OC x Neteyam story
"Oel ngati kameie, ma Tarya."
"Oel ngati kameie, ma Neteyam."
*
"If you fight, you don't fight alone. Nìsoaia."
"Nìsoaia, Tarya. T...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
PANDORA AUGUST 23rd 2154
Everything seemed quiet. Not even the screech of an Ikran filled the air around him. No gunfire from the ships that littered the Pandora skies, nor explosions from their gunners. Everything felt peaceful.
Cool air whistled in his ears, pulled at his braids, pushed at his limbs, failing to give him stability or a moment. Just a brief moment. A moment to stand or move away.
He could ignore the wounds in his chest for this moment, however. The blood seeping out onto his blue skin, coating his yellow and green war paint in hues of crimson. For, it didn't matter.
He was falling.
Falling back towards the Pandora forests, back towards the life he had called home, back towards what once was peace before the sky people came.
And that's what they had strived for. For years, they wanted peace. To have their home back, back in their own hands. No sky people to take what they wanted, kill who they liked, or enforce their own ways and rules of life.
No. They wanted peace. The Na'vi people wanted peace. Yet, war was the only way to get it. And war was the way they would win. Only, not for him.
The Olo'eyktan had finally met his opponent, and lost.
The war had found him on a gunship, arrows in hand, taking out sky people where he could. Only, arrows were in low demand, and bullets were plenty.
They were in every gun, in every hand of the sky people, and tactically placed on every single ship in the sky.
It surrounded the Na'vi. A wave of artillery and gunfire. Suddenly, their bows, spears, and flights of the Ikran were useless.
Once again, the sky people had the upper hand for a brief moment. These brief moments were rare, but when they got them, they were used well. Timely.
And Tsu'tey had chosen the wrong time.
His body was pierced in seconds by a round of ammunition, and in this moment, he gave in. Tumbling to the ground of the exit deck, his bow falling before he did.
Within seconds he was airborne, twisting and turning in a myriad of positions.
His eyes were closed, saving him from the disorienting momentum he was now facing, and trying, in a way, to preserve him some life. What he couldn't see, couldn't hurt him.
