Hi there! I wrote on the Forerunner's perspective for the merge. Did you know that you can review, even if you don't have an account?! (hint-hint, wink-wink,-nudge-nudge) And to Dragonaut344Doomed, I understand your concern, I believe I have found a solution! You gave me the idea by saying the word, "monitor." Inevitably, there will be unpleasant people that will get their hands on the tech, but I think I can use that as a plot device. I am also thinking of making a new story of what happened to the Primus, or I could just include it here. He IS the Primus of the Exemplars, that is just screaming Mary Sue. Let me know what you think. Now then, GERONIMO!

"Conference adjourned," the speaker announced.

Thraxen relaxed, it worked, the plea was accepted. This was however, not a seamless victory, the Primus vanished because of the Daleks attempting to get in and a Time Lord was practically dropped on their lap! The shock hasn't completely worn off yet. He needed to know when they will be attacked, Sanctum forcefields can only hold them off for so long. Sanctum wasn't a planet however, neither is it a system or a galaxy. It can best be described as an artificial, pseudo universe that was figuratively, built on top of the main universe. Where he is now is known as the Sanctum Capital, a massive construct erected right in the very center of Sanctum, give or take fifty feet.

Thraxen exited the hall and was stopped by none other than Shielion, the Precursor councilor who was not much younger than himself. "Shielion! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hello, Thraxen." She replied with a strained smile.

They began walking together, "You seem troubled? Is something the matter?"

"It- it's just..." Shielion stuttered.

"Shielion, do you need a moment?"

"No...no, we lost the Primus, Thraxen. When I went to the summit, I believed that I would be inspired, empowered to work for a cause, but when the Primus disappeared they..."

"Continue."

"A beacon of hope became a beacon of doubt. We just lost our best leadership, how will we stand a chance?"

Thraxen motioned for her to sit down on a rock in the Gardens, "I see, is this the only thing that has been bothering you?"

"No," Shielion said uncertainly. "If this war does not end in our favor, or- I mean, if it ends at all, I fear not seeing those I have befriended at its conclusion."

"It is why we must remain strong, for the people we care for." Thraxen stared thoughtfully into the green expanse.

"Even you aren't invincible Thraxen, if you were lost then..." Shielion tried to find the words, "No, I cannot carry on without your guidance."

"Why ever not? I knew from the day our paths crossed that you are very capable. If you did not calm the council with your words like you did, the outcome of this summit will have, most likely, been rather different."

"I know but~"

"Shielion, you will always be my faithful student and most trusted friend, no planet, galaxy, or Dalek will get in the way of that, I assure you."

Shielion could feel tears stinging at her eyes, discipline and conformity rose to fight it. Thraxen sympathetically embraced her.

"T-thank you, I... thank you."

"Do not thank me yet, for we have a universe to save." And with that he was gone, teleporting across the capitol. Leaving Shielion to her thoughts.

Thraxen re-appeared in front of a set of silver doors. They opened to reveal a Leviathan attendant conveniently shrunken down to fit in the small corridor. The attendant motioned for the councilor inside, sealing the doors behind them.

"I heard about the Primus; that's a terrible pity." The Leviathan said.

"All hope hasn't been lost, we can still find solace in our own spirit and leadership. Is the merging sequence nearly ready?" Thraxen asked as they walked along. The attendant lead him to another set of silver doors and entered. Inside was a simple room with a control terminal of sorts. Above it, is a window that led to a reverberating portal.

"It is. You must know once it is activated, it will take time for the realities to lock. It will also take time to transport the incredible amount of matter to be taken to Sanctum."

"Understandable." Thraxen said. "Heh, this took weeks of planning and approval and all I have to do is press a button?"

"It is a lever." The attendant said matter-of-factly. Thraxen waved him off as the Leviathan left. Alone now, Thraxen stared at the portal. He wondered how the council was able to ready the merging apparatus so quickly. Supposedly, the system was implemented during the Sanctum's construction. It was apparently requested by a now dead Exemplar. It was the same one that proposed the prospect of merging the galaxies in the first place, should it be needed. Thraxen found that curious, we were given near perfect circumstances to merge the galaxies by the same Exemplar.

