Raja slid into the enchanted pod in the Chaos Den, its runes glowing like a cosmic disco.
"Maya, soul sleep time—send me to the Alien and Predator world for a hunt!" he declared, eyes glinting.
A swirl of starlight engulfed him, and he materialized on a steamy Central American jungle beach, waves crashing and parrots squawking.
"Maya, where am I?" he asked, brushing sand off his boots.
Maya's voice chirped, "Master, you're in a Central American jungle, 1987—prime Predator movie vibes!"
Raja grinned, "Perfect. Time to stalk some space hunters." Activating his Chaos Watch's new stealth cloak, he shimmered invisible, sneaking through the Beach like a ghost.
Using Telepathy, he zeroed in on Major General Homer Phillips, a grizzled American posing as the operation's big shot.
With a subtle mind nudge, Raja became the general's right-hand man, Phillips babbling, "Raja, you're my jungle Tracker!"
Raja smirked, "General, stick with me, and we'll own this green hell."
Phillips got CIA orders for a jungle mission, and Raja, with another Telepathic prod, ensured he was added as an extra.
At base camp, Phillips puffed his chest, introducing CIA operative George Dillon to the Raja. "This here's Raja, my jungle ace—knows every vine and snake like his mama's kitchen!"
Dillon, watching Raja nail assault rifle bullseyes and fling knives into a tree with surgical precision, whistled, "Kid, you're a walking armory! You're in."
Raja bowed, "Happy to serve USA, sir—let's make the jungle mission a walk in the park !"
Dillon chuckled, "Cocky, huh? I like it!"
The next day, Major Alan "Dutch" Schaefer's elite US paramilitary rescue team choppered in, all biceps and bravado.
Phillips briefed them, "Eighteen hours ago, a chopper went down with a cabinet minister and his aide from this delightful hellhole. Transponder's pinging in the jungle—guerrillas nabbed 'em."
Dutch, squinting, scratched his stubble. "Cabinet guy's always across the border. Why us? Regular army can't handle this?"
From the back, Dillon's voice cut through, "Cause some damn fool said you're the best of the best!"
Dutch spun, grinning, "Dillon, you son of a bitch!" They locked into the millennium's most iconic arm-wrestle handshake, veins popping, muscles bulging.
Dutch overpowered Dillon, who laughed, "Still a beast, huh?"
Raja whispered to Maya, "These two need a rom-com spinoff!"
MAYA: "Master, their bromance is louder than the chopper!"
Dillon laid out the mission: "Guerrillas grabbed our guys, and we can't let 'em squeeze 'em for intel. One-day op: track the chopper, rescue the hostages, bug out."
Dutch crossed his arms, "What's this 'we,' General? My team flies solo."
Phillips jabbed a thumb at Raja, emerging from the shadows, "Orders, Dutch. Dillon and my jungle prodigy, Raja, tag along to guide you."
Raja saluted, all charm, "Rudra D. Raja Kumara, reporting for duty, Major Dutch! Heard you're a legend. I'll get you in and out of this jungle alive—my word."
Dutch sized him up, unimpressed, "General, Dillon's fine, but this kid? Twenty-one, twenty-two? We're elite, not a day-care team."
The team snickered, Blain chewing tobacco, "Kid's gonna cry when a bug bites him!"
Raja's smirk was pure chaos. "Major, any other excuse, I'd bow out, but you're dissing my age and grit? Don't judge a book by its cover. How 'bout a bet to join your mission?"
Dutch, intrigued, leaned in, "Alright, hotshot, what's the bet? Spill."
Raja's eyes gleamed, "A three-stage showdown with your prized team: shooting, running, hand-to-hand. Best of three wins my spot."
Dutch laughed, slapping his knee, "Kid, you've got balls! Let's have some fun before we sweat."
Blain spat, "This punk's toast!"
Poncho muttered, "He's got a death wish."
Billy, the Native American tracker, just stared, eyes narrowing at Raja's Trishul tattoo.
