The Jintuulan Leopard

A spread of five, spaced evenly and advancing slowly, military in practice but turned easily to the hunt. Grit-laden winds swept over tall dunes, billowing through the loose sand cheaters each of the five wore. Sand and silt packed into every bare ridge and crack in their gear, but none of them moved to shake it out. They simply lowered their shoulders, pulled their flakweave shemaghs tighter over their mouths, and pushed into the gale with slow, steady steps. Their boots were wrapped to help them travel the desert, soft steps barely disturbing the high dunes, their tracks already disappearing before their foot came down again.

Each wore the colours of their regiment beneath their suncheaters, dark blue and ochre, but none of them wore the distinct spotted hide of the Jintuulan Leopard. They had been too young for the chance to earn that distinction, before the Sacred Lords had taken them off-world. An honour beyond imagining, carried alongside the many other honour-trophies they had taken in the Great Blue Sky, but it was tradition, and without their sashes they were incomplete.

'Trygon' Amele lead the hunting pack to a hollow in the gale where the winds guttered and choked around a fractured crag of battered rock. He raised a hand, fingers wide then clenched into a fist. The squad closed in, taking a knee in a rough semicircle around him, eyes naturally flicking across the horizon. They took a breath, a sickly odour of rotting flesh and excreta filling their masked noses. They had all smelled far worse a thousand times over and 'Trygon' gently tugged his shemagh down to suck in a fresh lungful.

His face was a mottled expanse of pockmarks and roughened flesh, young features already marred beyond recognition. He still remembered the sensation of his body boiling, skin bubbling with shocking potential that flowed from the giant alien beast, before he had emptied the thing's brain-pan with a dozen gouging thrusts from its own severed limb. The claw-sword matched his hand perfectly now, and he instinctively fingered the bone handle he had affixed to it.

Sound was dangerous, they had all learned that much. 'Trygon' spread his fingers out again, pointing into one of the wide crevices bored into the side of the bluff, swiftly cutting into a series of signs. His squad nodded eagerly, quietly unsheathing a ragtag arsenal thick with honour-trophies and kill tallies; armour-plated claws and talons, smooth bulbous pistols that hummed with potential, sleek-bodied rifles repainted in regiment colours. They advanced smoothly, in unit, two pairs tracking forwards towards the cave mouth, taking turns to move and cover. 'Trygon' followed in the rear, watching their flank, claw-sword and laspistol sitting comfortably in hand.

The reek of old meat grew as they crept to the entrance, slipping inside without a sound, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. Howls like distant banshees filled the cave as the desert wind blew past. Sand piled up at the edges of the rock walls. There were no piles of bones or ragged strips of cloth to mark the deaths of prey and unfortunate nomads. The Jintuulan Leopard was a voracious eater, after all.

Leading the pack, 'Harpy' Erin raised a fist, a tattered wing worn like a cloak curling around her with the motion. She had spotted their prey first, and reserved first cut. The rest of the squad filled in behind her, every step taken with absolute precision, in utter silence. 'Trygon' found himself gazing up into a high-vaulted cavern, edges worn smooth near the ground where something lay, as large as a fully armed Chimera. He flicked his eyes back to the floor. A false step could mean alerting the beast before they were fully in formation.

As they took their positions, leaning against a sand drift or climbing a spar of rock to gain height, 'Harpy' readied herself, drawing in as deep a breath as she could. She raised her fist again, four fingers held up, dropping one in rhythm until she clenched her fist and suddenly bellowed an animalistic war cry. The squad joined her, yelling into the cave as they snapped off shots into the huge animal's hide, loud as the roar of a battle cannon in the echoing confines of the cave. The beast shuddered back against the wall, unpleasantly awoken, a hideous lowing spilling from its maw as thick blood oozed from a dozen new holes in its flesh.

It lowered its head, pushing off from its nest and charging madly into the midst of the intruders. 'Harpy' simply stood her ground, pulling a pair of claws the size of her forearm from their place beneath her suncheater, drawing in another breath. The Leopard bounded towards her, shaking the very ground with its charge, but 'Harpy' held, taking a light step towards it as it neared and threw herself onto its shoulder. 'Trygon' heard something crack, but 'Harpy' dug her trophy claws in, holding herself steady on its back as it collided with the edge of the cave.

She took the momentary daze with both hands, pulling herself up to its back and angrily carving into its spine with razor sharp claws. The Leaopard's rear suddenly shuddered, limp limbs going dead as 'Harpy' severed the thick cords of its back. The squad crowed a rough cheer, knives and blades and stolen claws coming out as they converged on the thrashing beast.

'Harpy' spat a gobbet of blood onto the back of the Leopard's head, before driving her tools further in, sawing away at a growing hole in the creature's back. It cried and howled in pain, until finally it stopped after a handful of juddering spasms, 'Harpy's claws sunk into its chest up to her elbows. Quiet fell again, split only by the beast's low death rattle and the distant howl of wind. The squad started to cut, thick reams of spotted hide paring off its body before its blood had even stopped flowing. 'Trygon' Amele nodded to his squad mate, offering a hand to help her down from the Leopard's back, before he too turned and started to carve.