Thraxen also thought about the races he was going to attempt to unite. What if he fails? How many lives are going to be ruined with this decision. His decision. How many families is he going to tear apart to help win this war? He thought about the now human-controlled Reapers. The sentient synthetics that brought wrath upon the galaxy every 50,000 years while Sanctum watched. It wasn't our fault, we were still recovering from the losses of the past. The Reapers are entire civilizations harvested and stored in Reaper form. Is he really going to sacrifice virtually entire species, to give us time to regroup? He thought about the Sangheili and the Humans they partnered with. They are rebuilding, they don't want more war to remind them that old wounds still fester. He thought about the race that inherited the Xel'Naga language, the Protoss. It hurt him deeply to know that our first-born lost their home-world. That they were nearly driven to extinction. The other Sanctum races thought them as weak and fickle for letting pride blind them when the corrupt Zerg gnawed at their footsteps. The Xel'Naga however howled in pain, as billions of Protoss minds screamed as they entered the Khala. If he was Precursor, Thraxen would have demanded that the Mantle of Responsibility be imparted to the Protoss. He however was not, and it deeply saddened him to wither such a scarred race, instead of giving them the respect and honor they so dearly deserve. He couldn't stand conflicted now, the galaxy must stand together, for their most glorious and perhaps their final trial. So he stood straight and made the most difficult decision in his multi-thousand year life. He pulled a lever.

(Far into the Milky Way galactic rim)
(Installation 0)
(12 hours until merging)

The Greater Ark. Inside this forgotten installation is a single synthetic stalking its hallways. This synthetic did not cast off an alarming presence; no, the Sentinels, Forerunner security drones that were created to safeguard their various installations, merely whizzed past it, conducting maintenance to the decrepit construct. The Forerunner ancilla had a glowing white "eye". Its name was 915 Empirical Compromise, monitor of Installation 0. It whirled around the enormous construct, one that it sought to bring out of disrepair after the defeat at the hands of the despicable parasite, in the fleeting, final days of the Forerunner-Flood war. The incident was catastrophic, thousands of lives were lost. It brought about the destruction of the Omega Halo. Only the Librarian, Iso-Didact, Ur-Didact, and the fellow A.I 343 Guilty Spark was able to escape, when the Master Builder and multiple other Forerunners, could not. Compromise managed to salvage what was left of the station after the Flood evacuated the area around the structure. The damage was almost irreparable if it wasn't for a few surviving Sentinels that Compromise managed to reconfigure to repair and maintain the collapsing installation. The code to construct new Halos was taken by the Librarian for security reasons.

"Oh, what's this?" Compromise detected a energy pulse that coursed through the Ark. "It can't be them, they're dead." The pulse resembled that of the of the Precursors, albeit faint. Compromise wasn't one to take chances however. He hastily scanned the immediate area. Nothing. The A.I was relieved, but puzzled. He alerted the Sentinels and they filed out of their tubes armed and unwavering. Compromise scanned again, this time ten light years out from his origin. Again, there were no Precursor vessels or any Flood capable of fielding such technology. Compromise scanned further, one-hundred light years, a thousand, ten-thousand, and again the result was the same. Compromise tapped into the Ark's broadcast system and scanned the entire galaxy for anything resembling Precursors or their technology. The outcome was the same, the scans yielded no results. "Perhaps, it is all in my head," the ancilla chided himself. The Forerunner mastery over artificial intelligence was so advanced, that ancillas never had to worry about rampancy. "All these years, to think i'm going mad," Empiricle hummed to himself.

