Author's note: I'm back, sorry about the long delay, but fic writing fell onto my very rearmost burner with the onset of last semester's finals and I never quite manged to bring it to the fore again, though this particular chapter I've been sitting on since December or so, though I'm not quite sure why. Can't promise I'll be doing much more writing soon (though I still intend to continue reading Ragnarok's fic; sorry I'm such a horrific flake), but I felt like I should at least publish this. As to content, this begins with a flashback to the immediate aftermath of Char after the end of Wings of Liberty. It's almost entirely story (and backstory, specifically of Zeratul and Tosh's meeting), and introduces a few minor Umojan characters, who I had a ton of fun writing, and thus will probably return. Mengsk also finally appears. The next chapter, whenever I write it, will probably be a return to action, and hopefully I'll introduce the other two members of Zeratul's team (both Protoss). As always, criticism of any variety is more than welcome.

"All yours, big man. One wacky, magical energy weapon thingy," Raynor said to the hulking, ten-foot tall humanoid looming over his shoulder, tapping a few keys on Xel'naga artifact weapon case's display, causing it to hiss closed.

"Thank you, friend Raynor. The Daelaam owe you yet another debt."

"I'll put it on your tab," eliciting a slightly disturbing telepathic chuckle from the prelate.

"You sure you want to give this thing to this guy, Raynor? Damned thing could be extremely useful in the very near future," General Horace Warfield asked, looking up from the holographic display in the middle of his makeshift war room, showing his remaining troops' dispositions across the northern sector Dominion/Raider controlled Char.

"You do know that 'this guy' can hear you," Zeratul telepathized at the general.

"See, now that is just goddamned unnerving. I mean no disrespect, prelate, but I'd really prefer if you translated, Raynor, though I've got no idea how you stand it either."

"Practice. And, honestly, Zeratul can do a lot more damage to more important targets with this thing than we can."

"Wasn't what I meant. I meant it might help compensate for the massive losses we've taken over the past few days; might keep us from being overrun while we magic up some way to move all our power armored assess off this lava ball before the Zerg chop our nuts off."

"I may have a solution to that problem," Raynor said, turning back to Zeratul. "I wonder if I can call in that debt right now, Zeratul."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Transport, for my men, and maybe some technicians to help us get some of these wrecks spaceworthy again," he said, gesturing toward several smoking, visible, battlecruiser hulls.

"I believe I can do so."

"Really? The Protoss don't exactly have a lot to spare right now, I know."

"The Firstborn owe you a great deal, friend Raynor. Even the Khalai know of the sacrifices you have made for my people. Selendis, especially, speaks highly of you."

"Wasn't exactly the high point of my career, working with her."

"Which is one of the reasons she admires you; you made a difficult decision under even more difficult circumstances. It was the right one."

"And because of that, I ended up killing a lot of my own people."

"There is only one cure for infestation."

"Maybe."

"Nevertheless, you have gained not only the respect but the gratitude of my people. Such a feat is not to be underestimated, old friend. The Firstborn journeyed among the stars of this galaxy for thousands of years unchallenged, placing dozens of species under the great stewardship. We are a proud and hidebound people, and unwilling to recognize others as our equals. But you showed us the true potential of the so-called 'lesser species,' and I am proud to call you my friend," he said, extending his massive, two-thumbed hand in a startlingly human gesture.

Raynor took it, saying, rather lamely, "Same."

"These one-sided conversations are more than a little off-putting for those of us with vocal cords," Warfield said, not looking up.

"He says you just asked him not to communicate telepathically with you. He says you can't have it both ways, since he doesn't have vocal cords. Or a mouth." Raynor translated.

"No kidding."

"You want me to what?"

"You heard me, Admiral. Let's not play this melodramatic game."

"Oh, no, we're going to play it, if only because this is possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard. So please, humor me and repeat yourself so I can savor the true, unadulterated idiocy of the things issuing from your face hole, Mr. Secretary."

He sighed, saying, "You are to deploy a substantial chunk of the fleet's transport capacity and a sizeable portion of the Corps of Naval Engineers to Char."

"With escorts. Which, if my logistics department is right, and they always are, comes out to about thirty percent of our navy. To evacuate a bunch of Dominion jerkoffs. I don't think so."

