I had this story sitting idle in my head ever since Legacy of the Void came out, and I've finally decided to start writing it out. Also, just to clear things up-despite what you might've inferred from the title, this story has nothing to do with Amon. That ship has sailed.
Just as a disclaimer: I have not read any of the books or comics. If something I've written is inaccurate to canon... whoops.
Any feedback is welcomed. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy.
"Enemy shields at 20 percent," the adjutant announced. The holographic board before him relayed the real-time happenings of the battle, but he wanted to see it for himself. Turning away, he walked to the window.
"Enemy shields at 15 percent." The fleet, interspersed with protoss and terran ships, fanned around the lone flagship. Beams and missiles were aimed together at the same thing. The flagship was under all that fire. No wonder its shields were dropping so quickly. It was only a matter of time now.
"Enemy shields at eight percent." Suddenly the adjutant added, "Commander, incoming transmission from the flagship."
Intrigued, he turned as the display screen rose up. Static flickered across the holographic surface for a second before the unsteady image of a protoss appeared. His brilliant red eyes burned through the screen, staring down the man who gazed calmly back.
"Human," came the biting voice in his mind from the protoss.
"Enemy shields at five percent."
"Ga'edus," Jim Raynor greeted in return. He looked back at the flagship, still at the focal point of all that firepower. "Feeling cozy over there?"
"This battle has been meaningless," Ga'edus hissed. "Your fights bear no fruit, ape. You know this."
"Enemy shields at two percent."
"Raynor," Ga'edus continued. "You cannot kill me. I am that which has no end. I am a god!"
Finally, Raynor's eyes returned to the screen—to the protoss. "Buddy," he said. "You ain't no god."
"Enemy shields eliminated."
Ga'edus roared in fury as his image dropped from the screen. Static returned. Raynor looked back out to the battle just as the barrage began ripping through the flagship. Like teeth, the projectiles chewed through the vessel and tore it apart.
Someone joined him at his side. "Is it over?" Matt Horner asked, also watching the ship disintegrate under the firepower.
"Not sure," Raynor replied. "Adjutant, establish contact with The Divine. Get me the executor on board." No sooner had the connection been established, the projection of a blue-eyed protoss appeared. "Artanis. Tell me you've got good news."
"I have just received word from Selendis and her templars," Artanis answered. "Their mission was successful."
Raynor finally exhaled a breath that felt like it had been held for a long time. "So he's gone," he ventured. "For good this time?"
"Yes. His restoration machine is destroyed, as is he." Artanis then added, "I thank you, Captain Raynor. Your help was vital in securing this victory."
"I'm just glad this sector has one less maniac to worry about."
Hyperion—several days later
The jukebox in the cantina was broken. Again. Swann would need to take another look at it. The thing was honestly a piece of garbage, but Raynor was just too damn nostalgic to throw it out. Besides, this was one of the last of its kind that wasn't rusting in pieces in some junkyard or selling for a fortune and a half.
The thick bottom of the glass tumbler slammed heavily against the tabletop. Raynor took the bottle of bourbon by the neck and poured himself another generous glass. The battle from just a few days prior replayed in his head. He thought of the red eyes that had stared at him through the screen. There wasn't much on a protoss's face except for wrinkles and a pair of eyes, but it had somehow conveyed so much emotion. So much hate. Raynor'd felt it when Ga'edus had infiltrated his mind to spit out his last words.
Seems like humans weren't the only ones capable of producing assholes.
Raynor looked up when he heard the scraping of a chair's legs. Horner had pulled up a seat next to him and settled down. "It's done. Seems almost surreal," the young man noted.
"What? You thought he'd be around for a bit longer?"
"It's a damn good thing he's not," Horner said. "It's just… when you put things into perspective. This guy—protoss, was, up until a few days ago, one of humanity's biggest threats. I mean, he wiped out planets. And then there was yesterday… I don't know. It almost felt too easy."
"Ga'edus got too overconfident," Raynor replied, lifting the tumbler and swirling the ice within. "He had that thing—the God Machine."
