"They have already lifted the veil of hell!"
"Let these alien vermin know what true demons are! Any living thing that dares resist—whether crawling on the ground, flying in the skies, or hiding in the mud—crush them all!"
"I don't care which world you come from—recruitment worlds, agricultural worlds… or tourist worlds—remember the battle manuals drilled into your minds. Apply the RDA database downloaded into your personal tactical terminals. Know yourself and your enemy, and you will never be defeated."
"Recruits, I don't expect too many casualties. That would look bad in my report!"
"What Her Majesty the Empress Selene desires is a swift and overwhelming victory!"
Bridgehead Outpost Base had become a massive hub for troops, weapons, and supplies.
Landings, speeches, orders to march… the Imperial auxiliary officers on site went about their work in strict order—delivering final exhortations to the Imperial servitor regiments newly reorganized by the Imperial Ministry of War, now entering their first battle.
Only blooded regiments required this procedure. The veteran servitor regiments, hardened by dozens of campaigns, had no need for such words. As for the auxiliaries and the Astartes Legions, needless to say.
In fact, even for newly reorganized regiments that had just been assigned their Imperial serial numbers, this speech would often be the only one. Sometimes, not even that. After fighting enough wars, fresh recruits became veterans. Later generations of recruits would be brought up by the veterans of their own regiment.
Even when the old generation retired, the traditions were carried on. After all, behind every regiment stood an Imperial colonial world.
Once they had shed blood, the servitor regiments no longer required the Ministry of War's close supervision.
Unless they achieved some earth-shattering feat that drew the notice of the Astartes Legion ruling their homeworld sector, to be reported to Empress Selene, or unless the Empress herself granted special promotion to elevate them into the auxiliary ranks—then, and only then, would the Ministry of War focus its attention again on a particular servitor regiment.
But such cases were exceedingly rare. Generally, only exceptional individuals were transferred into the auxiliary forces. As for a regiment being elevated—that was rarer still. Across all the Empire's colonial worlds, across all the numbered worlds under the Astartes' banners, only a few had ever seen it happen.
Such was the scale of the Sacred Selene Empire—too vast. From the perspective of a single-planet civilization, the Ministry of War's methods of management might even seem crude.
"For the Empress!!" ×N
A thunderous battle cry rang out. Judging from their uniforms, their rugged features, bristle-like body hair, weathered eyes, and bulging, powerful muscles… yes, another regiment of barbarians, dragged from some forgotten corner of the galaxy.
Their homeworld was not hard to guess—harsh environment, likely frozen wastelands. When the Imperial exploration fleet had discovered them, they hadn't even entered feudal society.
The Empire had plenty of regiments like this. Yet any who survived such harsh environments were hardened by natural selection into fierce warriors—excellent stock for soldiers.
Even fully clad in combat uniforms, their savage ferocity could not be concealed.
"Slaughter them all! Until the earth drinks their blood!!"
"Skulls for the Golden Throne!" ×N
...
"How many groups is this now?"
An RDA employee slouched in the corridor of his dormitory building, speaking listlessly. He had been shocked too many times today to feel much anymore.
"How would I know…? Must've already passed a million by now. With so many regular troops, looks like those Na'vi natives are completely finished."
"Regular troops? Hah, I'm telling you—they're definitely not from Earth. For all we know, they could be aliens."
Another RDA employee leaned against the window, watching several officers of the Imperial auxiliaries outside the gatehouse. Dressed in ornate military greatcoats, wearing broad-brimmed caps, adorned with sashes, cords, and medals as if headed to an evening gala, they barked orders to the guards watching over the RDA prisoners.
Most striking of all—they wore no filtration masks, as if merely strolling through a garden.
Pandora's atmosphere was filled with ammonia, methane, and chlorine gases. Normally, without filtration equipment, humans from Earth could not possibly survive here.
Were they truly the same species as us?
"What do you think they'll do with us?" someone asked nervously.
"Not killing us yet."
At that moment, a tall blue shadow loomed over them—Miles Quaritch and his Avatar commando squad. "With their military strength, if they wanted us dead, they wouldn't need to bother with all this."
Pushing aside his RDA colleagues at the glass, Miles Quaritch hunched forward to watch.
With the arrival of the Imperial Expeditionary Fleet, the Bridgehead Outpost Base—originally designed to house at least two to three million people with its vast cargo port and military airfield—was now crammed to the brim.
For living essentials, everything was being offloaded: from battlefield rations, weapon maintenance kits, and personal hygiene supplies, to medical goods like synth-skin sprays, cast sprays, and counterseptics.
...
Under the ceaseless labor of intelligent operating systems and engineering machines, mountains of standardized military supplies were unloaded from transport craft. Firearms, laser weapons, explosive ordnance, incendiary devices, thermite arms, plasma capacitors, energy-based weapons, Gauss rifles…
Some were destined for the frontlines, while others were being stockpiled on-site, constructing armories that would serve as permanent Imperial garrisons on Pandora.