Dutch set up the matches, picking Billy Sole for shooting, Jorge "Poncho" Ramirez for running, and Blain Cooper for combat.
On a makeshift range, Billy fired three shots with a Desert Eagle, nailing a 200-meter target, his team whooping, "Sole's a sniper god!"
Raja stepped up, smirking like a demon. "Cute, Mr. Billy, but watch this." He fired three shots in a blur, each hitting the bullseye dead-center, not even glancing at the target.
The team's jaws hit the sand, Poncho muttering, "What the hell is this guy?!"
Next, Raja and Poncho sprinted 100 meters. Poncho, lean and fast, pushed hard, but Raja blazed past in seven seconds flat, dusting him like a cheetah.
Blain, watching, growled, "This kid's cheating—nobody's that fast!"
Dutch raised an eyebrow, "He's something else."
For the final bout, Blain, built like a tank, vowed to crush Raja, boasting, "I'll make this twig yield in ten seconds!"
Raja peeled off his loose shirt, revealing a ripped, veiny physique that shut the team up.
Billy shivered, spotting the Full Trishul-Om tattoo, whispering, "No way…"
Raja beckoned Blain, "Bring it, big guy, or you'll be napping fast."
Blain, enraged, charged like a bull, aiming to tackle.
Raja caught him mid-stride, skidded, then hoisted Blain overhead, slamming him into the sand with a thud that echoed.
Raja flexed, his back muscles morphing into a demonic face, sending a chill through the team.
Poncho yelped, "This dude's a freaking monster!"
Billy's eyes widened, a spark of recognition flickering.
Dutch clapped, stunned, "Kid, you're in—congrats. Get Blain to the medic; you broke him, you fix him."
Raja saluted, "Yes, sir!" He slung Blain over his shoulder like a sack of flour, jogging to the medic tent, the team gawking.
Dutch turned to Phillips, "Where'd you find this beast, General? Special forces would kill for him!"
Phillips just smiled, Raja's Telepathic nudge working its magic as he strolled off, muttering, "Kid's a miracle."
Raja, patching up Blain, who groaned, "You're not human, man!" just grinned, "Eat more protein, champ."
That night, a knock startled Raja. Billy Sole stood at his door, eyes intense. Raja raised an eyebrow, "Billy, you here to arm-wrestle or borrow sugar?"
Billy dropped to one knee, voice reverent, "Descendant of the Navajo Tribe, Billy Sole, greets Master Immortal Demon. It's an honor."
Raja's smirk faded, "Get up, Navajo son. How'd you clock me? I didn't visit your tribe last time."
Billy, still kneeling, said, "Three hundred years ago, after you vanished from the Comanche, war chief Naru and her brother Taabe, your disciples, united tribes against colonialists, teaching your wisdom in a cave sanctuary. They warned of sky monsters and passed down your image and info."
Raja's eyes softened, "Did Naru and Taabe fall to those beasts, Billy?"
Billy shook his head, "No, Master Demon, they died of old age, revered."
Raja leaned back, "How'd you know it's me, not some lookalike?"
Billy pointed to Raja's tattoo, "Mother Naru's portrait of you, preserved in the cave's library, shows that Trishul and your demon-back muscles. She called you an immortal, ageless warrior."
Raja chuckled, "Naru, you clever minx, nailing my vibe!"
Billy's voice turned grave, "Your return means sky monsters are back, right?"
Raja's grin was predatory, "Yup, Billy. These Yautja punks think they're top hunters, galaxy-hopping for trophies. Time to school 'em."
Billy nodded, slipping out, but not before catching Dutch in the hall, debating ditching Raja for his safety.
Billy cut in, "Major, let the kid come. He's a skilled hunter, tracker, and full of fire."
Dutch, surprised by Billy's endorsement, scratched his chin, "If you vouch for him, Sole, he's in. Kid's coming on the mission."
Raja, overhearing with Telepathy, smirked, "Jungle, meet your new apex predator."
To Be Continued…