"I read the report on that. Real scary tech."
"It gave him all the chances he could ask for. But a crutch is a crutch, Matt, and he started leaning too heavily on it."
"But the protoss have it now. You think they'll…" Horner let his question trail off.
Raynor emptied the tumbler again. "Artanis told me his people condemn that sort of machine. They're not too happy about one of their own trying to play god. The templars broke it down completely, and got rid of anything that might've let someone reverse-engineer it." He half expected Horner to question his trust in Artanis's word. Then again, Raynor's attitude towards the protoss wasn't lost on the young man.
"So he really was a black sheep," Horner said. "Though I suppose if all protoss had been like him, we'd be in real trouble." The last thing humanity needed was an entire race of individuals with superiority complexes and an unbending desire to destroy anything they considered inferior. "Seems like we've seen too many of these minds cropping up around us. Ga'edus, Meng—." He caught himself a second too late.
Raynor didn't react. His eyes bore holes into his warped reflection on the bourbon bottle. Quickly, the uneasy tension was dispelled as he took the bottle.
"I've got the Hyperion en route to the Har-Kion Belt," Horner piped up. "There's a refueling station there. After that, we can go back to doing what we always do."
"Sounds like a plan, Matt."
Khalai mother ship—several days later
Artanis could feel their restlessness, and it was spreading onto him like a disease. Despite the victory won, there was only unease. The stillness that peace granted them only made them quietly reflect on the monster they had all faced—one of them. One of the firstborn.
The Twilight Council had called a meeting upon The Divine, one of the Khalai's mother ships. There was much to discuss, and there was so, so much work to be done. Ga'edus had left behind smoking ruin in his wake, even among the protoss. First the loss of Aiur, and now this. Artanis could almost feel the physical weight of it all burdening his shoulders.
"Executor."
It was a blessed distraction from his thoughts. Artanis stopped and turned. Selendis approached him, her eyes examining him carefully. "I sense your distress, Executor," she said. "And I share in it. But our people are strong. We will endure, rebuild."
"I do not doubt our strength," Artanis replied as they continued walking towards the council room. "But these tests of our will—one tragedy after another—grow tiring."
"I know."
The doors to the council room slid open before them. Within, judicators stood gathered around a long, ovular table. Those who were unable to be physically present were represented by holographic likenesses.
"Executor Artanis," Praetor Muadun greeted. Artanis felt the Praetor's mood change when he looked to his companion. "Only the judicators are allowed to attend this council."
"Selendis is with me," Artanis said. "I permit her presence here."
Praetor Muadun paused. "Very well." He turned back to the table as Artanis and Selendis assumed their spots. "Then council will begin. We are here to discuss the recent threat that has been neutralized—Ga'edus. Brothers, I know the very thought of him troubles us all. He was a murderer, slaying without honor. He sullied the nobility of the firstborn. He toyed with powers not his in order to extend his reign and spill more blood. And, most concerning of all, he had once been one of us—a member of the judicator caste. Respected as a skilled warrior and leader." For a beat, there was silence as each individual in the room quietly processed the praetor's words. "Many of us once even predicted his swift ascension within the Twilight Council.
"But I have not gathered you here merely to reconfirm our fears. We are here to learn from this calamity, discuss the character of Ga'edus, and ensure that one such as he does not rise again."
"You should have let the praetor bar me from sitting in," Selendis mumbled privately to Artanis.
"Learn from these discussions, Selendis. It will—."
"Executor Artanis." His eyes flickered up to Muadun. "You met Ga'edus in battle. What could you glean from him?"
Artanis took a moment to deliberate. Ga'edus had been… well, frightening in many ways. "I could not feel him through the Khala as I am able to with anyone else. His nerve cord was intact, but he was able to limit any connection to his mind."
"His psionic abilities were unmatched," another judicator chimed in. "Along with influencing the Khala's connection within him, he was able to manipulate matter at will. Face-to-face combat was always a losing battle. We lost many good templars to him."
