The Mak Toras Chronicles

Chapter 19 - Fresh meat

The heat was unending throughout the jungle forage, where as the tree canopy only provided so much shade. A soft breeze came now and then but could not outpace the blast of air heated by the climate and sister suns. Of course, the native life thrived in such a paradise, reaping the benefits of the constant barrage of heat. The much lighter end of Ner'aka received all the light the stars had to offer, coupled with the atmosphere trapping in excess light, keeping the climate consistant. Yet in the dark below, other more peculiar lifeforms thrived. Beneath the brush and foliage rested a moderate yet deadly ecosystem of its own. The trees themselves were more than just perches for the flying fauna to rest upon but sanctuary for the Yautja.
    Their lifestyle rooted way back to the trees from once they hunted from, onward till today, leaping from the gargantuan branches to and fro. Never once has the camoflague of the tall vegetation as such fail the hunters on a successful quest-or merely for the lookout for another hunting party. Where many organisms come short of watching the treetops for predators, the hunter's tide works in their favor. Only the witless would be blind to all else that moves, especially from above where Deja Kaan rested, looking out below to his pupil. As stated from the start, the peers would keep a close watch on all youngbloods to ensure the task was complete of gathering a trophy from worthy prey. The bigger the game, the better-lest the youngbloods wouldn't return at all. It was a ruthlessly efficient way to secure all nobile bloodlines capable of warriorhood and being able to express hunting prowess at its core. Unfortunately, not all willing youngbloods return alive, falling to the prey themselves in a fight for survival. Should such an incident happen, their bodies are given respect before meeting grave as they travel with the black hunter Cetanu to the afterlife to pursue the eternal hunt.
A common inner fear the Kaan had pained greatly as he watched anxiously as Mak Toras collapsed to the ground, barely surviving the attack. Normally, humans would fall to such a beast in moments; the Ja'rken are no slouches in predatory prowess nonetheless. It was thought for a long time humans could not reach the level of combat a Yautja warrior in battle, yet time after time through the ages, a select few of humans, even faunus, are commended for their bravery and honor against formidable odds, despite how ugly a skirmish can get. What humans on Remnant lack in strength they make up for in will and craftiness in the face of danger. However, Mak Toras had the qualities of no other. At such a young age, it seemed the augmentation quickly assimilated into his system without any drawback, a process that would take months in other subjects. The environment itself was no match for his adaptation to the heat, radiation, gravity, and even the local wildlife. Still, he had much to learn-especially after making his first kill. Deja Kaan wasn't ready to get his hopes up yet for this was only the beginning. Only through training would the blooded human learn the virtues of a warrior. For now, instinct drove him in the sweltering heat and the treacherous jungle like a bitter-sweet relationship of an ally and foe in one body.
Checking his vital signs and surroundings, Deja Kaan surveyed the body heat of the young one. Alive but exhausted, he laid there exposed on the ground. Regardless, not even the Kaan himself could interfere as it was an experience for youngbloods only, something he endured many eons ago. As one who overcame firsthand, it was reserved for those unto the ways of warriorhood to obtain the rite of passage themselves. Thereon, only the strongest and willing would emerge victorious. Nevertheless, Deja Kaan kept a close eye on Mak Toras, hoping for his recovery to be swift. Laying on the ground is the last place a Yautja would want to be-and a clear invitation for carnivores to strike. Though displaying his stand against the Ja'rken, there was no time to rest.
"Come along now, Mak Toras. Now is not the time to be slacking," he whispered. Not before long, beasts of the jungle would seek any opportunity for prey, especially those who are caught off guard. Where comfort resides, weakness follows. Even at a young age, the unblooded are aware never to rest in the jungle or become the next fresh kill added to the pile of hungry carnivores. To lie alone like this is to invite all those yearning to tear the victim asunder.
