Outside the ruins, the Tal'darim Protoss defense line had completely collapsed.
The broken bodies of Zealots lay scattered across the creep, their armor riddled with holes from corrosive acid. The last remaining High Templars stood with their backs to makeshift defenses, forming a final psionic barrier—but their shields flickered under the Zerg onslaught, like candles in the wind.
Suddenly, the Hydralisks ceased fire, parting in perfect unison to clear a path.
The Queen of Blades, Sarah Kerrigan, slowly descended to the frontline. Her toes barely touched the ground before the creep surged beneath her feet like a living organism.
"Foolish Tal'darim…" her voice resonated directly in the minds of the Protoss, layered with the swarm's signature buzzing. "The 'god' you worship… is nothing more than a pitiful liar."
A High Templar raised his psionic blade, but Kerrigan merely lifted a hand—an invisible psionic blast hurled the warrior backward like a rag doll.
Just as the swarm was about to overwhelm the remaining Tal'darim—
"Open fire!"
Jim Raynor's roar split the battlefield.
Over four hundred marines flanked in from the side, and the thunder of Gauss rifles instantly drowned out the Zerg's shrieks.
Four Viking mechs, already transformed, launched a coordinated missile barrage from their shoulder pods—dozens of high-explosive warheads turned the front ranks of the swarm into pillars of flame.
Tychus Findlay charged at the front, his rotary cannon spitting searing fire.
Armor-piercing rounds shredded Zerglings, bisected Hydralisks—and when one Zergling tried to pounce from behind, Tychus smashed its skull with a vicious elbow.
"HAHA! Now this is living! A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do!"
Laughing, he slapped in a fresh belt. The roar of his minigun resumed—like death's own funeral dirge.
Up on the elevated creep mound, Kerrigan's pupils narrowed. She had recognized the familiar figure—Jim Raynor.
The Ranger commander was leading his troops in a full assault against both Zerg and Tal'darim.
"Jim Raynor…" her voice entered his mind through psionic transmission. "Are you here to die too?"
Raynor's charge faltered slightly.
He looked up at the purple figure floating in the distance, his throat tightening. "Sarah… I know you can still hear me. You still have a chance—come back to humanity. Don't let Amon win!"
For a moment, Kerrigan's face contorted—but was quickly consumed again by the swarm's will.
BOOM————!!!
A tidal wave of psionic energy erupted from her, hurling the frontline marines like leaves in a storm. She roared, "Fool! The swarm is the final step in evolution!"
Meanwhile, on the far end of the battlefield—
Leon made a tactical hand signal. Team B, consisting of several dozen special operatives, silently circled toward the rear of the ruins.
Their nano-combat suits blended seamlessly with the terrain, even their breathing filtered by silencing devices.
"High-density psionic reaction detected," Mike whispered, staring at the scanner on his wrist. "The artifact is just around the corner, but…"
Chris also sensed something off and abruptly raised a fist, signaling a halt.
There—six Lurkers slowly writhed beneath the creep. These subterranean spike-launching Zerg were perfect sentries.
"No way around," Leon muttered, checking the energy levels of his hardlight rifle. "We'll have to force it."
Chris retrieved two plasma grenades from his belt. "We'll open the path. You secure the artifact."
Behind him, the Wolfpack team fanned out. Their optical camo flickered over the creep, rendering them nearly invisible.
Twenty operatives advanced like shadows, their silenced boots making no sound on the sticky terrain.
Slight rises in the ground revealed the burrowing Lurkers below.
"Twenty meters," Chris whispered into comms, dual plasma grenades glowing faintly in his hands. "Prepare sonic shock rounds."
The team quickly switched their hardlight rifles to non-lethal shock mode.
When the Lurkers were just ten meters away—Chris pounced!
Enhanced by nano-fiber musculature, he launched himself like a missile directly above the nearest Lurker, slamming a metal-clad fist into the ground.
THUD—! THUD—!
The creep and underlying stone shattered under the blow.
Chris shoved both grenades into the breach and performed a tactical roll to retreat.
BOOM. BOOM————!!
Blue plasma fire roared from the fissure. One Lurker exploded into bloody chunks, limbs flying through the air.
!!
The remaining five were immediately alerted. The ground trembled as sharp spikes erupted upward.
But the Wolfpack had already anticipated the attack—
"Dodge left!"
They rolled in unison, evading the first wave. Return fire came instantly—shock beams targeting the Lurkers' exposed sensory organs.
ROAR—!
One Lurker thrashed and broke through the surface, only to be shredded by concentrated fire.
"Keep moving!" Chris barked, swapping out a depleted power cell. "Don't let them lock on!"
The squad shifted formations across the creep, engaging new waves of Zerg. One mutated Hydralisk raised its acid launcher—Chris blew its head off in a single shot.
Meanwhile, deeper in the ruins—
Leon and Mike's team had reached the altar square.
Surrounding the plaza were towering twelve-meter Protoss statues arranged in a ring, each sculpted in the likeness of a sword-wielding warrior.
At the center floated the artifact—radiating an eerie blue light, casting the entire area in a surreal glow.
"Something's not right."
Leon suddenly raised a fist—his team froze.
His helmet visor glowed faint blue as layered scanners swept across the statues.
All readings showed normal—no heat, no energy, no mechanical movement. But the statues' spatial placement and unnaturally precise craftsmanship triggered every warning in Leon's instincts.
Mike pulled up a holographic scan, data streaming across his HUD. "Everything checks out on my end. Background radiation only."
He turned to Leon. "What did you find?"
Leon didn't reply immediately.
