meus_venator | LJ and our SPN Community — spreading the love with a random fic snippet : )

In the spirit of spreading the LJ excitement and love I thought I'd put up a random snippet of a story I have in my WIP folder (and fully intend to finish, AFTER the stack of stuff I have lined up in front of it).

I think the SPN community is amazing and my life has changed forever by being a part of it. I had wanted to post some manips, but RL got in the way. Instead I offer up this not quite beta'd chunk of scifi I have been noodling with for a while. How's that for random? : )
I hope you like.

And yeah LJ what a wonderful haven filled with so many awesome people! It's great having you in my life! ♥ Here's to many more years together! Love hanging around with all you guys!

The Varg

Title: The Varg

Author: meus_venator

Pairing: Jared/Jensen (eventually)

Genre: Dystopian AU, future!fic, slave!fic, Scifi, near-future

Rating: NC-17 (eventually)

Warnings: none in this section

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No harm or disrespect intended.

Summary: The Talimite come face to face with the indigenous Varg, a captive is taken.

A/N: I hope you can see past the missing commas and bad spelling to the enthusiasm for our fandom that lies buried DEEPLY beneath : )

: : :

The Pumath rounded on him. Its large cat-like black body turning quickly, completely belying its bulk, its six legs curiously agile. The Varg rider on its back was hunched low, his body shifting fluidly to control the beast as he turned in preparation for another run. Dust filled the air, but he could still make out the rider lowering his force lance and headed straight toward him.

It was only the general’s quick lunge to the side that had saved him from an immediate varg force lance to the heart. Instead, the near-fatal blow caught his shoulder, tearing a huge chunk out of his suit and the flesh within, ripping the seals off his helmet in its passing. Spun back by the impact, he narrowly missed being trampled underfoot as the Pumath riders rumbled past.

General Morgan staggered awkwardly back in his force suit. The Varg's hit had badly damaged his shield network and force field generator, letting the full brunt of the Type One, heavy G world bear down on upon him. He groaned at the additional strain and yanked off his now useless helmet, its seals blown and strategic grid already gone dark. Who knew such primitive weapons would prove so effective against the best tech the Talimite Empire had to offer?

He groaned as he put his gauntleted hand to his torn and bleeding shoulder, unable to stanch the flow through the jagged opening in the armor leaking blood and hydraulic fluid for his impellors. He was too old for this. He’d spent too many years on the deck of his battle cruiser, removed from the realities of life on the ground. Morgan shook his head, scattering the beads of sweat that had quickly collected on his face as the suit’s recirculatory system shut down. He needed to focus on the situation; underestimating the enemy was such a rookie move.

He grimaced ruefully, there was no S.O.P, for this kind of enemy, not for millennia. The standard procedure of Talimite domination was space-side annihilator beams aimed at the ‘to be subjugated’ planet’s major cities, used until the inhabitants of said planet sensibly surrendered unconditionally to the gentle mercy of Talimite rule, or were burned to the ground.

Not so with Varg. What should have been a milk run campaign of ‘cut and conquer’ had become the exception to Talimite rule. Their first hint that things weren’t going to go by the book was the discovery of the asteroid belt surrounding this backwater planet. Long distance scans hadn’t picked it up, but in close orbit they had found out very quickly that the haze of small metallic particles clouding the planet’s orbit interfered with their annihilator beams. They’d learned that no amount of careful targeting could predict the reflective properties of the particle stream and had lost more than one ship in early trials. Then planet side surveillance had revealed that the Varg were a nomadic people with few major cities, leaving them no discernable large scale targets.

So it was time for Plan B.

Morgan’s commanders had ordered up several regiments of ground pounders for the task, led by a handful of Dorsaidi nobles. Instead of an efficient battle executed like a civilized invasion from the sky, this planet was to be taken on the ground, tribe by tribe, klick by hard earned klick, battling across the choking forests or endless grasslands of this spaceward boondocks. Gods knew why the Imperator even cared about this dust ball, but he did, and that forced his Admirals to care, which in turn made his generals care, which left Morgan here on the ground getting the shit kicked out of him by a half-naked savage.

