Tens of thousands of drop pods poured from the belly of the fleet like a swarm of metallic wasps, carving dense trajectories across the void.
These steel coffins bore the insignias of each company etched into their surfaces—runic symbols of the Black Templars, the scales of the Salamanders, the bleeding heart and wings of the Weepers, and the serrated fangs of the Flesh Sharks.
Every drop pod's thrusters spewed blue flame, weaving a magnificent web of death against the dark backdrop of space.
The joint fleet of the four companies opened the silent overture for the airdrop with its barrage in the void.
The Emperor-class battleship's secondary batteries began firing with surgical precision. Those massive-caliber plasma and beam weapons, capable of leveling entire cities, now served like scalpels.
Several blinding blue flashes lit up the battlefield as the Tal'darim rift field generators scattered across the derelict were annihilated in spectacular explosions. The warped energy fields shattered like broken glass.
Then came the anti-air turret suppression—
The Salamanders' plasma macro-cannons swept across the surface in a carpet-bombing pattern, each shot erupting into a blue fireball hundreds of meters in diameter.
The Tal'darim fleet was in total disarray.
Those once-feared motherships of the Koprulu Sector now scattered like panicked fish.
Black Templar strike cruisers herded them like shepherd dogs, their various cannons forming metallic storms in the void.
Occasionally, a few Tal'darim warships attempted to rally a counterattack, only to be met by the Pilgrim-class battleship's matrix beam—
Where that white light passed, nothing remained but drifting plasma echoes.
The Tal'darim fleet might have ranked among the finest in the Koprulu Sector of the StarCraft universe, but against warships of the Forerunner civilization, strong enough to dominate the galaxy itself, they were utterly insignificant.
Meanwhile, the drop pods had reached the surface of the derelict.
Their braking thrusters ignited simultaneously, forming a glowing blue curtain in the final kilometer of descent.
The first to land were the Flesh Sharks' specialized drop pods. Fitted with drills, these metallic "coffins" punched directly through three decks of the derelict.
Tyberos's personal pod crashed down like a meteor, and the shockwave alone turned nearby Tal'darim warriors into pulp.
Next came the torrential landing of standard pods.
Tens of thousands of drop pods touched down with centimeter-level precision across the derelict's surface. The hatches exploded off upon contact, detached via explosive bolts.
These heavy metal doors spun into the vacuum, some even smashing into panicked Tal'darim warriors. From within emerged the Empire's most elite killing machines—
Over a thousand Astartes from all four companies, descending like gods of war from myth.
Their power armor glinted cold and metallic under the derelict's dim lighting. The muzzles of their bolt rifles were already spitting fire.
Black Templar squads advanced in wedge formations, each salvo accompanied by clearly enunciated prayers in Mandarin across the comms.
Salamander teams swept each corner with methodical precision, plasma weapons melting Tal'darim armor into molten iron.
The Weepers' squads darted through the ship's interior, the silent roar of their chainswords forming a visible symphony of death to the Tal'darim.
Twenty thousand Helljumpers followed closely behind.
Clad in power-assist suits and injected with Inquis serum, these "mortal" soldiers were among the most elite infantry in the Empire, second only to Astartes.
Their hard-light and gauss weapons, alongside mounted cannons and missile pods, dismantled Tal'darim defenses with surgical precision. Their crossfire turned any exposed enemy into shreds.
More terrifying still were the accompanying Knight mechs—twenty-meter-tall humanoid engines of war that moved with speed and coordination. Their rotary cannons cleared hallways with each spin.
Even more horrifying were the bio-weapons—thousands of Tyrants clad in heavy armor and wielding heavy cannons, serving as living shields.
Though they fell behind Astartes in intellect and reflexes, their physical resilience rivaled them. And in sheer brute strength, Tyrants surpassed ordinary Astartes by far.
The Tyrants' thick armor made them ideal moving cover for Helljumpers during assaults. If attacked by Tal'darim in close quarters, even a brief moment was enough for them to crush their attackers like eggshells.
Inside the derelict, the battle had become a one-sided slaughter.
Tal'darim warriors, empowered by psionics and advanced phase technology, were utterly helpless before the Astartes—especially elite squads from four veteran Legions.
A single Black Templar veteran could tear through Tal'darim energy armor with his bare hands.
A Salamander apothecary had even collected three Tal'darim heads as trophies, seemingly for Dr. Hanson's research team.
The Flesh Sharks turned the battle into a hunt.
Reports mentioned Tyberos operating alone in the derelict's power core. Sounds of collapsing structures and the psychic screams of dying warriors echoed constantly.
In just thirty minutes, the joint forces controlled 75% of the derelict.
The remaining Tal'darim were surrounded in a few core chambers, their psychic comms filled with desperate cries.
Tyberos's charge path etched a burning trail of death into the derelict's rusted decks.
His armor's servos roared at maximum output. Muscles flexed with terrifying power, propelling the four-meter-tall war machine to monstrous speed.
The breath vapor from his shark-tooth helmet's respirator condensed into diamond dust in the vacuum, forming a deadly halo of ice mist.
His chainsaw claws spun furiously, superalloy teeth and plasma fields sparking blue-white against Tal'darim shields.
Shields that could withstand cannon fire shattered like eggshells under the Flesh Sharks captain's brute force.
A Tal'darim zealot attempted a flank attack, his psionic blade crackling with deadly light.