He was about to issue an official false alarm, when another pulse hit him. This time the energy was nearly thrice as intense. The Precursor signature was more distinct, more obvious. Empirical can better examine it now. He noticed, that the Precursor signature was unlike that he encountered before. The signal was dispersed in a way that was vastly different than when his creators hunted them down to nigh extinction. The Precursor signature was altered, it was not the corrupt and distorted signature that the Primordial often emitted. It was elegant and refined, a specific set information converted into energy that was being projected outward. The source was unknown, it seemed to have come from everywhere. There were two alien signals that accompanied it, the three signatures crossed and expanded into a third wave.

Deciding this as a reasonable cause for alarm, Compromise broadcasted a reply signal. It was the Forerunner emergency attenuation signal. It warned foreign intruders to stay away and that the inhabitants of this galaxy is armed and unafraid of pursuing conflict. Of course, they are not really ready for battle, the Forerunners are extinct, most of the Halos were destroyed, and the Reclaimers devolved. Even when his creators were at their height, the only reason they reigned victorious agains the Precursors, was because they simply allowed themselves to be defeated. Aggressive or not, if it really is the Precursors and some unknown thrall of allies, and they wish to do battle, we're doomed.

Compromise began pacing in the air now. If we can convince the Precursors that the Forerunners are still alive, that may be enough to stave off any sort of attack. "Maybe, they are friendly," Compromise hoped. The situation became bleaker and bleaker. Compromise was running out of ideas, "I could reach out to the Reclaimers. No... no...no."

Compromise did not care if he was permanently deactivated. Well... he did care care a little bit. But, his priority was to preserve life, not leave it in darkness. If computers panicked this would be it. Compromise had no immediate solution, no one to turn to, or even any sense to what the pulse really means. He didn't even have another monitor to confide in!"No.. no.. no.. no.. no!" Empirical's mind began to run frantically attempting to search for a solution in his logic processors. He thought of trying to contact the other monitors, opening a dialogue with the Precursors, making more Halo rings for whatever good that will do. Offensive Bias, his predecessor, might have a solution, but he was decommissioned after the Medicant debacle was sorted out. "Oh it's hopeless," Empirical submitted. "The best we can do is put up as much resistance as we can. Only to have them blast us with another Star Road."

Compromise was just about ready to begin preparations for mounting a defense, when a blinding violet glow enveloped him...

Thraxen was sitting at the Ministry of Military operations. The one overseeing the project is Fleet Executive Qou'Knan, a Precursor and Sanctum's best admiral. He sat with ministry chairpersons, all excellent combat tacticians. Normally, official military meetings were withheld unless directly threatened. With the near transport of millions of alien ships, the Council saw fit to begin military operations. Among, the chair people are councilors, Shielion and Nai'Sel, the latter being Leviathan.

"Listen up!" Qou'Knan yelled authoritatively. The Ministry turned to face him.

"Our guests will arrive within the hour. Let's recap on how we will... welcome them."

Admiral Salure spoke up,"Their weapon systems will be disabled while we open a live broadcast through every visual and auditory medium they have."

"Excellent, and after that, the councilors will meet with their leaders, to discuss action against the Daleks." Qou'Knan said.

"Where will we put their planets?" Nai'Sel asked.

"We will put them in orbit inside an artificial galaxy, tailor made to house them." Thraxen added.

"We do not have much time to go over the fine details, they are nearly here." The Fleet Executive said. "Any convoluted strategy will have to wait until after the proceedings."

Thraxen had to mask his skepticism."Very well, just be friendly, we can't afford to be cynical and have them believe that we have hostile intentions."

"Of course, councilor."

"The merge is starting, admirals." A fleet officer stated.

"Well then," The Fleet Executive began, "Let it begin."