They’d established their beachhead almost a month ago in the lower southern continent, but had barely been able to push past their original perimeter. Inhibited by the heavy G, uncooperative natives and, it almost seemed Varg itself, Morgan had never experienced such poor results. It was going to look bad on his record.

During their initial landing, Morgan had been more than a little shocked when they discovered the primitive natives' force knives and lances had the ability to penetrate the titarian flex shell of the Talamite suits. Only full power setting on the suits had given them a fighting chance against the natives’ weapons. Hell, even their jumbler blasts didn’t seem to bother the Pumaths’ shiny black hides, there were only a few spots the giant cats seemed vulnerable.

Their shipboard scientists had later speculated that the force lances were probably made of the same material their troublesome asteroid belt was – the ore filtering into the very genetics of the Pumath, maybe the varg themselves making them impervious to their weapons. Maybe this odd ore, they’d dubbed ‘Vargonite’ was the Imperator’s reason for conquering the squalid little world, but Morgan seriously wondered at the cost. Each foray had ended with soldier after soldier mowed down or taken prisoner by the Varg never to be seen again. The speed and strength of their mech suits was easily outgunned by the Varg’s Pumath and weaponry. Only the shear Talimite numbers against the smaller nomadic tribes had saved the preliminary invasion force. It had all been downhill since then.

The ambush by the Varg raiders had caught their squad completely flat-footed, eating their noonday rations at the base of a cliff’s face. They had stopped a couple dozen klicks outside base on a scouting mission to assess the strength of a village on the other side of the valley when a Varg band had taken them by surprise. They’d slipped past the perimeter detection devices like ghosts and taken the squad completely unaware. Unprepared, and out of their force suits, all technological advantage had been lost as the Varg cavalry’s force lances cut through them like butter.

Confusion reigned and the swift strike left his squad scattered, dead or wounded. Morgan had made it to his suit but had not had a chance to get to full power before he was struck down. Disbelief warred with rage that this band of raiders could have caught them so completely unaware. Between the recon bots and the scouts he’d personally deployed, early warning should have been a given. As it was, Morgan had barely been able to jump into his force suit in time before the natives were upon them.

With his helmet’s destruction, he'd had to operate without his usual array of tactical options, status levels and communications port. He hadn’t even been able to warn other members of his unit of the varg’s numbers or movements. Worse than the loss of his tactical array, without his damaged suit he couldn’t even charge his shields.

So here he stood, more than a little humiliated at being taken down this way, by a band of half-naked savages riding overgrown cats.

Holding his wounded shoulder with one hand he angrily took aim at the oncoming rider. He fired his jumbler and then dived for cover. He didn’t bother to wait and see if he'd even dented the Pumath’s charge, he just got the hell out of the way of the several-ton creature.

Cursing, Morgan rolled as he landed behind a group of rocks. It was disappointing, but not unexpected, that his hasty shot had gone wild and the Varg and its mount were wheeling about, bearing down on his new position. Around him he saw their little camp in chaos, supplies burning and screams of dying men echoing through the valley, along with the war whoops of the Varg. The sounds of jumbler shots and force lance bursts, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the field.

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed another varg running down on one of his men. The man had managed to get in his mech suit as well, but not his helmet, and was moving at full augmented speed ahead of the charging cat. He twisted back awkwardly to shoot at his pursuer, firing repeatedly but all the shots went wild. The varg rider was rapidly gaining on him. Morgan recognized the distinctive orange slash on the suit’s forearm. It was his second in command, the young noble, Jared. Squinting through the dust, Morgan took aim at the rider bearing down on Jared, shooting repeatedly at the big cat, hoping to get in a lucky shot.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed his own pursuer now taking an interest in his second’s dilemma. Before Morgan could swing his gun around back to his own varg, the man fell sideways in his saddle, hanging on only by his knees, and took careful aim at the General’s man. A primal battle cry split the air, and Morgan watched helpless as the flash of the single bolt from the savage’s force lance struck Jared with deadly accuracy.

Morgan watched helpless as the charge struck the knee joint, fusing the suit's leg and flinging the man forward through the air. His second skidded to a stop, face-down. A series of quick yips alerted Morgan to his own predicament. He turned to find his own varg had shifted back into his saddle and was nearly upon him; the giant cat making short work of the distance between them.