"They're not exactly Dominion any more, and this comes from the highest authority in the Protectorate, maybe a little higher, if you're cynical."

"What does that mean?"

"The Protoss asked us."

"I'm going to repeat myself: what?"

"The Protoss owe Raynor, and so they agreed to do a favor for him. We owe the Protoss, and so the Council agreed to do what they promised, since they're not exactly flush with resources right now."

"And we are?"

"Comparatively, yes. They're trying to rebuild an interstellar society. You're trying to finish firing drills a second faster. I'd say you've got more leeway, Tessa."

"Fuck you, Peter. You do realize that, if we do this, we'll be wide open for those Morian assholes to fuck us."

"The Protoss have agreed to back us in that case, and so have Raynor and his quasi-Dominion people."

"The same ones that are stuck on a monster-infested lava pit? That's comforting."

"More to the point," the Secretary said, ignoring his subordinate's sarcasm, "with Raynor's victory on Char and the explosion of his revolution all over the Dominion, he's become very interesting to the Council. This is a chance to get closer to him."

"Well, that I can't argue with that. It'd take a miracle for Mengsk to survive this."

"Which he's been known to pull off. That's why the Council wants to get in good with Raynor, to make sure he doesn't get the chance to pull off a miracle. If Raynor wins, the Protectorate wins. We've been trying to bring down the Dominion for years. Tried to bring down the Confederacy for even longer."

"That didn't exactly end the way we wanted it to."

"No. Which is why we can't screw it up again. And, ultimately, Tess, it doesn't matter what you think. These are your orders."

"You're right. It doesn't matter, because, despite being a smarmy, pedantic political asshole, you've actually convinced me, Peter."

"I have my moments."

"So you're going to use this thing to destroy the hybrids?" Raynor asked of Zeratul, as he watched the huge, sleek double-crescent form of an Umojan battlecruiser slide gracefully into Char's atmosphere, wreathed in the soft blue light of its active shield and point-defense fire, phase disruptor pulses tearing apart mutalisks, scourges, and corruptors. "I thought we needed Sarah for that."

"No. I believe that the Queen of Blades-"

"Sarah. The Queen of Blades is dead."

"Yes, of course. I believe Kerrigan is integral to defeating the Fallen One, but not necessarily to defeating his hybrid minions."

"Couldn't hurt. That damned thing on Castanar was the toughest thing I've ever seen."

"I can safely say that I know what you mean. Zhakul was not…a personal highlight. But, in any case, I know they can be destroyed by relatively ordinary means. In your idiom, if you shoot them enough, they die."

"The problem is getting enough firepower. Which that artifact weapon has."

"Indeed."

"How do you know it'll work on them, though?"

"I do not. In fact, I doubt it will. If the Fallen One is Xel'naga, as I suspect, it would stand to reason that he knows of this device, knows of its potential power. I doubt that he would leave his vanguard vulnerable to it. That would be far too convenient. Still, whatever else, I feel sure that this device is somehow critical to preventing the vision we both saw from coming true. As for the hybrids, I hope that, perhaps, I can modify it sufficiently that it will destroy them. The problem is I have no real way to test it."

"So, you'll be needin' a Plan B, then, brother," another voice said from behind the commander and the prelate.

"Tosh, hey. Zeratul, you haven't met Tosh, have you?"

"We talked once. Sort of," Tosh said.

"When I delivered the ihan crystal, I noticed a very powerful psychic entity on your ship. As powerful as a Templar; too powerful, almost. I could hardly fail to make contact. But it was not so much a conversation as an exchange of emotion."

"Yeah, I weren't in good shape when he showed up, brother. We had just left Castanar, and that thing's scream weren't exactly conducive to my mental health. The prelate helped with that. He let me in, let me relieve the pressure, so to speak."

"And you are fortunate I did. At the rate his despair and panic were building, he would not have been able to contain them for much longer, and be forced to expel them. From one as powerful as he, it might well have destroyed your ship."

"You did seem a lot better after that. I just thought you were tough and sucked it up."

"Well, I'm flattered, brother, but if it hadn't been for the prelate, we would have been in a lot of trouble."

"Okay, I'm impressed. What did you say, big man?"

