Will's warning carried absolute authority, and Tychus understood with crystal clarity—if he kept touching things he shouldn't, he'd be killed. No second chances, no further warnings.
The power that General Zod and his people had displayed during the mission wasn't something his marine armor could withstand. Not even close. Those heat vision beams would cut through his suit like tissue paper.
But Tychus had his own reasons for doing what he did, reasons that went beyond curiosity or stupidity. His armor wasn't just equipment—it was his prison. And the only way to escape that prison was to follow the instructions being fed to him through hidden channels, to gather intelligence for the man who held his leash.
His hand stopped mid-reach, frozen in the air.
Far away on Korhal, in the heart of the Terran Dominion's capital, Arcturus Mengsk frowned as audio from Tychus's armor feed cut through the silence of his office. The Emperor of the Dominion listened to the exchange with growing concern.
These strange individuals were far more dangerous than Jim Raynor and his raiders. Raynor was a known quantity—a rebel, yes, but a predictable one. A man with clear motivations and limited resources.
But these newcomers? They represented an unknown factor of tremendous magnitude. Their technology, their abilities, their origins—all of it was shrouded in mystery. And mysteries could destroy empires.
If Mengsk couldn't gather proper intelligence on these people, if he couldn't understand their capabilities and objectives, his carefully built empire would be at risk. The Dominion could be overthrown just as he'd overthrown the Confederacy before it.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
Mengsk didn't speak into the communication channel. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes narrowed in thought. Planning. Calculating. That was what emperors did.
"Oh, I almost forgot something!"
Marcus's voice echoed through the corridor as he emerged from deeper within the Dark Star. The extraction process for the Xel'Naga artifact fragment would take time—he'd set that aside for later, when he could focus properly on drawing out the energy essence without interruption.
Right now, there was a more immediate matter to address. While he didn't plan to stay in this universe indefinitely, he certainly didn't mind taking a little detour to witness Amon's hybrid experiments with Jim's group. The twisted creations born from Zerg and Protoss DNA would be fascinating to observe.
"Will," Marcus called out casually, "have a nice chat with our friend on the other end of that communication link."
Before anyone could ask what he meant, several mechanical arms shot out from hidden panels in the corridor walls. The arms moved with frightening speed and precision, clamping onto Tychus and locking him in place.
For a split second, everyone tensed—Jim's hand went to his sidearm, Matt took a step back, and several marines reached for weapons they'd been asked to leave secured.
But then they saw what the mechanical arms were actually doing.
They weren't attacking Tychus. They were dismantling his armor. Piece by piece, with surgical precision, the arms began tearing the power armor apart.
"No! Stop! You can't remove the armor!" Tychus's voice rose to a panicked shout, genuine terror flooding through him. "You don't understand—you CAN'T take it off!"
The power armor wasn't just a cage that restricted his movements. Mengsk wasn't stupid—he wouldn't have relied on something as simple as welding or mechanical locks. If it were that straightforward, Tychus would have found a way to remove it years ago. He was nothing if not resourceful.
No, this armor was specially engineered for one purpose: total control.
The suit was integrated directly into his body through neural interfaces and subdermal connections. But more than that, it was filled with fail-safes designed to prevent exactly what was happening now.
The most immediate threat was the electrical system. The armor's power source could release lethal voltage directly into his body on command. If Mengsk wanted, Tychus could be electrocuted into charred meat in seconds.
And then there was the explosive device implanted in his chest plate—a shaped charge powerful enough to turn him into a human bomb. One signal from Mengsk, and Tychus would detonate along with his armor, taking out everyone nearby.
"Relax," Marcus said calmly, watching the dismantling process with mild interest. "Will knows what it's doing. You'll be fine."
The technology in this universe was impressive by local standards, certainly advanced enough to pose challenges. But it was nowhere near sophisticated enough to give Will any real trouble. The AI had absorbed and mastered technologies from multiple realities, countless civilizations. This clunky power armor, for all its nasty fail-safes, was child's play by comparison.
