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Our seed world spun slowly beneath me. It was strangely peaceful this far from the surface. I knew what it was like down there. Everyone still in the wilds lived day to day in a desperate cycle of survival. It was those tribes that had called me back here--back home--to do both my duty and my privilege.

I was over the vast testing grounds now. One land mass, a thousand miles in diameter, festooned with all the harshest environments our world engineers could design. Thick rain forests clinging to the sides of rocky cliffs. Barren mountains torn in ragged strips through endless miles of otherwise featureless savanna. In it were the young and unproven of the twenty eight tribes. Most of them lived their whole lives there. Most of them didn't live very long at all.

But once in a while, one of them would prove themselves. They would be given the opportunity to rise out of those humble beginnings, and today it was my honor to go down amongst them to see if any are worthy.

My mates cheered my departure. There were twenty of us aboard the Thule, but when we had boarded the Altarian vessel and slain its crew, it was I who had hunted down their captain and personally thrown him into the airlock. This honor was mine, and mine alone. And I eagerly anticipated it. Some of my mates were even envious. I saw their glares as I strode among them on my way to the capsule. Tag-erth was sour. He and I had dueled once, and he had been fighting the bridge crew when I broke through and caught the captain. He believed it should be him about to descend to the seed world, but he'll have to wait for another time to claim his honor. Today was mine.

They would leave without me. By the time I was through with this honor, years would have passed, and no vessel was lazy enough to spend that long in port when it could be out raiding. I said my goodbyes. When I was ready to become a warrior again, I would probably be assigned a different ship. This was probably the last time I would see any of them.

A hand reached out. Saith was standing near the capsule. Her ears were folded down, and her pupils were dilated. "I will remember you." She stroked my chest. She rubbed the back of her hand over my belly, and her fingers cupped my testes. She was a fine captain to have had. I had learned much from her.

There was a hiss. Tag-erth was nearby. He spat in disgust, then turned his back to me. It was a dishonor. I considered asking Saith to couple with me here in the hallway just to spite him. I knew he thought himself worthy of our captains attentions, but she clearly thought otherwise. It would enrage him, and it would be a parting pleasure-

But no. It would be neglecting my own duties. Up here any seed I spilled would be a barren waste, but now that I was about to drop to the surface, it could be put to much better use. Saith let out a hiss of her own, and I knew that the dishonor wouldn't go unpunished. It might have been meant for me, but our dear captain had taken offense too. If Tag-Erth was smart, maybe he wouldn't be spaced by the end of their next tour.

None of that was my concern anymore, though. I stepped into the capsule, and Saith pulled the restraints tight. She smiled at me. "Nail one for me, would you?" Her fingers gripped my sheath, but then she was gone. The capsule door swung closed, and I was encased in a thin ceramite shell for the meteoric descent.

The acceleration was brutal. It was like being shot from a cannon. The capsule was only barely large enough to contain me. It was long and bullet-shaped, made to carve through atmosphere like a knife. I held my breath--not as if my lungs could pull in another at this high strain--nor as if there was any air in the capsule to gulp in anyway. I counted down. It would only take thirty seconds. Fifteen seconds in, the pod heated up until I felt my whiskers singe. Then I felt all the blood rush from my head as the capsule was caught by the gravity tether. I blacked out.

I came to as the attendant was fiddling with the console on the outside of my capsule. In just seconds the ceramite shell slid away, and I took my first breath of terrestrial air in decades. I waited for them to unbuckle the restraints, then stepped out into the square.

I was in the southern anchor city. There were four of these--sparkling minarets of civilization that stood at the edges of the testing ground. There was room here for millions to live in peace and comfort. And in shame. To retire to an anchor city was to admit defeat. It was to claim that you were not good enough to become one of us elite warriors, and that you never would be. Around me were the failures.

No, that was wrong. Not everyone was meant to be a warrior. Time and time again, the sniveling diplomats that visit us in space tell us of the technological advances that their scientists and engineers had developed. Anchor cities free of sickness and pollution. It was a marvel, they said. It was a truly advanced society, they said. We shouldn't look down on the ones who had failed. They're simply serving a different calling.

Right. Of course. But if the raiders stopped bringing in supplied for even just a few months, see if those shining cities could survive. How would these failures like it if their generators no longer had rare antimatter to burn? These places would fall to shambles if us warriors weren't here to keep them living in luxury. Let them have their peace. Let them have their opulence. It was a sign of weakness, and I'd have none of it.

Were they really all this small, or were they cowering in front of me? I stepped out into the light under the gravity anchor. It was mid-day, and I stood naked under the sun for the first time in ages. The heat of it felt good on my pelt.

"Your eminence. We-"

It was a little stoat at my side. He only came up as high as my hips. I interrupted him mid-sentence. "Do not waste my time with formalities. I must be made ready. If you are not one of the painters, then off with you."

I saw him shake with rage, but his subservience won. Of course it would. If he hadn't been naturally servile, perhaps he'd have been worthy of being a warrior, instead of an attendant. He disappeared, and the painters came.

I widened my legs and stood in the sunlight, drinking it in. Combs and brushes dragged through my thin pelt. It felt exquisite. It was right that I ignore the attendants and let them do their work as I prepared myself for the hunt, but I was curious. It was my first time on the surface since I'd been chosen, and I'd never seen the inside of an anchor city. I'd only heard tell from those that'd earned the honor what it was like.

When I looked down, I was surrounded by the painters. There were ten of them, maybe, and all of them were naked. It was custom. None may wear clothes in the presence of a warrior when they descend to the surface. It was a mark of our exalted status. The painters they'd chosen for me were delicate little things, otters and mice and rabbits. They were soft, and their hands were nimble. Half of them were still brushing me, from legs up to chest, while the others were breaking out small brushes and fur inks.

My pelt was an unbroken tawny canvas, and by the time they started painting at my feet, I was immaculately groomed. I was a regal lion, tall and broad of chest. I was probably the best opportunity these painters would ever have to ply their art. I knew this would be recorded and televised, as would the rest of the hunt. A painter could make their fame here.

As cold ink was being dragged over my ankles and shins, an adventurous painter with a comb nimbly held my sac and ran the comb through the thick fur around my sheath. Once the knots and tangles were tugged from my fur, he put the comb down and fetched a sponge. He caressed my sheath, then looked up at me quizzically.

I smiled down at him. "Use your mouth."

He didn't even hesitate. As I was stood and painted, the eager artist applied tongue to the tip of my sheath. He wasn't bad. It swirled around and caught my tip, pulling it into the sunlight. I didn't help him. This was his duty. I let him slowly felate me as the other painters drew intricate patterns on my calves. As he coaxed more and more of me out into the light, I felt the sponge touch my bared cock. He washed me efficiently, then used his hands to stroke me to full erection. He grabbed his own brush and started to paint from the tip of my cock, while another of the painters pulled my rump cheeks apart. Again, I felt the touch of a sponge, then more brushes as they began to paint there as well.

By the time they were done, I was a work of art. The whole of my leonine body was covered in swirls and patterns. I stood proudly as the painters backed away. I'd been stripped of any weapons that I hadn't been born with. I was painted with the markings of my tribe, and I had abstained for a night and a day. I was ready for the hunt.