Before I can pat myself on the back further, the ground trembles.
Dammit.
I should know better than acting out of rage without thinking things through. I've dressed down plenty of other people for far less.
It's the sort of stupidness that gets you dead real quick. The sort of thing I thought I was immune to as a veteran. Sanity might have come back to me too late.
What fresh horror did I just summon?
"Fuck."
Without a second thought, I turn and sprint, the alien weapon clutched tightly in my hand.
8
Drasuk
The popping sounds grow louder as I continue my advance, my burning curiosity piquing with each burst of noise. The sound ends as quickly as it begins, signaling the end of whatever conflict arose. With that realization, my claws dig into the soft earth as I lower myself to all fours, picking up speed.
As I sprint through the undergrowth, the forest becomes a blur of green and brown.
The first hint I get is the noticeable shift in the surrounding air, transitioning from its crisp quality to a sharper tone with a drier heat that contrasts with the previous humidity.
As I advance, the reason for the change becomes clear as the lush foliage gradually transitions, giving way to a desert. Dark red soil crunches and puffs up dust motes beneath the thick pads of my limbs, the air noticeably hotter.
I can't help but wonder how long it took them to terraform this planet to such extremes.
The process was refined by the manticorids at the height of their empire. After their decline, it was only a matter of time before the technology was stolen.
Other empires attempted to replicate the methods that ensured environmental variety, but had never done so. These limitations are clearly no longer relevant.
Fanciful thoughts to muse over, Drasuk, but this is not the place.
I trample the errant thoughts and focus on my task.
The scent, that tantalizing blend of enemy and something else, guides me.
Ahead, I spot a crash site. A heap of warped metal juts out from the ground, the remnants of a larger ship. I barely give it a second glance, my attention drawn to the bodies near a makeshift campsite. One braceaaer, one genali.
The corpses are fresh, their ballistic wounds still oozing.
But it's not their scent that draws me. No, there's something else, an eerily pleasant aroma that fills my nostrils.
How had this somehow become even more... exciting?
I move cautiously, scanning the area. A single crack of a gun rings through the air, replaced by an unsettling silence.
My instincts scream at me to be wary, but the scent is too alluring to ignore.
I draw nearer the bodies, examining the scene. The braceaaer's rigid stance suggests it was aware of the threat. Genali puddles don't leave much to analyze, of course, but the cause of death seems clear.
I crouch beside them, inspecting the wounds. Bullet holes, not energy weapons. As expected, I suppose. A vague memory surfaces about a hunting ground where technology ceases to work.
If nothing else, at least that narrows down the possibilities of where I am. Not that I could send out a distress signal or anything.
Focus, Drasuk.
I sniff the air again, trying to pinpoint the source of the enticing scent. It's not from the bodies, nor the campfire remnants. I close my eyes, focusing my senses.
