"Captain Rod is dead." As Revolutionary soldiers began regrouping around him, the comms channel erupted with overlapping voices of chaotic reports. Ryk could only be thankful the enemy lacked any method to jam Terran radio signals—or perhaps they simply saw no need to bother.
"Third Company, First Platoon, Second Squad—no survivors." Several Revolutionary soldiers advanced under covering fire, checking for any remaining life signs.
"We've found no further traces of the enemy."
"Lieutenant Ireland will take over his position," Ryk ordered over the comm.
"Lieutenant Ireland is dead too," a young, inexperienced sergeant replied.
"Then you'll command First Platoon," said Ryk. His CMC-200 armor system displayed the soldier's ID: Revolutionary Army Gunnery Sergeant, First Class.
As the gunfire ceased abruptly, silence once again fell upon the jungle. The sudden assault had ended the moment that assassin died, and the blood-scented forest returned to a state of deathly stillness.
"Move out," Ryk commanded over the channel.
The quiet brought no comfort to the Revolutionary soldiers—it only deepened their unease. Even the calmest officers felt a chill creeping through their hearts.
Ryk's unit advanced through the jungle for another forty minutes, reaching the coordinates where the distress signal had been sent. Yet every reconnaissance team detached from the main force had vanished without exception. The comms channel carried nothing now but screams and wails.
The alien creatures of Bel'Shir seemed addicted to this hunt against humankind. They operated alone or in small squads, slowly consuming the human army within the jungle bit by bit.
The jungle air was still warm and gentle, yet the dense foliage and vines made progress nearly impossible. Sometimes, the soldiers had to climb over fallen trees and shrubs as tall as a man. Their combat boots left deep footprints in the thick layer of decomposed leaves, each hollow filling with small puddles of red water.
By the time Ryk reached a clearing where the missing Vulture vehicle company had vanished, it was already close to 16:00.
Over a hundred men wearing blue-and-white combat suits—Vulture pilots—and mechanics in orange-yellow sling work uniforms sat back-to-back among broken ferns. Through the visor's visual enhancement, Ryk could clearly see the violet light constantly seeping from their eyes, its hue almost identical to Terrazine.
Perhaps this eerie sight explained why, despite showing no signs of being restrained and no indication of escape, all of them remained motionless. Aside from the purple glow in their eyes, their exposed faces and elbows were skeletal and scarred, as if they had suffered inhuman torment after capture.
To be precise, their state was no different from the dazed addicts wandering the slums of Tarsonis.
"Don't go near them," Ryk said over the comm channel, raising his marksman rifle as he slowly approached the silent group.
He had thought these people had lost their minds from torture, yet, to his astonishment, the moment they saw the soldiers approaching, they cried out in joy—believing themselves rescued.
"They've come to save us!" When the people with violet eyes rushed toward them, even Ryk felt a chill run down his spine.
"Stop! Or we'll open fire!"
"Who's your commanding officer? If I remember correctly, it should be Lieutenant Werner." Ryk spoke through the external speakers of his powered armor.
The crowd of humans surged forward, then froze helplessly at the sight of gun barrels aimed at them. Soon after, a soldier in a mechanic sergeant's uniform stepped out from among them.
"Lieutenant Werner is dead. I'm Mechanic Sergeant Sidman, member of the Pan-Terran Party." The black-haired noncom staggered toward Ryk, wisely keeping a cautious distance.
"Sir, I saw it with my own eyes. A Tal'darim hunter split open Lieutenant Werner's skull and pulled out the red-and-white brain tissue right from his head—" he continued hoarsely.
"When we were patrolling Ruins Site No. 1, we encountered the Tal'darim. They possessed weapons we'd never seen before. After a brief and chaotic battle, we were slaughtered. In the end, Lieutenant Werner decided to surrender."
Ryk's unwavering gaze flickered slightly. He did not continue speaking with the sergeant but instead shouted into the command channel: "Everyone, regroup at my position immediately. Watch your surroundings—trust only the comrade at your back."
Only then did Ryk look back at Sergeant Sidman. "What's wrong with your eyes? Look around you—you can see that purple glow isn't normal."
"And you call those creatures the Tal'darim?"
"Yes. They call themselves Tal'darim—we can't understand their speech, but sometimes they use English. No, more accurately, they transmit their words directly into our minds through some kind of psionic ability. Occasionally they make actual sounds, but we can't figure out how they do that without mouths," said the mechanic sergeant, his body so emaciated by hunger or other torment that he was barely human anymore.
"After we were captured, the Tal'darim brought us into their temple and locked us inside stone cages, giving us only enough water and a few of Bel'Shir's fruits to survive," said Sergeant Sidman.
"After that, my commanding officers were taken away one after another. They were tortured, interrogated, and finally died. As for me—I was just a mechanic. The Tal'darim value strength, and they despise craftsmen and scholars. That's the only reason I'm still alive."
"Later, they forced us to ingest Terrazine, made us abandon our dignity, and fight each other for scraps of food—all to satisfy the Tal'darim lords' twisted pleasures," he continued.
