The armored assault vehicle came to a thunderous halt at the coordinates relayed earlier by Captain of the Dominion Train Zeta-9. Without waiting for further orders, twelve Catachan jungle fighters leapt out with lethal precision, weapons at the ready. Standing ahead of them was Major Rex Korgan, a hard-edged figure whose legendary reputation as a veteran hunter was known even beyond the Segmentum Ultima.
With a heavy bolter in his hands—etched with the golden double-headed eagle of the Imperium, a symbol of loyalty and a grim reminder of ever-looming death—he barked out his command.
Major Rex Korgan
> "Listen up. Enter the jungle in three-man squads. Sweep everything. Leave nothing unchecked."
His deep, commanding voice echoed through the rustling trees and the fading hum of the vehicle's engines.
Without wasting a second, the troopers dispersed into the forest. Their movements were swift and silent, ghostlike. Every step they took reflected a lifetime of surviving Catachan—a world where every leaf could be lethal, and every breath was a fight for life.
Above them, the sky rumbled. Imperial Navy fighters screamed overhead, slicing through the clouds, a reminder that even the heavens were under the Imperium's control. They were ready to rain down fire at a moment's notice.
Catachan Trooper 01
> "Compared to Catachan, this place is a damn amusement park. No exploding frogs, no brain-sucking leaves, and so far—none of the trees have tried to eat us."
Major Rex Korgan
> "If you're still in the mood to run your mouth, go find a toilet and confess your feelings to the latrine."
One cold glare from the Major was all it took to silence the chatter. On Catachan, discipline wasn't a suggestion—it was the thin line between life and death.
As the squad moved through the thick underbrush and tangled trails, Rex crouched low. His sharp eyes narrowed, catching a smear of bluish blood on the underside of a broad leaf. He reached out, touching it with two fingers, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger before nodding slowly.
Major Rex Korgan
> "Na'vi… they're wounded."
But instead of using radios or electronic comms—which could be intercepted or traced—Major Rex Korgan chose a more… primal method. He let out a series of complex, animal-like calls—mimicking the wild cries of Pandora's native fauna. To the untrained ear, it was just the jungle talking. But to Catachan soldiers, it was a clear signal.
Primordial. Primitive. But effective. And most importantly: undetectable.
Within moments, the entire unit received the cue and began converging toward the coordinates, following the trail of fading blue blood. Other teams encircled from different angles, tightening the net. Meanwhile, Rex advanced ahead alone, tracking the Na'vi's escape path with the calm precision of a seasoned predator.
The Catachan jungle fighters moved with ghostlike silence. They navigated Pandora's unfamiliar terrain as if it were just another part of their backyard.
Catachan Soldier 02
> "Thick jungle, but compared to Catachan? Still feels like a nature park."
The comment was half-joke, delivered with the dry humor of someone who'd faced worse. But the tension quickly escalated.
Suddenly, Major Rex Korgan halted. His eyes narrowed. A sound—a faint, mocking laugh—echoed from above the canopy. This wasn't ambient wildlife. It was deliberate.
Major Rex Korgan
> "Enemy in the trees! Prepare to fire!"
Without hesitation, he raised his bolter and snapped it toward the treetops. A sharp hand signal followed.
> "Fire!"
In a split second, a dozen Catachan soldiers lifted their weapons and unleashed a hail of gunfire into the forest canopy. The roar of bolters filled the air—deafening, thunderous. Massive projectiles tore through the foliage, detonating on impact, shredding leaves and shaking the trees to their roots.
Nothing matched the raw brutality of a bolter. It didn't just pierce—it ripped, shattered, and obliterated anything too slow to get out of the way.
Everything moved with lethal precision, born not from simulated training exercises, but from lived experience—hard-earned on the death world of Catachan.
Their homeworld wasn't just deadly—it was a living, breathing hell.
Its jungles had instincts. Its plants killed. Even the air could turn toxic in a heartbeat.
On Catachan, every flower could explode. Every leaf might melt your brain in seconds. Beasts the size of tanks were part of daily life. The concept of "safety" didn't exist.
Pandora? It was just a savage world pretending to be dangerous.
To most people, Pandora might look like a lush, alien paradise.
But to a Catachan Jungle Fighter?
It was nothing more than a playground—waiting to be torn apart.
Catachan—where breathtaking landscapes and eternally springlike air were a lie. A deadly illusion for anyone foolish enough to call it home.
Beneath that thin veneer of beauty, Catachan hid unspeakable horrors: man-eating plants, colossal predators, and forests that were not only alive—but aware and violently hostile. Grass could ambush you. Flowers could detonate. Leaves could suck your brain out without warning.
Compared to that, Pandora was just a wild garden… one that happened to breathe.
At least Pandora didn't have:
Venus Traps—flesh-eating plants with hunting instincts and lightning-fast reflexes.
Brain Lobes—sadistic flora that literally sucked the thoughts out of your skull.
Twin-Petal Traps—innocent-looking blossoms that exploded on contact.
Or worse yet: the Catachan Trap—a hyper-evolved terror born from the deadliest jungles in the galaxy. It doesn't just hunt you down… it holds a grudge.
With a background that brutal, it's no wonder Catachan soldiers fight with savage efficiency and the instincts of apex predators.
