"Is that... Jim?"
Kerrigan's voice carried surprise and confusion as she stared at the flickering holographic projection in the abandoned Protoss ruins. The image quality was terrible—corrupted by time and damage—but she could still make out familiar features through the distortion.
Jim Raynor. Her Jim. Standing in what appeared to be an official Imperial broadcast.
It didn't make sense. Why would she be seeing Jim's face in an image meant for the Empire's head of state? The incongruity left her momentarily disoriented, her razor-sharp mind struggling to piece together an explanation.
"Did they capture him?" Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, bone-blade appendages twitching with agitation.
That was the obvious conclusion—Jim had finally been caught by Mengsk's forces. But as Kerrigan focused more carefully on the projection, studying every detail she could make out through the static, that theory fell apart.
Jim wasn't in shackles or restraints. He wasn't being paraded as a prisoner or displayed as a trophy for Imperial propaganda. Instead, he looked like he'd just come from a combat operation—worn, tired around the edges, but unbowed. There was nothing about his posture or expression that suggested captivity.
Which only deepened the mystery.
Jim Raynor was one of the Dominion's most wanted criminals. He spent his days operating along the Empire's borders, conducting raids, disrupting operations, generally being a thorn in Mengsk's side. The bounty on his head was astronomical.
Kerrigan understood why Jim did it. He was fighting for her, in his way. Trying to find a path to bring her back, to undo what had been done to her. The thought sent warmth through her chest—a sensation that felt strange in her transformed body.
But she also understood the reality of his situation. Jim commanded a small rebel fleet. Even with the Hyperion as his flagship—a powerful Behemoth-class battlecruiser—he was hopelessly outmatched by the Imperial military. Mengsk had entire battle groups, planetary defense networks, and unlimited resources.
Even with her current power, commanding vast Zerg swarms that could darken the skies of entire worlds, Kerrigan wasn't certain she could break through Korhal's defenses and reach Mengsk. The capital was too well-fortified, too heavily defended.
So how had Jim gotten there? How was he appearing in Imperial broadcasts?
"What happened to you, Jim?" Kerrigan murmured, her transformed features softening with concern.
Despite her infection, despite her transformation into the Queen of Blades, despite the Zerg genetic material that had rewritten her body on a cellular level, Sarah Kerrigan still loved Jim Raynor. That core part of her humanity remained untouched, burning bright beneath the monster's exterior.
She would never allow anything to happen to him. If the Imperial military threatened Jim, if Mengsk made a move against him, she would bring the full fury of the Swarm down on Korhal. Let the planet burn. Let billions die. Jim was worth any price.
"Ksssh... citizens... we... ksssh..." The projection crackled with interference, Jim's voice cutting in and out. What little audio came through was loud, authoritative, but mostly unintelligible through the static.
"Is this some kind of broadcast hijacking?" Kerrigan's eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities. "Did Mengsk's systems get compromised?"
That was the only explanation that made sense. Jim must have found powerful allies—hackers, maybe, or infiltrators with access to Imperial networks. They'd broken into Mengsk's broadcast systems and were using them for their own purposes.
It was the only way Jim could have turned Mengsk's own propaganda channels against him without an all-out military assault on Korhal.
"Find me a working broadcast terminal!" Kerrigan's command echoed across the psionic network, reaching every Zerg creature on the planet simultaneously. "Now!"
The projection she was watching was too damaged to provide useful information. She needed a functional display, something that could show her what was actually happening on Korhal.
In response to her will, the entire Zerg presence on the planet mobilized as one organism. Thousands of creatures spread out in coordinated search patterns, hunting through ruins and abandoned structures for any intact technology. Zerglings scurried through corridors, overlords drifted over broader areas scanning for energy signatures, even burrowed roaches surfaced to check underground facilities.
Find a working terminal. Understand what was happening to Jim. Those were the priorities, and the Swarm would fulfill them.
