"ROAARRR—!"
The grotesque aberrants twisted by the Zerg virus let out bone-chilling howls the moment they spotted the airborne formation.
Raising their deformed limbs, they grabbed rusted mining lasers, modified civilian firearms, and other crude weapons, firing wildly into the sky.
Scarlet energy beams and bullets rained upward like a storm, drawing brief flashes across the dim sky.
Yet all these attacks were laughable in the face of the Imperial convoy's energy shields.
In the current Human Empire, nearly every military vehicle came equipped with a shield generator. Pale blue energy fields shimmered faintly under the onslaught, rippling like raindrops on a lake.
The escort squadrons quickly launched their counterattack, their belly and dorsal bays opening in unison.
"Ordnance drop."
With the pilot's calm command, a hundred silver-white bombs howled downward.
BOOM—BOOM—!
They exploded just dozens of meters above the ground, instantly turning entire blocks into blazing infernos.
Orange-red flames swept through every corner like a tidal wave. The twisted creatures convulsed violently in the heat, their skin melting like wax to reveal the squirming Zerg tissue underneath.
Next came the even deadlier metallic hydrogen bombs—
Ri~—WHOOSH—!!!
A blinding white flash. The shockwave leveled buildings across the zone, even purging the airborne spore mist in an instant.
When the leading Thunderhawk's landing gear slammed into the freshly cleared plaza, the squad leader's HUD showed that the entire descent and landing operation had taken just three minutes and twenty-seven seconds.
The moment the hatch opened, Flame Lizards clad in dark green Titan armor charged out.
BANG! BANG-BANG!!
Bolter fire roared through the streets, each round turning multiple aberrants into shredded meat.
"Establish a perimeter! Third squad, secure the left flank!"
The commander's voice rang out over comms.
It wasn't just the hundred Flame Lizards pouring from Thunderhawks and Stormravens—nearly a thousand Helljumpers, elven warriors, and close to ten thousand auxiliary troops were also disembarking from various transports and shuttles.
Dozens of heavy armored units, such as Achilles Assault Tanks, had completed deployment and joined the fray.
In an instant, the once "quiet" city was awakened by the roar of war.
The Zerg and the infected civilians—now monstrous aberrants—had already suffered heavily from the airstrikes. Under the Flame Lizards' overwhelming assault, they couldn't muster a proper wave tactic.
The first combat platoon leader advanced through the burning streets with five veteran Flame Lizards at his side. Their mag-boots left deep impressions on the molten metal roads.
His tactical visor continuously scanned the surroundings. Through his helmet's augmented view, the Zerg acid residue on the bunker door still glowed a strange green.
Deep claw marks etched into the alloy several centimeters deep silently told of a desperate battle once fought here.
"Everyone inside, listen up!"
The squad leader slammed his power fist into the door. The impact sent a tremor down the corridor, echoing until it became a thunderous boom.
"We are the Flame Lizards of the Human Empire! Open the airlock now!"
A whir from the surveillance camera. The lens refocused several times, followed by a hoarse male voice from the speaker, dry and cracked from dehydration:
"…How do we know you're not those monsters in disguise?"
The platoon leader acted without hesitation. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a face forged in fire and steel.
"Because I can punch this door down in three seconds."
He raised his right hand. The power fist's field generator began to hum, crimson energy rippling along his knuckles, ionizing the dust in the air into sparks.
He pressed the fist to the door, which began to redden and soften from the heat.
"You have thirty seconds to decide," he said calmly. "Either you open the hatch yourselves, or I do it by force—which will waste your best rescue window."
Silence fell inside the shelter. Only the sound of thousands breathing nervously, and the suppressed sobbing of children.
HISSS—!
After ten long seconds, the airlock finally hissed open.
As the interior came into view, the squad leader's pupils contracted slightly.
The cramped space reeked of sweat, blood, and human waste.
At the front stood a boy of about fifteen or sixteen, gripping a makeshift Molotov—just a liquor bottle wrapped in cloth.
His sunken face was covered in grime, but his eyes shone with startling clarity.
"Are you… gods?" the boy asked, voice trembling.
Behind him, more survivors stared wide-eyed.
Some began to pray softly. Others clutched crude weapons. The commander noticed a few women desperately shielding children behind them, their eyes darting between his bolter and power fist.
Clearly, tales of "divine intervention" were spreading rapidly in the outer rim.
Miracles like Mar Sara and Agria were retold via backchannels and refugee rumors, spreading like wildfire even under Terran Dominion censorship.
Yet the Dominion's core systems remained completely unaware of the true events on Mar Sara and Agria—its greatest tool of rule being media manipulation and brainwashing.
The platoon leader dropped to one knee. His armor hissed softly from the hydraulic systems.
At eye level with the boy, the fire-dragon insignia on his pauldron reflected in the child's eyes.
"No, child," he said gently. "We are not gods. We are warriors of the Flame Lizards… the Emperor's Angels of Death."
The boy's throat moved as he swallowed, stretching a hand toward the armor—then pulling it back suddenly, as if fearing it might vanish like a fragile illusion.
"Commander!"
The tactical channel erupted with an alert.
The squad leader stood abruptly, a gust of air from the movement. As he replaced his helmet, the locking click sounded like a verdict.
In his HUD, the horizon was "writhing."
It wasn't a sandstorm—but a black tide of Hydralisks, Zerglings, and a mass of aberrants.
