Space is huge. Mind bogglingly, incomprehensibly vast. Even with cosmic entities, enormous formations of matter, and intelligent civilizations blasting around the cosmos, the odds of any of them finding one another are slim. Unless they cheat, which most do. Fortunately, in our case, as otherwise there wouldn't be a story.
While the grandiosity of the cosmos has inspired treatises, our concerns are much smaller. It all starts one cool, foggy morning with a girl in a locker.
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Dark. Cramped. Itsmellsitsmellsitsmells.
Alone.
Nobody helped.
Why me? What did I do?
Throat hurts? Why does it hurt? Why do my hands hurt?
Nobody coming.
Alone.
Two spiralling creatures, massive beyond words, twirling through a void, shedding pieces of themselves. One 'small' piece, apparently the size of a moon, descending. Dropping right...on...top GOTTARUnn...must...?
Wha..?
Buttons? pushpushpushpushpushpushpush comeon WORK YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING
nothing no one why taunt me like this
He..hello?
HELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPME
Thankyouthankyouthankyou
So many...toomany...I can't...I can't...please, stop, please stoppleasestoppleasesto...
warm...
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Corporal Marie Ventura, medic in the Dominion Marine Corps, was less than happy at the moment. Part of it was the comatose teenager carefully cradled in her power-armored arms, part of it was the fact that she had no idea where she was or what she was doing, but mostly it was the aliens around her.
Yeah, probably the aliens.
Fortunately, she had a nice squad of burly, humorless marines standing between her and them.
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Staff Sgt. John Dover, Terran Dominion Marine Corps, was decidedly unhappy. His tactical and communications nets were a mess of conflicting officers and orders, nobody had a damn clue what was going on, where they were, or what to do next. The fact that he and his squad were apparently tasked with something as "easy" as keeping a teenage girl safe was ringing alarm bells in his subconscious, but the fact that he wasn't inclined to instantly start shooting the alien things in front of him was worse.
Shut up and make it happen, marine.
"Alright," Dover started, "is every-damn-one of us here for the girl?"
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High Templar Ronalis was angry and confused. Mostly confused, but partly angry. Part of it was being in a city of humans, part of it was the terrans in front of him keeping him from his ...goal? His charge? Irrelevant, the girl was important, but for some reason he didn't want to strike the annoyances in front of him down. The Zerg out beyond the protective pair of Zealots around him were more of a concern. The lack of a greater Khala was far more immediately concerning.
Oh, he was being spoken to. Diplomacy. A novel concept in the field, but seemingly appropriate.
"Yes, human," deadpanned the Protoss, "We are here for her. Before we get into a fight, might I suggest we take this outside?"
"Agreed. You and them first."
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The motley group eyed each other warily, and slowly walked towards the doors. The huge marine power armors could fit only two of them across in the hall, and their helmets dug gouges out of the roof if they stood at their height. The Protoss were no smaller, and hunched over somewhat awkwardly, though the High Templar somehow managed to make it look dignified. The small Zerglings and larger snakelike Hydralisks, apparently understanding the situation, moved rapidly ahead and out of the doors 30 yards away. They ran straight between the Terran and Protoss groups outside, and joined the number of their fellows milling around in the street across from the school.
The Protoss exited with relief in their stances, even if the emotion was visible only to other Protoss, happy to be in the open, and happier that they were now in sight of their larger contingent taking up about a third of the parking lot and a sizable chunk of the left hand area of the street beyond. The Terran and Zerg forces were more concerning, but the rough numerical parity meant that the Protoss indisputably had the upper hand. The disposition of the girl had to be established, but the Terrans would see reason. Or die. Either would suit.
The Terrans exited intending to join their fellows in the parking lot and street to the right side, but as they started over, froze under the glares of the Protoss contingent.
Sirens were sounding in the distance. They were ignored. Local police would, all three sides believed, be irrelevant in a fight.
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Captain Chris Tendra was a Goliath pilot. Captain Tendra shared the emotions of the day, but exaggerated because of all the Terrans on the field, he was the highest ranking. He had precious, breakable cargo to mind, a small Zerg infestation to contain immediately and annihilate with prejudice later, and the damned Protoss had him outgunned. Badly. The aliens didn't seem inclined to start shooting, which was one consolation.
"Sargeant," he began, "bring the girl to..."
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Were it merely these groups involved, the situation would not have escalated the way it did. Had the power in question not gone to someone who would instantly mash all of the buttons, the build up would have been manageable. As it was, the situation went from unstable to entirely out of control with dozens of flashes of red light, and a series of shockwaves that shattered every glass window in the city.
The shadows of dozens of massive starships and monsters cast the metropolis into instant darkness. Air raid sirens began sounding within seconds.
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Author's note:
If there's interest, I'll continue this. I may have committed the cardinal sin of starting things in the locker; but with this power, if I started it at any point down the road, the situation on the ground would be unrecognizable. So, it starts in the locker. Keen readers have probably already noted the level of independence enjoyed by the summons. This is not a mistake.
For people expecting immediate awesome from Taylor, I'd note that she spent a couple days in a hospital and a month at a psyche ward before she was functional enough to be at school again. For people expecting a Scion fight, that will not happen here. I believe the entire Scion arc was of poor quality, and so am author-fiating it away. I'm sorry, but that's just not something I have interest in or care to write.
If you notice inconsistancies, mistakes, plot holes, or anything else of low quality - point it out. I'm interested in improving as a writer. I may not fix it the way you'd like, but I'll do something about it.