It had been almost forty years since he had set foot in that city, an ancient oasis for smugglers, pirates, and any other criminal lucky enough to know of its existence, hidden from the galaxy, its own republic. All the residents were the scum of civilization, but they lived according to the code and honor of thieves and murderers, or as much as they could muster.
What had once been a noisy and vibrant paradise was now nothing but rubble, the consequences of their own actions, for nature has a clear structure: those who hunt and those who are hunted, prey and predators. And, from time to time, a predator can become the one being hunted.
And with anger, weapons, planning, and a hellish ton of explosives, all of them met their ultimate end alongside the city. He was not among them; luckily, and with his faithful gun ship, he managed to escape, to flee far away, to change. He abandoned his old life and name, forging a new path of creation instead of destruction. But karma doesn't disappear so easily; His death was merely delayed, and now he was brought back to this place to find the grave that was dug years ago.
Silence befalls over the dead city, dust settles once more over the rubble, the wide streets rustle with the whisper of many ghosts carried by the wind. Blood pools beneath the batarian, while countless pieces of rusted metal pierce his body. It wasn't easy or quick; the hunter knew exactly the order in which would make him suffer the most, and now, she stands motionless before him, staring blankly at her work.
The rumble of the final confrontation left the surrounding buildings unstable, leading already weak structures to fail. And with it, the cockpit of his old gunship falls to the ground, as the walls holding the cables finally break.
The glass is shattered and hatch bent, and with some effort, the boy held hostage in the wreckage manages to escape, and desperately run towards them. "Daddy!", he cries, stumbling over the debris in his path. He falls near the body, crawling the last few inches, lying on top of him and in between the countless metal thorns that pierce his corpse.
Tears streamed down his face as he sobbed loudly, his sound contrasting with that of the hunter, quiet, observing. The asari kept her gaze fixed, as if the grieving child was nothing more than an insect resting on rotting flesh.
She had a deep connection to vengeance; this was not her first hunt, and it would not be her last. She knew that each loose thread had the chance to return, like a needle, stitching together the same path she had trod, perpetuating the cycle.
And so, silently, she raised her weapon, her aim steady, her trigger cold, and with one last action, the hunt truly reached it’s end.
Wanted to write something for practice so I made this. The image was done quickly just to accompany it.
Maybe some day when I am inspired and confident enough, I will get to keep writing my story, that has been gathering dust with only 5 chapters published.
areudirty
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
gamechangershow
turnnoffyourmind