Most striking of all were the heavy armaments: colossal main battle tanks of various models, artillery, armored personnel carriers, logistics vehicles, assault carriers, recovery tanks, self-propelled guns, and even combat skimmers… mountains of material piled high.
Miles Quaritch no longer entertained any thought of escape. There was simply no chance.
RUMBLE—RUMBLE—RUMBLE!!
Even denser than the sporadic gunfire outside the base was the roar of heavy artillery fire support. Imperial artillery crews, lacking space behind the defensive walls, had simply torn down sections of Bridgehead Base's fortifications to make room for their countless, bristling gun barrels.
The deafening thunderclaps of the barrage followed. Each high-caliber shell unleashed earth-shattering shockwaves, capable of leveling buildings with ease, killing or maiming creatures nearby, and shattering glass within hundreds of meters.
As the artillery opened fire on areas still harboring Na'vi stragglers, colossal mushroom-shaped fireballs bloomed into the sky.
This symphony of artillery fire was nothing short of a hymn for devotees of the Cult of the Multi-Turret and the Big Gun enthusiasts.
Miles Quaritch stood dumbstruck, speechless.
He had no idea how to even describe these people.
...
In an age of aerospace and interstellar colonization, they still used such antiquated towed cannons—massive, railway-dependent siege guns long abandoned on Earth since World War II—yet here they were, still in use, and on such a massive scale, fully integrated into their army formations…
...
Were they backward and decadent? The Astartes' power armor and high-tech war machines made him drool with envy. The auxiliaries' powered exoskeletons were thoroughly science-fiction in design, and their use of intelligent operating systems to coordinate mechanical legions was flawless.
But were they advanced and cutting-edge? Good grief, not only were they still wearing red greatcoats, but even gaudy 18th–19th century uniforms appeared, while their infantry carried rifles that looked like they'd been pulled out of a museum from the First or Second World War…
Well, then again—when he saw a servitor soldier drag back a hammerhead titanothere nearly eight meters long single-handedly, then casually use that same archaic-looking rifle to shoot a circling banshee straight through midair with a single shot…
Appearances were deceiving. And so were weapons.
The contradiction was absolute.
If the detained RDA employees were anxious and uncertain about their future, then the Imperial army was, in the most literal sense, killing without restraint.
The blaring of massive sirens echoed through the ruined jungle wasteland, the deafening rumble breaking the silence. Towering Titans were sweeping the battlefield, their distant movements a grim prelude to what was to come.
What they had thought would be a mere sweep against the Na'vi now turned into something else—the alien creatures of Pandora had also risen in defiance.
When the orbital bombardment ceased, the surviving Pandora fauna erupted in frenzy. Just like the war between the Na'vi and the RDA more than a decade earlier, countless creatures surged together in a beast tide, charging the Imperial troops hunting the Na'vi.
Wave after wave pressed forward. Even as bullets pierced their hides, explosions tore their bodies apart, fire consumed their flesh, and plasma melted their bones… instinctive fear never overcame them. They did not flee. They hurled themselves forward like an undying legion.
Unfortunately for them, the Imperial army was not the RDA's mercenaries. Numbers alone meant nothing.
Before the Imperial lines stretched a true river of blood. The gore of beasts flowed like streams, pooling in bomb craters until the pits filled with dark red liquid, as though the planet itself were bleeding.
One auxiliary sergeant crouched down, drawing his power sword from the neck of a wolf-like beast. Kicking the severed head aside, he muttered: "Are these alien animals all insane? This suicidal madness is far too strange…"
"Why think so hard? Dead is dead. If they don't listen, then slaughter all of Pandora and turn it into a dead world."
Beside him, a mid-ranking auxiliary officer lit a cigarette, ordering the servitor soldiers forward.
"Sir, according to the RDA database, their research had some merit. Pandora's biochemistry developed into a unique ecosystem. Almost all Pandora vertebrates possess a neural interface. That one-meter-long appendage hanging like a braid from the backs of the blue-skinned aliens—that's their neural interface."
"There's even a hypothesis here… let me see… yes, from Dr. Grace Augustine, one of the RDA's Avatar program leads. She claimed that what the Na'vi call the Mother Eywa is a planetary consciousness formed by the neural network linking all Pandora's life. A guardian deity of the planet, she said. A cycle of life, nature's delicate balance, and in the people's hearts—an indelible divinity…"
Treading on scorched, smoldering ash, a technical officer of the auxiliaries tore off his holo-terminal in frustration, cursing:
"What nonsense is this? Is she writing a scientific report or preaching a sermon? Divinity? Protect her?! Heresy!!"
