Yay! This is not the last chapter but we are close really close. The story is going to continue in the 41st millenium, actually the 42nd, soon enough. What do you guys think? Should I start a new story as a continuation to this one or should I keep uploading it as war of the 3rd millenium even if it no longer takes place then?

I hope you all like where (or when) this is going. I personally think I've improved on the story telling since the beginning of the fic (this is my first after all) and hope to keep improving. For that please let me know what you guys think, any manner of improving this will be greatly appreciated.

Finally as usual Blizzard owns the Starcraft franchise and Games Workshop owns Warhammer 40k.


The breath of creation

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The memories of Velonius and Schezar flashed in his Zerg mind. Many don't associate the Zerg with intelligence, believing them to be creatures of pure base instinct. They might not be entirely wrong, but there is a savage cunning to their tactics. He might as well be some kind of an anomaly, like an Infested that retained some of its earlier intelligence.

Broodfather. That's what he is. A good name. As good as any. Velonius' personality is all but consumed, Schezar's mind is virtually his. Broodfather. That's what he is.

He feels. He feels the Swarm. He sees the Swarm. He sees through the Swarm. As the Zergling rush inside he studies them through the Overseers. Resistance is futile. Yet resistance is. Stalkers, Protoss walkers, attack the swarm in the lower levels trying to keep them from their brethren It is indeed futile.

He directs them he pushes them as his command. This is not a simple rush, no, there is tactics and strategy. Long term planning. His swarm is taking the foundry apart, capturing any Protoss tech in their way or the forgotten Terran machinery. He might be a Zerg, but both his fathers were traders, he understands the concept of leverage and his plans will require it.

There are so many Zerg. He can feel each and everyone of them, and he can feel them die, but there are so many... it almost takes effort to discern the individuals. For the first time the Broodfather commutes with the Swarm, as a whole organism it matter little that some Zerglings are dying. It is but a scratch.

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War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.

The inscription on the throne made little sense to him, it was clearly paradoxical, perhaps a metaphorical lie. The Koprulu sector was under constant duress, but to go as far as to call it peace. It sounded like something that Mengsk would say. He didn't like Mengsk.

"Do you like my ship, Captain?"

The woman was short, stocky, as if cast from a solid rock. Her body was chiseled and had a promise of most of the features that would make her an attractive female, even if those were well hidden under a military uniform. Captain Jackson had a consummate poker face, one learns to roll with the flow after serving as CO for the Duke's Revenge, but he was close to dropping it then and there. Another of the survival perks of the Duke's service is a knack for spotting ambushers, the woman had moved fast and silent. And while Terran ships are somehow dusty they don't suffer the disarray found in the imperial vessel. The woman had sneaked on him, masterfully.

"Your ship? I thought it was the Inquisitor's."

"I'm Captain Herdess, Imperial Navy, and while the Inquisitor commands me I command the ship. Am I understood?"

Oh, someone was in charge. Great. Then he wouldn't be the first target when the mutiny hits.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Call me Captain. You are quite an unusual one. You let your ship and crew go. I want to know why."

For a moment Captain Jackson wondered how anyone listening to them would understand who was talking if both were to call each other captain. Then he remembered that this was in fact not one of those space operas he liked to read.

"With all due respects Captain. My "crew" I would trade for a Popsicle stick, and consider the Popsicle a bonus. The Duke's Revenge has a reputation, and most COs don't last. I've been on the ship for longer than any of the previous Captains. I know what you are thinking, no, they weren't incompetent. It's just that the ship is blessed with a perchance for independence and self government. And when a mook doesn't take an order well, well, they know where you sleep."

"Discipline is the Emperor's blessing. I guess you don't know what a Commissar is. How did you survive?"

"Tricks of the trade."

Captain Herdess gave a dry, short smile. A smile that didn't transfer to her eyes. He kept his poker face.

"Okay, keep your secrets, but if you attempt something in my ship you will find out what the point end of a sword is for. Am I clear?"

"Crystal clear, Captain."

"Good. This ship is not under direct Imperial Navy command, as such there are times when we pass ourselves as other... more independent parties, your expertise may come in handy when that time arrives. I know that you were Captain of your own ship, but believe me that was barely the size of an escort. Being generous you would be a Commander under Navy protocol. I'm ascending you to Rear-Captain, welcome to the Ollanius."

She approached him and offered her hand. A hand that he quickly took and shacked. He didn't know what a Rear-Captain was supposed to do, but he will surely find out soon enough.

