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Bazzite was bored these days.

One could only scour the Rift for trinkets for so long before the activity became dull, and while the Rift's vast expanse was ripe for exploration, the youma craved stretching his legs in Destiny City. He remembered meeting a General with a tail and ears somewhere near the Hall of Shadows, who promised to bring him topside when the opportunity arose. When was that? Bazzite had no concept of time, and the question of when was therefore moot.

With a sigh, the youma quietly flicked a small turtle-fly-esque feral away from his preferred lounging spot, high up on a flat bed of crystal overlooking the entrance to the Rift from the Hall if Shadows. There, Bazzite stretched himself out to his full length and laid on his stomach, watching the scant few Negaverse officers come and go. Some walked with confidence, others nearly wet themselves from fear. His wings buzzed, watching, waiting. Oftentimes Captains came into the Rift in search of a partner, and only a few made it back. All too often, the budding officer was devoured by his prospective partner, making a better snack than commander. All in a day's work for a youma.

A somewhat familiar, gruff and feral voice came to Bazzite’s ears then, causing them to perk and twitch. When had he dozed off like that? Blue eyes blinked open and the youma instinctively clawed his way down to the ground from his high perch. The pull in his gut told him to obey, to submit, to even the slightest of requests by a General’s command. Even those Generals who were not his own.

”Yes, General?” Bazzite couldn’t help but reveal a fraction of excitement in the form of twitching wings. He remembered Wolfeite, recognized his scent and his tail. If anything, the feral half-youma General was incredibly distinctive. He smelled of blood and sinew and sweat and humanity, fresh scents unlike the dust and stale air of the Rift.

A crooked smile crossed the youma’s face. ”Did you have something to eat, General? Are we going on a mission?” Wings continued to buzz is very short bursts, the youma bristling with anticipation.

Bazzite visibly brightened when the General not only remember his name, but remembered his promise. Elated, the youma's wings buzzed in anticipation and excitement. The thought of fresh air and fresh starseeds to devour was enough to make Bazzite's claws click and his stomach twist and churn with the youma version of hunger. "Always ready, General. I don't know how long it's been since I last saw the surface but... it's always really nice to stretch my legs..."

Not precisely a mission, but youma and youma-Generals didn't usually pop up to the surface for no reason. The youma tilted his head, not prying, but simply curious. "Do you want me to bring you something? I usually bring Beni something, so it's really easy for me... Money? Shiny things?" Bazzite really knew very little about the General, including what might make Wolfeite tick. What was Wolfeite interested in, besides wholesale slaughter? Not that that was a bad thing...

He didn't have to, per se, but rather Bazzite wanted to pay Wolfeite back for doing this lovely favor.

Bazzite so loved the smell of the city and the feeling of the cool air on his mottled skin. The youma took a few moments to simply smell the air before looking down to the General for further orders.

"Starseeds or energy... How many starseeds, General?"

Maybe the number didn't matter.

The pair had appeared on the edge of the city proper, which meant hunting would be that much easier - fewer possible eyes on them. With a quick buzz of his wings, Bazzite had already set his sights on some low-income housing. Taking to the hunt quickly and easily, the youma more crawled than walked or flew, using his tough claws to make his way up to the higher floors where the lights were out and things were quieter.

The scent of human was very strong in this building, along with the sharpness of alcohol. One window in particular was partially opened and smelled heavily of marijuana. This one seemed like a prime target. The youma quietly slipped a hand into the sill of the window to open it further and slip in.

Bazzite kept a mental tab on the General, needing to roughly where to meet up again to turn in his gathered starseeds. The youma had to keep in mind, don't eat them, don't eat them, don't eat them, as he had a direct order - collect as many starseeds as possible and give them to the General.

The smell of marijuana was extremely strong in this apartment, as was the sharp scent of alcohol and urine. Bazzite kept to the floor, despite his towering height of six-and-a-half-feet. Crawling kept his large frame from immediate view. Bazzite found himself in what appeared to be a bedroom, with unkempt carpets and dirty laundry strewn throughout. The youma assumed this room was only used for sleeping and nothing else, which made this a perfect ambush spot. He could smell the human coming up the stairs and into the hallway, well before the human could be seen.