Worse yet, those aberrants were pouring from similarly infected and twisted buildings. Their mutated forelimbs had evolved into jagged bone blades.
Seeing this, the squad leader drew his bolter and issued orders over comms:
"All units, establish interlocking fields of fire at points one through four. Heavy armor—fire at will! We buy the civilians twenty minutes!"
Engines flared as transports began warm-up. Helljumpers and auxiliaries set up heavy weapons, while armored units, including Achilles tanks, formed a mobile bulwark.
At the shelter door, the boy suddenly mustered his courage and grabbed the commander's greave. "They drag people alive to the hatcheries… my father and mother… they…"
The officer turned to the boy, then glanced at the civilians boarding under elven and auxiliary guidance, and finally at the approaching swarm.
He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder—his armor servos finely calibrated not to harm.
"Don't worry, child. With us here, you and the others will be safe."
With that, he flipped off his bolter's safety and led the Flame Lizards to the front line.
Their weapons formed a steel wall of death in the fading light.
The Zerg swarm was upon them.
First came the aberrants, limbs twisting unnaturally, rotting flesh pulsing with parasitic tissue.
"ROAR—!!"
These former humans, now reduced to bloodthirsty instincts, hurled themselves at the Flame Lizards' line.
But they were met with disciplined bolter fire.
BANG—BANG-BANG!!
No command was needed. The first volley tore through the air.
Spinning bolts drilled into aberrants and exploded within, shredding them into clouds of red mist.
Ri~WHOOSH—WHOOSH—!
Next came the plasma cannons. Blue-white arcs carved purification zones meters wide into the swarm.
The Zerg main force arrived.
Hydralisks emerged from rubble, their spine volleys crashing against energy shields in bursts of light.
Zerglings tried to flank through side streets, only to be shredded by Helljumper auto-turrets.
"Hold formation!" The squad leader stood at the front, every swing of his power fist pulping multiple Zerglings. "Buy time for the evac!"
On his HUD, the civilian evacuation bar climbed steadily.
These battered survivors, under auxiliary coordination and elven psionic calming, boarded transport after transport with surprising efficiency.
One turned back—just in time to see a Flame Lizard sergeant crush a Hydralisk skull with one hand.
Though the battle seemed one-sided, the sheer number of Zerg and aberrants was staggering.
For every swarm wiped out, more poured from tunnels and ruins—advancing over corpses, their acid and spines depleting ammo and shield reserves.
"Commander! Final transport at full capacity!"
The alert came through comms.
The commander glanced at his helmet clock—9 minutes and 43 seconds.
Faster than planned.
"All units, begin retreat protocol!"
Under his command, the withdrawal was textbook perfect.
Helljumpers boarded first, laying suppressive fire. Auxiliaries and armor formed a moving screen. The Astartes Flame Lizards held the rear—bolters, plasma, and melta weapons shredding pursuers.
Not a single Zerg or aberrant breached the 100-meter line.
As the last Thunderhawk's hatch sealed, the escort fighters dove, blanketing the retreat with final cover fire.
And then—the bombs dropped.
Not standard ordnance now, but tactical-grade metallic hydrogen bombs.
The convoy climbed rapidly. Just before exiting the atmosphere, the commander looked out the window.
Below—blossoms of death bloomed in the city.
First, blinding white light—like miniature suns igniting. Then fireballs, shockwaves vaporizing streets, buildings, and Zerg alike.
And finally—the mushroom clouds, bizarrely beautiful in their horror.
"Mission complete."
The squad leader murmured to himself, then glanced around the crowded cabin filled with rescued civilians.
His eyes settled on the boy from earlier, curled up in a corner. The child stared out the window at the flames below.
"That was… our home," he whispered.
The commander was silent, then pulled out a bolter round from his mag pouch and handed the simple "souvenir" to the boy.
"Don't be afraid, child. Soon, you'll have a new one."
The transport climbed into low orbit.
There, the Unyielding Sacred Flame stood like a lighthouse—guiding the warriors back from hell.
SHHH—!!
A tear opened in the veil of space—a deep-blue ripple announcing the end of a warp jump.
A beast-class battlecruiser emerged, entering orbit of a green, forest-covered planet.
From above, the dense jungle looked like a living sea, shining with verdant life under its star.
But that tranquility was broken by the steel colossus—Hyperion, flagship of the Rangers—hovering in low orbit with regal might.
The Hyperion bore the signature StarCraft II aesthetic—battle-worn armor plates, repaired scars, cold gleam from its massive laser cannons, and exposed missile arrays along both flanks.
Its rear engines pulsed with blue ion fire, holding the ship steady in orbit.
On the bridge—
Soft blue light bathed the command center. Holographic star maps flickered in the air.
Jim Raynor stood at the central console, rough fingers tapping a steady rhythm. Beside him, cigar-chewing Tychus Findlay squinted at the data.
"Monlyth," said Matt Horner, pointing at a planet marker. "According to Mr. Findlay's intel, another artifact component is hidden here."
Also around the console were Leon S. Kennedy, Mike Monadi, and Chris Redfield.
The three exchanged a glance.
Dispatched from the Human Empire as special operatives, they had boarded the Hyperion to assist Jim Raynor and Tychus Findlay in retrieving the artifact—and interfacing with a group known as the Moebius Foundation.
(End of Chapter)
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