"I told him not to be afraid. That they could be defeated. That I had a plan."

"Not in so many words. But that was definitely the impression I got. My nana woulda called it irie, what he gave me. Speaking of which, to defeat the hybrids, you will need a Plan B, prelate."

Zeratul inclined his massive head in concession, saying "Ideas?"

Tosh plucked a short, fat black cylinder from his belt. "This."

"And that is?" Raynor asked

"A variable yield fusion device," Zeratul said. "Crude, but potentially very effective."

"Yield between one and 260 gigatons, dependin' the kinda crater you feel like excavatin.' I got three, including this one; rainy days and all. Get all the hybrids close together, say on the same continent, we can use these as a fail-safe, brother."

"Yeah, along with half of whatever planet you happen to be standing on," Raynor said, staring unblinkingly at the horrendous thing, inching slowly away. "Maybe you should put it away. There's a good reason they're illegal, you know."

"Don't tell me you gettin' hung up on the law, brother. And if it decides to go off, not even the Lion o' Judah gonna save us. So why worry?"

"If you want to come along, I could certainly use someone of your talents, Gabriel Tosh."

"If Mr. Raynor can spare me."

"Hate to lose you, but Zeratul's job is actually even more important than mine. Go. Take care."

"You too. And take care of that girl o' yours, brother."

"I will. We're going to need her."

"Not what I meant."

"I know. Thanks. Now get the hell out of here. I'd rather not be on the same planet as one of those nukes."

"Irie."

"This could be going faster, Doctor!" The tall, bearded man shouted, spinning dramatically on his heel, causing his long coat to flair out.

"I am going as fast as is safe. Any faster, and the combat life-forms will not be stable. If they are not stable, they will quickly devolve into several hundred tons of protoplasm, and I doubt you have a big enough mop for that. So please, Emperor, allow me to finish my work, and you will have your weapon, when they are done," the white-bearded man said in his curious accent.

"Have you looked outside, Doctor? There are millions of ravenous monsters skittering all over my beloved homeworld. It cannot continue. I need this weapon."

"I know. And as for looking outside, two miles of ice is still opaque."

"Be careful, Doctor-"

"Careful? Why should I be? You need me. As you might say, Emperor, in this relationship, mine is the whip hand."

"Do not overestimate yourself, Doctor. Everyone is expendable. Yes, your understanding of these hybrids and the means to create them is impressive. And if I did remove you, it would slow this project. But you are not irreplaceable. My scientists assure me they can create the hybrids independent of your direction. Not as efficiently, surely, but they can do it. If you become more trouble than you're worth, I will remove you," he said, glancing at one of his firebat bodyguards, who ignited the pilot light on one of his massive hydrogen-plasma jets meaningfully.

Emil Narud laughed softly, "I believe you."

"Good. Now, allow me to apologize for interrupting your important work. Good day, Doctor," Mengsk said, turning to go, trailed by the firebat and two marines.

"Moron," Narud said to Mengsk's back. If Mengsk heard him, he gave no sign. Then, Narud felt a strange, but calming sensation on the back of his neck. He let out a huge sigh, preparing himself to receive new instructions from his master. "Good, he suspects nothing. We must continue to allow him to think we serve him, for the near future."

"Will we use the vanguard to defeat the Zerg on this planet?" Narud asked, mentally, of the Fallen One.

"If necessary. We will likely need to eliminate the current Zerg factions in any case, and continuing to play along allow us to keep up our masquerade until we have built a truly overwhelming force."

"What if he kills me?"

"Then the vanguard will be completed more slowly. It is of little consequence. We have all of eternity."

"When we will there be enough of the hybrids to begin the Great Cleansing?"

"Very soon, my son. Very, very soon. And this time, we will not make the same mistakes."

"How many locations are left on the list?"

"Just three. They are definitely the most heavily fortified."

"Which is why we need Reese's killer."

"I am still skeptical."

"You seen him in action, brother. We gonna need his help."

"Fine. You said you would 'think of something.' What do you have?"

"I was just gonna walk up to him and put his guys to sleep so we can have a talk."

"Very sophisticated."

"Ain't exactly a subtle man, as you've seen."

"Which is part of why I am skeptical. We will not be assaulting these locations, friend Tosh."