---
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Over a dozen bolt rounds tore through the treetop canopy in perfect unison.
The Na'vi hidden above didn't even get a chance to scream—his body exploded in a storm of blue blood and shredded flesh.
Major Rex Korgan
> "Flamethrowers. Now."
One order was all it took.
Flamethrowers were standard issue for every Catachan trooper—not just for incinerating enemies, but for clearing out hostile undergrowth and carnivorous flora.
And that made perfect sense. On Catachan, even the grass could jump up and bite back.
On this death world, the plants and animals didn't just kill regular humans—space marines had died within minutes of landing, their arrogance smothered by the living nightmare that was Catachan. Many refused to even set foot on the planet.
Every step could be your last.
Compared to that, the dense wilderness of Pandora felt almost… tame.
Through the trees, Neteyam suddenly burst from the underbrush, sprinting straight toward his younger brother, Lo'ak.
But Major Rex Korgan was no stranger to ambushes.
He was the kind of man who once wrestled a samurai bug the size of an armored truck—and won.
Compared to the monstrous horrors of Catachan, the Na'vi were just overconfident pets.
With deliberate calm, Rex lifted his combat knife and pointed it at Neteyam in a slow, taunting motion.
A silent challenge.
Neteyam, young and burning with rage, took the bait.
He screamed and launched himself at the Major, spear raised, muscles coiled with fury.
But for Rex Korgan, this wasn't even a warm-up.
Major Rex Korgan:
> "At your level, you wouldn't last five minutes on my planet. You'd be dead before your tracker finished syncing."
With a sigh that sounded more bored than threatened, Rex parried every strike with lazy precision. His movements were sharp, efficient—every shift of his blade the product of a thousand ways to kill.
Neteyam was already gasping for breath. Sweat dripped from his brow. He couldn't understand how this human could be so overwhelmingly strong—as if gravity and pain simply didn't apply to him.
Major Rex Korgan:
> "Alright. This boring little game… is over."
He yawned.
To him, the young Na'vi before him wasn't even on par with the teenage recruits of Catachan—kids trained to kill from the age of seven.
With a burst of speed, Rex drove his fist into Neteyam's stomach—once, twice, three times.
Each blow felt like it rattled the boy's bones and internal organs. Neteyam crashed to the forest floor with a heavy thud, the air knocked completely from his lungs.
Just as Rex raised his knife, ready to end the Na'vi's life—
A voice cut through the tension.
???
> "That's enough."
Figures emerged from between the trees.
They wore long black robes, etched with the sigil of the aquila and the unmistakable insignia of the Inquisition.
Their leader stepped forward, walking with unshakable authority.
Lead Inquisitor:
> "We are agents of the Ordo Xenos Tribunal—Inquisitor Czevak speaking. We're taking custody of this xenos. We require him for interrogation—and to learn the location of their base."
The air shifted.
Even Rex, a living legend of Catachan, didn't move. Orders from an Ordo Xenos Inquisitor were not to be ignored.
Every Jungle Fighter from Catachan learned the sacred craft of knife-forging from their elders. Forging one's own blade wasn't just a survival skill—it was a rite of passage. On the most lethal death world in the Imperium, a knife wasn't a tool; it was an extension of your body, your spirit, and your will to survive.
While the basic Catachan blade design was nearly universal—broad, double-edged, and strong enough to cleave through xenos bone—each family added its own brutal flavor. Size, curvature, and even the hilt engravings told stories of ancestry, battlefield honors, and the personal taste of violence.
Ordo Xenos—one of the three major Orders of the Imperial Inquisition—was founded in the 32nd Millennium, in the aftermath of the Beast Wars, a grim era when alien threats nearly brought Terra to its knees. Born from that collective trauma, the Ordo Xenos was not only tasked with eliminating xenos, but also with studying, classifying, and—if necessary—using their knowledge to prevent history from repeating itself.
Their doctrine is simple: "Alien life must be identified, understood, and then systematically eradicated."
Their elite strike force, the Deathwatch, is a brotherhood of veteran Astartes drawn from countless Chapters, united under one purpose: to be the sharpest blade against the alien scourge, striking swiftly and without hesitation.
---
"Take them away."
Major Rex Korgan's voice was flat, emotionless—like a man scraping the corpse of a small predator off his boot. He didn't even glance back as the black-clad agents bearing the Inquisition's sigil emerged from the undergrowth.
His job was done. To Rex, the Na'vi was just another wild animal that happened to speak. And now, it had fallen. His orders were simple: clear the zone and leave the rest to those who liked to play politics and conduct interrogations.
Inquisitor Czevak stepped forward with measured confidence, his eyes scanning the scene like a scholar evaluating a laboratory experiment.
"Much appreciated," he said curtly, though there was genuine sincerity in his tone.
With a well-practiced hand gesture, he signaled his aides. Two Inquisition personnel stepped forward without a word and lifted the unconscious body of Neteyam, carrying him toward the nearby air transport marked with the official seal of the Ordo Xenos.
Meanwhile, Major Rex Korgan let out a slow breath, casually examining the blade of his combat knife—still glistening with blue blood.
"Exploding flowers... samurai bugs... and now overconfident, eight-foot-tall blue jungle elves."
He gave a wry, humorless grin.
"Catachan is still worse."