"Fuck..."
The word hissed through gritted teeth as Elonix's vision swayed. His head was pounding, a dull throb that was coming from the gash above his left eye. Blood—thick and a dark shade of indigo—trickled down his face, pooling at the edge of his jaw before dripping onto the cold, wet ground. And worst of all, it'd stain his perfect white hair.
His ship, once a sleek marvel of Kiminii engineering, was now a wreck scattered across the desolate field. Sparks flew from exposed wires, and the once vibrant, organic metal hull was torn and twisted beyond recognition. There was no salvaging it, not in this condition, not with the primitive tools this planet had to offer. A growl escaped his lips, reverberating through the quiet night air.
This is why he fucking hated Earth and everything on it.
Elonix staggered to his feet, towering at over seven feet, his slender but muscular frame shaking with the effort. His skin, a deep shade of teal, was bruised and battered. His hands, clawed and long, grasped at the air as he tried to steady himself. He winced, feeling the sharp sting of a broken rib with each breath. His body would heal itself after a period of time, but there was no telling how long that could take in his current state.
His large, slanted eyes, normally a vivid violet—were dulled with pain but still sharp, scanning the area. In the distance, he saw the dim outline of a structure—an Earth building. Tall, but not too tall, with rows of glowing rectangles that he recognized as windows. Shelter. Human's lived there.
As he approached the building, he noticed one of the lower windows slightly ajar. He could sense the warmth inside. Without hesitation, he reached up, clawed fingers gripping the edge of the window. With a sharp yank, he pulled it open wider and slipped inside, his movements quick and fluid despite his injuries.
Elonix's keen senses picked up the faint rustling of movement in another room. His heart raced—not with fear, but with a burning anticipation. Was this a threat? A potential enemy? He crouched low, instinctively adopting a defensive posture, his muscles tensing despite the pain radiating through his battered body. The searing discomfort only fueled his anger, sharpening his resolve.
Despite the agony coursing through him, one thought dominated his mind: he hated Earthlings. These primitive, insignificant creatures were the reason he was stranded on this wretched planet. It was his mission to destroy them, to cleanse the universe of their weakness. The very thought of them filled him with a visceral disgust that momentarily overpowered his physical suffering.
The door creaked open slowly, and a figure stepped into the dimly lit room. It was a human—a male, by the looks of it, with tousled (H/c) hair and wide, startled eyes. He wore a simple apron over a T-shirt and jeans, a small emblem on his chest indicating his profession—a barista, though Elonix didn't know this term. The man's hands trembled slightly as he clutched the doorframe, his breathing quick and shallow, as if he could sense the danger lurking within the shadows.
The sight of the human's fear ignited a twisted satisfaction in Elonix. Even now, wounded and vulnerable, he could still strike terror into the hearts of these pathetic creatures. He reveled in the trembling of the human's frame, the wide-eyed panic that only served to remind him of their inferiority.
He planned to attack, to add this human to his kill count, to make him another casualty in his mission of destruction. The adrenaline surged through him, momentarily dulling the pain as he prepared to lunge. His claws twitched, ready to tear into flesh, to end this feeble creature's existence.
But just as his muscles coiled for the strike, the world spun around him. The searing pain he had been pushing through now overwhelmed him, blurring his vision and sapping the last of his strength. The human's terrified face wavered before him, then faded into darkness as Elonix's body gave out, and he collapsed onto the warm carpet of the human's home.
His last conscious thought was one of bitter frustration, cursing his own weakness for failing to complete his mission. He had been so close—so close to ridding the universe of one more Earthling—and now he lay helpless, at the mercy of the very creatures he despised.
"What the fuck?" Was the last thing he'd heard before the darkness over came him.