"This." Captain Herdess did a gesture towards a man, who Jackson could swear wasn't there an instant before. "is Bosun Vzglyad. We are a tad short on personal due to fighting of late, but he shall serve as your aidee. Vzglyad kinsmen have served in the Ollanius since it started flying, so he knows the ship as well as it gets. Learn the local dialect and idioms, where everything is and Imperial protocol." Then as far as he was concerned, she barked something in an incomprehensible and utterly alien language before adding. "You are dismissed."

Jackson followed the man through a corridor, not being able to take his eyes out of him. His family surely couldn't have served in the ship since it's beginning, the thing was old, older than the Duke's Revenge, it would have meant generations, heck the genealogy would be an interesting one. But it could help explain some traits of this... Jackson failed to even think of the name. Pronouncing it would be beyond the realm of the possible. He decided to just refer to it as aidee for now. Well, if Aidee's family had served inside the ship for generations it would explain the language, and his appearance. The man was pale beyond reason, not only his skin lacked pigmentation but also his eyes and hair, giving him an eerie albino appearance. There were several tattoos on his arms, but they were just straight lines circling around the forearm, some thicker than others, giving him what distinctively looked like a barcode.

"Aidee. Where are we going?"

The man stopped and looked at him barking in an unidentifiable language. There was hardness in his eyes as if he didn't like being interrupted. Well. That was going to be a problem. If Aidee and his cousins were touchy and knew the ship as well as promised holding a mutiny at bay would be... complicated.

For a moment Rear-Captain Jackson considered that perhaps the evil you know is preferable to the one you don't. For a moment Rear-Captain Jackson wished to be back at the Duke's Revenge bridge. Then he remembered his last experiences inside that damned vessel and rephrased his wish to never ever been interested in piloting a cruiser. When, as usual, his wish wasn't granted he decided to do best with what he had. There was work to do.

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The Zerg have taken the lower levels and the drones are gorging on the Terrazine source. There are so many of them that they bloat the conducts darkening the purplish mist. The Swarm is feeding. And as it does its many jaws keep going upwards.

Soon they bite something hard, something that proves too much. A large score of Zerg just cease existing. They were a second before, they are not anymore. The psychic backslash hits him. The Broodfather hard. But Schezar's borrowed lips curl up in a smile. It is just a flesh wound.

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"Baldassare, hold!"

The Brother – Captain voice didn't reach the Lamenter. His charge was unbroken. At least this time it was silent. His glaive moved fast, and struck true. It tore through the Zergling mass as a hot knife cuts butter. There was a strength in numbers and in the cramped corridors the Zerg mass seemed infinite.

Resigned the Kill – Team charged after his brother, resolute to not leave him behind.

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Talrisis had been an Oracle pilot. She had liked it. Hers had been a career that she had enjoyed. To properly pilot one the Nerazim need to truly understand time. It's shifts and changes. They needed to control it. Use it. When the paths opened to her she took that of the Witch, dreaming the Void. It was after all the most logical.

The Tribe Leader had been above all a crafter. While of late his craft had focused on the Immortals' creation he would have enjoyed a simpler life. The Path of the Artisan was his call. And he was finally able to follow it. He sang his joy.

He had died. As he had died he hadn't felt the call of She Who Thirst. His soul trapped for eternity in a stone, far from the infinity circuit. Eternity didn't last.

The being to be known as Khas was born there and then. At that moment, the few Protoss that remained conscious inside the Khaydarin tanks, to be latter embalmed into an Immortal or Stalker, recognized it as a Twillight Archon. It shone with the purple light of infused Terrazine and at its center a single purple jewel orbited in circles. The being to be known as Khas did something that no other Protoss, Archon or otherwise, had ever done before. It sang. It sang of the Khala and the Paths, it's song was at the same time known and alien, new and ancient. As it sang the Khaydarin resonated to its psychic tune, as it sang it took form and body. And that was the thing that no Protoss had done before for it solidified the psychic essence. It gave it matter.

The being to be known as Khas encased itself in Wraithbone and Khaydarin crystal, the finest Protoss armor tightly fitted across it's body. A body that was no more. The being to be known as Khas was just energy. A powerful torrent of psychic energy given will. But where other Archons were fated to eventually disipate and be forgotten in solidifying it had averted it's fate. The being to be known as Khas was now an armor, a sentient eternal armor forged by powerful psychic energy.

