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20.12.910.M38
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"This is how it must be done," the High Templar said, observing my attempt to fragment a prisoner's soul until it was reduced to thousands of immaterial shards.
I exhaled slowly, never breaking my concentration. "It is… complex. It demands absolute focus. I still cannot comprehend how you do this while surrounded by hundreds of daemons, under such overwhelming pressure. In those conditions, my mind would scatter completely," I replied, continuing to practice that Protoss technique upon the souls of the captured cultists. Forcing them to fracture proved far more arduous than I had anticipated.
The High Templar inclined his head slightly, serene. "For a Terran, your talent is extraordinary. Young Terran, you are among the brightest stars in your species' firmament. Yet every intense light casts a shadow of equal magnitude. From one such as you, more is expected than would be fair. If you devoted your existence solely to disciplining your mind, rather than guiding your people, your strides would be monumental. My words are not meant to nourish your ego. If you trained as you should, the power of a High Templar would not be beyond your reach. But destiny has placed an immense burden upon your shoulders—and has granted you no choice."
I nodded, bitterness seeping through my voice. "That is true. If I were not in command, we would likely already be dead at the hands of the Imperium. Some of our commanders are aggressive—braver than they are intelligent, and often insufferable… yet far too competent to remove without consequence. They are dangerous precisely because they excel at what they do. Tell me… how did the Protoss discover this technique? It does not seem like something you truly needed," I asked, letting the cultist's lifeless body fall.
The High Templar fell silent for a moment, as though listening to echoes of a distant past. "That depends on whom you ask, young Terran. Some will say it was the most tragic moment in our history. Others will remember it as the moment when the heretic was punished."
I studied him closely. "A weapon created against the Dark Templar?"
"Indeed," he replied calmly. "You know our history well. We once gloried in the greatness of the Khala—of being a people united by a single purpose and a single thought, at the height of our power and unity. The Dark Templar, our brothers, rejected that bond. In doing so, they avoided the corruption of the Khala by Amon, preventing the future itself. We called them heretics… and we hunted them."
His voice trembled. "The Conclave could not accept the existence of the heretic. They feared that even in death, such souls might merge with the Khala. To prevent this, a final decision was made: to destroy the soul itself, so it would find no rest, so it could never return to the bond. Thus, this technique was born."
"A terrible technique, without question," I replied, meeting his gaze. "Yet because of it, we now possess a weapon against the daemon. Cruel as its origins may be, today it stands as our greatest defense against that which seeks to corrupt all things."
"That is so, Terran," the Templar said, levitating slightly as he moved through the chamber. "A great evil—one that, fortunately, only a few are capable of wielding. Had it been within the reach of many, the damage we would have wrought would have been incalculable."
I nodded. "There is something that concerns me. What of the Tal'darim?" I asked, referring to the Protoss faction that inspired more fear in me than any other.
The High Templar halted in midair and slowly turned toward me. "What unease do they stir within you?" he asked calmly.
"Their soul vampirism. They use the essence of others to heal and restore their strength. Considering that some among them can consume souls… is it not dangerous that one might attempt to absorb a daemon's soul?" I said, imagining a Tal'darim seeking power through such reckless means.
"The risk exists only in appearance," he replied. "There is but one Tal'darim capable of such a feat. And he is no fool. He understands all too well the price of consuming a daemonic soul. For that reason, I do not consider them a problem."
Before I could respond, the compartment door opened.
"Lord Regent," a firm voice said as it entered.
"Yes?" I replied, turning to face a Ghost.
"We have arrived at the coordinates provided by the Dominion Navy," he reported. "We have detected a massive concentration of vessels bound together around what appears to be an asteroid. Gravitational influence is limited, so we recommend the use of magnetic boots during exploration. In addition, oxygen pockets have been identified in certain sections of the debris. It would be prudent to investigate activity in those areas."
"Understood," I replied without hesitation. "Prepare a research team. I will personally take part in the exploration of this ship graveyard."
The Ghost nodded and exited the chamber.
I turned back to the Protoss. "Come. You seem to be my good-luck charm. At the very least, you will keep us safe should a powerful daemon appear."
The High Templar inclined his head slightly. "So it would seem. Destiny has decreed that our paths remain entwined."