Korhal – Former Head of State's Office
Back on Korhal, after Marcus's casual departure via teleportation, Jim turned his attention back to the unconscious form of Arcturus Mengsk.
The former Emperor hung limp in the mechanical arms' grip, knocked out cold by the electrical shocks Will had administered. He looked diminished somehow, less imposing than the propaganda images that plastered buildings across the Dominion. Just an old man who'd finally been caught.
This bastard was responsible for so much suffering. The destruction of Tarsonis. Kerrigan's transformation. Countless deaths across dozens of worlds. All in service of one man's ambition.
"I'm not going to kill you," Jim said quietly, though Mengsk couldn't hear him. "That would be too easy. Too quick. No, I think there are other people who have a much stronger claim to your life than I do."
Kerrigan deserved the chance to face her betrayer. The families of Tarsonis deserved justice. The citizens Mengsk had oppressed and manipulated deserved their reckoning.
Jim just needed to make sure Mengsk stayed alive long enough for that justice to be served.
As he stood there looking at the man who'd caused so much pain, Jim couldn't help but feel a strange sense of anticlimax. He'd imagined overthrowing Mengsk's regime countless times over the years. He'd planned elaborate operations, considered desperate gambits, dreamed of impossible scenarios.
But he'd never imagined it would happen like this. So quickly. So... easily.
With Marcus's help, the seemingly invincible Dominion had fallen in hours. No prolonged campaign, no bloody battles, no desperate last stands. Just overwhelming technological superiority and the complete compromise of Korhal's systems.
It felt almost unfair. Like playing a game with cheat codes enabled.
"We need to discuss the Empire's future," Jim announced, pulling his attention away from Mengsk and addressing the others in the room. "Figure out what comes next."
Everyone nodded in agreement. This was the crucial moment—the point where revolutions succeeded or failed. Tearing down a government was relatively straightforward. Building something better in its place? That was the real challenge.
Jim knew his own limitations. He was a good fleet commander, decent at tactics and leadership in military contexts. But ruling an interstellar empire? That required political skills, diplomatic finesse, economic understanding—none of which were in his wheelhouse.
They'd all witnessed what happened when a single dictator controlled everything. Mengsk was the cautionary tale of autocratic rule. On the surface, the Dominion had appeared strong and unified. But beneath that façade, countless problems had festered—corruption, inequality, oppression, resentment.
On Korhal itself, you might not see those issues clearly. The capital was well-maintained, properly funded, given priority in everything. But on the outer worlds? On the frontier planets and border colonies? The problems were impossible to ignore.
"We need to elect a leader," Jim said firmly. "Someone who can actually govern. Any volunteers?"
The moment the words left his mouth, every single person in the room turned to look directly at him.
Jim felt his stomach drop. "Oh no. No, no, no. Let me be absolutely clear right now—I don't want the job."
He was a cowboy at heart, someone who valued freedom and open space. And more importantly, he had a mission that mattered more than politics: bringing Kerrigan back from the Swarm. He couldn't do that while trapped on Korhal playing head of state.
The weight of their gazes didn't lift. No one else was volunteering, and their expressions made it clear they thought Jim was the natural choice.
"Come on, guys," Jim tried again. "There has to be someone else who wants to run things."
But the assembled group looked genuinely troubled. Among everyone they knew and trusted, Jim was the only one who'd demonstrated real leadership qualities. He inspired loyalty, made difficult decisions under pressure, and genuinely cared about people. If he refused the position, they had no idea who else could possibly fill the role.
"Looks like we really need to think this through carefully," Matt said diplomatically, though his expression suggested he agreed with everyone else about Jim being the right choice.
Kssshh—kssshh—
Static burst from the office's communication system, interrupting the discussion. Then the static resolved into an image—a young man with refined features and an easy smile appeared in holographic form.
"Good evening, everyone," the young man said pleasantly. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Valerian Mengsk."
The room went dead silent.
Then everyone tensed, hands moving toward weapons, expressions hardening with suspicion.