So many warriors had met their end that way. It had been Artanis's plan to corner Ga'edus on a leveled playing field and meet in a battle of spacecraft. That was what finally did him in.
"Not only that," Artanis furthered. "In the slim moments I could share in his thoughts, I saw a man so sure of himself that it was chilling. He truly believed that what he was doing was objectively right."
"Ga'edus was born into a bubble of privilege," Praetor Muadun said. "Very few obstacles, extensive education, and none to refuse him. Thus he became someone wholly dangerous—a man who believed he could do no wrong."
"Enough of this psychological examination," an impatient judicator cut in. "His inner bearings are not what concerns us the most, Praetor. It was his machine!" Artanis could feel agreement circulate around the table. "How did he manage to create such a thing?"
"He was influential," another chimed in, "and amassed a great following. No doubt some of those were talented engineers that were carefully instructed to build such a mechanism."
"Ga'edus was obsessed with conquest and power," Artanis agreed. "To him, there was no power greater than those of the deities."
"It is a curse, not power," Muadun said. "And our people are better off with such a thing dispelled from this existence. High Templar Selendis." Eyes turned to the one at Artanis's side. "On behalf of the Twilight Council, and the firstborn, I commend your valiant deed in successfully destroying Ga'edus's machine before he had the chance to use it once more."
Selendis dipped her head. "It was an honor, Praetor."
Muadun looked back to the gathered. "Now we must discuss the aftermath of this storm," he told the judicators. "We need to rebuild the Khalai forces and, at the same time, hunt down the remaining loyalists to Ga'edus. This threat must be purged once and for all."
"And quickly," a judicator said. "The time to retake Aiur from the Swarm is fast approaching."
Artanis blinked. Yes, the judicator was right. He could feel it—they all could. The delay to reclaim their home world could stretch no longer. He just wondered if they would be ready by then.
The council continued for another two hours. The topic was brought up that Ga'edus's actions would have tarnished the protoss's standing with the terrans, though the judicators were not too concerned by it. Finally, the council was dismissed. Members of the room dispersed, heading off to be teleported back onto their own ships.
Artanis and Selendis made for the bridge. As they walked through The Divine's corridor, Artanis noticed someone familiar standing close to the wall. It was one of the admirals who flew under his fleet. Her admiral's uniform bore a faint resemblance to the standard with its white robes and gold plating, though it had been altered with a customized touch. One arm was bare, decorated with several gold bands. Thin, gold chains draped web-like over the lower half of her face.
"Admiral Ariadis," he addressed. The admiral looked up from the holographic screen that was projected from her gauntlet. "You flew estimably in battle the other day. I am fortunate to have you amongst my fleet."
"Executor, I thank you," Ariadis replied, giving her gauntlet a tap. The screen disappeared. "Praise Tassadar for this victory."
"Indeed." Artanis dismissed the admiral and continued to the bridge. He could feel amusement glimmer in Selendis. "Is there something you wish to say?" he prompted.
"I've not seen you go out of your way to praise someone like that," Selendis said, a hint of mirth in her voice. "Is there something special about this Ariadis, Executor?"
"I think it important to recognize the effort of all my admirals," Artanis responded. "My strength is nothing without theirs."
"Quite the diplomatic answer."
2519—13 years after the End War; 15 years after the death of Ga'edus
Marcus let go of his stretch with a loud, satisfied grunt. He glanced over at his partner, but Jamie sat at the controls with a pair of headphones nestled over his ears. His feet were propped up on the panel, and his fingers scrabbled quickly over the controller in his hands as he concentrated on the small monitor in the corner. Well, maybe it was for the better. Jamie would've complained about his loud grunts like he always did.
It was just the two of them in this ship. That meant more labor on each of them, but it also meant less division of profits. Besides, he had known Jamie since forever, and there was no one else he'd rather be working with. They were mining contractors, closing deals with employers to gather minerals, vespine gas, and other resources from far-off worlds. Most of the clients were companies that were small or privately owned. They, like all businesses, needed minerals. Contractors such as Marcus came at a fraction of the cost of commercial miners, but Marcus liked to think he was just as good as them… in customer service, anyway.