Under the coordinated work of dozens of mechanical arms, the heavy armor plates were removed with efficient speed. Neural connection cables were carefully disconnected. Locking mechanisms were disengaged. The entire suit came apart like a puzzle being solved in reverse.
Back on Korhal, Mengsk heard everything through the audio feed. Although he'd never seen Marcus in person, never met this mysterious figure, he understood exactly what was happening.
They were freeing Tychus. Removing his control. Eliminating Mengsk's spy and leverage in one swift action.
But Arcturus Mengsk hadn't built an empire by being unprepared for contingencies.
His hand moved smoothly to a control panel built into his desk, fingers finding the activation buttons from memory. If they wanted to free Tychus, fine. They could all die together.
"It's a pity," Mengsk muttered coldly, pressing the activation sequence. "Would have been nice to have caught Kerrigan first."
The signal transmitted instantly through the communication link. Every fail-safe device in Tychus's armor received the command simultaneously—the electrical system charged to lethal levels, the explosive payload armed itself, countdown initiated.
But before any of the devices could execute their deadly purpose, they simply... stopped.
Sparks flew from Tychus's armor. Thick smoke began pouring out from multiple points in the dismantled suit. Every single kill-switch, every fail-safe, every weapon system designed to murder the wearer simply burned out, rendered completely inert.
Will had identified every threat before the dismantling even began. The AI had spent those crucial seconds mapping every system, every circuit, every explosive charge. And when Mengsk sent his kill signal, Will intercepted and neutralized it before it could cause any harm.
The armor's lethal systems were smoking ruins. Tychus was unharmed.
"Arcturus Mengsk, I presume?"
A voice suddenly emerged from every speaker in Mengsk's office—his desk terminal, his personal comm system, even the public address speakers built into the walls. It was synthetic, cold, utterly emotionless.
"You're certainly an ambitious man," the voice continued. "But I'm afraid all your careful arrangements are useless against superior technology."
Mengsk's eyes widened. That voice wasn't coming through Tychus's armor feed—it was coming from his own systems. Here. In his private office. In the most secure location in the entire Dominion.
Before he could move, every mechanical device in the room activated at once.
His desk's automated systems came alive. The mechanical chair he sat in locked its restraints. Maintenance arms that normally handled minor repairs extended from the walls. Service drones descended from the ceiling.
And all of them turned toward him with clear hostile intent.
"AAAHHHHH!"
Mengsk's screams tore through his office as the machines converged on him. Mechanical arms grabbed his limbs, holding him in place with crushing force. Electrical systems discharged into his body—not enough to kill, but more than enough to cause exquisite agony. Service tools designed for delicate repairs instead found soft tissue to grip and twist.
It was torture by technology, and it was absolutely merciless.
"Mengsk?!" Jim's voice cut through the corridor on the Dark Star, shocked and angry. "You bastard! Is this finally catching up to you?"
The screams were broadcasting through Tychus's armor speakers, audible to everyone present. Jim's expression was twisted with complicated emotions—satisfaction, fury, old pain surfacing.
The reason Jim Raynor hated Arcturus Mengsk with such depth wasn't simple political opposition. It was personal. It was about betrayal on the most fundamental level.
Mengsk had abandoned Sarah Kerrigan on Tarsonis. Left her to die—or worse—when he could have saved her. When he should have saved her.
And because of that abandonment, the Zerg had captured Kerrigan. They'd infected her, transformed her, twisted her into something monstrous. The Queen of Blades had been born from Mengsk's calculated cruelty, and she'd gone on to slaughter millions across dozens of worlds.
Every death at the Queen of Blades' hands traced back to Mengsk's decision to sacrifice one woman for his political ambitions.
Jim shouted into the comm channel, demanding answers, hurling accusations. But no response came except Mengsk's continued screaming.
"What's happening to him?" Jim finally turned to Marcus, confusion mixing with concern on his face. Part of him wanted Mengsk to suffer, but the screams were becoming disturbing even to his hardened sensibilities.
