Fantroll prologue fic

Vikker checked his wristwatch; it had been approximately half an hour since he’d arrive at the rendezvous point and yet still there was not a friendly soul in sight. Impatiently he tapped his foot against the ground, causing small clouds of dirt to coat his haggard boots as he looked at his surroundings. Thin beams of light pierced through the thick canopy of the jungle treetops, enough to bother his eyes yet not enough to do much more. Around him were various brightly colored plants, each dressed in every hue he had ever seen as well as some he had never seen nor previously thought possible. Affixed to the various massive and towering trees was an assortment of fungi, moss, and other plant life he could not nor cared to identify. The air was hot and sticky with humidity and while Vikker typically enjoyed the heat he preferred more dry climates, wet ones like this always tended to cause his already uncomfortable clothes to cling to him and hamper his movements and in a cramped environment such as this, he needed every ounce of freedom of movement he could gather.

He wiped his forehead, small beads of sweat escaping the back of his wrist and falling to his cheeks. “Blasted fuckin’ heat!” He exclaimed as he aired he shirt out, trying his best to cool himself. He inspected his weathered old rifle and bayonet for signs that the environment was adversely affecting it and then checked to see it was fully loaded; no need to be careless even if there had been no sign of the enemy in this area. He looked at his surroundings once more and with his impatience and frustration having reached their limits, pulled free the hastily made map he’d been given earlier that showed where he was to meet up with the rest of his squad. He looked it over only briefly, quickly confirming that he had reached the right spot. Exasperated he sighed, had his fat olive blooded idiot of a commander gotten lost on his way here? He wouldn’t be surprised, ol’ “bootlick” Kulick was the dull example of the type of officer’s cannon fodder such as himself dreaded being assigned to, and if Vikker didn’t know any better, he would have sworn the fat bastard had set things up specifically in the hopes Vikker be killed on the way there.

Still, stupid orders were still orders, and he was not one to disobey no matter how much he wished he could. He returned the map to his bag, and rummaged through it for a ration bar, ruminating while he ate it on why The Empress had ordered the conquest of this world as well as the extermination of the enemy that currently still owned it. He hadn’t received much Intel on either, only the barest of facts. Apparently there was, rather unsurprisingly, some resource of value on this rock, and in great abundance. As for the natives they were said to be monkey like creatures, as tall as his shoulders at their highest and possessing four arms and green fur. Beyond that, he had no idea what to expect. As much as Vikker typically dismissed most foes as little more than a nuisance no matter how dangerous, he had to admit that he was slightly perturbed at the tidbit of the creature’s fur. Most of the foliage as colorful as it was still was predominantly green and while he was certain he could take one of the little bastards in a fight he still worried about being caught by surprise.

As if to confirm his worries he heard a light snapping noise, similar to the sound of a twig or branch breaking. Instantly he got to his knee and readied his rifle, hugging a nearby tree for cover as he scanned the bushes around him for potential hostiles or friends. He caught sight of a bush rummaging in the distance, and a shapeless mass marching slowly through it. Peering through the brush, a primate like creature slowly emerged, a primitive looking rifle of its own raised as it looked for its own quarry. Quietly Vikker moved behind the trunk of the tree, attempting to get out of sight in case there was more of the creature, all the while keeping his rifle trained at the beast’s head. It indeed had four arms as he was told, but also a set of four eyes, pitch black in color, and faded green fur. Its frame was rather stocky for its small size, its legs and its lower set of arms thick with musculature; the lower arms seemingly more suited to movement then for carrying things. Its upper arms were lean and longer then the first set and Vikker felt that should he come to blows he’d have to keep his distance or else face certain death from the beast’s mighty arms. It’s protection was however less impressive, draped only in a simple tunic, pants, and boots much like himself, only this thing had a helmet and flak vest that looked more for decoration or ceremony then for combat.

The beast raised its nose in the air, sniffing for him, Vikker presumed. Briefly he panicked, fearful that he’d been discovered despite his hiding spot, yet Vikker still kept his calm; no matter what he could not lose the imitative, if there was to be a firefight he’d have to make the first shot so as to put it down before it put him down.

Slowly it approached his direction, turning its back to him as if uncertain of his whereabouts. Vikker knew then that he had a perfect chance to strike, assuming it was but a lone scout he could put it down in one shot and alert his comrades of potential hostiles. Quickly he looked at the brush it had emerged from for any other potential enemies, and when he found none coming took aim at the thing’s head, and slowly squeezed the trigger, a feeling of latent bloodlust within him rising to the surface.

“Wonder how tough that skull of yours is, you little nook felcher…”

His rifle gave off a loud cracking noise, a lone slug whizzing towards the creature’s helmet. Amazingly it ricocheted off the surface, leaving a large dent on its side while causing it’s wearer to stagger to the side, causing the beast to drop its weapon and roar in pain. It dropped to its knees then, shaking it’s head side to side as if addled by some nasty headache, causing it’s helmet to fly off and expose itself. Vikker quickly fired another shot, only to strike the creature shoulder instead; the monster rapidly shifting its posture to look at him before he fired. It ignored this wound and charged at his direction, screaming incoherent curses and death threats in an unknown language as it rapidly closed the distance between him, using its powerful leg and lower arm muscles to rush towards him.

