"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 co from—recruitnt worlds, agricultural worlds... or tourist worlds—rember 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 beco 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 regints newly reorganized by the Imperial Ministry of War, now entering their first battle.
Only blooded regints required this procedure. The veteran servitor regints, 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 regints that had just been assigned their Imperial serial numbers, this speech would often be the only one. Sotis, not even that. After fighting enough wars, fresh recruits beca veterans. Later generations of recruits would be brought up by the veterans of their own regint.
Even when the old generation retired, the traditions were carried on. After all, behind every regint stood an Imperial colonial world.
Once they had shed blood, the servitor regints no longer required the Ministry of War’s close supervision.
Unless they achieved so earth-shattering feat that drew the notice of the Astartes Legion ruling their howorld 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 regint.
But such cases were exceedingly rare. Generally, only exceptional individuals were transferred into the auxiliary forces. As for a regint 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 thods of managent 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 regint of barbarians, dragged from so forgotten corner of the galaxy.
Their howorld was not hard to guess—harsh environnt, likely frozen wastelands. When the Imperial exploration fleet had discovered them, they hadn’t even entered feudal society.
The Empire had plenty of regints like this. Yet any who survived such harsh environnts 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 tis 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-brimd caps, adorned with sashes, cords, and dals 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 rely strolling through a garden.
Pandora’s atmosphere was filled with ammonia, thane, and chlorine gases. Normally, without filtration equipnt, humans from Earth could not possibly survive here.
Were they truly the sa species as us?
"What do you think they’ll do with us?" soone asked nervously.
"Not killing us yet."
At that mont, a tall blue shadow lood 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 cramd to the brim.
For living essentials, everything was being offloaded: from battlefield rations, weapon maintenance kits, and personal hygiene supplies, to dical 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...
So 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 armants: colossal main battle tanks of various models, artillery, armored personnel carriers, logistics vehicles, assault carriers, recovery tanks, self-propelled guns, and even combat skimrs... 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 ters.
As the artillery opened fire on areas still harboring Na’vi stragglers, colossal mushroom-shaped fireballs blood 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 chanical 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 hamrhead titanothere nearly eight ters long single-handedly, then casually use that sa 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 movents a grim prelude to what was to co.
What they had thought would be a re sweep against the Na’vi now turned into sothing else—the alien creatures of Pandora had also risen in defiance.
When the orbital bombardnt 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 consud their flesh, and plasma lted their bones... instinctive fear never overca them. They did not flee. They hurled themselves forward like an undying legion.
Unfortunately for them, the Imperial army was not the RDA’s rcenaries. Numbers alone ant 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 so rit. Pandora’s biochemistry developed into a unique ecosystem. Almost all Pandora vertebrates possess a neural interface. That one-ter-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 see... yes, from Dr. Grace Augustine, one of the RDA’s Avatar program leads. She claid that what the Na’vi call the Mother Eywa is a planetary consciousness ford 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 so 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 consud 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 lood 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 ters down, it was an extrely 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 mont the Tree of Souls was impaled, an ominous force seeped forth—sothing 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 supre 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 ters 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 abdon, shoulder, arms, and legs all bore wounds of varying severity. Blood trailed across the ground in a crimson sar. 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 ford 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 stord 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 sa. I don’t deny it—for I have mine as well. But for you, such words are aningless."
"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 rcy 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 na 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 rciless—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.
—
—
40 Advanced Chapters Available on Patreon:
Patreon/DaoOfHeaven
User Comments
0 comments from readers