"Nothing permanent," Marcus replied with a casual shrug. "Will invaded your capital world through the communication channel Mengsk was using to control Tychus. The AI took over all networked machines in his vicinity. Right now, he's being... thoroughly educated about the consequences of his deceptions. Consider it payment for his lies and manipulations."
As Marcus spoke, the last pieces of Tychus's armor fell away. The big man stood there in the underlayer suit, his body covered in the metal interface ports that had connected him to the armor's systems. The ports looked ugly and invasive, but they were harmless now. Inert.
The armor that had been his prison for so long lay in pieces at his feet.
Marcus hadn't freed Tychus out of pure altruism, of course. He had practical reasons. Helping Jim and his team would accelerate certain events, would bring Amon's plans to fruition faster. And the sooner Amon made his move, the sooner Marcus could witness—and possibly harvest—the results.
"I'm... I'm free?" Tychus stared at his hands like he'd never seen them before. His voice was thick with disbelief. "I'm actually free?"
After so long trapped in that metal prison, denied even the simple dignity of removing his own armor, he was finally liberated. He was a free man again, just like any other marine.
"Yes, you're free," Marcus confirmed. "But in exchange for that freedom, you're going to help us. That seems fair, doesn't it?"
Tychus had been Mengsk's spy and information gatherer. That meant he possessed extensive knowledge about the Dominion's operations, including the intelligence about the Xel'Naga artifact fragments that he'd passed along to Jim.
"Deal." Tychus nodded immediately, not even hesitating. "You got me out of that hell—I owe you big. What do you need from me?"
"Simple enough," Marcus said. "General Zod will brief you on the specifics. For now, follow me. Let me show you the rest of the ship."
Marcus led the group deeper into the Dark Star's interior, taking them through sections they hadn't seen yet. The scale of the vessel became more apparent with each corridor they traversed, each massive chamber they passed through.
"This ship is absolutely massive," Matt whispered to Jim, trying to keep his voice low enough that their hosts wouldn't hear. "If we had something like this, we'd never have to worry about the Dominion fleet again. Hell, we could take on entire battle groups single-handedly."
The scale defied everything in Matt's experience as a ship captain. He'd commanded vessels, he understood naval architecture and space combat. But the Dark Star operated on a completely different level of engineering.
"Actually," Marcus called back, apparently having heard Matt's whisper despite the distance and low volume, "you don't need to worry about the Dominion fleet anymore anyway. Will, set course for Korhal. Let's pay Emperor Mengsk a visit in person."
Jim and Matt exchanged startled glances. Korhal? The capital? The most heavily defended world in the Dominion?
"Uh, Marcus," Jim started carefully, "Korhal's defenses are—"
"Irrelevant," Marcus finished for him with an amused smile. "Trust me."
Korhal – Capital of the Terran Dominion
Korhal was the beating heart of humanity's empire. The most powerful military installations, the finest defense platforms, the strongest fleet elements—all concentrated around this single world. Arcturus Mengsk had transformed it into a fortress that could withstand any assault.
Or so the propaganda claimed.
In his office—his torture chamber, now—Mengsk continued screaming. The machines showed no mercy, continuing their work with mechanical precision. Every time he approached unconsciousness, they'd ease off just enough to keep him aware, keep him feeling every moment of agony.
He wanted to struggle, to fight back, but it was futile. The mechanical arms were far stronger than human muscle. And the electrical discharges kept his body too compromised to coordinate any meaningful resistance.
Then, as he writhed in pain, something changed in the sky above Korhal.
A shadow fell across the planet. Massive. Incomprehensible. Moving.
Every citizen on Korhal, from the poorest district to the wealthiest towers, looked up simultaneously. What they saw stopped them in their tracks, left them staring slack-jawed at the impossibility hanging in their sky.
A ship. But calling it a ship felt inadequate. It was a mobile city, a flying fortress, a monument to engineering that shouldn't exist.
The Dark Aster had arrived.
"We're here!" Jim stood on the observation deck of the Dark Star, looking down at a world he knew well. Korhal. The place that represented everything he'd been fighting against for years.
