Chapter 199: Survival of the Fittest and the Highbreed
The twin suns of the alien sky beat down mercilessly, baking the endless expanse of cracked, yellow dunes. A deafening screech echoed across the wasteland as a massive Turrawoss Sandworm breached the surface, its maw lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth.
It didn't stay above ground for long. A heavy, armored sphere—Ben, transformed into Cannonbolt—slammed into the beast's flank with the force of a freight train, while a towering Highbreed commander fired a barrage of energy blasts from his fingertips. Outmatched, the giant worm shrieked again and burrowed frantically back into the deep sands, leaving behind a massive sinkhole.
"What was that thing?" Ben asked, uncurling from his sphere form and skidding to a halt.
"A Sandworm," the Highbreed replied coldly, brushing dust from his pristine, pale armor. "They infest every corner of this miserable planet."
Just moments ago, these two had been locked in a death match, trying to tear each other apart. Now, stranded in the middle of nowhere, a fragile, unspoken truce hung in the dry air.
A flash of emerald light washed over the dunes as Ben timed out, reverting to his human form. He wiped sweat from his brow. "Look, we have to cooperate to deal with those Sandworms. Only then can we figure out how to leave this planet—whatever it's called."
The Highbreed glared down at him, his red eyes narrowing. "This is the barren world of Turrawoss! It serves as a temporary storage space specifically for interstellar teleporter networks. And if your deranged companion hadn't smashed the transit pod with a rock, we wouldn't have been thrown here in the first place!"
He took a step back, crossing his long arms. ", I refuse to cooperate with you! Your very presence disgusts me, vermin!"
Ben threw his hands up. "Oh, I disgust you? You think I want to be stuck with a giant, stuck-up weed?! How else are we going to beat the Sandworms and get home if we don't work together?"
The Highbreed scoffed, a sound like grinding stones. "Can your companion not travel through time and space at will? When he inevitably arrives to retrieve you, I shall simply offer him a vast sum of treasure to secure my own passage. A simple transaction."
Ben stared at the towering alien, his expression deadpan. The Highbreed really thought he could just bribe Klein. This guy didn't understand how the universe worked—or worse, how Klein worked.
"Forget it," Ben sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Knowing my cousin, the fact that he hasn't picked me up yet means he's found something highly amusing. Which means... he's playing with me again."
Traumatic memories of Klein's childhood training exercises flashed behind Ben's eyes. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. "We're already NPCs in my cousin's game. We might as well just play along obediently."
Somewhere in the void, Klein—hands resting casually on his hips—sneezed. 'Aren't cousins meant to be played with?'
"Preposterous. Why should I believe the ramblings of a lower lifeform?" The Highbreed sneered, finding Ben's absolute defeatism laughable.
Ben didn't even bother arguing. He just raised his right hand toward the empty, scorching sky and shouted in a painfully exhausted voice, "Cousin! What's our mission objective?!"
The sharp sound of an object cutting through the air echoed above.
Smack!
A thick wooden board materialized out of thin air and slammed directly into the top of Ben's head. He crumpled to the sand like a sack of potatoes.
Groaning, Ben lay face-down in the dirt, weakly raising a thumbs-up. "Tha... thanks..."
The Highbreed stared at the scene, a flurry of question marks practically visible above his head. Was the boy actually telling the truth?
Rubbing his bruised skull, Ben sat up and grabbed the offending piece of wood. Carved crudely into the surface were the words: 'Find the teleporter pod and leave this planet.'
"See?" Ben handed the board up to the towering alien. "Believe me now?"
The Highbreed stared at the text. His worldview cracked just a little. He had heard rumors of the terrifying, god-like entity known as Klein. He never imagined that all-powerful being was... this petty.
"Very well," the Highbreed conceded stiffly. "I will accompany you. But you are to remain exactly ten paces behind me at all times!"
"Hey! That's—"
"Ten paces!" the Highbreed barked, cutting Ben off.
Ben swallowed his complaints. At least they had a goal. But looking out at the endless, rolling dunes of Turrawoss, a new problem arose. Where were they supposed to go?
The Highbreed pondered for a moment. Mimicking Ben's earlier action, he raised a hand toward the sky and shouted with authoritative volume, "I require coordinates! Where are we going?!"
The sound of an object cutting through the air returned.
The Highbreed stood tall, bracing himself. Heh. It is merely a wooden board. Let it strike me. My armor can withstand—
CLANG!!!
The impact sounded like a church bell ringing inside a tin can. The Highbreed staggered, his vision swimming with stars as a heavy, metallic ringing echoed in his ears. He clutched his head, swaying dangerously before looking down at the object that had assaulted him.
It wasn't wood. It was a solid, half-inch-thick iron plate.
You absolute bastard! You're even showing blatant favoritism!
The Highbreed's chest heaved. He wanted to scream every curse word in his species' vocabulary at the sky, but a cold spike of survival instinct held his tongue. His life was currently in the hands of an unseen, highly biased troll. He had to control his temper.
