Author: Dantes-Silent-Hunteress PM
Ashrai has been surviving the past month since the Green Flu struck alone. But when she meets Damien, he entire world is turned around, she finds herself conflicted between liking Damien and hating him for throwing her relatively calm life into chaos. T for language and minor violence. May change eventually.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Humor - Hunter - Chapters: 13 - Words: 26,891 - Reviews: 36 - Favs: 29 - Follows: 27 - Updated: 05-01-13 - Published: 06-13-12 - id: 8214372
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
My first L4D fic, I play the second one and love it, Xbox live anyone? xshazza96x
I did fall in love with all the Hunter fan fics and decided to try one of my own... I don't know how often I'll be able to update with my Devil May Cry, Resident Evil fics (with a Fallout one to come) still to finish, but I promise I'll try. My Hunters are a bit more humanised, although I quite like them having a pack structure like wolves, with more dominant males having more privelages, so this is how I wrote them.
Left 4 Dead belongs to Valve, Damien and Ashrai belong to me.
My first day in this town and I had already been attacked by a horde, startled one of those little bitch Witches, sprained my ankle then was chased by a Tank, then when I found this safe house, there was a Hunter nesting under the beds but I chased it out quickly enough. Could my day get any worse? No, don't answer that. I was propped in the corner of a quaint little flat, right in the middle of suburbia, definitely not my idea of comfort, but safe none the less. The huge thick door blocked the zombies from getting in at me and eviscerating me whilst I slept, that might slow me down a bit.
The flat was alright; a little one bedroomed apartment that was probably some collage students before the Green Flu began. The walls were a dull white - most likely they were painted that way when this place was built - and the carpet was a dog-poop brown, all the furniture was the same colour in either wood or a tough woollen feeling fabric. Classic I-don't-give-a-shit-about-my-house decoration. it was comfortable enough for me though, so I wasn't complaining, first damned place with running water in days. That bath was one of the best I had ever had and after an hour long soak, with two refills, I was lying, squeaky clean in my jeans and tee on the spongy mattress in the little bedroom, a furry cover pulled up over my body to keep me warm, the duvet tucked around my feet; I didn't want to get gun grease on the duvet, but the blanket was expendable, so there I was, cleaning my guns - an assault rifle and my katana, both prized weapons that had seen me through the previous month of the zombie apocalypse. This was how I relaxed, making sure that I would be safe and ready to kill the next day.
I could hear the Hunter I had expelled earlier whining and snarling outside at the loss of his nest, his deep voice rumbling through the almost silent night as he stalked around outside. Occasionally, I could hear him scraping at the door, like he could claw his way through the thick metal to reach me, but I ignored it, too focussed on the task at hand. He screeched once, I heard the tearing of flesh, then he went back to his low whining, like a puppy put outside.
Guns cleaned, I finally decided to sleep, I would have to if I wanted to travel tomorrow without stopping to rest, I wanted to get out of this God-damned city and far away into the country as I could, towards the old military base that resided just out of town. I had been recieving radio transmissions from the for a couple of days now, but only today had I decided to seek them out. So, brushing my curly ebony hair away from my face, glancing once in the mirror to see the purple circles forming underneath my spring-grass eyes, standing out against the pale white of my face. My cheekbones were very prominant, but not due to starvation like most would have been encountering just now - I was incredibly lucky and conservative with food - but that was how I had always been, all shallow angles and curves flowing out. I knew it was time for sleep when I studied myself too hard, so I lay back down, resting my head on the feather-filled pillows and shutting my eyes, thinking of all the things I had to do the next day. Goodnight Ashrai, I said to myself, just as the last conscious thought was sucked from my mind.
The hunter growled once more, trying to curl up on the hard stone of the roof tops. All he had as a home had been taken from him by the woman in his nest, lying in his bed and no doubt ruining his lovely furred blanket with the oil from her gun cleaning kit. He could go and stay with Drew - the, sort of, pack leader for all the Hunters around this area, but decided against it. Drew was a slob and an extremely aggressive Hunter, and the alpha's six foot four muscular frame could pulverise the smaller Hunter's five foot four lithe body, even if he was a much better fighter than the bigger male. He decided to go to the warehouse where the group usually hung out.
Taking to all fours, the Hunter sprung across the rooftops, stretching his body into a full on gallop across the ground, leaping over gaps then landing solidly on the building at the other side, taking off towards the water-front.
"Damien!" Squealed one of the females, almost bowling him of his feet with a hug, Damien just shrugged her off, clawing at her. Liara was a pest and on more than one occasion she had offered herself to him, but he had politely declined every time. Well, almost every time. He wanted to wait until he found a female who could at least match him with skills, something worthy of carrying his pups; the wonders of being a dominant male among the huge pack, a choice of any of the females that proved themselves.
