For the first time in his life, Zeratul was afraid of the darkness.
All around him, shadow fell, comrades were taken over, their minds flooded by anger and hatred, prompting them to unsheathe their psi-blades against him and his Nerazim brethren.
What else could he do? He ran.
Out of the shadows, a zealot fell upon him, eyes swimming in a red light. Zeratul struck out with his warp blade out of instinct, and he saw the green blade sink through the armor into the chest. The zealot collapsed, his blue blood ending on the Dark Prelate's hand. Zeratul staggered, but his survival instinct took over and he kept on running. He felt sick from the smell of protoss blood, its scent reawakening a long buried memory in him.
Her surprisingly light weight in his arms… her dimming eyes shining with gratitude, of all things… her purple blood on his hands…
Do not think of her this time!
- Zeratul… I—I can sense your presence…
The tortured voice of the young Hierarch knocked him out of his stupor. Artanis! Zeratul had to save him! He had lost so many in his life, but by all the gods, he will not lose the young one!
So Zeratul ran, dodging fire coming from his once-comrades. He blinked across a debris-wall just as red psi-blades almost embedded themselves into his back. He had gained time… moments, maybe. But that might be enough to—to—
Run away
No! Save Artanis!
Zeratul desperately tore through the battlefield, his few present Nerazim taking on the crazed Khalai protoss around him. He cursed himself for not being faster, for his blink not covering greater distance.
- The voices whisper of oblivion… of salvation.
No, don't listen, do not listen! Amon is lying!
Zeratul ran past a fighting group of protoss, zealot turned against zealot. But as the struggle went on, more and more of the blue psi-blades turned to red. Some were struck down as they changed, their souls experiencing nothing but blind rage and hatred in their final moments. There was no telling what was happening all across Aiur.
Protoss blood once again watered the grounds. For a brief but horrible time, the Aeon of Strife returned from the past to take its vengeance.
Selendis! Karax! Anyone!
From every direction, Amon rose. Panic filled the air, then quickly turned to fury. There was nothing the Firstborn could do against this enemy. There was no ground to stand, no fort to hold, no foes to slaughter.
Zeratul dodged a swing from a psi-blade and blinked forward, his muscles already screaming from being overstrained. He tumbled to the ground face-first upon arrival, rolling over his head and struggling to his feet.
Nothing.
No blade or shot came his way. Only the dark carcass of a downed ship towered over him. In its eerie shadow he thought he saw something glimmer. Zeratul flung himself into the darkness, for the first, afraid of its depths.
Artanis collapsed onto the ground, his heavy armor weighing him down. Red sparks ran across his entire body as he hopelessly struggled against what permeated his entire being.
- I—I can hear… his whispers…
- Fight it, Artanis! Do not let Amon consume you – Zeratul tore through the darkness, desperately trying to reach the young one.
Artanis was writhing at this point, his and Amon's will wrestling over control, his proud nerve cords flapping high up in the air as if he was standing in a gale. Zeratul stared at them, dreading what he had to do. He only hoped Artanis could forgive him one day for this.
- He has corrupted the Khala! Your nerve cords chain you to his will. – he whispered, positioning himself at the right angle. – They must be removed.
He forced his mind to go blank as he ignited his blade. He swooped like a predator, struck forward with deadly precision and—
A red psi-blade blocked his attempt.
Before his eyes, Artanis lost the battle, his sky blue eyes turning to cruel red.
No…
Zeratul reared back, blinking away from the shockwave erupting from the protoss' body. He landed on a beam among the wreckage and began to flee. There was no rhyme or reason to his blinking, in his panic he lost control over his powers.
He had to get away, far away! Gather his surviving brethren, then leave Aiur and do not return—!
Tassadar
Raszagal
For a second, Zeratul felt like he passed the veil, a boundary the Nerazim should not pass. In the inky darkness, he saw faces, all looking at him expectantly.
Karass
He stumbled over the next blink, almost slipping from the beam he landed on, but almost immediately he teleported again, feeling the roaring essence that was Amon in his back. He returned to the darkness briefly.
