SIM:T'Lea - The Butcheress of N'Dallis Prime

 The Bogon System.  N’Dallis Prime.  Dead of winter. 13 years ago.  The end day of the turf war.  Details slowly came into a cold, hazy view.   The streets were piled high with discolored snow.  Bodies of fallen enemies and friends lay frozen in their final resting positions, their faces depicting the last expressions of anguish, and the fear of certain death.  This was the result of young T’Lea’s hunger for power.  This was how she’d earned her title, The Butcheress of N’Dallis Prime.  This was her meat locker of dead.

 Looking around, T’Lea knew she’d been responsible for more than a few of the slain that surrounded her, but she had no remorse.  In fact, she enjoyed it.

 Her most recent kill was a decapitated body, gushing blood at her feet.  She stood proud over her victim, a man twice her size.  In her hands she held a sharp, curved piece of scrap metal, resembling a sickle, it was dipping fresh blood from her latest casualty, and so was she.

 Everyone that was still alive in her gang had taken a beating.  T’Lea’s right bicep had been sliced open and bandaged, her lip had a five day heal on it, her knuckles were raw, bruised and bloodied, and a fresh gash in her forehead seeped green blood.  Those were just a few of the wounds she could remember over the course of two weeks.  Two weeks of hell to be precise.  A hell that not even law enforcement dared to interfere with.  But all the bloodshed was paying off.  She and her mate Dragus had successfully led two groups up parallel streets on the Westside, and they were now in visual range of the Goban Docks.  This would be the day they seized over eighty percent of the drug cartel.

 The two divisions of criminals advanced in the snow toward the docks, mowing down all opposition in their path.  Ceedel, the large Shrackian male chopped one fighter down at the kneecaps and then skewered another through the neck with his chin horns.  He was the Goliath that the enemy eventually turned their focus on.  If they could bring down the Shrackian monument, then the others would surely fall.  That’s what T’Lea was counting on.  He took the focus off who was REALLY in charge.  He took the focus off the Alpha of this pack.  T’Lea.

 It didn’t strike her as a flawed plan until she witnessed three Skinths pounce on Ceedel like rabid dogs.  She hesitated to help.  What were the odds of her taking on three Skinths at once?  Make that two.  Ceedel had just punctured one in the lung with his horn.  Still, two felt like one too many for her to win in her current condition.

 Taking her time she hacked through a few stragglers.  If Ceedel died, morale would go down, and eventually the enemy would figure out that she was the one running the show.  If, however, she took the time to save his life, he could still fight at the front, her role would be protected, and he would forever be in her debt.  It was a no-brainer.

 On his knees, Ceedel covered his head as two Skinths took turns beating him with metal pipes.  Seeing that the job was nearly done, one of the attackers broke off and went after a more challenging opponent.  Now was the perfect time for T’Lea to step in.

 On the ground in a protective ball, Ceedel tried to shield himself from the blows, when suddenly the beating stopped.  He peeped out of his arms just in time to see T’Lea standing over the Skinth with her foot firmly planted in his low back, and her sickle hooked around his spinal chord.  In one merciless, swift motion the weapon sliced through bone and flesh like a hot knife through butter.  Fluids of all kinds spewed out of the lizardman’s back, some of which splashed onto her boots and pant leg.  The nauseatingly gruesome sight didn’t even make her flinch.

 Slowly, Ceedel got up, although his body screamed for him to sit back down.  He made eye contact with his savior.  By the commandments of his religious beliefs he would forever be in her debt until the day he died.  He knew it.  And she knew it.  No words needed to be exchanged. 

 T’Lea turned back to the docks, her eyes squinting at the glare bouncing off the snow.  She lifted her blood covered weapon and her minions roared in victory.