Hunting me? A Maj'Ra?
A sick amusement flickers in the back of my mind, re-routing my momentary rage.
Jests of being sub-manticorids are common when discussing drakonids in the intergalactic scene, but that's as far as it ever went.
Jokes that remained jokes, because the few who have lived through conflict with a drak know, servitor race or not, there are very few things in the universe as terrifying as facing down a murderous Maj'Ra.
Is genali memory so short? Are there no logicians among them?
I snort, pushing the more complex thought threads I tend to weave in my head aside in favor of the cruder, more basic part of my brain that is my primal instinct.
An intuition that is currently seething at me to avenge this insult by finding and killingthe inferior genetic wastes of space that dared think that they could hunt an apex predator.
For daring to think I am their prey.
A sharp prickle at the back of my neck, the kind refined by years of combat, snaps me out of my reverie. I instantly recognize its pungent, sickly-sweet nature.
Genali. Two of them, their grotesque pink forms obscured by the dense foliage a little ways off. The stench of their slime is unmistakable.
Though mixed in is something caustic and unidentified.
It isn't enough to engage my risk aversion.
A roar erupts from my throat at the divinely given opportunity and, sure enough, they spin around, startled, their amorphous frames warbling in surprise.
Before they can react, I am on them.
Gone is the cautious warrior, replaced by a blur of rage and vengeance.
I use my speed to my advantage, propelled forward by the burst of power from immediately going down on all fours and launching at them.
The one in the lead lets out a shrill shriek that pierces the air. It raises a gauntlet-clad hand, intending to swipe at me, but I'm already past it. My claws are out and before the foul thing can properly vocalize its horror, I am already looming over it.
With a single powerful slash, I cleave through the genali's torso.
The creature melts into a puddle of gray slime with an ear-splitting hissing wail. The second genali, smaller and nimbler, dodges my initial attack. It launches itself backward, spraying a thick glob of acidic slime from its mouth.
I twist my body just enough to avoid a full hit, but the corrosive slime hisses briefly as it injures my skin in an acidic cascade.
It burns for a moment, then the sting fades.
With enough exposure, I'll develop an immunity, but for now, it’s best to avoid it.
I watch it slide off my tough, slowly healing hide. It bubbles along with harsh hisses that let out acrid smoke on contact with the lush plants.
The stench burns my nostrils, sending my head rearing back as I let out a cough to expel it.
I would happily never smell it again, but unfortunately my immunity doesn't extend to olfactory attacks.
I wasn't aware that there was a class of genali that could spit acid.
Are the insects playing with their own genetics now? Not just their hapless slaves?
The second genali lunges at me, its limbs flailing wildly. I meet its attack head-on, my arms a blur as I deflect its blades. The creature is surprisingly strong for its size, and its movements are erratic and unpredictable.
Usually, a fight with a genali is a straightforward matter of getting close enough and crushing them.
This is a chaotic dance, a constant struggle to avoid its acidic attacks.