Talis
They all died so you could escape. So you could collect and understand the prophecy, to bring hope to your kind! So what shall you do with their gift of life to you? Why… the same thing you always do.
Run away.
Zeratul landed hard on the ground. For a fraction of a second, all froze around him and stared before himself. Then he dodged the devious red blades and blinked… straight above Artanis' head. He swung his warp blade but missed the nerve cord by a hair's length. The next second, he found himself struggling in the hands of his foe.
This body, all protoss, are mine.
Amon's aura threatened to overtake him, it was so close and powerful. Zeratul stared into the red eyes and fear flooded him again. There was no escape, no place to retreat to from this monster.
Amon flung him across the air, blasting his body with lightning at the same time. Zeratul crashed against the metal hull of the ship, collapsing to the ground. He felt his body burn, his veins popping from the strain. The pain was so sudden, so great, that in a flash, every sensation left his body, safe for the crushing voice of Amon in his head.
I will shatter this corrupt Cycle. You will not stand against me!
There was no escape… for him. He was going to die here, one way or another. His powers left him, he felt his organs failing him from the bolt. So this was it. This was the end of the road. It was up to him, and only him now, how this end shall play out.
He hid, he ran, he fled from so many places, carrying the seeds of hope for his people, saying all those sacrifices were worth it.
So let them be worth it, at last!
Zeratul struggled to his feet, green eyes locked on Amon… on Artanis. Fear lost his grip on him, he looked past the seemingly indestructible monster and saw the young Hierarch of the Daelaam, the force that had kept their shattered people together to this day.
Their only hope.
- My life… for Aiur – Zeratul uttered this words, his will solidifying from their power.
They clashed, red against green. The Dark Prelate felt his chest being torn apart by the twin blades. He stood for a second, before his legs collapsed under himself. Did he hit the mark? He couldn't tell, he couldn't—
And then he heard it. A horrifying roar of anger and pain, yet a sound that washed away his fears and doubts finally. He did it. It was tempting to just give in to death and slip away at last, but Zeratul struggled to stay for a few more seconds.
- The Keystone… will guide you – he shuddered, forcing himself to say the words –, to the xel'naga…
And with that, the world left him behind. It slipped away like a wisp of smoke. Zeratul was content to let it all go.
My life for Aiur.
My life for the future.
Ahhh, the big Twenty. A beautiful age, truly. So beautiful that it prompted me to write my first ever StarCraft-related fanfiction. :)
It is hard for me to express how many hours of joy StarCraft II had gifted to me with its story. The heroes it gave, the examples it shown, the thoughts it provoked in me... it is truly inspirational.
I wish to commemorate this glorious anniversary as a fellow fan who had been mesmerized by this universe, and may the Ihan-rii give that this is the first but far from the last piece of fanart I shall make this year.
Zeratul had always fascinated me, but I think not because of the reason most people are drawn to him. People say that he is a badass, that he is "alien Chuck Norris". These are valid points, good for you if you think so too. :)
I personally see him as a flawed hero. He is both the biggest coward and the bravest being. He runs away from so many confrontations, yet he always returns to pursue hope and truth. He fled when Tassadar was arrested by the Conclave, yet he returned to help him rescue in the end. He fled when he was forced into killing Raszagal, yet he eventually overcame his crushing guilt and depression to seek the truth. He fled from Ulaan, leaving Karass behind, carrying the fragments of the prophecy. He fled from Atrias, leaving Talis to die, but possessing that one important sentence: "The Keystone shall usher you unto hope". Even on Aiur, he first fled, before finally standing his ground and taking Amon head-on. I see this reoccurring theme as a great flaw of his character, over which he eventually triumphed and gave hope back to his people with his last action. I find that incredibly inspiring, and ultimately, I am glad he wasn't portrayed as the perfect hero who always stands his ground until he wins.
Of course you may have interpreted him differently than I did. That is completely fine. It actually makes debates all the more interesting.
So please, enjoy this oneshot. And may we meet again here!