Bel'Shir, the other side.
The far side of the Korhal colonists' landing zone was likewise a lush, verdant, and vibrant world. Low-lying basins, plains, and steep mountain ranges were all blanketed by flourishing green vegetation, with clusters of flowers blooming among highland streams.
Hundreds of Terrazine shrines belonging to the Tal'darim Protoss stood amid the sea of flowers and angiosperms in the emerald jungle—ancient, solemn, and magnificent all at once—resembling the Roman Pantheon or some archaic sanctum. Towering pillars inscribed with mysterious letters, symbols, and murals supported intricately patterned inner domes, their shell-like carvings spreading from the outer wall of the ceiling as though wrought by nature itself rather than by mortal hands.
Over 15-meter-high cylindrical pillars were built into the stone walls, nearly fusing with them as one. There were no doors on the walls—only several tall, broad hexagonal windows through which the sunlight could pass, illuminating the niches carved into the interior walls and casting light upon the exquisite stone statues depicting deities. Wisps of violet smoke gushed from the Terrazine geysers, rising in spirals through the square opening atop each shrine's dome.
These age-old structures were likely not built on Bel'Shir, nor even crafted by the Tal'darim—or by the Protoss race at all. They seemed more like relics from an age long forgotten.
Amid the dense foliage, a vast plain covered with sparse jungle and low shrubs stood out prominently. A dozen Terrazine shrines were scattered across a narrow rectangular stretch of land, and viewed from above, they formed a faintly discernible regular hexagon.
The commander of Alpha Squadron, former Confederate Navy officer Edmund Duke—dispatched to deal with the Tal'darim Protoss—was quite willing to call this place "Handy Anderson's Bald Spot," a mocking reference to the UNN News Network's chief editor and investor, notorious for his impressive bald head.
"I can't help but wonder whether those pointy-heads don't have brains at all—or maybe they just never evolved one. This place sticks out like a bare patch of dirt in the jungle. Any competent commander should've realized immediately there's a Tal'darim base hidden here."
Holding a high-magnification scope capable of detecting thermal signatures, Duke stood atop a solid hill, his bright white CMC-powered command armor gleaming under the scorching noonday sun. To his left, Alpha Squadron Marines marched past in three neat columns; to his right rolled armored personnel carriers packed with troops, occasionally overtaken by Vultures racing ahead at high speed.
This disagreeable former Confederate commander hailed from a prominent Old Families line; the only honorable thing about his rotten personality was that, just as he looked down on everyone else, he looked down on any alien creatures as well, even when they displayed formidable technological prowess.
Whether in strategy or tactics, Duke dared to scorn any enemy he looked down on.
"But I suspect that if the Marshal's Command hadn't told you there's a hidden Tal'darim city here, you'd probably be pounding your chest and howling over there," Tychus Findlay in his massive red powered armor and Raynor in his blue armor walked up behind Duke.
"If no one had told me our venerable General Edmund Duke is here, I'd have thought he'd already broken into the Tal'darim pyramid," Tychus said; he had always disliked Duke.
"You'll see soon enough." Duke didn't glance at Tychus; he kept his focus forward.
"Pass me a Port Jeda import cigar—I paid top credits for it." Tychus came up beside Duke and fished a thick cigar from the pouch on his powered armor.
"Are you mocking me? Port Jeda is synonymous with bootlegs, cheapness, and poor quality—every Tarsonian knows it's where the lowest scum go." Duke dismissed Tychus's outstretched hand with disgust, as if swatting a fly.
"Cut it out." For a fraction of a second Tychus felt a twinge of awkwardness, but it vanished quickly.
"Say, General Duke, aren't you afraid of Tal'darim assassins coming after you while you're standing out here so conspicuously?" Raynor asked, and Tychus tossed all the cigars into the grass out of Duke's sight.
Duke was actually careful with his life; he was surrounded by Alpha Squadron elite guard soldiers equipped with anti-cloaking gear and towering Goliath armed robots. Raynor was only teasing Duke as usual—the two had long been at odds—and Tychus often traded barbs and brawls with Duke as well.
