Additional Author's Warning:
Before you dive into this chapter, I feel it's only fair to give one more heads-up. If you're someone who holds a deep affection for the Na'vi, what follows might be difficult to read. Some scenes are intense, emotionally harsh, or even disturbing depending on your perspective. This isn't written out of hate, but to portray the brutal reality of this fictional universe. If you choose to keep reading, please understand that you're accepting whatever emotional impact it may bring.
The battle was far from over.
Amid the screams, the blazing fire, and the rain of molten metal from the skies above, the Na'vi fell one by one. Aerial bombardments from the artillery ships of the Imperium Caelestis tore through their sacred lands, while volleys of gunfire from the ground forces shredded Pandora's skies into a hellstorm of bullets and plasma.
Across the battlefield, the Adepta Sororitas stood unwavering in sacred formation. Led by a radiant, winged figure-Saint Celestine-they did not advance. They did not retreat. They only prayed, their voices rising like a holy choir in the middle of a massacre.
Behind them, groaning and roaring in brutal glory, stood the Penitent Engine-living machines of repentance. Crucified upon them were the bodies of Na'vi children, including the son of Jake Sully himself, displayed like heretics who had defied the will of the God-Emperor. There was no mercy.
Only cold, divine justice.
Saint Celestine raised her sword to the heavens, her voice ringing out with unwavering conviction:
> "Be it our enemies... or ourselves-only in death may we find final absolution."
---
On the other side of the battlefield, Jake Sully stood frozen in horror. His eyes scanned the shattered remnants of his forces-the Na'vi warriors, stripped of their will to fight. Their bodies lay strewn across the forest floor, blue blood seeping into the roots of the great Hometree.
He clenched his teeth and roared:
> "Fall back! Everyone, fall back now!"
The Na'vi soldiers stared ahead, eyes wide with despair. Towering Hammerhead Titanotheres-once proud and powerful-now lay lifeless, crushed beneath the brutal advance of Angron and his World Eaters. Whatever courage they had left disintegrated on the spot.
The sacred aura of their homeland could no longer shield them from the cold dread crawling down their spines.
> "To Vitraya Ramunong!" Jake shouted, pointing toward the distant, dense jungle-their last sanctuary.
He knew this wasn't a battle anymore.
It was a massacre.
And they had lost-completely.
The surviving tribal leaders rallied at his command:
> "Retreat! Retreat! Protect the seeds of life!"
Their armor, once painted with the colors of the earth and the spirits of their ancestors, was now discarded, abandoned on the blood-soaked ground. The surviving Na'vi fled into the jungle, yet strangely, none of the clone troopers or Terran Marines at the battle's edge gave chase.
---
From a nearby hilltop, an Imperium Caelestis officer watched the enemy's retreat through his tactical helm visor. Calmly, he activated his vox-comm and gave the order:
> "All units, be advised. The enemy has withdrawn into the jungle. Do not pursue. Repeat, do not pursue. Leave a few squads to guard the perimeter. The rest-prepare labor units to begin laying railway tracks."
Affirmative responses echoed across the comms.
This battle... had changed.
No longer a resistance-
It was domination.
At least 80% of the Na'vi population had been crippled militarily. What remained were the elderly, the women, the children-those who could not fight.
Their warriors, their future, their strength... had been butchered.
As the gunfire faded into silence, the thunder of boots and the heavy breathing of soldiers filled the air. The victors began to celebrate, each in their own way, atop a land soaked in blood.
On scorched earth soaked in blue blood, Stormtroopers, Terran Marines, and Clone Troopers gathered amidst corpses and ruins. Smoke still rose from what remained of the forest-torched by plasma fire and mini thermonuclear bombs. But for them, this was a moment to unwind... or more accurately, to savor the aftermath of a massacre.
---
A Stormtrooper from the Empire, yanking braided hair from the severed head of a Na'vi:
> "Their scalps are thin... but supple. I'm thinking custom boots. That blue hue? Kinda aesthetic."
A Terran Marine grinned beneath his helmet:
> "Boots? Nah, bro-teeth and bones are where it's at. Imagine a necklace made of Na'vi skulls. Walk into a bar on Alpha Centauri? Instant legend."
