05-31-2022, 01:23 PM
lord, I fashion dark gods too;
He stays in this alien body, enjoying the feel. He has always enjoyed a predator’s body, the feel of it. In those earlier mortal days, he’d spent more time in such forms – a wolf, particularly – because being in a prey animal’s body had felt so odd when he considered himself an apex predator.
Now, there is no such there as predator and prey, not for him. He is a god, and they are not, and that is the only division he needs.
He moves closer, watching the thing, considering. He knows Ripley is old, knows that long ago there was a betrayal there – incubator to the children of one of his great enemies, a mare now long gone, her stupid goddess with her.
Who knows if Ripley remembers? He knows the aliens do not think of things the same way.
“Ripley,” he says, his own voice forced by magic from the strange vocal chords, a strange, grating twist to it.
“Do you know who I am?”
He asks the question and then he shifts again, back into his own body, to make the answer to the question easier. For a moment, he misses the feeling of armor, the weight of a knife-tail, and then the fleeting longing is gone, for he has ever so many more weapons at his disposal.
c a r n a g e
@Ripley