Author's Note: None of this is mine. All belongs to said creators (H.G. Giger (artwork, et al), Alien producers/writers, Predator producers/writers, etc. Not even the concept is mine!

This is written for "thornsilver " who placed a request for a Predator tale. This proved to be trickier then I initially thought but here is what I came up with, I hope I didn't disappoint.

Oh just a warning unfortunately this tale hasn't been beta read. Although I did proofread it myself and passed through Window's XP, I'm sure there are still a great deal of grammar mistakes and for that I apologize in advance.

Fandom: Alien vs. Predator. Scene takes place just after the end of said movie and does contain spoilers.

Characters/Pairings: Chieftain Predator, Hunter Aliens (of a variety) – Sorry no pairings this time…

Rating: PG-13. Due to suggestive violence.



"…Midnight, our sons and daughters
Were cut down and taken from us
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat …

Night hangs like a prisoner
Stretched over black and blue
Hear their heartbeat
We hear their heartbeat …"

Mothers of the disappeared – U2


With age come a certain amount of wisdom, and an even greater amount of skill. For a warrior to live as long as I have speaks well of one's talents. But it also carries an unspoken message. That of silent burden. Though my people, the Yautja, are the greatest hunters of the known universe, it isn't without its price. As I stare at the still form of my only son, O'Kuru, who now rests in his eternal sleep, I am reminded once more of this truth.

I wish, as all fathers do, that I could have been there for him during these trials of fire, the rites of passage that every young pouchling must endure, before becoming an adult. But to do so will be not only be blasphemous, it would be a direct insult to my son. After all, despite every parents wish to protect their pouchlings, there is a time when one must let go, to let them grow up as they should.

Yet despite all the death and carnage, I've seen in my lifetime, nothing could prepare me for this. I've been told that no father should have to bury his own son; even if he died an honored warrior. But it is in this moment that I truly understand the meaning of these words.

I think of the other two pouchlings who had joined O'Kuru in their first hunt and of their families. Though I know they too silently mourn, I am also aware that we must be careful not to show our pain. This is a dangerous time and until we are sure their spirits have entered the forest of the dead we are not permitted to admit our sorrow as we would like. For such displays of sorrow only imprisons the freed spirit, as they linger behind to comfort their loved ones. No warrior deserves such a fate, and I will be damned if I dare force O'Kuru to wander the stars, a slave to I'Taka, the goddess of the forsaken.

So I remain stoic, patiently watching the still form of my child, knowing as the others do of the creature that grows inside of him. The parasite is almost ready to emerge and I will strike when it does. I could tear it out of his flesh, strangling its puny neck, as I eagerly listen, to its whimpering cries cut out with a sharp squeak. To know that in death, I was still able to intervene. But to do so would only defile what is left of his shell and would bring him dishonor. For even now some things mustn't be tampered with.

Yet even knowing this, I can't think of another moment when I have been so proud of my son. To capture and destroy a prey as powerful as a Queen is a rarity, even for a scarred old warrior such as myself. Had he been permitted to live, I know without a doubt, he would have made an excellent commander and chieftain.

I suppose I will never know now.

I wonder, if Ankaru's and Ty'Ri's families are share similar such thoughts to my own, and then I find myself wondering about the Ooman female. O'Kuru's final words pertained to her, which surprises me, even now. He seemed to regard her as an ally which would have been laughable, had it been at any other time. But she carried the mark of a warrior and huntress, which meant she had completed our rites of passage and survived. Though I am unsure exactly what had occurred in the depths, I am positive it was my son who marked her as a warrior worthy of the Yautja.

This thought reminds me of a legend my father would tell me when I was still too young to fight. Most of our legends the tales always involved our people encountering other races during a hunt, only to swiftly dominate them as no prey could ever conquer us. But there was one tale that carried a different weight, one that always intrigued me when I was still a pouchling.

It spoke of the parasites, the same armored aliens O'Kuru and the others were meant to conquer. They were always nameless to us, not because of their shifting form and shape, which always varied depending on the ones they called; host. But out of respect for they are the greatest and most challenging prey we have encountered. For a name is a sacred title, one that is never given to a warrior, but chosen for them by the gods.

The legend itself I believe was meant to explain our sudden departure from this small primitive planet. But as a pouchling it always fascinated and confused me for our relations with other races as equals are almost non existent, for they are all regarded as prey.

However as I watch my son in silence, I realize that the legend I always thought too strange to ever be real, held more truth then I could have understood in those days of innocence.

For the tale spoke of an Ooman who aided the hero in his quest, only to have the hero aided him in his. Though the ending was far more victorious then the fate which has met my son and his comrades, I wonder how this will effect my people.

Will we depart from them once again, out of the need to be the only hunters of the galaxy? Or will we finally face our doubts and accept that here are others worthy of being our equals?

But the questions of my mind are swiftly laid to rest, as the parasite stirs in O'Kuru's resting shell. The time has now come and I slowly approach his body, careful to keep the much needed distance between the birthing creature and myself. Soon it will break free and I will be there to destroy it. Finally severing the last tie that prevents my son's soul to enter the great forest of the gods.

Poised and ready for this moment I do not hesitate as, without further warning, it breaks free from his chest. The sight pains me but my instinct is far stronger. The creature maybe of Yautja blood but it is not one of us and so I promptly remove the prey from O'Kuru's form.

It struggles, writhing beneath my fingers; I feel its life pulsate in my hand and am reminded of the elder's words. With every victory, comes reward, with every cross road comes a decision and with every passing, comes change.

With a tight twist of my wrist and swift pressure of my thumb I break the parasite's neck, killing it immediately. Offering a prayer to T'Ang I ask the great god, to carry my son's spirit safely to his realm, where he may roam free with the god's in their never ending hunts.

With the ritual of passing now completed, I quietly leave knowing that the dead creature's flesh will soon lie in vastness of space, just as my son's shell will rest with the great heroes of my people.

Yet as I part from this resting place, I can't help but wonder what fate lies ahead for the Ooman's and the Yautja. Just how deep, or far will our paths cross? For in the end only time will tell what lies ahead, and what will become of a legend that has been brought back to life with the passing of my only child.