A Firebat let out a harsh, static-laced laugh through his modulator:
> "Hahaha! Hell yeah! Chicks'll cling like Zerglings to a fresh corpse!"
A Marauder held up an intact Na'vi tooth:
> "Clean cut, reinforced with steel chain. Not just a trophy... a statement. Species slayer. Symbol of dominance."
A Goliath Unit, voice flat and mechanical:
> "You're thinking too small. Na'vi children's skulls-miniaturized, preserved. Hung from belts. Mounted on shoulder armor. Art... and terror."
A Siege Tank, its voice deep and resonant with logic-core cadence:
> "Chest skin, tanned under low-heat plasma. Processed into war cloaks. Exclusively for seasoned veterans."
A Post-Regen Clone Trooper, eyeing his nanotech-repaired battle scars:
> "Turn their hides into luxury bags? Why not? The Imperium Caelestis gave me extra years to live... might as well look stylish doing it."
An Astra Militarum trooper, wiping his helmet with a bloodied rag:
> "Face masks. Sewn from real skin. The vacant stare stays intact. A reminder... of who won today."
A Commissar, offering a knowing, razor-thin smile:
> "Finger bones. Ears. Ribs. They'll decorate my helm. Silent symbols... that speak only of death."
A Sister of Battle glared at them, her expression hard yet full of divine conviction:
> "Enough with your sinful amusements, men. Leave the bones... I shall make a rosary. And every prayer I whisper... will be a curse upon the enemies of the God-Emperor."
---
On the far edge of the battlefield, in a silence thick with pressure, Primarch Angron stood like a breathing red mountain. In his hand, blue blood dripped slowly, already beginning to dry. Beside him, Khârn the Betrayer grinned sideways-like a mischievous boy who'd just smashed someone's window... except the window was reality, and the house was an entire species.
Behind them, clone troopers reloaded their weapons, joking atop a mound of blue-skinned corpses.
Angron exhaled heavily, his voice low but resonating across the hushed battlefield:
> "So this is what becomes of the weak... just fuel for our war machine."
He slowly turned to Khârn and added:
> "Leave a few alive. I want to see their 'children' fight next."
The next battle would not be for the Stormtroopers or the Terran Marines.
Now it was the turn of the 41st Elite Division and the hardened veterans of the Catachan Jungle Fighters to carry out the final cleansing.
From the height of a field altar, Saint Celestine stood tall, her golden wings fluttering gently in the wind swirling with dust and blood. A faint celestial glow surrounded her. After completing a solemn prayer alongside the Sisters of Battle, she raised her blade high and called out with divine authority:
> Saint Celestine:
"Release the Redeemer Mechas-let the Penitent Engines bring forth salvation!"
A heavy, grinding sound echoed from behind the iron gates of the field chapel.
The Penitent Engines-walking torture devices-marched out slowly. Their frames were made of ancient, bloodstained steel engraved with prayer. But what shocked even the most hardened warriors... was who had been locked inside.
Na'vi taken alive-including the children of Jake Sully-were now crucified within the cockpits of those machines. Their bodies spasmed in agony, eyes wide with horror. Most had no time to even scream before neuro-sacramental drugs were pumped into their veins.
> Saint Celestine (to the Na'vi):
"Alien creatures! This is the mercy of the Most Holy and Compassionate God-Emperor!
You have been granted a chance to redeem your tainted, lowly bloodline.
Use your mortal shells to cleanse the sin of your own existence!"
Five Penitent Engines emerged onto the scarred land of Pandora. Accompanied by the battle hymns of the Adepta Sororitas, the machines unleashed holy fire from their mounted launchers, while the massive chainsaws on both arms roared to life with a bone-rattling screech.
> "Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Each blast was a hymn. Each severed limb, an offering.
Pandora's once-blue skies now echoed with sacred chants, dragged along by the screams of the condemned.
---
Meanwhile, far from the heart of the massacre, Jack Sully led what was left of his tribe to the base of the Hallelujah Mountains-the floating peaks that once served as sacred ground, now transformed into the last stronghold in a war that had no hope.
> Jack (in despair):
"Did we... make it out?"
His eyes searched the sky, now glowing crimson, lit up by explosions and burning firestorms. The scent of scorched forest carried through the wind, smothering the sacred ground of his ancestors now left in ruins.