He approached the nearest statue, gloved fingers brushing its surface.
It depicted a Templar warrior, so detailed that every armor scale was visible. But what caught his eye was the weather-worn inscription on the base. "These statues… are wrong."
He gave a firm command: "Plant plasma charges on every statue. Remote detonation."
"…"
Mike didn't argue.
Though the team didn't fully understand, years of training kicked in. They complied instantly.
Using micro-adhesive fibers in their suits, they scaled the statues like geckos.
The operation was surgical.
Each charge was placed at a nearly invisible seam behind the statues' necks—likely structural energy nodes common in Protoss constructs.
Mike personally mounted the last charge. As he flipped from the statue to land lightly, the device's red light blinked—armed.
"All charges set." He dusted off his gloves. "Still don't see the threat, though."
Leon didn't explain.
His focus was on the artifact.
What looked like stone was laced with pulsating purple veins—like vascular tissue. As he neared, their glow intensified, as if responding to him.
The floor beneath the altar was Protoss alloy. Every step triggered subtle psionic reverberations.
When Leon's boot touched an ancient rune, the air shimmered—barely visible.
Three steps from the artifact, he stopped—his HUD had detected energy movement.
He drew a shock knife from his thigh sheath and extended it toward the artifact.
As soon as the blade's tip touched its surface, a blue arc surged out—coursing through his body in a flash.
!!
Leon's muscles locked up, jaw clenching. It felt like an icepick at -100 degrees was being driven into his bones—yet it also burned like fire.
Enduring the pain, he lunged forward and tore the artifact from its levitating field.
Surprisingly, the object that had driven two species to war weighed less than a standard rifle.
"Seal box! Now!"
He shouted hoarsely, his voice warped by the pain.
Two operatives rushed up. One unfolded a lead-alloy container etched with Chinese runes. The other assisted with stowing the artifact.
At that instant—
Click.
A barely audible mechanical snap came from within the nearest statue.
Its gem-like red eyes lit up, and its sword-arm raised, joints venting steam built over millennia.
Its first movements were slow and clumsy—but quickly became smooth, its surface lighting up with energy circuits.
Worse—every statue began to stir. Their stone exteriors cracked and peeled.
"Detonate!"
Mike's shout exploded over comms—and multiple plasma blasts flared to life.
The charges, placed precisely at the energy nodes, ignited with surgical precision. Superheated plasma cut into each construct's core systems.
BOOM—! BOOOM—!!
The first statue had just lifted its sword when its red eyes dimmed.
A hole several meters wide blasted through its chest. Glowing internal fluid sprayed out like blood.
Others fared worse—some were decapitated, some bisected, some blown into rubble that crashed into the altar base.
"Whew~!" Mike whistled, nano-mask filtering the airborne dust. "Old man, that instinct of yours is insane."
Leon slid the artifact into the case. The satisfying click of the latch eased his nerves. "Seven times. Before I worked with you, I'd run into things like this seven times. Never again do I trust anything that looks like decor."
"Wolfpack calling in," Chris's voice cut in over the buzzing of hardlight fire. "We've broken through the encirclement. Converging on your 2 o'clock."
"Copy." Leon responded, then broadcast, "All units, commence evac protocol. Repeat: immediate extraction."
Moments later, the rumble of engines echoed from the sky.
The transport formation was already lifting off with stationed personnel and siege tanks, clearing the airspace with onboard turrets firing at Scourge.
But as the spec-ops team scanned the main battlefield with shared visuals, their hearts sank—
Jim Raynor's force was compressed into a ring less than a kilometer wide.
Of the 300+ marines, over half had acid-scorched armor. Only two Viking mechs remained functional.
Tychus stood atop a wrecked Viking, both hands pouring endless fire into the swarm.
Worse, hovering above the field was Kerrigan. With every gesture, new Zerg emerged from the creep.
The remaining Tal'darim launched suicidal charges—useless against the Queen of Blades.
"Change of plans," Leon barked, tossing the sealed case to Mike. "You extract the artifact. The rest of us go punch a hole through."
No hesitation. No argument.
Leon and Chris led dozens of operatives straight for the battlefield, while Mike and two others rushed the artifact to the evac point.
Soon—
Spec-ops suits flickered across the front. Optical camo made them ghostlike—appearing and vanishing in the swarm's weakest zones.
Chris's Wolfpack focused on Hydralisk sniping. Each hardlight salvo cleared dozens.
Leon's assault team dove into the swarm, carving gaps with plasma grenades.
"God…"
A medic stared, stunned. She'd just finished injecting a painkiller, the needle still in midair.
"How are they even doing that?"
"Left flank clear!" Tychus bellowed, jolting her.
The spec-ops team had ripped open a path. The last two Viking mechs laid down crossing fire to reinforce.
The transports seized the moment and dove in.
Medevacs swept up wounded with tractor beams. The Hercules skimmed the ground, hatch nearly dragging across the creep.
"All units—board! NOW!"
Jim's voice was hoarse. He was the last to fall back, sidearm taking out closing Zerg.
As the last medevac rose, the two remaining Vikings transformed mid-air. Joints clicked, legs retracted, wings extended—they became fighters again.
Their final missile salvo blew the pursuing Scourge into mist before they rejoined the convoy.
At the medevac's side hatch, Jim watched Kerrigan grow smaller in the distance, still floating above the burning battlefield.
Her psionic voice pierced every mind like an ice dagger: "Run, Jim… but the swarm will devour all."
Jim Raynor didn't reply.
He simply closed the hatch.
At his feet, the sealed artifact box trembled slightly. The glowing runes flickered—like something inside was struggling to escape.