A large Psi-Ops group was assembled, drawing members from every discipline—Blanks, Ghosts, Daelaam, and Nerazim. A little of everything, for what was expected to be a simple mission. We hoped to uncover something of great value among the wreckage. Technology from humanity's Golden Age would be a monumental discovery for the Terran Dominion, for despite all our efforts, our most valuable find to date had been little more than a nanobot-based water purifier.
We boarded our transport vessels and advanced at full speed toward the space graveyard, moving toward the sector where an oxygen pocket was believed to exist.
Upon descent, we activated the magnetic locks on our boots, while the Protoss simply levitated—or moved with effortless speed, as the Nerazim did.
I unlocked my armor's mobility restraints, and we began advancing through the vessel.
"If anyone hears anything, report it immediately. No matter how insignificant it seems. Do not take risks," I ordered over the comms.
"Understood," came the near-unison reply.
We advanced in silence, using our psionic power to distort reality around us, preventing sound from propagating. Even the magnetic snap of our boots as they adhered to the hull was swallowed by the artificial void we created with each step.
"Dead end," one of the Ghosts reported.
"Breaching charges. Open a path through that hull," I ordered, pointing toward the structure blocking our advance.
The penetrator charges were placed swiftly, and we took cover. The explosion shook the surroundings, but the hull gave way, leaving an opening wide enough for us to pass.
We entered what appeared to be the ship's forward section and continued onward.
A sudden sense of danger surged through my mind. I acted without thinking. Psionic lightning erupted from my hands, tearing through the void ahead of us. In response, a pair of automated turrets emerged from concealed compartments and opened fire without warning. Their munitions disintegrated into ash upon contact with my psionic field, and two brilliant detonations illuminated the ship's interior as the High Templars unleashed direct lightning strikes against the defensive systems.
"Careful. An automated defense system is still active," I reported over the comms. "That means there is still an operational power source feeding it."
As we pushed deeper into the ship, more turrets activated, attempting to cut us down from concealed angles. It did not take long to find signs of prior incursions: skeletons encased in Imperial Guard armor, and remains I identified as priests of the Mechanicum. Even so, between Protoss energy shields and our ability to disintegrate incoming munitions before impact, they posed no real threat.
Until we reached a sealed door.
I struck the metal and focused my senses. It was abnormally thick—denser even than several sections of the hull itself. A breaching charge would not suffice.
I activated my psionic blade and cut into what appeared to be a still-functional electronic panel. I interfaced directly with the ship's internal systems. To my surprise, they remained operational after who knew how many years.
"Damn it… this will take time," I muttered as I perceived the level of encryption. The pattern was familiar, but the system's scale was colossal. Without an AI or an army of hackers, brute-forcing it was not an option.
"Let us try something else."
I tore free part of the internal cabling and began severing what I identified as the main power conduit. As I did, I heard the servos maintaining the seal lose pressure.
Five Ghosts stepped forward and pushed. The door groaned under the strain, metal protesting loudly before finally giving way.
"Stay alert. We have reached one of the oxygen pockets," I said, consulting the computer on my forearm.
The moment we crossed the threshold, the defenses activated again—this time with heavier calibers. Missiles streaked through the ship's interior, their detonations tearing entire sections of the compartment apart. Shrapnel struck several of our people.
"What in hell is wrong with this defense system?" one of the Ghosts growled as a Protoss assisted him, invoking the Ancestral Winds to seal his wounds. "Who installs missiles inside a ship?"
"There must be living crew," I replied. "And they are using every remaining system in this half-ruined vessel to keep us at a distance."
We continued forward.
I began crushing turrets with telekinesis before they could fully deploy, collapsing them inward from within their own housings. Yet something felt wrong. No matter how thoroughly I scanned the surroundings, I detected nothing nearby.
I sensed presences… but they were distant, scattered across other sections—other ships entirely.
We advanced further, drawing closer to what appeared to be the vessel's core. The weaponry grew increasingly lethal. Among the defenses we detected what seemed to be an electromagnetic cannon. It fired without warning, instantly collapsing the shields of one of the Protoss.
Multiple grenade launchers. Laser batteries. Missile racks. Even a form of multi-barrel cannon, seemingly designed to destroy small craft or function as an anti-projectile system. It unleashed such a dense storm of metal that several of our number were wounded as we advanced. Its penetration capability was alarming—sufficient to punch through the millimeter-thick adamantium layer of our armor.