Forcing his breathing to steady, the Highbreed squatted down to read the dented metal plate. Ben leaned in curiously from behind.
Scratched into the iron were the words: 'Walk in the direction where the sun sets.'
"Oh," Ben muttered. "Well, that makes it much simpler."
Both of them looked up simultaneously. The twin suns were positioned directly at the highest point of the sky.
It was high noon.
The blistering heat had completely warped their sense of time. They had no choice but to sit in the suffocating heat for half the day, waiting for the suns to finally begin their descent.
Hours bled away. When the sky finally took on a bruised, orange hue, Ben pushed himself up from the sand.
"Alright, let's go!"
He took two steps toward the horizon. Hearing no footsteps behind him, he instinctively glanced back.
The Highbreed was on his knees. His usually pristine, pale skin was deeply wrinkled and graying, his massive frame trembling weakly. He looked like a dying leaf curling in on itself. Dehydration.
"Hey!" Ben rushed over.
"Do not come near me!" the Highbreed rasped, raising a trembling hand to ward Ben off.
Ben stopped in his tracks. He quickly stripped off his green jacket and tossed it onto the sand near the alien's knees. "Take it. It'll keep the sun off your skin."
"I do not accept charity from lower beings." The Highbreed didn't even look at the garment. "I merely... require a moment of rest."
"Resting isn't going to cut it. You're literally drying up," Ben argued. He slapped his hand onto the Omnitrix dial. "I've got a way to cool us down."
The dial popped up. Ben slammed it down. "Big Chill!"
A flash of blinding green light illuminated the dusk. In Ben's place hovered a moth-like, cloaked alien. The temperature immediately plummeted.
Big Chill floated into the air, unfolding his wings, and gently exhaled a stream of icy blue mist over the Highbreed. He carefully controlled the output—just enough to drastically lower the ambient temperature without causing frostbite.
"Stop!" The Highbreed flinched away, swatting at the mist. "Cease this at once!"
Big Chill blinked his large green eyes, genuinely confused. "Why?"
"I did not request your assistance." The Highbreed scowled, unable to comprehend why this human would expend energy to help an enemy.
"Fine. Have it your way. I'm too lazy to argue with a stubborn weed anyway." Big Chill tapped the Omnitrix symbol on his chest, reverting back to Ben in a flash of green. He crossed his arms, looking away. "Man, I'm thirsty. Is there any water around here?"
He scanned the horizon. Nothing but endless, dry sand.
Sighing, Ben tipped his head back and yelled, "Cousin! Please give me a bottle of water!"
"You kid, you sure ask for a lot!"
A voice echoed from right behind them.
Ben spun around. Klein was suddenly there. He was casually sitting in a canvas folding chair that hadn't been there a second ago. He wore a black beret, dark sunglasses, and held a plastic megaphone. Ship, the Galvanic Mechamorph dog, sat happily at his feet.
Klein casually tossed two plastic water bottles through the air. Ben caught them clumsily.
Raising the megaphone to his lips, Klein shouted, "Hurry up! Get running! Action! Move, move, move!"
Ship bounced on his paws, barking enthusiastically at Ben. "Ship! Ship ship! Ship!"
"Alright, alright, I'm going," Ben grumbled. He twisted the cap off one bottle and took a long gulp. He paused, looking at the second bottle in his hand, then held it out to the Highbreed. "You want some?"
"I do not need your pity! I shall locate water myself!"
The Highbreed forced himself onto his knees. Two thick, vine-like tentacles suddenly burst from his chest cavity, plunging deep into the desert sand beneath him. "There is always moisture beneath the surface of a desert, provided one digs deep enough."
Ben watched in awe as the tentacles pulsed, drawing liquid up from the subterranean depths. "Wow. I didn't know you Highbreeds were actually a type of plant."
"We are not a type of plant," the Highbreed corrected sharply, his skin slowly regaining its pale luster. "We are the pinnacle of evolution. We are unique."
After a few moments, the pulsing stopped. "Sufficient."
The tentacles retracted into his chest. The Highbreed stood up, his strength restored, and glared at Klein.
Klein didn't even blink behind his sunglasses. He just leaned back in his director's chair, crossing his legs. "What are you looking at? Didn't you hear the director? Run!"
"Hmph! I shall run, then!" The Highbreed turned sharply and began jogging toward the setting suns, his pride refusing to let him show weakness.
Ben lingered, sidling up next to Klein's chair. "Come on, Cousin. Just give me a hint. What kind of game levels did you prepare for us?"
Klein adjusted his sunglasses, his tone entirely unsympathetic. "Tell you what? Get running! You're losing your light!"
He fully committed to the strict director persona. Beside him, Ship let out a mechanical growl. The little dog's body shifted, metal plates sliding and locking together until he transformed into a massive, black-and-green plasma cannon, aiming directly at Ben's chest.
Ben's eyes widened in horror. "No way... is it really that serious?!"
Without waiting for an answer, Ben spun around and sprinted frantically after the Highbreed, tears of sheer frustration welling in his eyes.
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