James Raynor awoke with a violent jolt, canteen in hand. "It's too damn early." He muttered to himself. He walked over to the elevator and rode up to the bridge. Truth is, he wasn't feeling any better when Amon was defeated. It was just too ordinary for lack of a better term. There was the battle. He could remember it, the stench of blood mingling with the cries of his own marines. The sweat on his brow as he pulled a hydralisk out of a fire. Jim grinned to himself, he never thought that he would ever do such a thing. Must be getting old he guessed. He remembered Artanis, the Protoss Hierarch, shout Khalani curses as the Shield of Aiur sacrificed itself to ignite a massive hybrid advance. The crew, which Artanis knew intimately, was the first of many casualties. After that, Artanis practically erupted with anger and you can see the Void and Khala energies blast forth from his hands. He's slain an entire Brutalisk by summoning an enormous psionic storm. Next to him, was Sarah Kerrigan looking bruised and tired from the constant psychic strain, but there was a fire in her eyes. One that he hasn't seen since they first met. The aspiring young red-headed ghost has returned and itching to kick Amon's rear end all the way back to whatever black hole he clawed his way out of. So there they were, the three of them leading the final disparate squadrons and ships into the heart of Amon's fortress. And... they had won. And after every drop of blood spilled to get to that point, it didn't take a telepath to know what they were thinking. It was worth it. But was it really? Jim felt like this isn't over, that he could have lost and mourned more. Call it a gut feeling.

Raynor was aboard the Bridge now, and he saw Matthew Horner, his captain, standing rigid and issuing orders to the command staff. There was a bedraggled look on his face as he looked beyond the glass. "Something wrong, Matt?" Raynor said as he walked up to him.

Horner nodded to him, "It's strange sir, the readings are saying that we are going hundreds of lightyears per second." He saw the confused look beginning to form on the commander's face. Warp travel is fast, but not THAT fast.

"That ain't possible is it? Not even Protoss can go that fast." Raynor said.

"That's just it sir, the engines are not online." Matt said.

"You mean to tell me that, we are gunning it across space, for no reason." Raynor responded disbelievingly.

Matt shook his head. "About right. We double checked and triple checked, thrusters are definitely not on. The only explanation that I can think of is that, someone or something is doing this externally."

"Externally eh," Raynor put his hand on his beard. "Have you tried stopping it?"

"I've tried diverting our course, no luck. Comms are down too. Whatever this is, it wants us somewhere and wants us badly." Matt said.

"Sounds perfect." Raynor said.

The helmsman called out to them, "Sirs, we're slowing down."

James looked toward the glass and saw the dense whiteness fade. What he saw next was completely unbelievable. He found himself only able to say three words. "What the hell?" The bridge gasped in disbelief and fear as they saw hundreds, no, thousands of unknown ships.

"Tal'Darim presence confirmed!" He heard a bridge officer say.

"Multiple unknown contacts!" He heard another say.

"Weapon systems disengaged!"

"Detecting Zerg bio-signatures."

"Detecting Dominion, Kel-Morian, and Umojan battlecruisers, sir."

Before Raynor or Horner could say anything, every screen on the bridge warped and changed to show an alien face on the screen.

"Greetings proud citizens of the Milky Way," it said. It looked oddly similar to Protoss, Raynor thought as it spoke. "I am councilor Thraxen and we have gathered you and your armies here for a very dire and momentous occasion. Your worlds have been threatened countless times and as selfish as it may be for us to not come to your aid, we need your help. Your peace has again been threatened by a adversary, far more powerful then any of you have faced. While it may seem that we are throwing you into conflict, when you wish to rebuild. For that, I offer my most sincerest consolations. But none can face this foe alone, not even us. We wish for you to send those who you choose to represent your governments, in a diplomatic summit. There is where wish to come to an understanding. Finally, some of you may recognize me, we compose of three species, The Precursors, Leviathans, and my own race,..." That's it! Raynor knew what he was, he's seen him before. "... a Xel'Naga. We are Sanctum."

This was a difficult chapter to write. I do hope you like it however. I planned on killing off Selendis instead of the Shield, but I have a rather humorous role for her in the future. Well, tell me how it is, and tell me what you expect to see in later chapters. Also i'd like ideas on which franchise to put the Primus in for a separate story.