The Predators' small landing craft resembled silent meteors as they scattered and plunged deep into the vast jungles of planet Pandora.
The hatches slid open, and seven Unblooded young bloods took deep breaths of the Pandoran air, which was rich with suspended spores. The sensors beneath their masks rapidly analyzed the atmospheric composition and biological signatures. They fanned out like water droplets merging into the ocean, swiftly vanishing into the dense, bioluminescent vegetation.
Their primary directive was to adapt to the environment and conduct initial hunts to hone their skills, while simultaneously scanning for any clues linked to Celtic's death.
The Pandoran jungle offered them a cornucopia of prey. Viperwolves, stingbats, slinger hounds—various agile and ferocious creatures became targets for practicing their cloaking, tracking, and execution metrics. The faint hiss of plasma shoulder cannons and the sharp ring of wrist blades slicing through the air echoed from time to time in various corners of the jungle.
A stingbat, having just snapped up a fan-lizard by the neck, was suddenly struck square in the cranium by a blazing energy beam that instantly carbonized it. Not far away, a young blood slowly uncloaked. Walking over to the carcass, he used his wrist blade to cleanly sever its most distinct jawbone, securing it to the trophy belt at his waist. This was his first trophy; though minor, it marked the official commencement of the hunt.
However, the Pandoran jungle was by no means a docile hunting ground. The wildlife here was not merely ferocious; many species possessed highly volatile and unexpected defensive traits.
One young blood, attempting to cull a small pack of viperwolves, severely underestimated the sheer madness and volume of their pack tactics. Though he swung his wrist blades and combi-stick to strike down several of them, a few breached his guard. Sharp fangs left deep gashes across the armor joints of his shoulder and thigh, and dark green blood slowly oozed out. He was forced to activate his shoulder cannon for a wide-area blast to scatter the relentless predators, but the intense energy spike also compromised his coordinates, forcing a rapid relocation.
Another young blood encountered an even more bizarre hazard. He had tracked a seemingly lumbering Hammerhead Titanothere into a sector carpeted in strange, monolithic purple fungi. The moment he launched his assault, the surrounding fungi suddenly detonated, discharging a massive cloud of hallucinogenic spores. His sensors blared a sharp warning, but it was too late. His visual field warped, and incomprehensible whispers buzzed in his auditory feed; he hallucinated the deceased Celtic gesturing to him through the spore mist. He swung his weaponry frantically, striking at the phantoms until his combi-stick became deeply embedded in a massive fungal stalk, snapping him awake. Panting heavily, he rapidly retreated from the sector, thoroughly shaken.
The Pandoran ecosystem possessed a hazard threshold far exceeding the records in their database. They quickly realized that this forest harbored top-tier apex predators that even they would not lightly provoke.
On one occasion, two young bloods operating in tandem cautiously advanced along a stream winding through giant spiral flora. The air, initially heavy with damp soil and vegetal scents, was suddenly shattered by a potent wave of blood and imminent danger.
A massive hexapede was bowing its head to drink, entirely unaware of the death lurking in the shadows. The next instant, a pitch-black silhouette lunged from the high stone crags like a phantom! It was a Thanator—the absolute peak of the Pandoran food chain.
Its movements featured zero redundancy. Its massive frame displayed staggering coordination and explosive force in midair, its pouncing trajectory suffocatingly precise. The hexapede barely managed a brief, terrified shriek before the Thanator's foreclaws—built to tear through composite alloys—clamped down like iron vices across its neck and spine. The massive kinetic impact slammed the hexapede into the water, sending up a violent spray.
The Thanator's serrated maw followed instantly, snapping accurately at the prey's vital core. The dull crunch of breaking bone was clearly audible even from a distance. The entire sequence took mere seconds—lightning-fast, merciless, and absolute. Savage power paired perfectly with highly efficient killing metrics, leaving no room for drag.
The two Predator young bloods froze in place. Out of sheer reflex, both simultaneously initiated maximum output on their cloaking fields, suppressing their energy signatures and vital signs to the absolute minimum. Like two silent boulders pressed tightly behind thick roots, they practically ceased breathing.
Their sharp gazes pierced through their concealment, locking onto the pitch-black Thanator as it enjoyed its meal. Only when it dragged the limp carcass back into the dense depths of the jungle did the suffocating pressure gradually disperse.
The two waited in silence for a few more moments. Once safety was verified, they deactivated their cloaking fields, a faint exhale carrying a trace of lingering fear escaping from beneath their masks.
"That is... a true hunter," one young blood whispered across the encrypted comms channel, his voice bearing a trace of uncharacteristic awe.
"An Elder-tier target... not something we can challenge at our current threshold," the other responded, his masked gaze fixed tightly in the direction where the Thanator had vanished.
They knew that given their current experience and wargear, challenging a Thanator was synonymous with suicide. Only the most seasoned Elders in the clan, outfitted with the most devastating weaponry, possessed the authorization and capability to hunt such a terrifying creature single-handed.
Consequently, after adapting to the environment and securing a few baseline trophies, the young bloods shifted the bulk of their focus toward the core objective of this voyage: the Vengeance Hunt. They began deliberately scanning for traces of sapient life. They rapidly anchored onto two primary targets: the blue-skinned indigenous species (the Na'vi) who used primitive weaponry but were intricately linked to the forest, and those offworlders (the RDA) who utilized energy weapons and had constructed massive metallic facilities.
Several young bloods stalked toward the perimeter of the Omaticaya Clan's new sanctuary—the "Land of Holy Chants." Concealing themselves behind giant spiral leaves and bioluminescent moss, they observed the Na'vi settlement established around the massive Hometree. They mapped out the silhouettes of Na'vi warriors conducting patrols, noted their tight interface with the Ikran, and perceived the faint yet expansive spiritual fluctuations radiating from the colossal Hometree.
"Target congregation node. Defensive matrix—integrated with the ecology. Anomalous energy field interference detected," a scouting young blood transmitted back.
They attempted a probing assault. A lone Na'vi hunter checking fishing traps at the edge of the river valley became the target. A plasma bolt was fired silently toward him. However, just as the beam was about to connect, the hunter seemed to sense it; he lunged forward, the beam clipping his shoulder and scorching his skin and garments.
The hunter unleashed an alarm call while agilely rolling to his feet, drawing his bow and scanning the perimeter with heightened alertness. Almost simultaneously, two patrolling Na'vi warriors riding Ikran arrived on the scene, with more warriors streaming in from the direction of the Hometree.
Seeing that the ambush had failed and the adversary's reinforcement response was rapid, the young blood immediately utilized his cloaking field to break contact, refraining from an extended engagement.