"Today, they brought us here—we thought it was another of their killing games. They've always enjoyed sending captured humans down to the forest from their ships, letting their hunters begin the slaughter."
"…" Ryk absorbed the flood of information, his attitude toward Sidman softening slightly. "Give them the emergency rations."
"Praise the great Mother Bel'Shir, we're finally saved," Sergeant Sidman said with a faint smile.
"It wasn't your so-called Mother Bel'Shir who saved you. The Revolutionary Army doesn't believe in gods." Ryk looked at him. "Mother Bel'Shir—what is that?"
"Mother Bel'Shir is the will of Bel'Shir itself. She foretold your arrival. We all heard her," the sergeant said without the slightest sense that anything was wrong with what he believed.
"You're not right," Ryk said coldly. "You—and all of you—must undergo re-examination by the Augustgrad National Security Council."
By now, the Revolutionary Army units scattered throughout the jungle were converging toward Ryk's position. The sky was gradually dimming; Bel'Shir's rotation was faster than Earth's, and crimson clouds were beginning to gather on the horizon.
Bel'Shir was a pure virgin world—its beauty lay in its untouched wilderness and the mysterious ruins hidden within its green jungles. Yet once humanity learned that terrifying alien creatures infested it, no one had the leisure or desire to admire Bel'Shir's sunset again.
"They're coming," Sergeant Sidman suddenly said to Ryk.
"The Tal'darim—they're coming in numbers. Bel'Shir told me so."
"Damn creepy," Ryk muttered, staring at Sidman's pale violet eyes, unable to decide whether to attribute it to some kind of psychic power. In his mind, only zealots and lunatics spoke of prophecies so casually.
Almost at that very moment, intense gunfire erupted less than 400 meters away, and hundreds of voices shouted over the shared communication channel.
When Ryk lifted his head, he saw it with his own eyes—numerous angular black ships sweeping over the jungle canopy. They were a perfect fusion of killing aesthetics and exquisite craftsmanship, their hulls covered in blood-red spikes and blades.
Those ships rained down a storm of death composed of crimson plasma beams, and the ground itself blazed beneath them. A majestic warship emerged from the clouds as the sun sank toward the western horizon; the dying sunlight bathed it in blood-red radiance, making it appear even more ominous and deadly.
Despair filled everyone's hearts. The Tal'darim possessed the power to annihilate human colonies, and the only reason they had waited until now might have been nothing more than amusement.
When a giant crushes the ants beneath his feet, he too finds it entertaining.
At that moment, a long shuttle-shaped Tal'darim craft swept over Ryk's head. From hundreds of meters in the air, a Tal'darim Protoss clad in black armor and a deep crimson cloak descended under the protection of a psionic shield, landing between Ryk and Sergeant Sidman.
As the Tal'darim fell, scarlet psionic energy burned around him like living flame, turning his descent into that of a falling star.
"I am an Ascendant of the Tal'darim, captain of the Nyon Expeditionary Fleet, Lord of Bel'Shir. We will not allow you to defile the Breath of the Creator or profane the divine."
The moment the Tal'darim landed, an immense surge of psionic power blasted through the jungle—trees toppled, bushes were ripped from their roots.
"We hunt the strong. Only true warriors are worthy to duel me on equal terms. Anyone else who steps forward comes only to die."
The Tal'darim lord's voice rang directly in every soldier's mind like the clash of a thousand blades, making their heads buzz in agony.
"Psionic…?" Ryk muttered, his comms alive with reports from every Revolutionary unit. A grim truth flashed across the displays in his CMC-200 armor: thousands of Tal'darim strike craft were sweeping through the jungle where the Revolutionary Army was stationed.
"Or perhaps you'd all like to come at once, you mouth-bearing primitives." The Tal'darim lord lifted his proud head, the twin spike-shaped psionic amplifiers on his back resembling parallel blades.
"This is the first time in hundreds of orbital cycles that I've seen intelligent insects… Very well, I'll amuse myself with a little game—and in the process, cull the weakest of my Blood Hunters."
"Ah—ah—come, then! Don't keep my bloodthirsty blades waiting."
The Tal'darim lord's will projected straight into their minds through psionics. Even without speech, every human there understood his intent clearly.
Ryk did not answer him. He simply tightened his grip on the Gauss rifle in his hands. "First Battalion, stay with me. Everyone else, fall back the way we came. Once you're out of the jungle, get to the vehicles and drive immediately."
"Sergeant Sidman, take the other captives and withdraw with my men. Don't look back."
"Tal'darim lord—" Ryk faced the alien warrior.
"Since you despise the weak, then let them leave."
"No matter how long an insect lives, it remains an insect. The larvae of Slayn live only through spring and summer, and the mayfly dies before dusk." The Tal'darim lord's tone dripped with mockery.
Ryk clenched his jaw, about to reply, when a thunderous roar came from above. Both he and the Tal'darim looked up simultaneously. In the darkening sky, they saw it—several hammerhead-shaped battlecruisers descending through the atmosphere, their descent trailing brilliant lances of light.
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