The Apes — War For The Planet Of

The rain fell harder. The world held its breath.

Caesar stopped at the edge of a cliff. Below, the river churned, gray and swollen. On the far bank, a column of black smoke rose from a burned-out Ape stronghold. His ears, still sharp despite the tinnitus of a thousand gunfights, caught the distant chatter of human voices. Laughter. They were laughing.

The War for the Planet of the Apes had not begun with a battle. It began with a father walking into the rain, carrying a spear he had sharpened on the grave of his son. War for the Planet of the Apes

Maurice, the wise orangutan, placed a heavy hand on Caesar’s shoulder.

The night before, they had found the body of his eldest son, Blue Eyes. He had been sent to scout a northern passage. The humans had not just killed him. They had posed him. Tied to a cross of splintered pine, facing east—toward the rising sun, toward the hope he had been seeking. The rain fell harder

“Tomorrow, we finish the dirty work. No prisoners. Not even the young.”

Caesar did not answer. His mind was no longer a place of strategy or hope. It had become a dark cave, and at the back of that cave sat a single, glowing ember: revenge. Below, the river churned, gray and swollen

Caesar turned away from the smoke. His face, half-scarred, half-noble, was a mask of stone.