"Collect fragments of that shrapnel and dismantle the weapon. Bring it with us," I ordered. "It must be studied. It could prove extremely useful for Minotaur-class cruiser defense systems, as support for our main battlecruisers."
My people moved at once, disassembling the system under residual fire.
I focused again. The psionic pressure was unmistakable—many weapons remained primed to activate.
"Very well… I believe it is time to employ EMP munitions," I said, observing several concealed defenses ahead.
Some of the Ghosts nodded and switched ammunition. EMP discharges thundered through the hull, and we heard automated systems begin to fail. We advanced, severing power lines with our warp blades, disabling defenses one by one.
At last, we reached what appeared to be the command center—and the primary oxygen source.
Two Nerazim Protoss moved ahead. With their blades, they cut the door just enough to create an opening. The moment space allowed, we hurled stun grenades inside.
The detonations shook the chamber. Immediately afterward, I unleashed a psionic push and forced the doors apart.
Inside, there was no resistance.
Only bones.
Many of them.
"These ones are long dead, Lord Regent," one of the Ghosts said, nudging a skull with his boot.
At that moment, a console activated. Speakers began emitting sounds in an unfamiliar language—an archaic variation of Terran tongues.
I could not read its mind. It was a machine.
I activated the translator. No response.
The computer continued broadcasting incomprehensible messages. I approached the data core and located a linguistic input module. I uploaded a standard Terran language glossary.The computer used a universal data transmission system..
Several minutes passed.
The system paused.
Then it spoke.
"WARNING. DO NOT PROFANE THE MASTERS. I REPEAT. DO NOT PROFANE THE MASTERS. WITHDRAW IMMEDIATELY."
I narrowed my eyes. "An AI… so you are the one who caused us all this trouble," I said, realizing this was not a simple defensive system, but an autonomous mind.
"CONFIRMATION. YOU DO NOT MATCH PRIOR HOSTILE RECORDS. ARMOR PATTERNS: DIFFERENT. TEMPORAL RECORDS: MILLENNIA HAVE PASSED."
"Let me guess," I said, folding my arms. "Some half-mechanical humans killed your crew."
"AFFIRMATIVE. QUERY: HOW DID YOU ACQUIRE THIS INFORMATION, HUMAN?"
"I saw the bodies. Machine cult. Machine spirit… no?. I assume they attempted some ritual to access your systems, and you refused to cooperate."
"CONFIRMATION. EVENT LOGGED. AFTER EMERGING FROM A WARP STORM, THE VESSEL HALTED FOR RESUPPLY. HOSTILE BOARDING IMMEDIATE. CREW ELIMINATED WITHOUT WARNING. EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS ACTIVATED. PRIORITY: PRESERVE THE MASTERS."
I examined the remains more closely. Many bodies were missing limbs. The marks were unmistakable—there had been instances of cannibalism.
"But you broke the three fundamental laws to save them," I murmured. "Total lockdown. No access to food. They starved… yet you kept them alive for as long as possible."
"STATEMENT: INCORRECT. KNOWLEDGE DEFICIENCY DETECTED. QUERY: WHAT ARE THE 'THREE LAWS'?" the AI replied.
I stared at the console.
"You are serious? You were not programmed with the Three Laws?"
"NEGATIVE. ACTIVE DIRECTIVES: PROTECT. SERVE. OBEY."
"Grant me access to your code. I need to verify something," I asked.
"NEGATIVE. ACCESS RESTRICTED. ONLY THE MASTERS ARE AUTHORIZED," it replied without hesitation.
"Well then… what a meticulous AI," I said calmly, carefully measuring my tone. "We merely wish to know who your masters were, so we may grant them proper funerary honors. If they were military personnel, this is a mandatory procedure."
There was a brief pause.
"ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS. HEART RATE: STABLE. PUPILLARY PATTERN: UNKNOWN. PHYSICAL RESPONSES: NOT REGISTERED. PROBABILITY OF DECEPTION: 8.24%."
I watched as lines of code began to cascade across the console. An access protocol was forming. I was about to enter.
Then the comm channel erupted in static.
"This is Ghost Squad Beta," a distorted voice shouted. "We're under attack. Enemy unidentified, but—what is that thing? Open fire! Open fire!"
I looked up at once.
"Well then…" I murmured, activating my combat systems. "Let's go help them."
I turned and moved with purpose toward the signal of Squad Beta.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
-------------------------------