A draft forced Martin to wakefulness. It took him a moment to take stock of the situation and remember where he was.
Then a deep gnawing hunger welled up from his gut, his vision swayed as he stood up. He took a deep breath and wished for the much clearer nose of the mbwa to sense prey with. However, he took comfort in his humanity, if his people survived disease, predator, and prey in the African Savannah, he would survive here.
He knew his own territory, there was a stream down a few tunnels behind him. Animals depended on watering holes to survive.
It was a short walk in the surprisingly bright cave system and a beautiful destination. Some sort of green fluorescent moss lined the cave wall, giving everything an eerie glow. Stalagmites, stalactites, small bones from past meals and rocks littered the place.
So far he couldn't see any animal, but he was confident something would come, he'd hunted here before. He climbed onto a protruding ledge right next to the stream and waited, observing warily.
He didn't remember ever being this serene, he could remember a put-upon mother telling him to keep still and complaining about his inability to be patient. He learned eventually, not to show it on the outside, especially near his father, who'd slapped him once or twice for fidgeting.
A flicker of movement caught at the corner of his eye but he resisted turning his head, aware that the quick movement would just freak his prey. Eventually, a small procession of large rabbit-sized rats approached the stream. The green lighting seemed to tint their coat an almost black.
From experience, he knew they hated the smell of their own blood and would scatter easily. But were ferocious to other herbivores.
Martin struck launching himself across the stream, trying and failing, to sink his claws into the largest rat thing. He panicked as they all seemed to turn at an unseen signal, remembering his very clawless human form. Suddenly.they rushed him, he ran.
The scrabbling of their feet reminded him of normal rats teeth, which could chew through metal and concrete. He remembered that one documentary he saw about how all animals are opportunistic omnivores, he could almost imagine their teeth ripping through soft unarmored human flesh.
He cursed himself as he tripped, but ended up grabbing what felt weighty. He struck blindly, and true, as a small amount of energy filled his system, he'd killed one. He frantically tried to think, and could only settle for high ground, So he scrambled to his feet yet again and ran back to his ledge.
Once there, he found that he'd grabbed a large bone of something, he had to use it immediately as one Panya lunged at him. He swung his bone and was satisfied by a thunk. Another lunged, this time, he felt the buzz that came with a sure kill. It became almost routine, and he settled in. He was separated from them by water and so they could only jump at him, it'd be like a batting cage.
It worried him a bit that they were not giving up, but he felt safe. Every kill gave him a bit of energy so he wouldn't get so tired that he couldn't swing. He noted with some wonder that the bottomless pit of hunger that had woken him seemed to be shrinking.
Mentally he chastised himself for forgetting he was human. He distantly felt that a much bigger reaction was warranted for such a loss of identity, but that part was drowned out by the small pleasant shocks he got every time he managed to get a killing headshot on a lunging Panya.
At least he knew what these things were called. He knew that they were communal. Almost like a prairie dog, with a queen and these were a small detachment of workers. He'd realized he'd made a bit of a mistake in coming back to the ledge as this cave was their feeding ground and they had to clear him out as he seemed like the competition.
Regardless, he had thought he was safe until a sharp blooming pain raced up his leg as his ankle gave way. He managed to find purchase on the cave wall and looked down to see a larger bullier Panya on the ledge with him. It was wet. He cursed, realizing it had swum, it must have been a soldier or something.
He swung the bone club, missed, and fell as he lost balance. The thing was surprisingly slippery as he tried and failed to get it to stop scratching and biting at him. he fell off the ledge.
Below, the stream seemed to swallow him up, seemingly bottomless. As an act of revenge, Martin grabbed the Panya's tail and held it underwater, trying to ignore the bites and scratches. Hardy as It was, he was nearly passing out before he felt the telltale buzz of energy that meant it was dead. He had hoped and it seemed the others were too small to ford the stream. So he climbed back on the ledge and crushed the few that had made it over with the club, thankfully still there. Then continued with his demented batting cage. Careful to watch for more soldiers.
By the time they were too few to worry about, his leg felt better, and he hobbled back to his spot carrying a mostly complete Panya corpse. He knew he needed to sort his head out, or he'd die.