Leaning back, he watched the stars move outside the window and thought back to the representative his latest client had sent to confirm the contract. She had been a real babe, and wild in bed as he had discovered later that night.
He suddenly remembered that he wasn't alone in the ship. Marcus sat up, clearing his throat. He glanced out the window again and sighed. Restlessly, he checked the map. It would take another few hours to reach the system where their target planet was. How he wished the ship's warp hadn't been so limited. He was always so tempted to take out a loan and invest it in better warping capabilities, but his wonderful partner always shot the idea down. According to him, Jamie was the voice of reason between the two; the only reason they were still up and at their trade. Of course. He was the one with the ring on his finger—so mature and responsible. Yet, without Marcus, he'd be a real boring asshat. That was something Jamie never cared to admit, but it was the truth.
"Fuck!" Jamie suddenly boomed. He made to throw the controller, but kept it clenched in his hands. It was their only one, after all. The monitor turned red as it showed a death screen. "Piece of shit, one-hit-kill bullshit!"
"Nice going, Jay," Marcus drawled.
"Hey, fuck off with you!" Jamie snapped back. Video games always had a way of turning him into a real grouch.
"Calm your tits, man."
Jamie only grunted and resumed his game. "Where're you going?" he asked as Marcus stood.
"Gonna go take a shit on your pillow," Marcus joked.
"Make it a steamy one," Jamie replied without missing a beat.
Marcus headed down to the mining bay. He wanted to check on the equipment and make sure the ship was ready to drill and collect as soon as they got to the destination. Lontimar was an empty system, but it had rich deposits. All the boxes were checked for a place that was likely crawling with pirates. They'd had a few run-ins with them before, and those encounters were never pretty. Us or them, Marcus reminded himself. Besides, the universe isn't going to miss them.
Blowing a heavy breath through his mouth, Marcus pulled a lock of dark blonde hair out of his eyes and tucked it behind his ear. Medium length—perfect for a girl to run her fingers through.
Get a hold of yourself. Marcus shook his head. He made his way through the bay, checking all of the ship's mining gear. The drill. The extractor. It all had to be optimized if they were going to pop in and out with their payload.
What was the agreed upon amount again? Marcus scratched his scalp, and then brought up the contract's text from the projector on the back of his glove. Oh, right. 200 gigatons of minerals, with a bonus for every additional ten gigatons. With any luck, they'd make good on that bonus addendum.
"Marc," his radio piped up. "We're almost at Lontimar. Everything good down there?"
Damn, he didn't realize how long he'd spent in the mining bay. "Yeah, all good." Then, he added, "How are The Caravan's defenses?"
"If I'm being honest, not too great," Jaime crackled through the radio. "The repairs on it are a bit shit. We're never going back to that garage, okay? I thought the prices were good at first, but it seems we got what we paid for."
"Great. That's money down the drain, Jay." Marcus's spirits sank as he realized that part of the pay on this contract would have to go into fixing those "repaired" defenses.
"I seem to learn every lesson the hard way," Jamie sighed.
The Caravan reached the system and closed in on their target planet. Marcus returned to the cockpit just as The Caravan entered the planet's atmosphere. Their scanners didn't show signs of any other ships, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Fortunately, things were quiet as they descended over the mineral deposits and harvested. They soon found out why.
"Heads up, Marc," Jamie announced. Marcus nodded, his eyes concentrated on the ship that seemed to materialize next to them. Suddenly, The Caravan juddered. Marcus gripped the armrests of his seat tightly as the quakes shook him.
"That's another five thousand credits," Marcus mumbled irately. It almost pained him to imagine how big a hole the other ship's anchor had torn into The Caravan's side. He rose, patting the side of his hip to feel the sidearm in its holster. "I'll go, Jay. Hang back and hold fort, okay?"
"Try not to do anything too stupid."
"No promises," Marcus replied, leaving the cockpit. As he descended towards the lower levels of the ship, he heard voices. They were headed for the mining bay where the minerals were stored. Leave it to pirates to waste no time going for the goods.