The Na'vi had no choice but to hide-hoping and praying, if any of them still believed in prayer-within the secret caverns carved deep into the mountainside. There were no songs. No dances. Only silence and shallow breaths. They waited... either for a chance to strike back-or just to survive one more night.
> "Jack!"
The sharp cry pierced the quiet. A Na'vi man appeared, his body smeared in mud, eyes blazing with vengeance. Without a word, he shot up into a giant tree, moving like a shadow. A bow hung across his back, and poisoned arrows clutched tight in his fist. He didn't bring reinforcements. He brought a flicker of hope-still burning, but barely.
From afar, another Na'vi warrior sprinted toward them, his breath ragged and wild. His face was pale, eyes wide, like he had seen something that never should've existed.
> Na'vi (gasping):
"I... I found the children... but... they're not them anymore..."
His voice trembled. His arms and knees wouldn't stop shaking. The fear on his face wasn't from pain-it was from something worse.
It was the fear of lost hope.
> "BOOM. DENTUM. BOOM. DENTUM."
The echoes of war machines stomped through the air, rumbling from afar-drawing closer with every thunderous step. The ground trembled as though the planet itself might split. Pandoran birds erupted from the forest canopy, scattering in panicked flight, searching for a sky that was no longer safe.
Jack clenched his teeth, tightening his grip on the bow.
> Jack Sully:
"Move! Get the tribe up the mountain! Get to the Hallelujah Peaks-now!"
"Leave a few with me... we have to hold them off for as long as we can!"
But before the last word left his lips, a deafening crash split the sky. A massive tree beside them collapsed-struck down by something immense and unseen from beyond the underbrush.
Its trunk splintered apart, raining debris and choking dust. Leaves spiraled through the air, settling like ash upon the earth.
From the ruins, five war machines emerged.
Their steps were thunder, each movement quaking the ground beneath them. Their design was alien, brutal, and spoke of something far older and more fanatical than anything the RDA had ever built. Their bodies were obsidian-black-not of ordinary metal, but of a sacred alloy forged from blind faith and sanctified cruelty, baptized in the fires of holy war.
On each chest blazed the sigil of the Imperium, glowing red through the haze. Torn scripture was nailed directly into their chassis, flapping like sacrificial remnants of forgotten prayers. Each bore two weapons-one a massive rotary saw still slick with blood, the other a flame-spewer hissing like a mechanical serpent.
But it wasn't the fire, or the saws, that shattered the soul.
It was the faces.
Faces mounted inside their helms.
Half of each helmet was transparent. And within... the faces of Na'vi children-repurposed into living navigation systems. Their eyes were vacant, their bodies restrained. Like puppets. Like bait.
They were still alive.
But their spirits... were gone.
And Jack knew-to save them, he would have to destroy them first.
What broke him most... was Tuktirey.
His own daughter-Tuktirey-was now locked inside the core of one of the war machines. Her small body was wrapped in coils of metal wiring and neurochemical injection needles. Behind the transparent helmet, her eyes glowed. But it wasn't the glow of life-it was the ancient hatred of a power that had nothing to do with her.
> Tuktirey:
"BURN THE ALIENS!! PURGE THE HERETICS!!"
Her voice... it no longer sounded like a child's. The innocence in her tone had been erased, buried under thousands of years of fanatical indoctrination from the Imperium.
Jack froze. The world around him collapsed in silence.
> Jack Sully:
"You bastards... WHAT did you do to my daughter?!"
He barely dodged as the mecha lunged forward-not at him, but at the Na'vi soldier standing beside him. A circular saw spun with horrifying speed, and in an instant, the soldier was cleaved in two.
Blue blood sprayed into the air.
The mecha's system immediately responded. The kill triggered another injection straight into Tuktirey's brain. Her eyes widened. Her face twisted into a euphoric smile-not her own, but one forced upon her by the system, tricking her brain into pleasure with every kill.
She laughed.
Laughed like a little devil.
Laughed like a killer.
But that... that wasn't the Tuktirey he knew.
> Jack Sully:
"Tuktirey! It's me! Your father! Listen to me! Stop this!!"
But it was useless.
