Skull Island - The Interior
The jungle was a suffocating green hell.
The air was thick with moisture and the smell of ancient rot.
Ernst frowned, tapping his temple.
"My range is suppressed," he noted.
"Something on this island generates a bio-electric field that dampens psionic ability. I can only scan fifty meters out."
"Stay close," Arnold ordered his men, his machine gun scanning the canopy.
They passed ruins—moss-covered stone walls that hinted at a civilization long forgotten.
But the current inhabitants were far from civilized.
SCREEE!
A shadow fell over them. A massive, leathery shape dived from the clouds, talons extended.
"Contact!" Arnold roared.
The squad opened fire instantly.
The roar of assault rifles shattered the prehistoric silence.
Bullets tore into the creature's wings, and it veered off with a shriek, disappearing into the mist.
"A Pterosaur," Ernst identified calmly, picking up a fallen feather the size of a sword.
"Late Jurassic. This island is a biological time capsule."
"Master," Arnold said, reloading his weapon.
"This place is a meat grinder. We should pull back and reassess."
"Retreat?" Ernst scoffed.
"We are walking through a living museum, Arnold. Every gene here is worth millions. We press on."
For two days, they pushed deeper.
They fought off spiders the size of tanks and lizards with jaws strong enough to crush steel.
On the third morning, a spear flew from the tall grass.
It moved with terrifying speed.
Ernst didn't dodge; he caught it.
Thwack.
The stone tip stopped inches from his face. Ernst analyzed the force.
Kinetic output: Three times human average.
"Hostiles!"
A dozen savages burst from the foliage.
They were humanoid but devolved—protruding brows, matted hair, and muscles coiled like steel cables.
They roared, charging with stone axes.
"Drop them," Ernst ordered coldily.
Arnold's team unleashed hell. Heavy caliber rounds tore through the primitive line.
The savages, realizing their stone weapons were useless against thunder sticks, turned and fled into the bush.
"Let them go," Ernst said, stopping Arnold from pursuing.
He raised his arm. The nanotech fabric of his sleeve rippled, and a swarm of tiny, mechanical mosquitoes detached and flew after the retreating tribe.
"I have tagged them," Ernst said, checking the feed in his neural link.
"They will lead us to their home."
As they followed the signal, Ernst sensed something in a nearby nest.
"Azazel," Ernst whispered.
"There. A dinosaur egg. Grab it."
Azazel grinned and vanished, reappearing a second later with a football-sized egg in his hands.
"Souvenir, a pet dino?" Azazel asked.
"Sample," Ernst corrected.
The tracking signal led them to a coastal settlement.
It was a fortress of rock and wood, built into a cliffside protected by razor-sharp reefs.
"Defensible," Ernst noted.
"A perfect location for a base."
He turned back. "We have seen enough. We return to the ship."
Three days later, the horizon filled with ships.
Kerry had delivered.
A transport vessel carrying three hundred elite mercenaries—Ernst's private army—anchored off the coast.
"The objective is simple," Ernst told his commanders.
"Secure the beachhead. Clear the indigenous population. I want that fortress."
They landed at dawn.
The stealth approach failed when a soldier slipped on the wet rocks, his scream echoing off the cliffs.
Horns blew. The tribe swarmed out of the gates—nearly a thousand of them.
They screamed in a guttural tongue, a wave of primitive fury crashing against the modern invaders.
"Open fire," Arnold commanded.
It was a massacre.
Spears bounced off the mercenaries' advanced body armor.
In return, machine guns mowed down the savages in rows.
It was the brutal math of technology versus biology.
The tribe broke. They retreated behind their wooden walls, raining arrows down on the attackers.
"Bring up the heavy weapons," Arnold barked.
A squad of rocket troopers stepped forward.
WOOSH. BOOM.
The wooden gates disintegrated in a ball of fire.
"Clear the city!"
The mercenaries surged in.
The tribe panicked, fleeing through the back of the settlement toward the mountains.
Ernst walked through the burning village, stepping over bodies.
He wasn't interested in the slaughter; he was interested in where they were running to.
They weren't scattering.
They were heading for a specific ravine in the mountains.
They are running to their protector, Ernst realized.
"Arnold!" Ernst shouted.
"Leave the clean-up. Follow the refugees. They are leading us to the King."
Arnold rallied his elite squad.
Ernst followed, his nanotech armor shimmering as he prepared for the real fight.
Kong was waiting.
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