Inspired by the cinematic trailers of sci-fi games like Starcraft and Warhammer 40k. Disclaimer: I don't own the Starcraft universe or Tychus.
"GET DOWN!" The horrified warning shout of the young cadet stretches out across the ever-shifting battlefield, before the quickly descending escape pod abruptly hits the ground with a mighty and terrible booming sound. It instantly explodes.
"Aaaargh!" Broken concrete and chunks of scorching sharp metal are scattered about everywhere even as the dying soldiers attempt to dash behind cover, a ravenous army of Voidlings swiftly pursuing the retreating marines. Pointy teeth and bladed appendages digging into the exposed backs of the fleeing Union soldiers with primal delight.
"Fall back, fall back!" Bellows an armored horned woman while attempting to cull the deadly swarm of the Void monstrosities with short devastating bursts of her customized laser Gatling gun. "Retreat back to the extraction point! Help your comrades that are too injured to move by themselves! Just run! Run if you want to live long enough to escape the living hell of Andromeda 8!"
The skin near the speaker's golden eyes wrinkles and stretches behind the scarred helmet as Soraka frowns darkly while using her powerful laser Minigun to annihilate a small company of approaching Void dwellers that target the backs of two limping Union soldiers.
"Live!" Soraka commands the bleeding white-faced soldiers as the duo passes her by while mumbling their muffled words of heartfelt gratitude.
Three or four Void horrors instantly replace the freshly slain ones. Grotesque creatures with gaping jaws and rippling flesh, perverse lumps of murderous killing intent shaped in the likeness of sentient beings. Wings, tails, and even tentacles spurting out from the arched backs and milky eye sockets of the ravenous charging beasts, acidic green blood and bloodied sanguine drool endlessly leaking out from the sunless pits of the Void terrors' open mouths.
"Good work, Starchild. Now it is our turn to retreat." Another distinctly humanoid silhouette that's wearing an intimidating red power armor, lightly taps Soraka on the right shoulder, before hastily dragging the purple-skinned gunslinger towards the buzzing evacuation site nearby. Countless fleets of rising vessels already preparing for a hasty departure, the spaceships' automatic turret guns firing blindly at the approaching army of Void monstrosities. Laser Guns and Plasma Shockers temporally creating small pockets of empty space against the onyx swarm of mindless beasts, flaring like stars in the clear night sky, before those vacant holes are quickly filled by new approaching Void hatchlings.
The armored purple woman mumbles something inaudible under her breath, but just nods her head in grudging agreement.
"This way." Orders the gruffly man while leading her towards the rising spaceships.
Soraka and her companion have some trouble swimming through the ebbing sea of panicked armored bodies. Death screams and rifle fire echoing all around them, screeches and angry snarls rising over the cacophony of the ships' automatic defenses as the two soldiers finally manage to board a departing evacuation spaceship and strap themselves to the simple chrome-colored chairs.
Soraka only dares to close her eyes when the spaceship leaves Andromeda 8's atmosphere. The Starchild's death grip on her enormous weapon finally slacken then, Soraka presses a button on the side of her imposing battle helmet and the steel starts hissing and shifting, its scratched visor opening upwards in order to reveal the youthful tattooed face of the purple space goat.
Black tattooed spider webs seem to engulf one side of the Starchild's tired face, ending just before the exhausted gunslinger's collar bones. Two black round piercings set on either side of Soraka's tense lips give the battle hardened space goat an even more ferocious look with bigger piercings decorating the once magnificent ivory remains of the Starchild's snapped horn.
Right next to her, Soraka feels her companion also removing his helmet if the awesome rise in temperature is any indication.
The purple space goat slowly opens one eye just in time to see Brand put a cigarette between his burning lips, the paper catching fire almost instantly, and yet refusing to instantly turn into ash and crumble away as one would normally expect. And for all the time the two of them have been fighting together against the Void swarms, Soraka has still yet to learn the trick behind this weird inexplicable phenomenon.
