ripped his fangs into it. It was a pleasing new sensation: the warm blood dripping down his jaw, the feel of the flesh in his teeth, the struggle. The Slig screamed in agony and the other cocked his gun. With a sickening snap, Magar dislodged the Slig’s arm from his shoulder and retreated to the back of the cage, lying perfectly still.
“Damn son of a bitch has my arm!” the injured Slig moaned weakly, gushing blood everywhere.
“I’d kill ‘im now, but I’ll report it ter the bosses, they’ll take care of that mad bastard,” the other Slig snarled.
The dying Slig looked painfully up to his comrade and put his untouched arm on the arm of the other.
“Do it…please…. just do it…” he said shakily, his voice fading.
The other Slig nodded slowly and raised his gun to the injured one’s head. With a deafening crack the dying Slig’s body jerked then fell over, not moving. The living Slig banged his gun on the bars of Magar’s cell.
“I’ll make yer pay, yer bastard!” he snarled again, picked up the limp body of the dead Slig, and walked out of view, leaving the food dishes in front of his cell. Magar happily gnawed on the Slig’s arm until it was nothing but gleaming white bone. He sat back and picked his teeth with a finger bone when a hissing voice from the cage next to his spoke.
“I have ssseen nasssty thingsss before…. but that wasss a firssst. Really daring thing you did there.”
“Yeah, thanks. Who are yer?” Hunter answered.
“Me? I’m sssome kind of crossssbreed. Praying mantisss, ssscorpion, and Ssscrab…though I’m made to be a sssuper-version of a real creature out in the wild. Lived here all of my life, never ssseen the outssside. If I’m not missstaken, you are Magar the bounty hunter, eh?”
“Yeah, yer heard of me?”
“Oh yesss, your name isss a common one around these partsss, usually said with fear. Many crossssbreedsss here didn’t dare essscape because they knew you were out there… many of them you’ve captured…. and sssome more you killed. You were more terrifying than the biggessst, ssscariest monssster in thisss place… oh wait, that’sss me!” the creature cackled.
There was silence as Hunter thought.
“Didn’ really know what it was like to be one ‘a my prey until I was stuck in their shoes.”
“As I guessssed. Of courssse, you will change your waysss now, won’t you?”
”Of course I will.”
“Yeah… if you ever get out of here… of courssse I sssussspect you know all the sssecretsss of thisss placsse.”
“Yeah, I guess I could make a run for it… and be free like I once was.”
“Uh huh, but if I wasss you, I’d do it pretty damn quick. Oncsse those Glukkonsss and Vykkersss find out you are a viciousss beassst, they’ll want to use you asss a hunting dog or sssomething like that.”
Hunter sat bolt upright. He had never thought of what the Vykkers were actually going to do with him.
“Yer right…. I got ter get outta here.”
Hunter thought hard for a while, then his eyes wandered to the sharpened finger bone on the floor in front of him. He grabbed it and began to pick at the lock. After a few minutes he managed to break it open. He was just about to make a run for it when he remembered his friend in the cell next to him. Hunter ran to the next cell and began to pick its lock.
“What are you doing?” the creature asked and came out of the shadows. He was about 7 feet tall with orange eyes and a black and red body. He had a small head with a sharp beak-like jaw, slanted eyes, and a long neck that ended in a point near the top. His upper body was muscular with powerful forearms that ended in large scythe-like blades. The creature had four Scrab-like legs that ended in long black talons, and he had two long spiked tails that ended in hand-like claws. Magar gawked at him for a second before remembering the task at hand.
“I can’t let yer stay in here… after all yer did give me a lot of information that probably saved my life.” he responded, finally getting the barred door open. “What’s yer name anyway?”
“They call my ssspeciesss ‘Panthisss’, but the other crossssbreedsss I have encountered call me ‘Tearror’.” he hissed.
A loud clanging told them that something was coming down the hall.
“Hurry Magar, we mussst flee before they catch usss!” Tearror screeched.
“Don’t call me Magar, that’s my old name. My mutant name is Hunter,” Hunter said with a dark grin that Tearror returned.
The two bolted down the corridor, knocking over boxes and food dishes that littered the ground. His own speed, let alone Tearror’s, who was surprisingly agile on his four legs, amazed Hunter. They were just about to the end of the kennels when four Sligs accompanied by Slogs stopped them in their tracks.
“End ‘a da line, freaks,” one Slig hissed.
“Puh, a puny little meatball like you against us? I don’t think so,” Hunter sneered, rearing up to his hind legs so that he towered high above the Sligs’ heads. A Slog and two of the Sligs ran away screaming in terror.
“Cowards,” the same Slig growled.
“They are sssmart, unlike you,” Tearror screeched, waving his bladed arms.
The Slig spat on the ground in front of him and sent the Slogs after the two creatures. Hunter barked fiercely and knocked one aside with one smash of his front claw. Tearror sliced the head off of another, and the last one he strangled and gouged to death with his long tails. Hunter growled and moved in on the Sligs, while Tearror hissed and watched his back. With two quick movements, Hunter ripped the throat out of the lead Slig and snapped the spine of the other. Blood dripping down his jaws, he barked for Tearror to follow him. He rammed into the door, causing it to fall to the floor with a clang, and continued down the dark corridor beyond.
“Which way now?” Tearror asked as they came to a “T” in the corridor. Hunter sniffed the air and pointed left.
“That way,” he barked and began running in that direction.
The alarm had been sounded and soon the whole lab was after the two runaway experiments. Just as Hunter had found the exit, an army of Sligs, Big Bros, and Slogs ambushed them. The desire to be free was stronger than his fear of death, so he charged straight into them, biting, tearing, and kicking. Tearror did the same and Hunter could hear him screeching and the metallic clang of his blades hitting bone. After a fifteen-minute battle, the corridor before the exit was flooded with blood and body part. Hunter glanced around, becoming nauseated by what he had just did, and having gory memories of the killings he had done in the past as a bounty hunter.
“What isss wrong, Hunter? The exit isss right there…but how do we open it?” Tearror hissed, bringing Hunter back to the present.
“If I remember correctly, each Vykker laboratory had a special code for the exits…give me a few minutes and I can decode it,” Hunter responded, crouching down next to a number pad by the door. He thought hard for a few moments, pressing buttons and muttering to himself while Tearror watched. Suddenly Tearror’s sharp hearing caught a sound.
“Hunter, Sssligsss! They are coming thisss way!” he shouted, glancing over his shoulder.
“Just another minute and I’ll have this thing worked out,” Hunter barked.
Tearror paced, his black talons clicking on the metal floor, as his anxiety rose. Soon the Sligs were within view.
“Dere deys are! Halt!” a Big Bro leading the group barked.
“Hurry Hunter!” Tearror hissed.
Hunter frantically punched numbers into the pad, sweat dripping down his head. The Sligs were now charging them, their guns cocked. They were just about to fire when the huge metal doors flung open, sunlight pouring into the hall.
“Run!” Hunter roared and leapt through the doorway, Tearror on his heals.
The door snapped shut just as the sound of massive gunfire reached their ears.