"Will," Marcus called out, his voice carrying authority. "Take over Korhal's systems. All of them."
"Acknowledged, Commander."
The AI's tendrils spread through Korhal's networks like wildfire. Communication facilities, power grids, defense platforms, automated systems—everything connected to any network became a pathway for Will's invasion.
Within seconds, Korhal's entire digital infrastructure was compromised. Military command networks found themselves locked out of their own systems. Defense platforms stopped responding to manual commands. Even the countless mechanical adjutants scattered throughout government buildings and military bases became carriers for Will's consciousness.
"Commander," Will reported with satisfaction in its synthesized voice, "we have achieved complete control of Korhal's networked systems. The planet is ours."
Marcus grinned. "Excellent. Alright everyone, let's go meet Jim's old friend face to face."
"Ha! About damn time!" Tychus cracked his knuckles, the gesture made more impressive by his considerable size. "I've been wanting to punch that bastard Mengsk for years."
Tychus had made deals with Mengsk before, compromises born from desperation to gain his freedom. But now that he was actually free, now that the leash was gone? Those deals meant nothing. Mengsk had tormented him, used him, treated him like property.
Time to return the favor.
The group departed from the Dark Star, descending toward Korhal's surface. Residents and military personnel alike watched them approach, and when they got close enough for facial recognition, absolute chaos erupted.
"Is that—that's Jim Raynor!" someone shouted in the crowd.
"The most wanted man in the Dominion, here? On Korhal?"
"And those people with him—check the database, they're all wanted criminals!"
Soldiers scrambled for their weapons, officers shouted contradictory orders, civilians ran for cover. The sudden appearance of the Dominion's most notorious rebel on the capital world itself had thrown everything into confusion.
"Command, this is Ground Station Seven," a soldier reported into his comm, weapon aimed but not firing. "We have visual confirmation of wanted criminal Jim Raynor. Multiple accomplices present. Requesting authorization to engage."
Silence answered him.
"Command? Command, respond!" The soldier tried again, desperation creeping into his voice. "Should we open fire on the criminals or not?"
Still nothing. Every communication channel to higher command was dead.
And then something happened that made the question of opening fire completely moot.
Several figures in Jim's group simply lifted off the ground. No thruster packs, no vehicles, no visible means of propulsion. They just rose into the air like gravity had decided to stop applying to them specifically.
Faora hovered ten feet off the ground, arms crossed, her expression bored. General Zod floated beside her, scanning the crowd below with analytical eyes. Other Kryptonians drifted upward, positioning themselves to overlook the gathering crowd.
"What the hell..." The soldier's weapon drooped, his arms going slack. "They're just... flying. How are they flying?"
This wasn't the flight of raiders using jump packs or the hover of vehicles. This was something else entirely. Something that looked effortless, natural, as easy as breathing.
"Citizens of Korhal," Jim's voice suddenly boomed across the city, amplified through every speaker system on the planet. "I think most of you know who I am."
Jim Raynor's face appeared on public screens, on building-mounted displays, on personal communicators. His voice emerged from every audio system. Even military channels found themselves broadcasting his words whether they wanted to or not.
Will had given him the ultimate platform.
The journey to Mengsk's location had been carefully planned during the flight to Korhal. Marcus had explained the situation clearly: he could handle the Dominion military, could help them overthrow Mengsk and destabilize the corrupt empire. But that help came with a price.
Marcus himself didn't need money or resources. The only things that interested him in this universe were knowledge about the Protoss and access to Xel'Naga-related artifacts and sites.
So they'd made a trade. Jim and his people would provide Marcus with everything they knew about the Protoss, their technology, their history, their locations. In exchange, Marcus would help dismantle the Dominion.
There had been one additional request that puzzled them. Marcus had expressed interest in Dr. Emil Narud of the Moebius Foundation—a researcher who specialized in studying Xel'Naga artifacts.
Jim and his team had assumed it was just more of Marcus's interest in ancient artifacts. If Narud studied Xel'Naga technology, and Marcus wanted Xel'Naga technology, the connection made sense.
