The nine (or debatably ten) planets of Earth's solar system had barely begun adapting to interacting with one another when the strange transmission arrived. Allegedly from the administrators of an alien empire so distant it was as unfathomable as im...
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A plethora of sounds assaulted Tonzedié's sensitive ears as he dashed to the safety and better air quality of the transport pod just outside the clearing surrounding the tribal base. Violence was a noisy affair. Gunshots popped and banged, ripping holes into the unfortunate vegetative natives. Explosions reduced them to splayed messes of bleeding tissue, quaking the ground in the process. Here and there, the whir of a closer-range laser guns preceded a scream characterized by agony and confusion mixed equally. The groans of the wounded ensured there would never be a silent moment.
Zanth maintained a tired run beside Tonzedié, having given up on flight due to terrible cramping in her wings—of which she had complained at length already. She had broken off several times to stab a nearby native, a habit Tonzedié found incredibly inefficient. Better to keep running than to pause to needlessly take another being's life and increase the chances of losing one's own in the process.
Tonzedié's yellowish-green eyes never ceased moving as he raced onward. He frowned slightly upon spotting another transport pod diving out of cloud cover. Its three bottom emergency hatches slid open, and a team of crewmen descended on parachutes, bulky oxygen suits on their persons and guns in their hands. Even as they floated down from the ship, they already opened fire on the relatively defenseless natives. Aside from spears, clubs, and an occasional bow, they had nothing to fight back with.
The treeline drew closer, or rather, Tonzedié rapidly approached it. The tumult of the massacre faded to a murmur behind him as he came nearer to safety. He trained his ears and nose on the bushes ahead as well as he could, but the clamor from earlier had temporarily dulled his hearing, and the sickly sweet tang of life-sap filled the air too much for his nose to be effective.
Thus six of the biggest, burliest warriors Tonzedié had ever seen among the plant-like people gained an element of surprise. They exploded from the bushes, tackling himself and Zanth while knocking the breath out of both—and a stream of curses as well in Zanth's case.
Tonzedié tumbled along on the hard ground with his three assailants. He kicked and flailed his arms to keep them off, but he was outnumbered and overpowered. Their hands lacked fingers or any flexibility whatsoever; instead they were more like bark-encased stumps. At any rate, every punch hurt like nothing Tonzedié had felt before, drawing hisses to his lips.
He managed to kick one attacker off, but the other two just took over for him. They snatched one of his arms each and hurled him into a nearby tree trunk. Tonzedié hit the bole with a pitiable cry and dropped limp on the nearby ground. He peeled his eyes open enough to see all three of his attackers rushing back in.
Where a human would have experienced both fear and anger together in this moment, Tonzedié's Eidozan physiology dictated otherwise. Pure, unadulterated adrenaline surged through his veins and heated his body. He exploded to his feet and growled, the rumble in his throat becoming a roar and prompting the trio of warriors to back off in confusion. They beheld his physical transformation with sheer terror on their faces.
