Amon's haze lifted, the Khala suddenly free from the overwhelming rage that had dominated the minds of millions. A chorus of conflicting emotions rose in it's place- relief, sadness, pain, joy and fear all echoed through countless minds across and above Aiur. The Hierarch had succeeded, and the dark god had been cast low.
The Hierarch's command rolled outwards like a wave through the minds of those who still clung to the link, the Khala must be destroyed. All must remove themselves, all must sever their nerve cords. All must become free.
Across the temple grounds his command became law. Women, children and templar alike cutting themselves free by blade and nail, caking the dusty bricks with yet more of their violet lifeblood. None were free of hesitation, but so too could none refuse with the stakes at hand. None but the fallen.
The spark was small at first, but quickly spread as a wildfire throughout the crippled firstborn trapped within their siege walker frames. They could not sever themselves. Dragoons, and their modern Immortal counterparts, had been designed to be controlled through the Khala itself- their life support systems built from the ground up to protect the pilot's nerve cords above almost all else. Now, they did nothing but doom their wards to slavery- to extinction.
The flame of fear from the fallen met the minds of those ever dwindling few too hesitant to remove themselves, flaring back with a flurry of potential solutions- too many to parse, too few even remotely viable. Only a single mind, tempered with icy discipline, attempted to force itself to the forefront, to push back the flames of fear from the shrinking confines of the link.
Taldarin was old. A relic from the era of the great Adun, he was likely the oldest remaining protoss to still live. To accept placement of your fallen body into a cold mechanical shell is a great honour, and a great burden. It is an acceptance of an eternal duty, to fight until your body withers and not even the cocktail of chemicals and nanites your shattered form floats in can keep you going. Taldarin knew this as much as any, he had served through the fall of Aiur, his great homeworld, he had served to scour Shakuras of the Zerg when their taint had followed the refugee firstborn to their new home, and he had served to retake Aiur in the botched invasion that allowed the dark god to usurp the Khala and hold him hostage. Now, on the eve of the final victory, he knew there was little else to do but to serve once more.
Taldarin's mind burnt with the flames of fear, of panic, that danced through the Khala- yet still, his cool resolve did not falter. Even as the chassis of his phase cannons creaked and groaned, internal alarms blaring in a futile attempt to warn their pilot of danger he caused, did Taldarin remain steadfast and refuse to feed into the blaze that consumed his fellows. Instead, a single piercing thought was launched through the emotional inferno.
My life for Aiur.
Then, in a single loud and violent moment, Taldarin was gone. Gone from the Khala, gone from his now ruined Immortal, and gone from his aeon of service. The inferno of fear within the Khala cooled to a mournful smoulder as the fallen firstborn understood what had been done, what needed to be done.
For another all too brief moment, Aiur was once more overcome with the sounds of destruction. One by one mechanical walkers exploded in a shower of fluid and golden plating, pilots overloading their systems beyond what the machines could withstand.
Throughout the crumbling remains of the Khala, a single phrase was echoed in unison.
We shall serve forever