Edited Version:

Varang slammed the weapon against his chest with a force that made him grunt, stumbling back. “Make it work,” she demanded, and when Lo’ak didn’t, her eyes lifted, scanning the clearing. “Kill the youngest one.”

Chaos erupted. The captives struggled against their captors, shrieks and yells cutting through the air as a spear was aimed at Tuk. She screamed, thrashing violently, while her brothers fought against the hands holding them.

“No! No, please!” Neteyam shouted, his voice raw with desperation as he strained toward his little sister. Lo’ak thrashed beside him, snarling curses, both of them desperate to reach Tuk.

Then—a war cry ripped through the air. From the shadows of the foliage, Jake Sully burst forth, bow drawn and arrow already loosed. It struck one of the raiders squarely in the shoulder, pinning him to the ground with a strangled cry.

The raiders surged forward, but he was ready. His feet planted solidly, his bow swinging with brutal precision—the butt cracking into one warrior’s ribs, the shaft colliding with another’s jaw. They fell hard, stunned, and he barely paused before loosing another arrow. He moved like a predator, like a guardian who had already lost too much.

Thunder cracked behind Varang. Another Na’vi male—dressed in sky-people combat gear—lifted the thunder weapon and fired. Smoke curled from its barrel as the shot tore into the earth, the sound splitting the air like a scream.

“Weapons down!” the man commanded.

The clearing froze. Spears, bows, and clubs hesitated mid-air.

He fired again, this time into a raider who lunged too close. The body crumpled instantly.

“Put them down!” Varang barked, teeth bared, jerking her head sharply.

Reluctantly, the raiders let their weapons fall.

Jake stepped forward, arrow nocked, eyes sweeping the clearing as he positioned himself between his children and the raiders. Around him, others scrambled, gathering weapons in defense.

“Dad!” Kiri called, relief and fear mingling in her voice.

Neteyam’s head snapped up. “Dad!”

“Kids on me,” Jake growled, his gaze hard and locked on the mankwa.

Varang reacted quickly, connecting her kuru to the man holding her. He cried out and released instinctively. Another warrior surged forward, cracking a blunt spear across the back of Jake’s head. He collapsed, momentarily overwhelmed. The raiders swarmed him.

Varang looked down at the man kneeling between them—Quaritch—her expression unreadable. “Show me how to make thunder,” she said, voice low and measured.

The man held the small metal piece between his fingers, calm despite the tension. “See this? This is the bullet.” He slid it into the magazine, tapping it once to settle it, then snapped the magazine into the rifle. The subtle click made even seasoned warriors flinch. “This goes here,” he continued, pulling the bolt back and letting it slide forward. “And you aim like this.” He lifted the rifle, lining it with an unseen target in the distance. “Then you pull like this.”

Varang took the weapon from him without hesitation. One eye narrowed as she aimed. The clan erupted—cheers, shouts, laughter—warriors slapped shoulders, some ducking instinctively as Varang fired again. Her grin widened, almost gleeful, as the power of the weapon became hers.

Then Varang lowered her arm. The rifle pointed toward the man who had taught her—Quaritch.

“I do not need you now, sky man,” she said, her tone flat.

He met her gaze without a word.

“Bind him,” she ordered.

Hands seized him, dragging him roughly to the ground as the cheering faded into something darker.

As the weapons were secured, the clan moved toward the center of the clearing. A massive fire was raised, breathing and crackling, as the ritual began. Varang moved among her warriors, blowing the smoking mixture into willing mouths. Those who accepted shuddered and laughed, collapsing to the ground, limbs twitching as the chant swelled around them, binding the clan in unity, chaos, and the thrill of conquest.

{{user}} watched from the trees, a much more dangerous Na’vi, a Tskxay’itan