    Deja Kaan kept a close eye on the neighboring foliage and surroundings no less. The moment he were to look away, surely something would emerge to snatch his would-be apprentice away. Unfortunately, there was no intervening. The other mentors faced no different barriers. The Kaan could see and tap into the monitors of other warriors as well, keeping a web of informed hunters in check. Such connection kept each hunter bound to eachother, no matter how far they were from home. What one would see, fellow hunters would catch on too. Should something happen to one hunter, all others can coerce to revisit the memories of the fallen and their last hunt. Of course, despite such openess through each bio-mask function, it was not always permitted to monitor another hunter's status-mostly from the limited boundaries of the mask functions themselves. He spanned left to right of his mask's database while keeping in touch to a recent scan.
    An alert beamed into his visor to the right eye: a message from one of the mentors, Cjathar. He paused before answering.
"Mighty Kaan, how goes the little one's incursion to Ner'aka?" There was another pause as he looked down to see Mak Toras now slowly regaining posture. A sigh of relief filled his mask.
"Getting a taste of Ja'kren blood," said the Kaan. A laugh sounded on the other end.
    "Well done, youngblood. My young Bhra-dte has yet to make a kill but is working on something...unique," Cjathar said with interest.
    "Oh? And what might that be?"
    "A true hunter lays traps for his prey ahead of time. It's a work in progress-so far, at least."
    Deja Kaan could only imagine what the youngblood had in mind. Generation upon generation, a new batch of young warriors always had some craftiness taught down from their mothers before them. Teachings from their forebears aided in their future and widened a diversity of intelligent hunters with each possessing a technique unique to them. All hunters had a thing or two to share at gatherings, young and old. In turn, personalized tactics of each hunter play a role for ideas to learn from and become more efficient. Bhra-dte was a prime example.
    "How are the others?" Asked Deja Kaan.
    "Young Ta'kyik took to the trees immediately upon landing, I hear. Already craving for the canopy," said Cjathar, sounding impressed with the quick resilience of the youngblood. Such skills was prized among the higher ranks of warriors. From the first day into warriorhood, youngbloods hold on to the title until their first kill of a Serpent, the most dangerous life form in the galaxy. Only then could a youngblood wear the right to bear the name Elite. Deja Kaan himself often looked back on the passing of time as if first blood in the jungles of Ner'aka were yesterday. Long had it been since the days of his youth amongst old friends. He sighed at the nostalgia flashing within his mind like a slideshow of a fallen hunter's last mission. There was no other feeling of the beginning, undertaking the task of warrior through valor and allegiance to the honor code. To Mak Toras below, Deja Kaan saw that next generation of hunters seeding into the Legion, following the footsteps of his ancestors before him as it has been for ages. The laws of the land would shape the unblooded into the finest warriors the Yautja had to offer, improving with each generation to form the perfect hunter. All of the Kaan's hopes bestowed upon a young human being. By Remnant's standards, a lone human wouldn't survive the remorseless, deceiving terrain. If the indigenous creatures don't kill the blinded first, then the climate would finish the job.
    Another alert startled Deja Kaan again. This time it came with utmost urgency as the alarm call repeated within his visor interface. It was J'untor's voice, but something wasn't right to his tone.
    "All warriors, I just picked up an outside presence nearby the Hallowed Pass-an intruder has passed unto our territory. Rally to my location immediately, I lost contact with one of our initiates."
    The Kaan's instincts of danger kicked in faster than arcing plasma into the air. Never has J'untor ever rallied all mentors during initiation-only in absolute dire situations where said initiation could be interrupted by an outsider, seeking to kill the youngbloods or the mentors themselves. Deja Kaan knew swiftly within the sound of J'untor's voice who the intruder could possibly be. Otherwise, the youngbloods were not to be abandoned unless ordered. Caught in hesitation, he glanced back at Mak Toras, whom was still regaining his strength after the tussle with the Ja'kren. Unfortunately, the call of battle sounded the Kaan's presence to be fulfilled. Though monitoring the youngbloods constantly was not always required, he worried about the youngblood no less.
    "Hang in there, young one," he murmured before leaping away into the brush towards the threat at hand; the enemy was here.