The camp reeked of kerosene, sweat, and old fear.
Rain hadn't fallen in days, but the air was heavy. As if the earth itself was bracing for what it already knew.
At the center of the human outpost, a woman adjusted the scope of her rifle. Early thirties. Red bandana. Tired eyes that hadn't slept in weeks. She didn't belong here. None of them did. But desperation made settlers out of scavengers. Soldiers out of cowards.
And corpses out of fools.
She looked up at the observation post across the clearing and raised her hand.
"Clear," she said into the radio.
That was her last word.
A breath later, Caesar pulled the trigger.
From the shadows of the ridge, hidden beneath camo and leaves, the rifle kicked once in his hands. Silent. Clean.
The woman's head snapped back. A fine mist exploded behind her.
No scream.
No final gasp.
Just death.
The other humans didn't even register it at first.
Then the body fell.
Then came the shouting.
"Sniper!"
"Where?!"
"Get to cover!"
Panic burst through the camp like a struck match. Soldiers scrambled. Two tripped over crates. Another slammed into a barrel trying to duck. Boots pounded across wet concrete. Radios screeched. Orders barked. Chaos.
Caesar didn't move.
His face didn't twitch.
He adjusted the scope, exhaled slowly, and found the next.
A man with a beard and a heavy vest — trying to reach the turret by the south gate.
He made it halfway before Caesar shot him in the neck.
The body crumpled, spasmed once, and bled into the dirt.
Maurice's voice echoed in his mind, slow and old:
"If you begin this path… you must walk it."
Caesar had already begun.
There was no looking back.
In the trees nearby, Rocket waited with Palefoot and Ash.
They didn't need orders now. The shot had been the command.
The line had been drawn.
They moved.
Down through the underbrush. Through the blind spots. Past the fence. Past the rusted cars. Past the symbols carved into old metal like forgotten warnings.
Palefoot climbed first, scaling the side of the nearest lookout post.
Inside, a young human barely older than a boy was fumbling for a pistol.
Palefoot yanked him through the window, spine-first into the mud below.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
Ash slipped past the second patrol — a duo trying to hold position by the comms tent. One made the mistake of aiming low.
Ash drove his shoulder into the man's chest, crushed him against a generator, and snapped his rifle in half. The other tried to run.
Ash didn't let him.
Back on the ridge, Caesar watched it all.
No satisfaction in his eyes.
No fury either.
Only purpose.
A flash of movement to the west caught his eye — another human. Female. Blonde. Slim build. Radio strapped to her chest. Crawling through brush, trying to flank.
Caesar adjusted.
Tracked.
Waited until her breath slowed. Until she thought she was safe.
Then pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit her just above the collarbone.
She dropped.
Twitched.
Didn't rise again.
In the outpost's heart, a few humans managed to regroup. Four of them. Back-to-back behind a truck. One shouted into a radio, screaming for support. Another blindly fired into the trees.
The others just looked terrified.
They didn't understand.
They thought this was an ambush.
They thought apes were charging.
They didn't know it was just Caesar.
And Caesar didn't care what they knew.
Inside the main shack, the woman — the leader of this splinter camp — scrambled for her rifle. She kicked over a table, crawled behind a crate, and grabbed her radio.
"Command! This is Echo Four! We're under—"
The back door creaked.
She froze.
The radio fell silent.
Slowly, she turned her head.
Caesar stood in the doorway.
Not crouching.
Not hiding.
Just standing.
Soaked in rain. Rifle slung over his shoulder. Axe in one hand.
Her breath caught. Eyes wide.
"You—"
She didn't finish the sentence.
He stepped forward, fast and quiet.
She raised the rifle—
He kicked it aside, grabbed her throat, and slammed her against the crate.
Her legs flailed. She clawed at his wrist.
He didn't speak.
He didn't offer warning.
He didn't give her the dignity of last words.
He crushed her windpipe with one motion.
Dropped her body.
Stepped over it.
Then lit the map on the wall with a flare.
The flames caught quick.
The wood groaned.
The war had begun.
By the time Rocket arrived at the shack, the fire had spread to the roof.
He found Caesar standing in the middle, shoulders still, eyes locked on the flames.
Rocket signed:
"Done?"
Caesar didn't look at him.
Just walked past, blood drying on his hand.
He carved one glyph into the ash by the door.
𐍺 — last.
Then disappeared into the trees.
No words.
No mourning.
No name.
No one among the humans would remember his face.
And none of them ever knew who he was.
Only that something old had come from the forest.
And it had judged them.
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