"Mengsk's son?" Tychus said the words like they tasted bad.
Seeing the young man's face—bearing undeniable resemblance to the unconscious dictator hanging in mechanical restraints—sent waves of hostility through the group. It didn't matter what this kid wanted. They'd just overthrown his father's brutal regime. They were enemies by definition.
"Please, don't be alarmed," Valerian continued, maintaining his calm demeanor despite the obvious tension. "I mean you no harm. In fact, I think you'll find we have mutual interests. For instance—I'm the one who's been purchasing the Xel'Naga artifact fragments."
That stopped everyone cold.
Shock registered on every face, but no one looked more stunned than Tychus. He'd been the one to make contact with potential buyers, the one who'd brought the opportunity to Jim's attention. The mission to Typhon, the recovery of the artifact fragment—all of that had originated from a contract with the Moebius Foundation.
"Wait, hold on," Tychus stammered, his usual confidence shaken. "I got that job from Moebius Foundation. You saying you're the boss of Moebius?"
Valerian's smile widened slightly. "Among other things, yes. The Foundation operates under my patronage and direction."
Jim's mind raced, reassessing everything. This changed the entire dynamic. If Valerian had been funding artifact research, if he'd been the one pulling strings behind the Moebius Foundation's activities, then he'd been working against his father's interests for some time.
"I want to become the new head of the Empire," Valerian said, laying his cards on the table. "And before you dismiss the idea out of hand, hear me out. I'm not my father. I have no intention of becoming a brutal dictator who treats human life as expendable. I want to heal the divisions within the Dominion, resolve the conflicts that have torn us apart. I want to be a leader that people genuinely respect, not just fear."
Nobody believed him. Not even a little.
He was Mengsk's son—that fact alone poisoned any claim to benevolent leadership. Everyone knew what tyranny looked like, and they knew it often ran in families. The son of a monster usually became a monster himself.
Valerian had anticipated their skepticism. His expression remained calm, almost understanding. "I know you don't believe me. Frankly, if our positions were reversed, I wouldn't believe me either. I'm asking you to trust the son of a man you all despise, and that's an enormous leap of faith."
He paused, letting that acknowledgment settle. Then continued: "But I can make you a promise. I will be the most fair and honest leader the Dominion has ever known. And to show my good faith, I'll tell you something you need to know about the Xel'Naga artifact."
That got everyone's attention. Jim leaned forward slightly, listening intently.
"Our research has shown that when the artifact is fully assembled and activated, it can purge Zerg infestation from living tissue," Valerian explained carefully. "It can restore infected individuals to their original state. Even someone as far gone as the Queen of Blades could theoretically be saved."
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Everyone's eyes turned to Jim. They all knew about his history with Kerrigan, understood his desperate desire to save her. And now this kid was offering exactly what Jim wanted most—a way to bring Sarah back.
"You become head of state," Jim said slowly, his voice carrying weight and warning, "and I'll be watching you very closely, Valerian. Every decision, every policy, every action. You step out of line, you start becoming your father, and we'll have another revolution. Understood?"
They'd paid relatively little to overthrow Mengsk—Marcus had done the heavy lifting. If Valerian turned out to be lying, if he proved to be just another tyrant, Jim could resume his previous life as a rebel. He'd blow the horn of freedom once more and tear down another corrupt regime.
But if Valerian was genuine, if he really could assemble the artifact and save Kerrigan... then it was worth the risk.
Valerian's face lit up with genuine excitement at Jim's conditional acceptance. "Thank you, Commander Raynor. You won't regret this. I'll prove myself worthy of your trust."
"We'll see about that," Jim said flatly. "Talk to you later, kid."
The communication ended, Valerian's image dissolving into static before the system shut down.
Everyone in the office turned their attention back to Jim, waiting for his lead. None of them particularly cared who became head of state—it would be difficult for anyone to be worse than Arcturus Mengsk. But the possibility of restoring Kerrigan to human form? That was genuinely surprising news, and they were curious to see how Valerian would handle the transition of power.