"Hmph. And this Grace Augustine—she actually studied the blue-skins' biology? Show her some leniency, bring her here to—"
"Uh, sir, according to the RDA records, she betrayed humanity. She was one of the main culprits of RDA's disastrous defeat fifteen years ago. Whether she's alive or dead is unknown."
"Tch… another one fit for the stake."
They did not linger on the topic.
"Advance. The beast tide seems to have halted…"
...
"Mother Eywa, is it…"
A glowing mass swayed rhythmically, quivering with faint light. Durandal slowly lifted a hand, watching carefully as one of the sprites danced in her palm, until—buzz!
A surge of violet-red Honkai energy consumed it.
"So you're the one controlling the beast tide against humanity… I see. I begin to understand why Jake Sully betrayed mankind."
The golden-haired knight raised her head.
Before her eyes loomed a towering tree, its countless drooping roots glowing with a beautiful violet radiance, resembling the tendrils of a colossal jellyfish upon the land.
Each glowing tendril was an exposed neural interface, allowing this tree to link tens of thousands of Na'vi simultaneously, to hear their prayers and their cries.
It was the Na'vi's sacred site—the Tree of Souls.
Hidden deep within a canyon hundreds of meters down, it was an extremely secluded place, almost like a forbidden zone. Though lush plants grew thick and the soil was fertile, not a single vertebrate dwelled here. Silence reigned.
Because of this, the area had been spared from the orbital lances. It remained intact.
In every sense, this was a miraculous holy place. For any researcher, not to collect samples for study here would seem a waste.
But Durandal did exactly that—wasted it. A massive black-and-white lance pierced straight through the Tree of Souls, as corrosive violet-red Honkai energy crawled across the trunk of what was, for Pandora's lifeforms, the most precious tree of all.
The moment the Tree of Souls was impaled, an ominous force seeped forth—something drawn slowly from the End itself…
Durandal knew the rest no longer required her attention.
For Selene's will would utterly break, assimilate, and devour the vague collective consciousness known as Eywa.
Thud-thud-thud!
The synchronized march of heavy boots shattered the peace, as armored warriors in formation flooded the canyon, bringing blood and fire to scour it clean.
...
The great leonopteryx—Pandora's supreme aerial predator, symbol of the Na'vi's greatest leaders—fell without resistance.
Its massive body crashed twisted upon the ground, wings spanning over twenty-five meters broken and mangled. Its sharp blue crown was wrenched off by Luna Wolves warriors as trophies.
"General Durandal, Jake Sully has been brought."
"Mm. Bring him forward."
"Yes, ma'am."
Before long, two servitor soldiers dragged Jake Sully forward like a dead dog. His abdomen, shoulder, arms, and legs all bore wounds of varying severity. Blood trailed across the ground in a crimson smear. He had lost all strength to fight or move.
Cough… cough…
Jake Sully spat blood, glancing toward Durandal among the gathered. He no longer cared about human notions of beauty. His wife's death, his family's destruction, all he had fought for reduced to ashes—his eyes burned with a hysterical light.
The skin of his brow and nose formed a deep furrow, the corners of his mouth dragged down, the muscles of his face trembling taut, like a cornered beast ready to lash out.
"Pah! What do you want? To slaughter this planet's life as the RDA did, then strip away all that's valuable?!"
"Impudent—!"
A Luna Wolves Centurion stormed forward, wrenching Jake's hands behind his back, kicking his knees until they shattered, then smashing his head to the ground with a brutal thud.
Even with his teeth broken, Jake spat venom: "Impudent? You only just massacred countless lives on this planet for your vile greed!"
"Justifications for violence are all the same. I don't deny it—for I have mine as well. But for you, such words are meaningless."
"Announce to the entire army—I will personally execute the traitor, the Na'vi rebel leader Jake Sully." Durandal gestured for the Luna Wolves to cease their pointless abuse and prepare for the execution.
"Here is where your spirit transferred from human flesh into your Avatar's body. Here is where your mistake ends."
"All things must return to their end."
Shhhk—clang!
"A mercy for him," the Centurion rumbled as his master-crafted power sword left its sheath, sparks shrieking across the air.
"Thank you."
Durandal accepted the sword, then stepped to the broken Jake Sully.
"No more words. In the name of the Sacred Selene, I—Canoness Superior of the Adepta Sororitas, General of the Valkyrie Corps, Commander of the Imperial Expeditionary Fleet in the Pandora warzone, and Major General of the Imperial Guard, Bianka Ataegina—hereby sentence you to death!"
Gripping the hilt with both hands, she leveled the blade at Jake's furious, unyielding gaze.
Clang—!
Slash!
Without deploying a disintegration field, Durandal swung with cold precision. The strike was fast, clean, and merciless—Jake Sully's head was severed in a single motion.
The headless body gushed blood, collapsing silently to the ground, painting the fading Tree of Souls in new crimson.
Crack—!
The Tree of Souls fell.
—
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