Seventy-two hours later.
New Mar Sara once again stood renewed and gleaming.
Starlight filtered through the atmosphere, gilding the rising jungle of metal structures with a golden sheen.
Twelve kilometer-high mega-apartment complexes had been completed, their hive-like windows glowing with soft light. Built using modular designs, each apartment featured the most advanced ecological circulation systems, including independent air purification units for every module.
In Central Park, children from Agria and Meinhoff ran and laughed on the newly built soccer fields, their joyous voices mingling with the sound of fountains.
At the edge of the park, several elderly citizens sat on smart benches, watching a holographic chessboard rotate gently between them.
In the commercial district, billboards played looping PSAs about the Human Codex, showing Athena teaching children about civic rights.
Workers in imperial uniforms, having just finished their shifts, strolled in small groups into restaurants with "Earth Flavor" signs hanging above their doors.
Through the windows, one could see chefs flipping dishes in woks, while the servers were elves, Tielek, and other species from alternate universes.
In a corner bookstore, a few young people gathered around a holographic shelf, flipping through literary works from the Prime Universe.
And in near-Earth orbit, three imposing fleets hovered silently—
The golden warships of the Imperial Fist formed a meticulous formation, their prow-mounted mega-cannons gleaming in the sunlight.
The Blood Angels' crimson prows bore intricate bone-relief sculptures, while side-mounted missile silos were being inspected.
The Raven Guard's black-gray ships loomed like shadows at strategic points. Their cloaking fields rendered their hulls faint and spectral under starlight.
On the surface, support troops from all three legions conducted joint training exercises with the Flame Lizards.
The gold-armored Imperial Fist Titans instructed Rangers on new weapons systems, meticulously correcting every movement and grip.
The Blood Angels' Apothecaries treated civilians at temporary medical stations, silver injectors gleaming coldly under the lights.
And the Raven Guard's scouts had completed a detailed topographic scan of Mar Sara. Their quantum radars could penetrate up to a kilometer of solid bedrock.
Meanwhile—
"This goddamn place doesn't even have a decent brothel."
In a corner of a bar in the new city, Tychus Findlay had his military boots propped up on a solid wood table, their soles scraping fresh marks into the surface.
The cigar in his hand had burned halfway, and the pale smoke above his head swirled into ever-shifting clouds.
A bottle of whiskey, freshly pulled from an ice bucket, sat on the table, its amber contents glinting under the lights. The clinking of ice cubes echoed with each tilt of the glass.
"Other than decent booze and cigars, what the hell else is there to do?" Tychus grumbled, though he still poured himself another glass.
His thick fingers gripped the rim, calloused knuckles rasping softly against the crystal.
Jim Raynor downed a hefty gulp in silence, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow.
The alcohol burned his throat, but it couldn't purge the shadow hanging over his heart.
His gaze passed through the bar's large windows and landed on the distant monument—soon to be engraved with the names of every fallen soldier in the Mar Sara campaign.
Tychus suddenly leaned in, cigar ash falling onto Jim's leather sleeve, burning tiny dark specks into it.
"Listen here, Little Jimmy," the big man muttered, his whiskey-laced breath fogging Jim's face, "Three-legged toads are rare, but two-legged women? You got plenty."
He jabbed a thick finger across the table, pointing at the elven waitress mixing drinks. "Look at that ass. Better than Kerrigan's damned bug-tail any day."
Jim's knuckles whitened. The glass in his hand began to crack with a sharp creak, thin lines spidering out across its surface.
The Ranger commander's temple twitched. In his mind's eye flashed the final moment Kerrigan turned and looked back.
"You don't understand." His voice was raw, like sandpaper scraping bone. His lips trembled slightly from the alcohol and pent-up grief.
"Ha!" Tychus slammed the table, jolting the bottle and glasses. A few rookie Rangers at the bar nearly fell off their stools in shock.
"Hell, I do understand!" Tychus guzzled his whiskey, the liquid glistening on his beard. "Before I even met your sorry ass, back in the day—"
But just as he launched into another tale, several nearly invisible "figures" silently entered the bar.
Under the dim light, they were perfectly transparent—no outlines, no movement. But if one could trace them, they resembled those in Special Operations nanotech suits, though slimmer—lacking the muscular enhancements and genetic bulk of elite commandos.
They moved like reflections on water—warped, ephemeral, ready to vanish at any moment.
Mid-sentence, Tychus froze.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A cold dread, like the gaze of a venomous serpent, crawled up his spine. Battle-honed instincts made his hand twitch toward his sidearm—but he froze before drawing, because Jim had already given him a sharp look.
Their eyes met across the table. No words were needed.
Tychus adjusted his posture, feigning a casual sip while preparing to strike at any moment. Jim's right hand rested on the table—only three centimeters from his signature revolver.
Just then, the bar's automatic doors slid open silently.
A figure in white stepped through—her Greek-style robe utterly unstained by the smoke-laced air.
Athena's golden hair flowed like molten light, swaying gently with each step.
?!
The bar fell silent.
Several workers stared, jaws agape. One dropped his glass without even noticing.
Though Athena frequently appeared on holoscreens, teaching youths about the Human Codex in cathedrals, seeing a god in person left the locals of the StarCraft universe stunned.
"Is… is that the Goddess of War?" a rookie Ranger stammered.
