I would like to see a level 2 or 3 deathworlder who doesn't recognize a human as a level 4/4.5 deathworlder trying to be protective of the squishy. And the human letting them, on account of not being a fighting type of person. Right up until the level 2 or 3 deathworlder gets in over their head, and then the human is like nope. You do not hurt my protector. I am protector now, and it is time for adrenaline blitz. -- Anon Guest
Phrin took one look at Human Stiv and instantly concluded that this could not be the legendary kick-rump-and-take-names Deathworlders that scared the Vorax away from entire stellar empires. Not this one, at the very least. Human Stiv was meek and softly-spoken, the kind who didn't just blend in with the wallpaper, but would sidle nervously aside to get out of the wallpaper's way.
Phrin, not exactly a Deathworlder Companion on account of being a Deathworlder herself, decided on the spot that she would take this meekly murmuring embodiment of a shadow made from diffuse lighting and teach them to be bolder, better, and brighter. Or at the minimum, capable of giving the wallpaper some attitude.
The wing part was easy enough, and Human Stiv was glad of the invitation to hug. They liked being in the security of darker and comfortable places, and a good friend top hold was a bonus in a strange new place. Owing to this, they sort of shared Companion Kresh, who was a small and fluffy creature that clearly needed nurturing. In their own ways, they each adopted Kresh.
Phrin insisted on training, but quickly learned that Human Stiv shrank away from those who were loud. A Deregger survivor, their home environment was hazardous when alleged caregivers were loud. The poor, delicate wimp. As far as Phrin was concerned, both Stiv and Kresh were adopted wards.
Until the pirate attack. The enemy had laid a honey trap for the Golden Vulture and other salvage operations like it. A tempting sargasso of apparently empty vessels and wrecks that had a laundry list of desirable materials visible on the scans. Just far enough out from the nearest wormholes to make going there an acceptable risk, but fast access to emergency rescue a problem.
The pirates sprang and ran interference on any emergency signals and laughed in Phrin's face as she tried to protect her charges from harm. What happened next, as she struggled to maintain consciousness and then get back up to fight some more. These delicate babies had no chance... no chance at all.
Then something surprising happened. Human Stiv spoke. Not in a whisper. Not in a murmur, but in a clear and proud voice. An angry voice. "You hurt my friend," they said.
Phrin had enough strength to watch as the mild Human Stiv picked up a larger multi-purpose blade and, in the space of a breath, became the feared Deathworlder of Alliance legend.
"Nobody. Hurts. My. Friends." Human Stiv literally burst into action, launching themself at the closest of the pirates with an aim to cause as much damage as possible. It was quite the grizzly spectacle.
Were it not for Companion Kresk valiantly attempting to drag her off the field of combat, she might have thought this was a death fantasy. The brain did not make up things like a Havenworlder wrestling her weight onto a medical carry-sled. It was the soft cursing underneath Human Stiv's blood-curdling screams that did it. Phrin knew that her imagination was never that precise.
The Mediks swarmed once Kresk got her through a doorway, and Stiv's ululating rage faded from Phrin's awareness. She was still protesting that she had to protect the other Deathworlder aboard.
Then the tranquilizers kicked in and Phrin sank into darkness.
When she woke, after the disaster, Human Stiv was in a convalescence chair by her bedside. They were bandaged, but not nearly as broken as Phrin was. They were also reading softly from one of the multitude of Human fictions. Human Stiv was back to their normal, soft-spoken self.
"God does not play dice with the universe," Human Stiv read. "He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players --i.e. everybody-- to being involved in an obscure and complex variant of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles..." Stiv brightened when they noticed Phrin. "Hi. Welcome back."
"You lived through the battle?"
A wide smile, Human style, showing off their teeth. "Don't sound so shocked. You learn to unleash the nasty when you grow up in Deregger space. I... don't like that side of me."
Humans told legends of a hero who spent part of his life as a mild-mannered civilian. Phrin had always wondered how people could not spot the similarities, right up until this moment. The Human Stiv she was used to was not the same being as the one on the securicam recordings, where the usually quiet Human was literally taking the invaders to pieces.
That was the scary story feared across Alliance space. Not her delicate little friend that sometimes hid from arguments under her wings.
But they were both the same being. Which gave rise to the question - was Superman pretending to be Clark Kent... or was Clark Kent pretending to be Superman?
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / boule]
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