Dark Aster – Marcus's Workshop
Marcus stepped back from his work table, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness from hours of intense concentration. The extraction process was complete.
Spread across the table before him were twenty-one glowing Aya essences—crystallized energy drawn from the Khaydarin crystal fragments and the Xel'Naga artifact piece. Each one pulsed with soft light, containing immense power in concentrated form.
"Twenty-one exactly," Marcus muttered, examining his handiwork. "Just enough for the last five Warframes. Nothing left over."
It was simultaneously perfect and frustrating. He had exactly what he needed to complete his existing collection, but nothing extra to start on new projects. The Warframe he'd been designing—Erlang, based on Erlang Shen—would have to wait until he found another source of Aya.
"Well, at least I'll finally have the complete set," he consoled himself. "That's worth celebrating."
He'd been working toward this goal for so long, gathering materials from different realities, extracting essences, refining his techniques. And now he was on the threshold of completion.
Marcus settled into the familiar rhythm of Warframe creation. His hands moved with practiced precision, void energy flowing through him as he shaped Aya essence into form and function. The process was almost meditative now—he'd done it so many times that his body moved on instinct.
The five remaining Warframes took shape one by one. Each was unique, each carried its own personality and capabilities. And each represented another tool in his growing arsenal.
"Finally! All done!" Marcus stretched his arms overhead triumphantly as the last Warframe solidified, its systems coming online with a soft hum.
He now possessed every standard Warframe. The collection was complete. Years of work, countless missions across multiple realities, and finally he had them all.
"Alright, enough workshop time. Let's see what Jim and the others have figured out for their Empire."
Marcus headed for the exit, intending to check on the political situation developing on Korhal. He was curious how they'd handle the transition from dictatorship to... whatever came next. Democracy? Oligarchy? Benevolent monarchy? Should be interesting either way.
But as he approached the Dark Astar's exit ramp, something made him pause.
A subtle fluctuation in energy. So faint that most beings would miss it entirely. Even Will's sophisticated sensors hadn't detected it—the ripple was that refined, that carefully concealed.
But Marcus's connection to the Void gave him sensitivity to dimensional distortions that normal technology couldn't match. And he'd definitely felt something.
"Hmm? Do we have a visitor?"
The power fluctuation was incredibly subtle, yes, but the energy signature behind it was substantial. Whoever or whatever had just arrived possessed significant capabilities—they were simply very good at hiding their presence.
Marcus's interest was piqued. "Who would be coming here? Could it be a Xel'Naga who's still alive?"
That would be fascinating. The Xel'Naga were supposed to be extinct or hibernating, their era long past. But if one had detected the artifact fragment's energy signature, or sensed the disturbances they'd caused...
"Well, let's go find out."
Marcus raised his foot to take a step—and vanished mid-motion, teleporting through space toward the energy source.
Former Head of State's Office – Moments Later
"Once we reforge these fragments into a complete Xel'Naga artifact," an unfamiliar voice was saying as Marcus's senses locked onto the office, "we can begin the process."
The voice was measured, scholarly, with an underlying quality that felt... off. Not quite human, though it was doing an excellent job imitating humanity.
And that subtle energy fluctuation was stronger here, emanating from someone in the office.
Interesting.
Marcus raised his hand and pushed the door open without knocking, striding into the room like he owned it—which, given that the Dark Star was parked directly overhead and could vaporize the building at will, wasn't far from the truth.
The scene inside was more crowded than when he'd left. Jim and the others were there, along with several newcomers who looked out of place—too clean, too refined for the rough-and-ready raiders. Researchers or scientists, maybe.
General Zod had apparently already left to attend to other matters.
"What's going on here?" Marcus asked casually, scanning the new arrivals.
Everyone turned to look at him, and Jim stepped forward to make introductions. "Marcus, good timing. Let me introduce you to some people. This young man here is Valerian Mengsk—Arcturus's son. We're tentatively planning to support him as the new head of state."
