CHAPTER THREE: OUTCAST
Shakuras had fallen to the Zerg in this way. And now its colonies too, it seemed.
So great was the attack that he did not need to reach it – it reached him, burrowing up beneath the ground, falling from the sky. The Dark Templar had displayed his enigmatic powers in full force, and Amos had been stunned by it. He knew now why they were so feared, and this one was so fearless.
Even so, the Nerazim was wounded en-route. He too sustained damage, but the energy stored within himself was sufficient to restore his systems, even outside of a psi matrix.
"There is a place I would go," the warrior said, his words giving no sign of the pain he surely endured. "We shall go there." And he refused all aid, but continued to lead the way. The Sentinel accepted his choice, and simply watched for enemies, lacking psionic powers, but still retained many sensory equipments within his chassis that served just as well. The technology surely would have been scorned by an Observer, but it sufficed well for a zealot – each was fashioned for its own purpose.
Even had Amos been a living Zealot still, he would have to obey, for the Nerazim existed higher on the chain of command than he, a quirk of fate he would have thought amusing once.
A Sentinel was created to guard, with all the knowledge and abilities of the fallen hero he composited, and so that is what he did, sensing beneath his metal feet, subtle vibrations that concerned him. But the Nerazim said nothing, and he knew this did not escape the dark warrior.
They reached the place, and Amos noted that it was obviously a special place. Sacred. A cave that spoke of hidden and untold power. A device was inside, a shrine, built by no protoss hand.
"We discovered this place long ago, and the technology that was scattered, hidden on this world, is why we chose it as a refuge and hiding place. It shall buy our brothers some time."
He paused when they were inside, and Amos attempted to study the limits of the energies and power he detected there, he saw none. But his own senses were limited and mechanical. The Nerazim held out his hand toward him, and a small construction of light appeared above his palm, produced from within himself, the power warped and wrapped from space itself – a less showy but more potent expression of power than Amos had witnessed before. Although the construction itself was clearly Khalai in nature. What an interesting enigma this protoss was.
"Take this message to my people when I die, Sentinel. You at least will make an adequate messenger." Amos did not hesitate but accepted it, storing the encrypted message within his own matrix, proof against even his own curiosity, as was often the protoss method.
Little more than a probe to you, then. He thought with baneful ire, but something in the Nerazim's expression stopped him.
"Do not take it lightly, this causes me more pain than you know, to have failed this mission. To entrust it to the one I disdained."
He paused then, looking to his wounds, and the warrior attempted to alleviate his position to something more comfortable. As Amos had suspected, he was clearly dying. That thrust into his chest had clearly been deeper than he admitted, and struck something irrepairable.
"I was insulted. They commanded me to bring you, because if I should die, you might yet survive. As if I was not strong enough, simply because I was not Khalai. As if we, the dark Templar, had not wandered alone in the shadows for these many centuries, while they suckled at the bosom of Aiur like an infant animal."
The words were charged with rage, but there was something of hurt within them as well, Amos sensed. And then there was a great sigh, as if the warrior felt a great burden being lifted from him. Amos had heard that sight a few times in his life, and he knew what it portended.