Athena raised her hand. At her fingertips, golden psionic ripples shimmered.
Suddenly, the civilians' eyes glazed over. In a dreamlike state, they stood up and calmly walked out.
In less than thirty seconds, the bar was empty—except for Tychus, Jim, and a few wide-eyed recruits.
"Gentlemen." Athena's golden eyes flared with light as she turned to stare directly at the "air" in the room. "No need to keep hiding."
Her voice carried a resonance beyond physical sound. "We've known you were here since the moment you stepped on Mar Sara."
WHISH—WHISH—!!
Before her words had even faded, several suppressed gunshots broke the silence.
High-caliber sniper rounds flew from the corner, targeting Athena's temple, heart, throat, and abdomen.
HUM—HUM—!!
But golden psionic shields shimmered into existence midair.
The bullets froze ten centimeters from her skin, spinning slowly before disintegrating into fine dust.
Metallic flecks floated down like glitter under the bar's lights.
Athena shook her head slightly, a tinge of disappointment in her eyes. With a flick of her left hand—
BOOM—!
An invisible psionic pulse swept across the entire bar.
Every glass on the counter exploded. Whiskey droplets froze mid-air, suspended like amber beads.
The hidden attackers were struck by a formless hammer, forced out of cloaking with violent crashes.
THUD—CRACK—!
One smashed through a booth, another slammed into the liquor rack, bottles shattering around them. A third flew backward, striking the wall with a spiderweb of cracks before crumpling to the floor.
Athena's golden gaze passed over the scattered figures. She sighed softly and quipped:
"Why suffer needlessly?"
As the psionic wave dissipated, the scene cleared.
Four attackers lay amid broken furniture, their damaged nanotech suits flickering unstable optical camo—sometimes translucent, sometimes revealing pale gray bodysuits.
Jim and Tychus both stood.
"Terran Dominion Ghost operatives," Jim hissed through clenched teeth, hand now gripping his revolver. "What the hell are they doing here?"
Ghosts—elite warriors from the StarCraft universe, born with and trained to wield psionic power.
The Dominion rated psionics across ten tiers:
Normal humans scored between 0 and 2. Intelligent individuals—like scientists—might reach 2 to 3.
Level 3 and above could sense psionics in others and exert limited control.
Levels 3 to 5 enabled telekinesis, telepathy, and basic mind manipulation.
Level 8 and up posed significant risks, requiring monitoring to prevent instability.
Level 5 and above qualified for Ghost recruitment and high-risk missions.
As for Jim Raynor's long-lost Sarah Kerrigan—before her infestation, she was already a Level 10 Ghost.
Of course, 10 was simply the limit of human classification—Kerrigan's potential far exceeded it.
Rustle… rustle…
At the bar, the slenderest attacker stirred.
She shook her head, a golden ponytail swinging behind her.
She ripped off her shattered mask, revealing a striking face—marred only by a small scar beneath her left eye.
With fluid motions, she discarded her warped sniper rifle. It clattered loudly to the floor.
Her eyes fell on Jim first. A flicker of inner conflict passed across her face—it was clear he was their mission target.
But her gaze soon turned to Athena.
The instant she saw the "Goddess of War," her expression darkened. Clearly, the Dominion's brass had never warned them of such a being.
The moment they landed on Mar Sara, their fate had been sealed—regardless of objective.
"Damn…" she cursed under her breath, voice trembling with shock.
In the next instant, her form blurred.
The nanotech suit pushed to max output—she launched like an arrow toward Athena.
Her right fist aimed for Athena's throat, left knee for the abdomen—a Ghost's textbook fatal combo, enough to cripple a marine in CMC armor instantly.
THUMP—!
Both strikes landed dead-on… and did absolutely nothing.
Athena's robes didn't even flutter.
The Ghost's pupils shrank.
A searing pain stabbed through her fingers—as if she'd struck immovable stone.
Her knee reverberated with backlash. Her entire leg went numb. Her suit's shock absorbers shrieked in alarm.
Staggering back, she looked up—straight into Athena's molten-gold eyes.
There was no anger, no disdain—only a calm so profound it chilled her to the bone.
Like a star "gazing" at dust. Like the ocean "watching" a flailing plankton.
"According to your universe's scale," Athena's voice rang like crystalline chimes, "you possess Level 10 psionics."
A golden strand curled around her fingertip. "In the Koprulu Sector, that's considered impressive."
!
The Ghost sprang back three paces. Her eyes blazed with blue light as her psionics surged—air quaked under the strain.
Shards of shattered glass lifted from the bar, spinning in her psionic field, refracting warped light.
Bottles on the shelves rattled. Many exploded. Amber liquor formed icy spears mid-air.
Tychus yanked Jim backward. "Hell no—this chick's gonna blow the whole place!"
The hovering shards whined, pitch rising—approaching a critical resonance—
Athena vanished.
Not cloaked—she simply moved faster than the human eye could follow.
The Ghost saw only a flash of gold.
Then—pain. Her carotid artery screamed.
"Ugh!"
Lightning ripped through her nerves. Her psionics collapsed, vanishing like mist in the sun.
The shards clattered to the ground. The liquor spears shattered into glistening sprays. Darkness crept into her vision. A roaring filled her ears.
And just before consciousness slipped away, Athena's voice rang out once more:
"Sleep, child. You need to relearn the entire world and universe."
(End of Chapter)
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