"If a Tal'darim assassin dared to come, I could catch him with one hand." Duke lowered his scope and looked at Raynor, since the latter held the higher rank.
Although in Duke's view, the ranks among this rebel army were a joke—many of the officers and generals were under twenty years old because their seniority was, paradoxically, the highest—Augustus Mengsk could promote his commanders at will, and those ranks did not carry as much weight as a single staff officer at Navy Command.
"Just say it and be done with it; don't take it seriously. These aliens are all muscle from head to toe, they could easily split that shell you're wearing," Tychus Findlay laughed loudly.
"What are you laughing at? You're Augustus's lapdog, a scoundrel, the army's scum, a wanted man." Duke exploded in anger.
"I've always been a bad man~ same to you, you venomous snake aren't any better." Tychus delighted in watching Duke fume; it was one of the few pleasures he had besides eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling.
"Ah, what fun—let me hear it too." At that moment Hank climbed up the hill where Duke and the others stood; the thick firebat powered armor he wore bore the Heaven's Devils emblem in flames and the Mengsk family wolf's head.
Perhaps because Hank had long dealt with fire, everyone felt the surrounding temperature rise noticeably when he appeared, as if that red armor were a furnace radiating intense heat.
Duke bristled at Hank's characteristic carefree voice. This red-haired kid was a born troublemaker; even after becoming a revolutionary colonel he still picked fights three days out of every five, but people disliked Hank far less than they disliked Duke. Everyone knew Marshal Augustus liked Hank because the latter valued loyalty and friendship above all else.
If someone could win Hank's trust and friendship, they would have a friend for life.
"You'd better shut your mouth, Colonel Hank." Duke barked into his command channel to Alpha Squadron, raising his voice to shout at his bewildered subordinates.
"You already know where to open fire—aim at those Tal'darim temples and order the artillery to fire immediately. Don't spare the ammunition; blow those Tal'darim pointy-heads to pieces!"
"You all have your own missions—not to stand here waiting to see me make a fool of myself."
After issuing the order, Duke picked up his binoculars again.
"Because that's something impossible to happen, understand?"
"Marshal Augustus Mengsk is waiting for our victory report."
"No one keeps bringing up the defeat you suffered on Mar Sara, even though that battle's already written into the textbooks at the naval and army officer academies."
After finishing his taunt, Tychus patted the dust off his backside, dashed down, mounted his beloved Vulture bike, and vanished in a blur.
Tychus's unit was marching on the right flank of Alpha Squadron; the only reason he had come here was to mock Duke.
Duke glanced back at the hastily departing Tychus and decided there was no need to trade words with such a thoroughly tiresome man.
When there was no fighting, Tychus was nothing but a troublemaker.
The officers under Augustus Mengsk each had their own disgusting habits—for example, Tychus Findlay was better suited to be a bandit than an officer of a revolutionary army.
He wasn't even fit to command a proper unit.
It wasn't that Tychus couldn't handle the job; it was just that his head was filled only with thoughts of making money, leaving no time to properly lead a large army.
The others were either maniacs obsessed with revenge against the Kel-Morian Combine, bomb freaks who smoked while fiddling with explosives, the ever-smiling Augustgrad Chairman of National Security, cold-blooded snipers who had killed countless people, or even red-haired punks whose crimes weren't enough to make headlines.
"My men and Hank's are right behind," Raynor said, not leaving.
"Good. Soon you'll have no chance to interfere. Alpha Squadron will wipe out all enemies.
You and your men will soon realize you came out here just for a pleasant picnic—and you'll return to camp safe and sound, hand in hand like kindergarten kids wearing little yellow hats, because Alpha Squadron's big navy daddies are protecting you."
Seeing Tychus gone, Duke started bragging again.
"Your kid's about to be born, right?" Harnack asked, paying no attention to Duke; his focus always drifted, his eyes constantly shifting somewhere else the next second.
"It's only been two months, you ignorant idiot," Raynor replied.
"Yeah… after all, I don't have a mom." Harnack visibly sank into gloom.
"Sorry, Hank, I didn't mean it that way," Raynor said sadly.
Duke instantly lost interest and focused again on the green jungle and the distant altar through his binoculars.
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