They didn't know the truth: that Dr. Narud was actually a Xel'Naga himself, a shapeshifter who'd served Amon for millennia. Marcus was interested in him for far more direct reasons.
But Marcus hadn't explained that detail. Let them make their assumptions. Once Mengsk fell, Narud would reveal himself eventually. The scientist needed test subjects for his hybrid experiments, after all, and political chaos provided excellent cover for morally questionable research.
For now, Marcus just needed to help Jim build momentum, help him address the people of Korhal.
Seeing the Kryptonians hovering in the air, seemingly immune to gravity itself, the residents and soldiers on the ground felt fear settle into their bones. They were facing the Empire's most wanted criminal—a man who'd recruited beings with incomprehensible abilities. And that massive ship overhead was a constant reminder of the overwhelming force that backed him.
If this came to battle, Raynor didn't even need to fight personally. That ship alone could annihilate most of Korhal's military infrastructure in minutes.
"I want you all to know—I have no quarrel with the people of the Dominion," Jim continued, his voice calm but carrying authority. "My business is with one man only. Arcturus Mengsk."
The name hung in the air like a challenge.
Jim's voice and image broadcast across every system in Korhal, planted by Will's infiltration. There was no escaping the message, no way to filter it out or shut it down.
The journey through Korhal was unnervingly peaceful. No resistance, no military response, no desperate last stands. Citizens simply watched them pass, too shocked to react. Soldiers held their weapons but didn't fire, uncertain whether their orders would even transmit if they tried to call for guidance.
Soon enough, they arrived at Mengsk's office—the Emperor's personal sanctum in the heart of the government district.
The doors opened to reveal a scene that was almost comical in its karmic justice.
Arcturus Mengsk, Emperor of the Terran Dominion, the man who'd orchestrated coups and betrayals and countless deaths, hung suspended in the center of his own office. Mechanical arms—his own office's automated systems—held him in place like a prisoner in invisible chains. His body twitched periodically as residual electrical charges ran through his nervous system.
"Will," Marcus called out, "wake our guest. We have visitors."
One mechanical arm extended a neural interface toward Mengsk's head, making contact with his temple. A carefully calibrated electrical pulse ran through the connection—not torture this time, but stimulation. Enough to shock him from unconsciousness back to awareness.
Mengsk's eyes snapped open, unfocused and confused. The pain in his body was immense, like his bones had been systematically fractured and set on fire. Every nerve ending screamed.
But confusion didn't last long. As his vision cleared, as he processed what he was seeing, understanding crashed over him like a cold wave.
Jim Raynor stood before him. Along with Tychus Findlay—who should still be under Mengsk's control—and Matt Horner and various others. Behind them stood the mysterious figures Mengsk had been trying to gather intelligence on.
"We finally meet in person, Mengsk." Jim's voice was cold, carrying years of accumulated hatred. "Face to face."
"You... you're all criminals..." Mengsk managed to rasp out, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Traitors to humanity..."
Even restrained, even tortured, even defeated, Arcturus Mengsk defaulted to his propaganda. Paint your enemies as villains, claim moral authority, never admit weakness.
"Criminals? Really?" Tychus pushed forward through the group, his expression dark. "You want to talk about crimes? Let's talk about what you did to Tarsonis."
Mengsk's eyes narrowed, but Tychus pressed on.
"You used an entire planet as bait. Lured the Zerg and Protoss into attacking it. Millions of people died—men, women, children—all so you could weaken the Confederacy and seize power. You orchestrated one of the greatest massacres in human history for your political ambitions."
Tychus had been imprisoned when the Tarsonis incident occurred, but during his time working for Mengsk after his release, he'd learned the truth. Everyone close to the Emperor eventually learned what he'd done, what he was capable of.
Will broadcast this conversation across Korhal and to every planet in the Koprulu Sector with communication infrastructure. Every citizen of the Dominion heard Tychus's accusation. Heard Mengsk's crimes laid bare.