Marcus blinked in surprise. With all his interference, with everything he'd changed about the timeline, the end result was still a Mengsk running the Empire? The universe apparently had a sense of ironic humor.
"Ha! New head of state?" Marcus's attention shifted to what Jim had said before he entered. "I heard you talking about recasting the Xel'Naga artifact. Planning to use its power for something specific?"
"Yes," Jim said quietly, hope and pain mixing in his expression. "It's the only way to restore Kerrigan. To make her human again."
Marcus almost laughed—not from cruelty, but from understanding the fundamental problem with their plan. The Xel'Naga artifact could purge Zerg infestation, absolutely. It was powerful enough for that task.
But there was a catch. A big one.
Only a Xel'Naga knew how to properly activate and control the artifact. Otherwise, why had the artifact sat unused for billions of years? Why did the Tal'darim Protoss, despite worshipping the fragments, never actually use them beyond as religious icons?
Because without the proper knowledge, the artifact was just an inert piece of ancient technology.
And speaking of Xel'Naga...
Marcus's gaze fixed on one figure in particular—a white-haired older man standing slightly apart from the others. The energy fluctuation he'd sensed was radiating from this individual, carefully suppressed but unmistakable once you knew where to look.
Marcus walked directly toward the man, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Hello there, Dr. Narud. Or should I say..." His smile widened. "Hello, Xel'Naga."
The room went silent.
Every head turned to stare at the white-haired scientist, shock and confusion written across their faces. What had Marcus just said? Dr. Narud was a Xel'Naga? That was impossible. The Xel'Naga were ancient beings, cosmic entities, not elderly human researchers.
"I'm sorry, but you're mistaken," Narud said smoothly, his expression remaining calm despite the accusation. "I'm merely a research scholar. I study the Xel'Naga, I'm certainly not one of them."
His denial was pitch-perfect—just the right mix of confusion and polite correction. Anyone else might have been convinced.
But Marcus had felt his energy, recognized what he was. And Narud's identity was too valuable to let slip away.
"No, no, no," Marcus said cheerfully, still approaching. "I was very clear. You're a Xel'Naga. You can't fool me. I know exactly what you are."
As he spoke, void energy began to seep from Marcus's body like smoke. Dark tendrils of power spread through the air, wrapping around Dr. Narud from all directions. The temperature seemed to drop as reality itself bent to accommodate the Void's presence.
The moment the void energy touched him, Narud's carefully maintained facade cracked. His eyes widened with genuine horror, his composed expression shattering as primal fear took over.
As a Xel'Naga, he recognized this power immediately. This was the energy of the Void—the realm where Xel'Naga souls went after death, the space beyond conventional reality where their consciousness rested between incarnations.
The Void was death to the Xel'Naga. Not metaphorical death, but the actual end of their long existence. It was the one thing in the universe they genuinely feared.
"You... you wield the power of the Void," Narud whispered, his voice shaking. "How? How is that possible?"
"So you do recognize it," Marcus said pleasantly. "Good. That saves us some time."
Narud was panicking now, his scientific composure completely abandoned. The void energy surrounding him wasn't just uncomfortable—it was actively suppressing his abilities. In its presence, he was no more powerful than a baseline human. His millennia of accumulated power and knowledge meant nothing against the force that represented final death to his kind.
If there was a difference between him and a human in this moment, it was only in appearance. Under enough void pressure, even his shapeshifting would fail, revealing his true Xel'Naga form.
"Now then," Marcus continued conversationally, "I'm very curious about something. How's your research on General Zod and the other Kryptonians going? Learn anything interesting?"
The question hit Narud like a physical blow. His face went pale—or as pale as it could go given his current appearance.
Because that meant Marcus knew. Knew about his secret research, knew about his observations of the Kryptonians, knew about his analysis of their unique physiology. Narud had been so careful, so subtle in his examination of these strange beings from another reality.
But apparently not careful enough.