ORIGIN

He was here because of Tema.

No-... not because of Tema. Because of a dream. Because of nightmares. Because of things she had told him, because of terror that still ate cold through his chest, despite the gifts and magic he had collected to protect him from the Hive.

He was beyond hope, beyond help. Some part of him knew that... believed it, anyway. Order had damaged him, irrevocably, when it had done to him what it had done. Tema-? She was fighting, where he could only cower. And he wanted to gift her something... to contribute to her fight. Or... to sacrifice something, some part of himself, to make up for his failures and his cowardice. Or... maybe he just wanted some legacy, a part of him that wasn't a coward and didn't have to be made up for. Sergei honestly couldn't untangle the clot of painful thoughts, the sensations and emotions and impressions that were difficult even to put into words.

And he wasn't a coward. Not really. If he were truly a coward, he would not be here, foolishly prowling his way up the jungle slopes, a slow and predatory caution to him. His eyes were picking apart foliage, undergrowth, a tension to him that suggested he expected an attack. His armor felt hot in this over-warm humidity; he kept having to wipe his paw in the dirt to dry it so that he didn't lose his grip on his Chrysoprase-pointed spear.

He planned to find the most dangerous beast he could, here, and to kill it. And then to give its stone life, down in the Hole where Tema's children would sleep. His would join hers. She could have it. She could teach it strength in the face of opposition. When Sergei faded into nothing, unknown and forgotten... maybe this child, led by her, could accomplish something more.

Determination, grief, grim necessity... it all claimed him now.

Paw-pads came down softly, and he lifted his gaze again: from trail to tree, nostrils working. He didn't know Lacerta. Didn't know what he might find here. Already he'd heard the haunting calls of creatures in the thick forest. He'd seen the Azhdars overhead--two of them, fighting, too high for him to take and too dangerous to remain in view of. Hence the stalking in thicker cover.

Sergei knelt, shaggy head held low as he sniffed. Claws gently touched the dirt below, then swept aside a few scattered bits of detritus with utmost care.

There were tracks here. Something large--as large as he, maybe larger--and with large claws not unlike his own.

Sergei's head lifted. He pushed up, the tension ratcheting higher, his gaze locked on the shadows ahead as he pushed into them.

Sergei studied that leg and tail, squinting, hefting his spear in his hand. It wasn't something he could hit, and he was debating what to do--climbing would put him at terrible risk should whatever it was attack--when it moved.

The moment the head blinked down, he lobbed the spear.

It was only after he'd done so that he realized this might not be a Lesser at all, and shameful horror struck him. "DO YOU SPEAK?" he demanded, but the spear had already flown.

His debate as to whether this was ethical--whether it was a Lesser or a Greater--vanished in the sudden necessity of self-defense and survival. The beast leapt, plummeting many feet straight down and hitting him hard. He staggered and then fell, and a glance about him told him his spear was not in his immediate vicinity. There was no time to search, either: the beast was coming back to its feet.

Sergei rushed it, dropping to all fours, lips peeling back in a guttural roar as he made for the beast.

Jaws closed for it, and he turned his shoulderplate for its own maw, hoping it would bite on gemstone spikes rather than flesh. His attack was violent, a seizing and rapid shaking for the neck area; his claws raked for it, gripping and slashing as viciously as he could.

It was little more than a bear attack, in the end, albeit by a particularly large bear.

The next moment was confused chaos. The bear snorted and flinched, jerking back just in time, a series of grunts and moaning growls escaping him as he used a forelimb and a shoulderplate to block the worst of it. He'd twisted away, and was shoved, kicked and forced backward as the Deinocornus came to its feet.

It was bigger than him. It had to outweigh him by a couple hundred pounds, and Sergei himself was by no means small. But there was blood in his mouth, and on his claws, and it wasn't his.

He scrambled back further, roaring an instinctive warning while all the while watching for an opening to strike.

Just like that, the advantage he'd lost, he regained. Luck switched, and he rushed the Deinocornus.

He had to end this quickly, and so his attempt was to seize its snout in his jaws, while using his clawed forelimbs to rake its throat apart.

His jaws snapped shut--hard--on nothing; where there had been beast a moment ago was now thin air. Dismay struck him: the monster was quicker than he'd hoped, and far moreso than he'd thought.