Tyberos didn't even change direction—he casually swung his right claw, and the spinning blade carved through the warrior's chest like a hot knife through butter, reducing his upper half to a storm of metal and flesh.
The derelict's low-gravity made the massacre even more surreal.
Dismembered limbs floated slowly in corridors. Blood droplets formed suspended crimson beads.
Tyberos's power pack emitted a directional blast, allowing him to pivot at an unnatural angle, intercepting a Tal'darim Templar attempting to phase-blink.
The warrior's form had barely shimmered into existence when Tyberos's left claw struck the exact spot, impaling the Templar through the chest with spinning teeth.
"Heh…"
He sneered, gripping the claw tighter, ripping the high-ranking warrior in two like a rag doll.
The walls bore deep claw marks, overhead pipes looked gnawed by beasts. Six Tal'darim formed a last defensive line, psionic spears forming a dense energy grid.
Tyberos simply ducked his head and slammed into the barrier with the reinforced forehead of his shark-helm.
One warrior's skull exploded like a watermelon; another's chest was ripped open by a claw.
The remaining four were cleaved in half with a single sweep—lower bodies still running, upper halves crashing into walls.
In the monitoring room at the corridor's end, a surviving Tal'darim commander watched in horror through surveillance feeds.
This battle-hardened officer trembled uncontrollably, psychic screams from subordinates flooding the comms.
As he reached for the self-destruct—
BOOM—!!
A deafening impact warped the alloy wall inward.
BOOM——!!
A second blow shattered the wall entirely. Tyberos stepped through the rubble, his towering figure cloaked in debris.
The commander's final memory: crimson visors slicing through darkness, followed by a spinning claw of death.
Meanwhile, Gaozan and Phoros ignored the mop-up and led their squads toward the pyramid structures shrouded in eerie green energy fields.
These buildings pulsed with strange psychic resonance, covered in ancient Protoss runes.
Gaozan stopped before one and scanned the barrier with his visor, seeking a weakness.
Suddenly, a cold, sharp consciousness stabbed into his mind—
"Ah… human warriors from another universe…"
The voice was deep and ancient, filled with loneliness.
"If you release us, we will fight by your side—against those blindly loyal Tal'darim."
Mental communication?
Gaozan's nerves instantly tensed. But his helmet HUD quickly pulled up intel from Intelligence Command—
"Dark Templar".
The beings imprisoned here were Protoss who had rejected the Khala—the psionic network binding their race—and were exiled for a thousand years.
Abandoning advanced society and embracing pure void energy, they became assassins of shadow. Now, some had been imprisoned here by the Tal'darim, likely as experiments or prisoners.
Gaozan didn't respond directly, but sent an encrypted message to Phoros:
"These Dark Templar could be temporary allies."
Phoros gave a slight nod. His icy-blue eyes flickered with thought beneath his helm, then he gracefully raised his hand, signaling the Weepers to stay alert while replying:
"Then release them. It may break the Tal'darim faster—and provide us with live Protoss specimens."
Gaozan didn't hesitate. He signaled his squad: "Disable the barrier."
Ten guards stepped forward, raising 1.0cal heavy bolt rifles mounted to their forearms, and opened fire on the generator.
In seconds, the barrage of silent bolt rounds and shrieking electronics shattered the barrier like glass.
The pyramid's gate creaked open. Darkness spilled forth—not shadow, but pure void energy.
Then, pairs of ghostly blue eyes lit up within—the imprisoned Dark Templar were free.
Liberated, they unleashed terrifying combat prowess.
Their spectral forms flickered through the corridors, neural cords dancing like living things behind their heads as they scattered and charged.
The lead Templar raised dual psi-scythes. Space warped around the blades. A dozen Tal'darim guards barely had time to react before they were cleanly sliced into chunks.
The tide had long turned.
More transports delivered heavy units and support troops to the derelict. Carrier-based fighters and bombers, now freed up, began coordinating with ground forces to eliminate all resistance.
But the Tal'darim feared the Dark Templar most—
They passed through walls as phantoms, emerged from shadows, and every appearance brought psionic death screams.
In the derelict's core chamber, Sigismund wielded a power greatsword, scripture etched on the blade glowed golden in the dark.
Five Black Templar Terminators followed him, bolt rifles loaded with anti-armor rounds.
BOOM—!!
A heat-charge blast blew open the door. The last few Ascended Tal'darim made a final stand, preparing a mass psionic blast.
Sigismund surged forward. His blade arced perfectly, cleaving two foes in half.
The others were shredded by precision Black Templar firepower.
At the chamber's center, a Xel'naga artifact fragment glowed with eerie blue light.
Sigismund stepped forward calmly, ignored the psionic waves, and struck the shield with his sword. As he grasped the artifact with his armored left hand, the entire ship trembled.
Then all was still. Moments later, his steady voice echoed through comms:
"Objective secured."
As the last Tal'darim were purged, the orbital fleet began final cleanup.
Soon, all personnel—including hundreds of released Dark Templar—were recovered and transferred to the fleet.
Ri~—SHHH—!!!
The Nerva's main batteries lit with blinding white light. A purification beam vaporized the derelict completely.
On the bridge, Athena stood in her golden armor, its surface reflecting the explosion's firelight. She nodded slightly and said to the comms officer behind her:
"Phase One complete. Now, notify the little prince to proceed to Char and await our arrival."
(End of Chapter)
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