Her ears were sealed beneath the steel helmet. Her brain was locked behind artificial dopamine and forced neural stimulation. Even her own conscience was muted.
All that remained was a single command: Slaughter the enemies of the Emperor.
> Jack Sully:
"Damn it... Tuktirey, please... stop this..."
Fueled by rage and desperation, Jack charged at the mecha. His ceremonial knife stabbed into the machine's side, aiming for the power junction. But it was no use-black adamantium reinforced every vital seam. It was nearly impossible to pierce without heavy weaponry.
> Na'vi Soldier:
"What about the heavy launcher?! We could blow it to hell!"
> Jack Sully (hesitating):
"...But... she's still in there... that's my daughter..."
Suddenly, a scream tore through the clash of metal and thunder.
> "ARGHH!!"
A Na'vi was hurled from behind the brush, his blue body crashing hard into the trunk of an ancient tree. He didn't move again. The soil of Pandora beneath him turned purple with blood.
Jack clenched his fists. His jaw tightened.
> Jack Sully:
"It's too late! MOVE!!"
He shouted, pushing the young Na'vi warriors up toward Hallelujah Mountain-the only place where the Imperium's signal could be cut off. But his eyes... they never left the small figure inside that monstrous machine.
Tuktirey.
His daughter.
Now, her tiny body was crucified at the heart of a metal war engine. She was no longer just a child-she had become the centerpiece of a twisted ritual, a dark sacrament that tore reason apart. The drugs flooding her veins warped her thoughts, turning screams into fanatical war cries-cries that no longer resembled anything from a child.
That small hand swung her weapon. The chainsaw spun wildly, spraying blood in every direction. Flames burst from the machine's flamer, devouring anything that moved. There was no hesitation. No mercy.
Other Na'vi tried to resist. One of them lunged forward, trying to draw the machine's attention. It didn't work.
The saw tore clean through his body-like slicing paper.
The machine pressed forward, relentless. As if it were a nightmare made real.
Jack gritted his teeth. His face went pale. His heart was crushed between the love of a father and the duty of a protector.
And before him... his own daughter had become the executioner.
He saw her body tremble-not with fear, but from overstimulation. Her small face twisted into a manic expression that wasn't hers. Her teeth clenched the air. Her eyes were empty, yet brimming with hatred.
The chainsaw and flames kept dancing, sweeping away his comrades one by one.
Jack's fists tightened. Slowly, he raised his longbow. His left hand trembled.
With heavy steps, he reached for an arrow. Tears began to fall, tracing paths down his dirt- and blood-streaked face. He drew the string back slowly, as if resisting fate itself.
His gaze never left Tuktirey's face-the same face he used to cradle when the night fell over Pandora, now ablaze with artificial fanaticism.
Part of him still wanted to believe. That hope wasn't truly dead. That somewhere behind all the madness, Tuktirey-the real Tuktirey-was still there. Still reachable.
But the screams of his comrades, one by one falling around him... made everything painfully clear.
> Jack Sully:
"Forgive your father... Tuktirey."
The bowstring creaked under the full draw, trembling with the force of love and despair.
Jack looked at his daughter one last time.
A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye.
TWANG!
The arrow shot forth like lightning.
SHUUK!
Straight into Tuktirey's heart.
Her small body jolted. The madness in her eyes faded, just for a moment. Her mouth moved-trying to say something...
Then silence.
Her tiny form went limp. Blood trickled softly.
But-
The chainsaw still spun.
The flames still burned.
The mecha still stood.
The machine did not stop.
Jack stared in horror.
> Jack Sully (in his heart):
"...No..."
The mecha kept moving.
Slashing. Burning. Butchering.
With a rhythm that was cold, precise, and merciless.
> Jack Sully:
"...She wasn't the pilot. She was just... a decoration. A symbol... of sacrifice..."
He dropped to his knees.
His gaze empty. Staring at the lifeless body of his daughter, now nailed to the center of a killing machine-displayed like an offering, a brutal emblem of a faith that had lost all reason.
There were no tears left to cry. His heart had passed the threshold of grief.
He could only remain still, surrounded by a battlefield soaked in blood and fire, watching the small, lifeless form of Tuktirey-still part of a sacred machine that knew no mercy.