It stood tall and lithe. It's figure encased in white from head to toe. Khaydarin jewels, resonating with a purplish tint due to the Terrazine excess decorated its armor in classic protoss manner. Like most archons from its back four nerve cords extended coiling and tightening like living serpents. Its shoulders held high pauldrons, that seemed to extend backwards in a cape of psychic energy, only varely visible when it moved. Its helmet fully masked its features, organically joining with the rest of the armor in a crest that pointed upwards. Its arms ended in thick vambraces and armored hands with two fingers and two thumbs at either side. The being to be known as Khas had been reforged, recreated in a new form, a form beyond that of an Archon. The Protoss held legends of the Phoenix a powerful energy being created by the Xel'naga. The being to be known as Khas, even infused with Terrazine and the Eldar's knowledge was far from it. But the Phoenix legend kindled a spark, a memory, a knowledge that had been there all along.

The being to be known as Khas pointed one of its hands towards the Protoss inside their sarcophagus in the wall. The tools needed to continue their enhancement had been destroyed along with the laboratory. It lacked the tools to create an Immortal, it lacked the tools to create a Stalker. But he didn't lack the knowledge. In fact he knew much, much more. For the second time it sang. And the song was beautiful, a song that promised revenge and above all survival. They were tithed a second chance, a chance to sing the Khala once more. And they took it. Wraithbone started forming around them, giving them a second skin a new armor to fight once more. While their armor wasn't as ornate as that of the being to be known as Khas it followed it honored it's patterns. They looked as Zealots who had been fully encased themselves in white and crystal armor, even their nerve cords were armored forming two braids behind them. They had been awaiting a chance to fight again. They had taken it.

The Phoenix Lord to be known as Khas led those to be known as Exarchs of the Crystal Dragons back into the fight.

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The Confessor's black armor engraved with white bones and skulls is a figure of dread in the Battlecruiser bridge. The last person who dared disagree has been blammed and its body lies cold at his feet. The Duke's Revenge runs like a clock, never having been as efficient as it is now.

It soon reaches orbit, and the cogitators, the computers, initiate the warp jump protocols. As they do the man in black looks at the planet below. For an instant he wishes to be able to procure an Exterminatus, the rock is just filled with damned xenos and traitorous scum, both deserving destruction. But alas it is not the Emperor's will.

With a prayer to the God in the Golden Throne he urges his men forward. With a silent agreement the Duke's engines power up and catapult him among the stars. Towards Terra, humanity's crib. Towards the God Emperor, humanity's future.

He will change the future.

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The Zerg took a moment to react to what happened. For an instant Broodfather's control slipped and the aliens lunged into their more primal instincts. It didn't last long. When the creature that occupied Schezar's body got it's hand back in the leash it established it's control even harder than before. All the captured Protoss or Terran technology and the Drones with the Terrazine were to be driven back to the Leviathans. The rest were simply to charge towards the control room and obliterate the Protoss remains.

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The Kill – Team used the moment of respite, caused by the sudden diminish in Zerg forces attacking them, to check their ammunition and grenade reserves and patch each other up. Two brother's stood apart. Baldassare was silent, his hands tight on the glaive with resolute strength, his head bowed down as if in meditation or repentance. The Lamenter had charged fearlessly into the Zerg mass breaking them wherever he had met them. Mihai was also silent, but his hands were at his temples as if trying to ward himself from a paining sound only him could hear. Somehow he had been able to lead the squad across the alien mass striking true towards it's center.

"Ready?"

Brother – Captain Ran-Aldib sounded weary, tired. His Charnabal saber was at his side, its power field still strong keeping it clean from alien blood and acidic ichor, the Storm Shield was at his back, his hands otherwise occupied. He held a small device in his left, a black and unimpressive box, only marked with some runes, cables and the gliph of the Mentor's Owl. A Time Warper his squad had seen it in use in more than one occasion, a piece of tech from unknown origin that somehow the Mechanicus had loaned the Mentors and that Ran-Aldib had taken with him on his Vigil. His right was occupied now by a Mentor's bolt gun, a weapon of renowned accuracy, fully loaded in tranquilizing drugs that should force a hold in the xenos prey.

Agrippa gave a dry nod. He held a bolter in one hand, the new synthetic arm being strong enough to compensate for the recoil, in his other hand he had a Terran riot shield which was dented and chiseled where the Zerg mass had tried to bite through. Accipiter crossed his shotguns across his chest, both had seen good use in the melee against the Zerg. Caleb, the apothecary, restarted his chain sword making it purr the Emperor's prayers. When Mihai gave a nod and his grip tightened on the bolter and Baldassare started walking the corridor the Mentor knew that the squad was ready.

"For the Emperor!"

The space marines charged with the Emperor's name in their lungs and His fury in their hearts.

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There is perhaps a simplicity in numbers. A quality in quantity. The Zerg knew that well. They hadn't encountered that particular breed of Protoss before but they would overwhelm them. Eventually. Broodfather didn't mind sacrificing his troops, he had reserves to spare, but even he had to admit that the combat wasn't going well.