"Edward Reese was the best shooter I ever seen, and I seen a lot. His voodoo, mediocre. But, good God, that man could shoot. And this guy? He killed him, a completely ordinary marine. No Ghost, no Spectre. Outshot and outstalked. We gonna need him."

"What if this Marine was simply lucky?"

"Especially then. We gonna need as much luck as we can get, especially with this Fallen One wantin' to eat our souls. And I thought we were planning to nuke the last three, just in case. Couple billion tons o' TNT ain't subtle neither, brother."

Zeratul gave one of unnerving his psychic chuckles, and said, "I suppose not. I have to admit, there is a simple joy in ludicrously powerful explosives that I can never recall experiencing before. The Firstborn have not employed fusion for many millennia. I begin to realize that we have been, as you say, missing out."

"They never build 'em like they used to."

"Ozzy, need you to take your section to clear out the first three floors of building, uh, E-12," Baird said, momentarily scrutinizing the tactical map on his HUD, which showed the 1st Marine Division and the 7th Armored division approaching each other, agonizingly slowly.

"Just us?"

"Can't spare anything else, sorry. This counterattack is probably already fucked, and pretty soon that building's going to be close to an exposed flank. Thus, the need to clear at least some of it," he said, glancing back at the map, showing three more pods of mutas and four broodlords moving into to reinforce the Zerg front against which the Marines pushed.

"Roger that," Ozzy said, cycling his comms to his section, "Guys, got some homework from teacher."

"As long as it's not math," O'Neill said.

"Physical education, actually. Report to my position, all of you."

A minute later, the four Marines were moving in on the building, a former high rise that had lost its top ninety or so floors, which lay across the street about a third of the 1st Marines advanced down, supporting the main push down Imperial Boulevard, supported by other high-rises on the east side of Imperial. Similar groups of Marines, though generally larger, moved to clear buildings that were substantially more intact. "Hey, Ozzy, is the captain losing it? Because that building is way too big for us to clear," Hauser commed, scanning windows with his dot sight.

"Only clearing the first three floors. But I was thinking the same thing."

"Yeah, this is bullshit, Sarge," Grimm added, covering the other three marines as they rushed out from behind a Diamondback corpse, to take up positions against their target building's façade.

"Cap said he didn't have anyone else."

"Which is why he shouldn't have sent anyone. Let Nomad or Joker handle it. They just got replacements. And look at those peckerwoods," O'Neill said, indicating the marines to their immediate north and south. "They're doing the same job with platoons. We're one fire team. Seriously: what the fuck? This ain't like the cap."

"Ever considered that we're the best?" Ozzy said, raising his rifle to cover Grimm's sprint to the façade.

"Well, of course," O'Neill replied.

"But that doesn't mean we're the same as a damned platoon," Hauser chimed in, tossing a frag grenade through the shattered glass of the huge front doors, appending, "Frag out!" causing the other marines to crouch against the building's nanocrete foot.

"Cover me," Ozzy said, advancing quickly into the lobby, taking cover behind the main desk. He swept the other doors leading into the lobby as Hauser and O'Neill followed him, covered from both directions by Ozzy and Grimm from the door. A moment later, Grimm joined them at the desk. "Teams of two; clear this floor. Grimm, you're with me."

"Aye."

A minute later, the floor was declared clear, no live contacts. "Who made all these Zerg corpses?" Ozzy asked rhetorically, turning a dead zergling over with his boot. It had been given a double tap, one in each of its shoulders, destroying both of its attacking arms, and finished with a quick, efficient thrust from a combat knife, severing the brain stem.

"Whoever it was, he knew what he was doing. Gotta know exactly where the stem is to cut it with a thrust. Most times you've gotta slash," Grimm said, probing the wound with his own knife.

"Risking deflection," Hauser said, his rifle trained on the staircase at the back of the lobby.

"Whoever it was, think he's still around?" Grimm asked

"If he were, would that be good for us or bad?" O'Neill commed from the front of the lobby, where he covered the street outside.

"If he is, he hasn't killed us yet, so, tentatively, good," Ozzy replied. "Which really leaves only one thing for us: go further down the rabbit hole."

