Citizen 1437 Moros

Hunting for the Ancients was a great honour. Those that impressed the Elders with their offering would carry their approval for the rest of their lives, and some grew arrogant because of it. Vendors of various hunting tools, from bolas to blades, boasted of the quality of their products, of how essential they were to completing such a prestigious trial, to draw in their customers. Perhaps some were honest in their sales pitch, as the Elders preferred clean kills in their offerings, but it mattered little to Moros. Though they'd never heard of the Elders rejecting an offering, only bestowing some judgment upon the hunter for presenting a messy carcass, they were certain the Elders and the Ancients would be impressed by their hunt. They already had plans for how to succeed at the challenge.

The sun hung low in the sky as Moros approached the forests with a lazy gait. They didn't need sunlight for this hunt, and the darkness would help rather than hinder them for the first part of their plan. With deep breaths, Moros stepped into the forest as the scents of possible prey drifted on tbe breeze towards them. Under the dappled light, tinted pink from the sunset, their pelt melted into the shadows, leaving only the teeth pattern of their throat armour visible in the darkness.

Moros was in no rush to find their prey; the rush of adrenaline when taking the prey's life was not the high they wanted out of the hunt. They drifted towards the strongest scent, moving with such a delicate grace that their steps were almost silent as they moved through the undergrowth. The reaching branches of bushes scraped through their pelt as they moved closer, until they could identify the scent. A deer. Likely a buck, at least a few years old. A formiddable foe, even for a grown Rex like Moros, especially if it was experienced in surviving hunts. Moros just smiled. It would be even more impressive if they returned with such a strong specimen, dead in their jaws.

As they grew closer, they crouched to slink through the undergrowth. With their ears pricked, they could hear a stream gurgling beyond their view of thick bushes. A low snort came from the same direction, and Moros' smile grew. Their target was here.

With their belly low to the ground, Moros approached until they could catch glimpses of the stream and the stag through the gaps in the bush leaves. Even from the small glances, they knew their guess had been correct. The stag was a strong specimen, with large antlers and scars of a survivor. A perfect prize to impress the Ancients. They waited a moment before they swayed their tail to rustle the bushes beside them.

The stag's head shot up in their direction. Its ears flicked as it listened close to pinpoint the sources of the noise, body tense and ready to flee. The beast was strong and smart, Moros could tell, as it didn't waste energy fleeing if it wasn't threatened. They let out a low purr as they stood, but kept their head tucked low. With a loud snort, the stag lowered its head, standing its ground with its sharp antlers angled right at Moros. The threat meant it was unafraid of them. Exactly as they wanted.

A grin split across their face as Moros finally stretched to their full height. With teeth bared, both the jagged rows in their mouth and the patterns adorning their throat armour, they watched as the stag took a step back, uncertain.

Some Rexes found Moros unsettling. From the dark pelt, the teeth markings across their throat, and their blood red magic, they were a startling sight when they appeared from the shadows of an alley, but no Rex expected them to be a real threat. The Dome was a peaceful haven, after all, and no Rex would be foolish enough to maim or kill another when the force of guardians and soldiers would come down upon them.

But to the stag? Moros was a beast unlike any other. With the illusion of two mouths, full to the brim with long teeth ready to tear into its flesh, and enough muscle to rival the strength of a full grown deer, they were a threat that even an experienced stag wouldn't risk. The other beasts it had fought couldn't compare to the sight. As Moros opened their mouth to laugh, it turned and darted away into the woods, leaving Moros cackling on the stream bank.

"That's right! Keep running whilst you still can!" Moros called after their prey, boasting to the fleeing creature and listening forest around them. "You won't have the strength to run from me soon enough!" Crossing the stream, they took a deep breath of the deer's scent left on the grass and committed it to memory. With a grin, they followed the steps left by the stag's frantic escape, as if they were merely taking a stroll. Their hunt was not over.

A day passed before Moros found their prey again, in the dead of night. With the false stars in the dark sky above, a creation from the Ancients, the forest and clearing were brushed by the soft light to give Moros the ability to see their prey, as if blessing their hunt. In the day, Moros could imagine the area lush with life and colour, whilst songs from birds and bugs as they fluttered in the branches above or grass underfoot. But, for now, silence dominated, as if the night held a baited breath whilst Moros lurked in its shadows.

Even asleep, Moros admired the strength and build of their prey. Its antlers reached high over its head and, in the darness, Moros could almost fool themself into thinking the shapes were young trees beginning to grow. Even with scars running through its fur, the creature's pelt looked thick and healthy, unlike some of the scrawny speciments Moros had seen other Rexes carry with undeserved pride. Moros wondered if the Ancients ever skinned some of their offerings, if their walls were adorned with the skulls and fur of the animals they were given. If they did, this kill would be perfect to add to the collection.

But Moros still had to wait before they could kill the beast.

They took a deep breath, preparing themselves for chaos, before releasing a loud cackle. The sound tore through the serene silence. Any nearby creature was ripped from their sleep by the echoing noise. Birds let out terrible cries as they were startled from their nests and flocked to the sky to escape. A fox screeched as it darted into an empty den, only to be pushed out by a badger, right into Moros' paws. They just grinned as the small creature turned and fled. It was lucky that it was too small of a morsel to be worth killing.

Movement caught Moros' eyes, and they turned just in time to watch their stag hurry and stumble to its feet, sluggish from sleep but desperate with fear. Its antlers got caught in a low hanging branch, and it wrenched itself free in its need to escape. Moros couldn't help snickering at their clumbsiness. What kind of prey let themselves get caught off guard? They cherished the moment of excitement, watching their target rush off into the darkness, before they began to stroll after it, stepping into the starlight for just a moment then fading into the darkness once again.

Moros continued stalking, haunting, and tormenting their prey over several days. They charged at it when it was eating and drinking, cackled in the darkness as it tried to sleep, anything to keep it awake and paranoid. Sometimes, the stag would stand its ground against them, but one glance at their bared teeth was all it took to break its momentary bravery. Those encounters Moros loved the most, seeing the spirit wither as it realised it was no match for their might. Perhaps they could have killed it with brute strength alone, instead of playing such a long game with their prey, but where was the fun in that?

Dawn rose on the stag's trembling body as Moros walked over to it, still taking their time. There was no reason to rush, they knew it wasn't getting away this time. To the beast's credit, it still tried to flee, even as its exhausted body protested every movement. Its legs kicked out and scraped at the ground, digging deep grooves into the dirt, but it didn't have the strength to support its own weight. Exhaustion and stress had taken a heavy toll on its body, just as Moros had planned, and there was no hope of survival anymore.

With a grin on their face, they grabbed the stag's head and pressed it to the ground. Though it tried to flail and escape their grasp, they could pin it with little effort, and they chuckled as it fought with what strength it had left.

"Poor thing… You never stood a chance." Moros let it go, and the deer let out a heavy breath. They wondered if it thought they were leting it go. Foolish animal. "You will make a wonderful gift to the Ancients. It's a shame I can't keep a trophy for myself, I put so much work into executing this plan." Moros huffed, fur fluffing up, before they continued. "Oh well. It was fun whilst it lasted."

As the stag let out a final cry, Moros grabbed its head and wrenched it to the side. The snap of its neck was only heard by its killer.

---

Artist: paradoxspir1t