It only took a few moments for the youma to quietly subdue such an inebriated man. He was in his forties, likely, unshaven and unwashed, clutching some cigarettes in a greasy hand. He went down without much of a fight, Bazzite hiding deftly in the shadows. A dog had followed the human into the hallway, but the youma scared it off easily by peeling back his face in a hideous hiss. Dogs did not provide the starseeds Bazzite was on a mission for.

Slinking down the dimly lit, carpeted stairs, the youma found two more humans in the living room - two females, both heinously drunk. They were sitting ducks. One was facing the stairs from her seat at a card table and made to scream before Bazzite silenced her with a deft pounce.

Cradling the three starseeds in what was left of his coat, Bazzite left the way he came in - through the window. One more human was smoking on the roof and stood between himself and his superior. The youma crawled up behind the man, and even illuminated by the moonlight, went unnoticed. Another down and dead, left to rot in the morning sun as Bazzite crawled across the roof and down the opposite side of the apartment building, into the alley. Wolfeite was waiting.

Someone else was there, a drunk by the smell of it. Bazzite dropped to the ground and pulled out the four starseeds for the General. "Here you go, General Wolfeite. Did I do a good job?"

"Just three people in the apartment, General." And a dog, but from his experience, animals didn't have starseeds. The dog wasn't worth the effort. "What's your next order, General?"

The homeless woman's body slumped against the brick wall didn't even seem to register to Bazzite. Either that or she wasn't even worth paying attention to - Wolfeite harvested the starseed. The youma's wings buzzed quickly, his stomach churning, hungering for starseeds of his own. Unfortunately for him, Bazzite was under the direct command of the General. If Wolfeite so chose, he could force Bazzite not to eat any starseeds harvested that night.

A nose to the air, the youma took in the scent of the surrounding area. "Lots of people in this building, General. Nobody heard. I was real quiet, I promise." He seemed quite proud of himself, a smile creeping across his face, revealing sharp teeth. Ears prickled when a man in the apartment building slammed something against a table very loudly.

"A present? For me...?"

The youma's body positively shivered with anticipation, clawed hand quickly closing over the General's generous gift. His blackened tongue darted out from his toothy maw, wrapping around the starseed and deftly pulling it deep into the youma's stomach. Teeth crunched down on it as the little innocent soul passed through, tiny sparks of light shining through the youma's lips. Bazzite seemed more than satisfied.

Patting his belly, Bazzite licked his lips. "Thanks, General Wolfeite. It was very tasty."

His ears perked as the General asked for his opinion. It was an unusual request - typically, only Benitoite would ask Bazzite for his opinion on things. Most other Negaverse officers didn't bother with such a thing. Insectoid wings buzzed loudly, but briefly. "Order is tasty, General. Really, they're best for food, or to make into officers and Negaverse senshi. I don't like the princesses. They make my skin blister and itch and their aura hurts my eyes. Don't like them."

The youma hissed his disgust, the sound coming from deep within his throat. "Don't know why they're here but since they're running around, they shouldn't be surprised when the youma get hungry. Negaverse agents are friends, so we have to get our dinner somewhere else. In the Rift, I don't really get hungry, but there's an emptiness in the stomach that only a starseed can fix. Order people are much tastier than regular people."

"Tasty sheep. Nothing beats a magical starseed."

The discussion of starseeds awakened a real hunger in the youma. His stomach had plenty of room for other souls of indeterminate value. Nose lifting to the air, the youma caught the scent of another drunk and drug-addled civilian who was wandering in their direction. In a bid to keep the General happy with his performance, the youma took to all fours to appear less conspicuous. Even to a drunkard with the thickest beer goggles, Bazzite wasn't remotely human enough to pass muster.

Slinking into the shadows cast by a large dumpster, the youma crouched and kept his wings close to his back. Ears remained perked until the man wandered within range. He assailed Wolfeite, mistaking him for another human.

"....eyyy you... you... what're you... doin' in my... alleybuilding... m'the boss, get outta muh way...."

Slurring his thoughts together, one could simply smell the man from a great distance away. Bazzite cringed at the stench but raised up to his full height when the victim was in position. The drunk didn't have much time to react and turned, facing the youma. Locust wings spread to their full length and vibrated - the loud humming could be felt in one's very bones. From the wings spread a light dust, the vibrations helping to keep the powder aloft as it settled on the drunk.

"Ey... wh---"

He stood shock still, eyes wide, dropping the bottle of amber-colored alcohol to the ground.

Bazzite seemed overly pleased with himself and turned to Wolfeite. "You want this one, General?"