This was the only place that the Hunters could be safe from all the rest of the infected, safe to show themselves like they were. Damien tugged his black hood down, revealing crimson hair (surprisingly, his natural colour, nothing was enhanced by his 'death') that was tightly braided down to his waist, his grey-blue eyes glinting in the moonlight, many of the male Hunters would say that the long hair made him look feminine, but all who said that had been slaughtered, strung out and castrated for the rest of the group, in a clear message that stated: Doubt my masculinity, and this is what happens. He knew that even with his waist-length hair, he could be mistaken for nothing but pure male, there was far too much testosterone that the others could smell, and his body - although very thin - was solid and sculpted, clothes clinging to the outline of him. His black jeans clung to his strong thighs and calves, molding to him, his three belts clinking against each other as he strode towards a seperate group. The big black boots that he wore were splattered with mud and ancient blood, permenantly stained into the soft leather, clogging in the buckles that wrapped around them at his ankle. His sweater was black, nothing more, plain black with silver studs across his shoulders, glimmering with lunar light. He was one of the shortest Hunters there, and the smallest male at that, but his body relied on his speed and agility to win his fights, along with a terrible viscious streak that couldn't be rivalled by any of the others. He was the perfect specimen, minus the height of course.
He stayed for hours, meeting with the others that he once ran with, the elders whom he had curled into for safety before he learned to fight, only a few weeks ago. The change in him was amazing, from a frightened little pup, to a brave, strong and highly respected Hunter. When the first bright rays crept over the dark horizon, he knew it was time to move, to go back to his own nest and kill that pesky woman who had stolen his home. Damien growled at the thought of her, all warm and comfortable in a bed that didn't belong to her. He absently wondered if she had found the collection of bones under the bed that he kept as trophies from his kill. As he neared, a shriek told him that she had. Oops.
Shit! That was a cemetary worth of bones underneath the bed. The same bed that I had been sleeping in all night! This truly was a Hunter's nest, damned beast needed a lesson in cleaning up his mess, but a bullet between his eyes would suffice. Said Hunter was now outside from what I could hear, ferocious noises coming from his throat, probably curses in his Hunter language. Did I care? Not really. He could scream everything he wanted, but I wasn't going to move until I needed to, which was soon. Stretching out, I winced as my ankle creaked in protest, well, nothing I could do, I needed to be on the move soon.
That was when I heard it, the Hunter had obviously managed to get through the door, or a window and was clattering through to get to the bedroom. Scrambling up, I reached for my gun, only to find that a sharp set of claws had beaten me to it, snatching the weapon off of the table beside the bed and lobbing it through the broken doorway into the diminuitive hallway. Uh-oh. Fighting training 101, he leaped at me, but at the last second I stepped to the side and caught a blow to his chest as he passed. Stumbling, he whipped back round, roaring at me and snapping those dagger-sharp teeth at me in fury. I just smirked at him, one hand on my hip, mocking him with a fake little purr, sure I acted brave, but inside, I was terrified, just one wrong move and he would kill me. Not could, would, but then I would just be some more bones in his ever-growing pile. Noticing for the first time, I really looked at what I could see of his face, his teeth were pearly, although blood was dried around his gums. His face had that greyish tint that they all had, but his lips were pink and plump, his eyes - a pale silvery-grey colour were not cloudy, but bright and challenging and furious. He was absolutely livid that I was fighting back, with bare hands; maybe he wasn't used to his food biting back.
He took my momentary distraction to tackle me to the ground, straddling my hips and pinning my wrists with his strong hands; long fingers curling around my bones and squeezing hard. He was certainly not heavy, but something told me that whatever bulk he did have, was not made up of anything soft. Baring his teeth, he took both wrists in one hand, using the other to wrap into my hair as a lever, tilting my head up and arching my back. His head descended until I felt his cool breath on my throat. This was it, just one strike, quick, then my throat would be gone, a gaping hole all that would be left of it, my life pouring down his own. I could hear wet little noises as he licked his lips, then lightly ran his tongue over the big vein there, like some kind of vampire.
"Get it over with, asshole" I snapped, causing a growl to stir through his body, vibrating against me. The Hunter's mouth opened with a wet pop and I felt his sharp teeth close on my throat, almost gently, his tongue laved at the big pulse whilst I prayed for anything to happen, some cliche that would save me from his tearing, ripping mouth. Then his jaw tensed, all the muscles tightening against my skin, his lips locking around his fangs. Ready to strike. I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply and smiled. I would not cry or fear in the face of my own death.
I breathed one last thing as he clamped his teeth in, "Fuck you"
Well, not much interesting happening, mostly just to introduce the character and let them meet. Would anybody mind doing some artwork of Damien? I can draw people to save myself, so maybe someone could do it for m :L I would be eternally grateful. Review please! Thanks!