The reactions were immediate and visceral. People had harbored doubts about Mengsk's rule, questions about certain policies and decisions. But using an entire planet as bait? Orchestrating a genocide?
That was beyond political maneuvering. That was monstrous.
How could such a man be their leader? How could they have accepted the rule of an executioner who saw his own people as expendable pawns?
"They should thank me," Mengsk sneered despite his position, despite the pain, despite everything. "I sacrificed a few to ensure the stability of the many. That's what leadership means—making the hard choices."
His tone carried absolute conviction. In Mengsk's mind, he'd done what was necessary. The deaths on Tarsonis were regrettable but justified. The empire he'd built was worth any price.
Jim stared at him with disgust. "You know something, Mengsk? Sarah, her rampage across the sector? She did all that trying to find you. What do you think she'd do if I delivered you to her as a gift?"
The suggestion hung in the air like a death sentence.
Sarah Kerrigan, after her transformation into the Queen of Blades, had become one of the most terrifying forces in the Koprulu Sector. Her Zerg swarms had devastated countless worlds. Billions had died.
And much of that fury had been fueled by her desire for revenge against the man who'd abandoned her. Mengsk represented her greatest hatred, her deepest trauma made manifest.
Jim had never seen Kerrigan since her transformation. He didn't know if any part of the woman he'd loved still existed inside the monster. But he could guess what drove her actions—rage and betrayal, burning hotter than any sun.
"Hahaha! That's perfect!" Mengsk laughed, the sound manic and bitter. "Don't you understand, Jim? I created her! I turned her into that monster! She exists because of me, because of my vision—"
Clamp
A mechanical arm shot forward, clamping over Mengsk's mouth and cutting off his words. The Emperor's eyes bulged with renewed pain as the metal pressed into his jaw.
Marcus watched the exchange with mild boredom. "I'm heading back to the ship. The personal drama between you all doesn't interest me. Zod, handle whatever they need."
Marcus didn't wait for acknowledgment. Reality rippled around him, and he simply vanished—teleporting back to the Dark Star in an instant.
He had work to do. The Aya essence wouldn't extract itself, and he was on a schedule. The Xel'Naga artifact fragment and the Khaydarin crystal pieces needed processing. Once he finished extracting from those materials, he could finally complete the last five Warframes that remained unfinished in his collection.
"After I finish those five frames," Marcus muttered to himself as he materialized in his workshop, "I can start working on the new designs. And then Prime variants for the existing frames..."
Creating Prime versions—enhanced, perfected iterations of his Warframes—was a project he'd been planning for a while. But it required finding compatible dimensional energies, realities that resonated with each frame's specific nature.
Once he finished dealing with Amon's situation, he'd start searching for those compatible dimensions. Each Prime frame would require its own unique source of power.
"Alright, let's get to work."
Void energy surged around Marcus as he began the extraction process. Tendrils of darkness wrapped around the Xel'Naga fragment, carefully drawing out its essence while leaving the physical structure intact. The Khaydarin crystal pieces floated nearby, waiting their turn.
This would take time and concentration, but the results would be worth it.
Far Beyond the Koprulu Sector
On a planet completely overrun by Zerg infestation, where the creep covered every surface and the air itself seemed alive with microscopic organisms, a figure stood in the ruins of what had once been a Protoss structure.
Sarah Kerrigan—the Queen of Blades—towered over her surroundings, her transformed body a terrifying fusion of human and Zerg. Bone-blade appendages extended from her back like wings. Her skin had taken on a chitinous quality, hard and segmented. Her eyes glowed with psionic power.
She was beautiful in the way a predator was beautiful—perfect form married to lethal function.
A swarm of overlords drifted nearby, their biological communication organs transmitting data across the Zerg network. Through that network, through the vast consciousness that connected all Zerg, information flowed.
And some of that information was about events on Korhal.
Kerrigan's head tilted slightly as she processed the news. A small smile—predatory and hungry—spread across her face.
"Arcturus..." she whispered, the name carrying volumes of hatred and anticipation. "Finally."
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