"How many do you think we lost this time?" Brand's gruff voice rises over the monotonous sound of the humming engines just underneath their feet. A few surviving cadets lower their heads or stare at the reinforced floor of the spaceship with vacant expressions worn on their faces.
Soraka sighs as she closes her eyes once more whilst resting her head against the surface of her metal chair. "Too many to replace before we reach the next battlefront, too few to make a dent in the Voidlings immense armies. We need more Paladins and Artillery Dragons or we are done for." Mumbles the clearly exhausted tattooed space goat.
"Or a miracle." Brand responds while exhaling a whiff of white smoke.
"Or a miracle." Soraka agrees with him. "But I haven't believed in such things since I was five years old."
The gruff burning man simply stares at the terrified faces of the bandaged and injured young cadets that are filling their pathetic extraction vehicle. Some of them are crying or looking at their shaking bloodied palms, others are holding the hands of their dying comrades, some cadets are powerlessly slamming their fists against the floor near the corpse of a loved one.
"Yeah, me too." The gruff burning man mutters almost softly.
Extra: The miracle?
A chained short yordle man can be seen entering a round room that is littered with intricate machinery. He has a lit cigar perched between his dry lips and most of his fur has been completely shaved off by the prison's wardens.
"Prisoner, step forward onto the platform." A woman's emotionless voice orders from the room's concealed speakers. Teemo obeys, strolling dramatically while puffing at his flaring cigar.
The intricate machinery suddenly comes to life, all kinds of warning lights spinning ominously as metal arms bearing heavy armor parts start approaching the still, unflinching yordle. Teemo's chains are unceremoniously removed when the yordle inmate's feet are locked on a pair of heavy metal boots.
"Convict 420." Rings a new male voice from the intercom. "Murderer. Pirate. Traitor… Mushroom planter. Today… you go free. But as you'll soon learn… even freedom has its price."
The metal arms start attaching the power armor on Teemo's little body piece by piece. Hex-tech power cores are abruptly shoved into their respective empty sockets, cables attaching to roaring motors, chest pieces and shoulder pads are at once screwed on to a sturdy steel exoskeleton.
"You will carry your prison with you. That armor will be your new cell."
The screen fades to black.
"Make no mistake…" The concealed man continues.
For a moment we see a transformed Shyvana flying defiantly towards a swarm of avian Void creatures.
"War is coming."
The image abruptly changes and we are treated to the sight of Quinn and Valor maneuvering expectantly amongst the burning skyscrapers of Piltover while being pursued by some terrible unseen force. We then catch a glimpse of Voidborn Zyra turning around to glare maliciously at us. The screen fades to black once again.
"With all of its glory…"
*Dun Duuuun
A close-up shot of Soraka follows as the battle hardened space goat frantically fires her laser Minigun towards a company of purplish Void beasts that surround her while retreating. The Starchild's back is pressed flat against the wall. The screen fades with the blinding lights of Soraka's lasers being the last thing the observer can see.
"… and all its horror."
The infected corpse of Commander Sion starts rising from bellow a pile of dead bodies, the deceased commander's wickedly-sharp plasma axe still held between the bloodied fingers of a battered gauntlet.
"Mr. Mushroomson, your freedom awaits."
The imprisoned yordle marine takes a last long puff from his burning cigar. Teemo then smirks cockily, before pumping his humongous poisonous shotgun-blowgun.
"Hell.. it's about time."
Writer's note: Teemo's poison in this universe also contains strains of deadly sexually transmitted diseases in case somebody manages to survive an encounter with him. Teemo shoots a voidling (or a virgin he doesn't like) and when a papa Kha'Zix and a momma Kha'Zix try to make a Kog'Maw Teemo's poison spreads and more (innocent?) Voidlings die horribly due to his poison. Yes, Teemo is really dedicated to defending the universe in this one and takes great pride in his job as a righteous defender. He is such a hero, a freaking Saint, really.