Unable to spare another thought for his second’s fate, Morgan took careful aim at the oncoming beast and rider. The Pumath took no notice. Beast and rider were almost on top of him, but they still hadn’t fired … Morgan tried to move, but his suit had stopped responding to his orders.

Dead in the water, Morgan grimaced in disgust and spit on the ground beside him. He let his arm drop to his side and tried to stand straighter. He spent a last breath cursing this loathsome backwater before he felt the sharp and sudden pain of the Varg lance’s impact. It cut through his uncharged mech suits armor, impaling him on its length, the impact of the strike lifting his body through the air to land helplessly, pinned to the ground by the lance’s staff.

Blood bubbled from his mouth and Morgan coughed weakly, his head lolling to the side. He blinked and saw his second, still alive, having struggled to one knee in the fused and shattered mech suit, firing steadily at the varg bearing down on him. It was with no little amount of satisfaction that Morgan saw one of the jumbler shots hit home and the Pumath roared in pain. It came crashing to the ground in a pile of grinding bone and flesh, and careened into the kneeling warrior. The last Morgan saw of Jared was his grimly determined face before the Pumath's body swept over him.

Morgan closed his eyes and shuddered in pain and disappointment. Not only had he lost his second, he knew his battle over as well. He wondered what would happen to his favorite slave, Idris, left safe, he hoped, back at the main camp. His body-slave had begged permission to travel with him on this scouting mission, but Morgan had been adamant that he stay on base. Their beachhead of 10 small, conquered townships and their 4 subjugated tribes had been the safest place for him, Morgan had insisted. He cried out, arching up at the sudden, sucking pain as the lance buried in his chest was removed by the Varg savage. His last image of a tall savage with light brown hair standing triumphantly over him, green eyes snapping, before the darkness took him.

: : :

Jensen grinned fiercely as he pulled his weapon from the alien invader’s shell. He wiped his force lance off and looked down at the one before him. He had the red slash insignia of General on the arm of his fighting shell.

Jensen wondered at someone of such high rank on such a small patrol. He mounted his Pumath and took stock of the situation. Around him, he saw that his brothers were doing well. The Talimite patrol was in disorganized retreat. He sub vocalized into his neck transponder. Status?

Reports flew in to him from all over the small battlefield. As expected,the com traffic informed him that their side had taken no casualties, while the death toll on the Talimite side had been high. His riders were running down stragglers, and now had more than fifteen captives. All survivors are to be taken captive and put in coffle. Any wounded too badly to be moved are to be put down humanely.

Over to his left he could see his sub-commander, Chrisjin, cradling the massive head of his fallen Pumath, speaking the ancient words that would send the giant cat’s soul on its way to Offworlders.

She had been Chrisjin’s favorite, only a youngling he had raised by hand, milk fed from a bottle. Now the enemy warrior lay pinned beneath its dead weight.

Jensen rode over. He couldn’t tell if the alien was alive or dead. The insignia on the invader’s shell indicated Lieutenant, so possibly the second in command of this group. The alien was young for such a rank, Jensen thought, regarding the unconscious man where he lay, his longish brown hair tangled over his closed eyes. There was a wide bloody gash on his forehead, and one long leg lay pinned beneath the Pumath. Jensen raised his brows as he looked the beast over carefully, it had taken a direct hit in the eye; lucky shot that, or the man was very dangerous.

“My thanks my lord,” Chrisjin stood and dusted himself off.

“It was surely nothing, my friend,” Jensen grinned at his second in command, jumping down off his beast and slapping his comrade on the back.

“It was thanks to your force lance blast that this one now lies here before me, ready for my mark or my knife,” Chrisjin growled.

“Ah, my shot was hurried, I had not thought it would have been much help.”

Jensen looked the alien over, alive he decided as he saw a faint movement of the man’s chest through the destroyed mech suit. He turned to Chrisjin who had drawn a long wicked looking blade.

“So what think you my lord, shall I kill him? He fought bravely, I’ll give the outlander that. Maybe it would be a mercy, a warrior should die in the field, not serve as a slave on his belly.” Chrisjin looked down at the unconscious man with begrudging respect.

Jensen shook his head and patted his friend on the back. “I know you are angry with the Outlander my friend, he is responsible for your pumath’s death, but no, I think he would make prime slave meat. If he will submit, he will serve our people well, my friend.”