The Protoss fought masterfully, dividing the Zerg using shields, sometimes in a bloody literal manner, and fighting them a few at a time. Whenever the swarm would charge one of those white Protoss would come towards them raise his hands and an incredibly hardened shield will materialize cutting the advance. Then some other Protoss would create blades of pure warp energy and cut the Zerg to shreds in fast movements. It appeared that with sufficient strength the shields would break, but as one fell another one was raised.

The combat eventually reached a stalemate. The Zerg couldn't overwhelm the Protoss unless those made a stupid move, that they didn't seem inclined to take. Yet not all the room was under the control of the lithe Crystal Dragons nor all the entombed in Khaydarin to be turned into an Immortal had been recovered and donned with wraithbone. It was those that Broodfather attacked next.

As the Zerg took the crystals containing Protoss remains the creature at the center of the Protoss battle line charged. The Phoenix Lord was strong beyond reason, his shields forming and reforming slicing the Zerg in their wake at the same time that they blocked the Zerg retaliation. Many organisms pushed their luck, charging blindly only to be turned to shreds.

"We are as one! For Khaine and the Khala!"

The Eldar battle cry resounded in the Zerg minds to simple to feel dread as the Phoenix Lord charged the Broodfather. The Broodfather had a strong mind, and a strong will, it could control the Zerg and move them at his whim. The Zerg were his claws and jaws, he didn't hold a chance. A shield sliced his forearms and as they fell they slithered like snakes ready to strike. Snakes that were swiftly burnt away in a psychic fire. It was an uneven fight, the Zerg organism was pushed back, to the edge, sliced faster than it could regenerate.

The Broodfather had been no fighter, in all his past lives he had preferred cunning and intellect to defeat the enemy. And as he realized that he pushed his mind to exertion, desperately trying to survive. In his frenzy the Zerg jumped all at once to the Crystal Dragons and their shields, hitting with such numbers and strength that they pushed them back. While the Protoss leader was ending his physical vessel the swarm was stomping the followers.

Destroying his adversary in a cutting shield the Phoenix Lord turned to save his Exarchs realizing that an uncountable mass of Zerg stood in his way. Not even him was fast enough.

It was then, when the Aspect Shrine was almost destroyed instants before its creation that salvation come in the form of six space marines. Each wore the black armor of the Deathwatch and moved faster than time itself, it seemed that for them the battle had all but slowed to turtle's pace. At their head rushing in a boundless fit of rage the Lamenter held his power spear, impaling any Zerg that stood in it's way.

"For the Angel's Blood! For the Emperor's Throne!"

The rest of his squad followed with similar battle cries. They were unstoppable. Their target was a massive Zerg beast. It resembled a Zergling if those could be the size of a small tank, in it's head laid a black orb that seemed to keep at bay the other organisms. The primal, who had unimaginatively dubbed himself Black Eye, braced for the charge directing it's gaze to the Lamenter.

Mihai's sixth sense could feel all to well what was happening. He could feel the matterium shriek and tore into Baldassare's psyche, draining his mind presence and draining his soul. It didn't stop him. It only enraged him more.

"Suffer not the Alien to live!"

With those words the spear lunged forward, forcing the alien to duck at the last instant. Baldassare had missed the black orb but his strike had gorged the natural eyes of the beast that now trashed wildly in a maddened rush.

The alien hunters started doing what they do best, killing the Zerg in scores. They provided a breathing room for Baldassare, tasked in his particular due, and the Captain that was now aiming his bolter at the beast. Two rounds, two hits. The creature though didn't show a sign of slowing down, it's shoulder claw almost slashing through the Lamenter. Another shot, and a fourth, a fifth, no reaction. The monster was adapting to the toxic agent much faster than anticipated.

"Change of plans, extermination!"

With those words he drew the Charnabal saber and holding it with both hands charged forward. The rest of the squad followed suit concentrating fire in the trashing beast. So righteous was their fury that they soon pushed it back. And it moved fast. It trashed, cutting a path through the Zerg organisms that assaulted the Kill – Team slowing them down.

The creature, Black Eye, had never lost before. In occasions it had moved in different directions, pledging to evolve and become stronger. This was such an event. He would come back. Fight them. Devour their essence and their souls.

As the Primal run a small Zerg organism, barely the size of a human forearm and a with a distinctive shape resembling one held onto it.

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"Lower your weapon, Brother – Captain."

He did not.

"There are no more Zerg to fight, Mon – keigh. Lower your weapon."

That shocked him a little. It sounded condescending enough to be Eldar.

"What did you call me xeno?"

"Mon – keigh. I fought with yours not that long ago, I don't want to fight you now."