Marcus turned the corner and found himself face-to-face with two. The one closest to him wore a dirty coat and scowled at the sight of him.
"Hey."
All he got in response was a fist to the face. His vision suddenly blurred and his ears rang. Next thing he knew, he was being roughly dragged. The holster on his hip had been emptied.
Marcus's bearings had just returned to him as they pulled him from The Caravan to the pirates' ship. The one in the dirty coat shoved him down onto the ground before a man Marcus presumed was the captain.
"Found this dumb twat barrelin' headfirst into us, Cap," Dirty Coat hissed.
The captain scoffed, bending down to examine Marcus. He didn't look like a very smart man. None of the ones they'd encountered ever were. Same old song and dance.
"Where's your crew at?" the captain demanded.
"Just me," Marcus answered, feeling the sensitive spot on his jaw thrum with pain. "I'm a contractor, and I've got to get these minerals delivered to my employer."
"You ain't deliverin' shit," the captain sneered. "I'm real tempted to put a bullet between your eyes, but I still got information to pull from you." Straightening up, the captain addressed to the handful of pirates there, "We've got good picking this time, fellas. Didn't think there'd be one of them freaks on that there desert planet, and didn't think there'd be this little twat here. Thanks for pluckin' up the minerals for us."
"Anytime," Marcus replied dryly, which got him pistol-whipped in the face.
The captain turned away. Marcus realized that it was his own gun in the pirate's hand. "What's the happening over there?" the captain demanded through a comm link. "Got the payload secured yet?"
"Aye, Cap," a voice replied. "Payload secured and ready for a-haulin'." Marcus rolled his eyes. Seriously, Jamie's fake pirate voice was so awful that Marcus himself was getting offended.
Luckily, the captain didn't seem to notice. Or realize that the voice responding wasn't from one of his own. Marcus always knew a dumbass when he saw one. "Well get it over here," he barked.
"Uh… Cap." A pirate next to Dirty Coat shifted on his feet. "That didn't… that guy didn't sound right." Marcus swallowed.
The captain whirled around. "What the fuck do you—." He broke off, his eyes settling on Marcus. Then, he bent down until their faces were level. The captain raised an arm. Marcus felt the cold barrel press against his forehead. "Last chance," the captain growled. "Is anyone else on that ship?"
Goddamn it, Jamie!
"I—."
The lights flickered. The pirates looked up, their eyes darting around the ceiling. It was a miracle—an opportunity, and Marcus took it. His hand flew up, pushing the pistol aside just as it fired. The bullet dug deep into the floor. He rose to his feet. As he did, Marcus twisted the barrel of the gun. His other hand squeezed the captain's wrist, and the gun was torn from his grasp.
Marcus flipped the sidearm around until his finger found the trigger again. He shoved the captain down, whirled, and fired. Dirty Coat fell. So did his companion. And that other guy standing over there. Then, he turned back to the captain, who was struggling to get up in his winded state.
Marcus pointed the gun. "Anytime, Cap," he said before squeezing the trigger.
When all was quiet again, he dropped his head and let out a forceful breath. The gun was returned to his holster. "You gotta work on that pirate voice, man. Almost got me fucked over here."
"What are you talking about?" Jamie retorted. "It's as authentic as it gets."
"Fuck y—." Marcus looked up when the lights flickered again. Why was it still doing that? He'd thought it had been Jamie creating a distraction the first time. Then he heard something.
"Marc?"
"Hold up, Jay," Marcus replied in a hushed voice. He pulled the gun from its holster again. "Got something else over here." He hurried over to the door and pressed himself against the wall next to it. Then he paused and listened.
Something was just outside, but he couldn't tell what it was. It didn't sound like footsteps. It was slow, heavy… like something being dragged. The lights flickered again.
Marcus counted down in his head. The fingers around his gun tensed, and he sprang from the wall to confront whatever was outside. The barrel pointed down the corridor.
When Marcus saw it, he froze. Then, he lowered his gun.
"What the fuck?"