“Then he is my gift to you, for it was because of you that he is captured; although you were too busy counting coup with that outlander general to notice.”

“What would I do with him?” Jensen mused, a perplexed smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“I am sure he will find his uses. You work too hard, a slave would provide you with some much-needed relief. If not, sell him or give him away. But a leader should have his own slave, it is only right. It is unseemly that you do so much for yourself.”

Jensen rubbed at his stubbled chin, allowing his gaze to travel over the unconscious alien’s face. It was handsome, with long silky hair not quite long enough to braid. Jensen mourned that hair, it would be shaved when he was branded. He wondered absently what colour this alien’s eyes would be when they opened, and he felt his dick thicken with interest beneath his loincloth.

Sands! He had no time for this.

“Ay! You drive me crazy with your suggestions, I’ll have you know I use the rings to find my relief, it is enough,” Jensen paused and looked again at the handsome captive, “but I think maybe I will keep this one.”

Grinning like a schoolboy, Jensen leapt back up into his pumath's saddle. Gathering his reins, he gave his instructions. “We will return to Vartath with our new chattel in the morning, we have been too long from the city. Tell the men. We will train them on the journey, and if this one is not pleasing, I will sell him when we arrive.” Before urging his Pumath forward, Jensen paused and dug in one of his saddlebags. He threw a series of rings over to Chrisjin, his second snagged them out of the air.

“Here,” Jensen said, wheeling his Pumath around, already distracted by the news coming over the coms, “Mark him as I had Matt, they are keyed to me.”

“Ay, commander,” said Chrisjin.

“And Chrisjin…”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t shave his head.”

: : :

Comments? Thoughts? Should I continue?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

AaaaHH you tease! Wanna read more! Gimmegimmegimme!

Mwahahahaaa! See it's all part of an evil plan to keep everyone coming back to LJ!
It's on my list of things to finish! heh! I am so not a good person!

I say NO to snippets because you'll only make me want MOARRRR!

*gives in and reads anyways*

That's a good policy, so's caving. See this is all part of my evil plan to keep people coming back to LJ. To see this finished!

Should you continue?! Yes, yes please!!

On my to do list. I WILL finish it, it's going to be quite evil I think Mwahahaaa!

OMGG asgkjkdjgakgjj!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE CONTINUE!!!!!

This is the best fandom!! Between all the amazing responses I got to my post about being a fangirl/writer and the Random Posts of yesterday, it cannot be refuted!!

The SPN community is the bomb! And I will resort to any and all dirty tricks to keep folks coming back. : ) And you should have no worries about your fannish indulgences, you only go around this world once, do what you want to do while you're here.

I am ENTHRALLED. Please continue!!

I will finish this. I just have this troublesome BB stacked in front of it first. : ) Oh and one zombie apocalypse story I need to finish too. But I will get there.

Oh please continue this story! I love it so far. Can't wait find out what happens next. P. S., I want a Pumath!

Me too. A Pumaths ROCK! I can't wait to find out what happens either. This is a way of goading myself to finish it. It's been sitting there with just a few more k than what I posted here for over a year. It's definitely on the radar now.

Ooh... yes, please. Do continue!

* nods * As you command! : )

You are just a dirty tease! Of course we want more; it's such a fantastic snippet. Very exciting!!

xx

LOL, aren't I just! Any dirty trick to keep people coming back to LJ. I seriously do intend to finish this. I just need to finish my BB and my Zombie story first. : ) Don't hate me cause I'm bad. I'll give you your very own Pumath!!!!

PLEASE continue! I'm already hooked!

Me too. It's been sitting unfinished for far to long. And it has Kane in it : )

Want more!!!!

: ) I'll see what I can do in the coming year. Thanks for reading : )

I'm a late arrival to this snippet, but I definitely think you should continue. You certainly have my interest.

All I need is time now : P Okay * adds to WIP stack *
: )

Should you continue? Pfft. Tease. Of course, you should.

Yes, I am a terrible tease! Mwahahaha!!! That's how I got into the TOEs

No, honey, you got in the TOEs with bondage, torture and non-con. ;)

LJ and our SPN Community — spreading the love with a random fic snippet : )

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Late arrival

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