Vikker fired more shots, trading any semblance of accuracy for a speedier fire rate. His bullets impacted the flak vest; causing sizable dents as he desperately struggled to kill the damn thing before it pummeled him to death. But it was too late, his rifle making a impotent sounding clicking noise as he emptied his last round, the beast now but a few feet from him. It raised both sets of arms, balling its hands into fists while bringing them down with as much force as it could muster. Vikker jumped backwards, staggering for only a few seconds before sweeping the bayonet of his rifle at the beast, an overpowering desire to kill this thing as quickly as possible now the only thing on his mind.

The beast dodged his attack, ducking before rising to lunge at him with its longer upper arms. But Vikker was the faster of the two, swinging the rifle back so that the butt of the weapon faced the beast. With as much force as he could manage he slammed the butt against the temple of the creatures head, eliciting a loud thud noise and causing it to stumble back. Vikker struck again, raising his rifle high and bringing it down again, this time against the thing’s face, bashing and collapsing what passed for its nose and

causing the creature to collapse to the ground like a ragdoll. He lunged on top of it, gleefully bashing its head with wild abandon, screaming insults at the alien while a macabre grin plastered itself upon his face. His heart was racing and his clothes were now a mess, both them and the butt of the rifle coated in gore and blood. Finally with a sickening “pop!” the aliens skull was no more.

He rose to his feet, panting as he loomed over it. Before he could savory his violent victory, Vikker heard another rustling coming from the same location the creature had and quickly reloaded, shoving a fresh clip into the chamber. He raised his rifle, ready to take down any more of the aliens. If the rest were as easy as this one had been then he’d have no trouble dealing with more.

A small group of three emerged from the bush, smaller in size then his first kill had been. Whereas the burly lone trooper had been rather thick and muscular, these three were lean and thin, and shorter as well; each looking more suitable for speed then power and Vikker briefly suspected that he had in fact killed a elite trooper then some regular grunt like himself. Each one curiously lacked the protective armor the larger one had possessed, only wearing a small cap and uniform. Ultimately whatever rank these things were was of no importance, he’d kill them as easily as he had their superior.  Vikker quickly took aim for the head of the grunt hanging to the left of the trio and with a single round, felled the soldier, causing a shower of blood and brain matter to spatter his comrades. Before the others even had time to react he aimed for the middle trooper, firing at its chest and then hand, causing the alien to drop its rifle and scream in agony at the bloody stump, falling to its knees and doing its best to cradle it’s now ruined hand.

The third panicked and ran off, not even bothering to fight him.

“Sniveling little shit stain! You won’t get away from me alive!” He yelled as he raced towards it, quickly putting a bullet into the previous target’s head before aiming for the fleeing survivor. The soldier ran, sprinting as fast as its legs and arms could carry it. Vikker fired a few more shots before chasing after the thing, relishing the chance to bring a swift bloody death to his next victim. Despite all the previous physical activity he was not even the slightest bit tired and was able to quickly close the distance to the poor fool. As he passed a large mess of vines and other foliage, he and the terrified thing entered a large clearing, and Vikker stopped briefly, the sunlight stinging his eyes momentarily. They swiftly adjusted to the light and as his Vision returned he saw the soldier had managed to make considerable distance between the two of them.

It would be only a handful of yards before the alien would make it to the other side of the clearing and be too obscured by the trees and other plants to accurately fire upon. Vikker could not risk the little cowardly bastard alerting its comrades to his location and thus risk the mission. He raised his rifle, taking careful aim; at this distance he had to make every shot count and even one wasted round would reduce his odds of killing his target. He fired once, then again, then once more, each time missing the fleeing trooper. Only a yard now and it would be too late. He calmed himself, holding his breath and took aim one last time. As he did the monkey man risked a quick glance back to him, and taking that as his cue, fired one final round.

The slug whizzed through the air, whistling as it reached its target. The monkey man’s head jerked backwards, sending its entire body cart wheeling into a mass of plants. Vikker quickly reloaded but as he kept his gaze locked to the soldier he realized he didn’t need to. The thing had stopped moving and with that he knew he had added yet another mark to his tally. As he turned to return to the rendezvous point, he laughed to himself. If he, a lowly cannon fodder grunt had killed these things so easily he could only imagine the slaughter the “real” rank and file soldiers were incurring on the hapless creatures, or Handmaid’s mercy, just what the elites such as the threshecutioners were inflicting on them. He shuddered at the imagery his mind conjured at that last bit and laughed again.

As he walked back he heard a friendly voice call out.

“Fieder! You /ittle shit eater where the fuck are you?”

“Over here target practice, you don’t need to shout.” He responded, a lone brown blooded troll from his unit running to him. Five other trolls followed him, emerging from the foliage one by one until they were all in the clearing.

“Where the fuck have you guys been? I’ve been waiting forever for you trouser stains.”

“Boot/ick got us lost, the dense headed fuck. Grub fucker can’t read a map to save his /ife.”

“Hope that little statement comes true someday. He around by the way?” Vikker joked.

“Naah.” The troll responded, shrugging as Vikker and he began walking back to the cover of the trees.

“Doesn’t matter anyway really. We’re getting transferred off world to some /oadgaper of a world. Apparently the p/ace is in full rebe//ion and they need /ots of bodies to throw at it.”

Vikker sighed, he was hoping to enjoy a bit more fun with the locals on this world but his spirits perked up suddenly as a new thought emerged. A rebellion typically meant lots of disorganized, undisciplined, and mostly poorly armed at best mass of idiots. It wasn’t often he got a guaranteed assignment where he was the one dishing out the slaughter instead of beign on the receiving end, this world notwithstanding.

“A rebellion huh? What’s the planet called?” He said his eagerness clearly visible on his face.

“ /aqueum I think.”

“Sounds like fun." He said.