"Or up, as the case may be," Hauser said, gesturing at the stairs with his gun.

"Up it is."

In one corner of the second floor, Gabriel Tosh crouched, mentally preparing himself to neutralize three marines. He took several deep breaths, and 'warmed up' his 'voodoo' by lifting chunks of masonry and broken glass off the floor, until a cloud of debris floated all around him. Hearing the four Marines nearing the top of the stairs, he let the debris fall gently to the ground. He quickly and silently rolled the several meters to the staircase, taking cover just out of sight. As the Marines reached the landing, but before they could fan out to secure the floor, Tosh leapt out, forcing his psychic will into the minds of three of the Marines, commanding them to sleep. They slumped to the floor, causing the lead Marine to snap around, his gun trained on Tosh's forehead. He pulled the trigger, eliciting only a dry click. Not hesitating, he dropped the rifle and pulled out his shotgun, attempting to fire again, and getting only another dry click, sending him to his knife, which Tosh ripped from his hand with telekinetic force. "Sorry about that, brother, but we need to talk," he said.

Ozzy didn't respond, charging at Tosh, fists raised. Tosh dodged the attack, saying, "Come now, brother. Let's be civilized."

"Did you kill my men?!" Ozzy shouted, raising his visor, and charging again, which Tosh deflected with a telekinetic blow.

"They fine. Just sleeping. Like I say, we need to talk."

"You're a Spectre," Ozzy said, finally relenting in his attempts to kill the other man. "I can smell that terrazine shit on you. I hate Spectres."

"I know that you do, brother. You killed a friend o' mine, back in the uprising. The man you got that souped-up rifle from. Edward Reese."

"I remember him. He was good. Really good. Better than me."

"Evidently not, brother. He dead, you alive."

"I got lucky."

"Don't underestimate yourself. I seen you and yours fight, Oswald Barnes."

"Let's cut to the chase: what the hell do you want, and why weren't my weapons working?"

Tosh gave Ozzy a little telekinetic push, saying, "I switched on the safeties. As for what I want, well, I need your help."

"And why would I help you?"

"I'm here on a mission, brother. Important. Maybe more important than anything else. I can't fail, ain't an option. I need all the help I can get."

"Why my help?"

With a shrug, the dreadlocked warrior said, "You killed Reese. He was the best I ever seen. You? Better."

"Flattering as that is, forget it. You want me to leave my men in the middle of this shitpile? No fucking way."

"Thought you would say that. Fair enough. Let me lay it out for you: the glorious emperor's building a weapon, one that he's got no way of controlling. Mengsk thinks he's going to use it to wipe out the Zerg on Korhal. And from a certain perspective, he's right. The Zerg will die. But it'll also kill everything else on this planet. Mengsk is a dupe, a stooge for something even worse. This weapon's part o' that thing's vanguard. You want to do right by your men, you help me."

"That's the best you've got? Vague evils and doomsday devices?"

"Not exactly a doomsday device, brother. More like doomsday creatures. Massive Zerg-Protoss hybrids, stronger, faster, tougher, deadlier than anything you ever seen before. You and yours is no match for 'em. Zerg's no match, neither. Even the Protoss got no chance. They get out, they kill everything on the planet, the sector, the galaxy. You can help me nip that shit in the bud, brother."

"Again, is that it?"

"Ain't even started yet, brother," Tosh said, forcing his way into Ozzy's mind. "You want proof?" Tosh asked, inside Ozzy's head. "Here it is," he said, showing Ozzy his memories of Castanar, the hybrid's scream, his panic, Zeratul's visit, the ihan crystal, Zhakul, the Overmind's vision, the Fallen One, and the end of the universe.

"Good enough?" Tosh asked, withdrawing from Ozzy's mind, causing him slump to the ground, gibbering slightly. "That? That's what we up against. That's what we gotta stop. A motherfucking god. You want to keep your men safe? Then you will. Help. Me."

On the ground, Ozzy threw up, and tried, unsuccessfully, at length, to push himself up, out of the puddle. "You see now?" Tosh asked, extending his hand to help the other man up. Ozzy grasped Tosh's arm, tiny compared to his bulky, power-armored hand. "I do," Ozzy gasped. "Fuck me, but I do."

"Then we have work to do, brother."