[Ding! Host hunted a Llama. Gene Points +20.]
The system chime rang in my head. Twenty points. It felt cheap , but I wasn't going to argue. I looked at the male llama—about 300 pounds of meat. Unlike that armored turtle, this was pure protein.
Zack, Zoe, and I started tearing into the kill, while Mom and Dad finished off the female nearby.
"Rest in peace, buddy," I thought, looking at the dead male's wide-eyed face as I ripped off a choice piece of fat. "You died for love, or at least for the chance of it. I'll make sure you don't go to waste."
Once we were full, Mom and Dad signaled it was time to head back.
"Roar~~"
I didn't move. The sun was still up, and I felt too good to just go home and nap. I wanted to see what else was out there—and maybe bank a few more points while my luck was holding. Mom nudged me, but I stood my ground.
They didn't push it. We're all a year old now, entering that sub-adult phase where the leash starts to get a lot longer. In the wild, parents start backing off once you can feed yourself. Eventually, they'll flat-out kick us out to find our own territory, but for now, they just let me be.
As the rest of the family headed home, I trekked further south. The plains were alive at this hour. I watched a pack of Dire Wolves relentlessly shadowing a pronghorn in a marathon chase. Further off, a pair of Dinofelis—the false sabertooths—were lurking in the tall grass near a herd of wild horses.
I gave everyone a wide berth. I was looking for a win, not a war.
My luck held. Near a patch of dense scrub, I spotted a family of Flat-headed Peccaries—prehistoric pigs. Two adults and three fat little piglets. The adults were about 1.5 meters long and looked to be around 300 pounds each.
I hesitated for a second, then decided to go for it. Pigs are mean, but I had a size advantage now. I didn't bother sneaking. I just burst from the brush.
"ROAR—!"
The sound sent the birds screaming into the sky. The piglets scrambled, but the big male didn't run. He had that honey badger attitude. He lowered his head, let out a sharp, angry grunt, and charged straight at me.
I used my long tail to balance as I skipped to the side, letting his momentum carry him past. As he brushed by, I hammered my paw into his hindquarters.
Thump!
The hit threw off his balance, and he tumbled into the dirt. I didn't give him a second to recover. I lunged, pinning him down and locking my jaws onto the back of his neck.
Smilodons are built for this. Our sabers are made for thick-skinned prey that other cats struggle with.
Pshhh!
My teeth slid deep into his neck, hitting the windpipe.
CRACK!
I engaged my new bite force, feeling the vertebrae twist and buckle under the pressure. The boar let out a muffled, gurgling scream and started thrashing, his short legs kicking wildly. He was heavy enough to drag me along as he rolled, and I had to dig my front claws into his back to stay attached.
"Hold on, James. If you slip now, those teeth are going to snap like toothpicks."
While I was busy with the husband, the female decided she wanted in on the fight. She squealed and charged to defend her mate.
I wasn't about to get flanked. I yanked my sabers out, spraying blood across the grass, and leaped off the male to reset my stance. The female stood over her husband, huffing and snapping her jaws at me.
The male tried to stand, but he was done. He was leaking too much blood, and his windpipe was crushed. He wobbled for a few steps and then collapsed again, gasping for air.
Seeing her mate go down for good, the female's courage broke. She looked at me—covered in her partner's blood—and realized she was next. She turned and uttered a frantic squeal, signaling the piglets to run. They vanished into the bushes in a heartbeat.
"ROAR—!"
I started to move toward her, my sabers gleaming red. She didn't wait. She bolted after her kids.
I turned back to the male, ready to finish the job, but something weird happened. The dying boar somehow found a final spark of life. He scrambled to his feet one last time, eyes glazed and blood foaming at his mouth, and launched himself at me in a blind, suicidal charge.