"I saw you die, Eldar."

"I'm glad to know that your lack of perception isn't as bad as I thought. Now, we outnumber you Mon – keigh, and you are tired. I'm sure you can also perceive that. We thank you for your aid. Now, lower your weapon."

Reluctantly he lowered his saber and looked around himself. The Zerg were dead. Scoured. His squad was barely standing, only now lowering their weapons and allowing themselves a moment of respite. As Baldassare did so he felt to the ground as a rag doll, his soul expended, Brother – Apothecary Caleb knelt besides him, but his expression was dour and grim even behind his visor.

"We've failed our mission."

"What mission?"

"We were to retrieve the xenos who assimilated the navigator, and secure some Terrazine for Baldassare."

"Before I died I offered my services to the Inquisitor."

"What does that matter now?"

"Well. Does the Inquisitor still have a ship?"

"We won't be able to fly without a Navigator, Xenos. You know that full well."

"That's where you are wrong Mon – Keigh. The Eldar don't use navigators. The Protoss don't use navigators. I have flied Oracles and I will Dream the Void for you if you are to honor your Inquisitor's agreement."

For a moment no one breathed in the room. Then Ran-Aldib gave one short nod.

"We serve the Inquisitor, if we were willing to use a Xenos to return to the Imperium I don't see what problem there is with the creature guiding us willingly."

"Good thing Mon – Keigh." The Phoenix Lord knelt besides the fallen body of Baldassare. "As for your brother, fear not. I'll give him the breath of creation." He then exhaled a single purple breath in the Lamenter's black helm.

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He stood against the stone wall. His spear was broken. His bolter was silent. There were no brothers besides him. Only the Rage, the Rage and the Thirst. Broken things. Poor Broken things. They were dead, all of them. Yet they fought. They fought demons and things worse than demons. They fought the enemy without and the enemy within. For the enemy was within each and all of them.

He stood against the stone wall. At his back he could hear it break, slowly grinded to pieces by an monster that was even worse that the one in front of them. He punched a monster, one of the Enemy, just before kicking one of his own. Keeping them pointed towards the Enemy was hard enough.

He stood against the stone wall. He could feel the claws opening it as if it was a door. Golden and bloodied the talons came from him. They were the pinions of an angle of battle. In another time the monster would have been revered by his brothers. But he had no more brothers. They had fallen. Dead. Only the Thirst and the Rage remained.

He stood against the stone wall. And as he pushed the demons and monsters back with his bare raw hands the Golden Angel claws tore into him. The creature's face was a mask of Golden perfection in mortuary the image of the Primarch but when it fell it revealed the truth. The bare and primal truth. His revelation didn't last. There was a little mercy still in the Universe. He died then. With the fangs of the Golden Angel draining his vitae.

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"You are conscious again. That is good. Are you... yourself?"

Baldassare looked around. He was in the medicae docks. His ceramite armor replaced with a black tunic that felt eerily wet. The apothecary looked at him with a tired smile. Somehow he remembered. He knew what had happened what was real. He had fought the Zerg. He had charged against them. And for an instant lost himself, as if he was aboard the Vengenful Spirit in one last fateless charge. That was an old memory. It had happened a long time ago. He was certain of that. As certain as he was that the last memory he had had was of something that hadn't happened yet. He raised a hand to his neck. There were no marks. His death hadn't happened yet.

"Aye. I am myself brother. I'm sorry for troubling you."

"Good. We are going to make warp jump in half an hour if you want to say Goodbye to this rock now is the time."

"Where are we going?"

"Here. I hope. A better question might be when are we going."

"When are we going?"

"To the 41st millenium brother. We are going home."

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Calling the whole ordeal a failure wasn't fair. In fact by all recognitions Broodfather could account the attack as a success. They had captured Protoss and Terran technology, and more importantly they had gorged in Terrazine. Then if they had met the objectives why did it felt like a defeat?

He didn't know.

He knew one thing. His hand would still guide the Zerg to the future. To a new future. A future where there were more creatures to devour and assimilate into the swarm. And they would follow. In less than thirty minutes the Leviathans would be fully fueled and stocked ready to initiate the travel. Black Eye would guide them, towards the light of the Emperor a beacon hard to miss and the promise of endless evolution.

He had time. Plenty of time. With an almost unconscious though he went to the lower decks where the captured human cattle awaited infestion. He approached one of them and cut his way into him. Then once again walking in human legs he went to the bridge, ready to order the advance like he had done many times in his previous lives. Unconsciously, he altered his new host guise to resemble the last, picking on the features of Schezar.

It seemed that the Scavenger's immortality wasn't unfounded.

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