After eliminating the Ravager hybrids that had guarded the approach, the assembled fleet began moving toward the Temple of Ulnar. Everyone felt a mixture of anticipation and apprehension as they drew closer to the massive structure.
This was it. The Temple of Ulnar—the only building on this desolate world, the dwelling place of the Xel'Naga themselves. They were about to walk among the remains of gods, to witness firsthand what had become of the universe's most ancient and powerful beings.
The weight of that realization settled over everyone like a heavy blanket. What they were about to see would fundamentally change their understanding of the cosmos and their place within it.
Compared to everyone else's nervous excitement, Marcus remained perfectly calm. He already knew what waited inside—there were only two Xel'Naga left in this entire universe. Amon, who had slaughtered his own kind and now plotted the destruction of all life. And Ouros, who suffered endless torment but still clung to existence, still tried to guide the younger races toward salvation.
Everyone else was dead. The temple was their tomb.
"You know, you're all acting like you've never seen a Xel'Naga before," Marcus said with casual amusement. "Wasn't Narud enough for you?"
The joke broke through some of the tension. Everyone looked at Marcus, expressions shifting between embarrassment and thoughtfulness.
Narud had been a genuine Xel'Naga. His power had been undeniable—far beyond anything humans or even most Protoss could achieve. The way he'd nearly incapacitated all the Kryptonians with a single psionic burst proved his capabilities.
But that was also what made the memory so sobering. Narud had been a god-like being, and he'd been utterly helpless in Marcus's hands. Captured effortlessly, his memories stripped away, then destroyed without ceremony. Reduced to cosmic fireworks like he was nothing more than an annoying pest.
If that was how easily Marcus handled a Xel'Naga... what exactly was Marcus?
"So wait," Jim said slowly, processing the implications. "Are we about to face more beings with the same kind of power as Narud?"
"No," Marcus shook his head, his smile fading slightly. "There aren't many people here. Actually, there are no people here at all. Only corpses."
As he spoke, Marcus reached out and pushed the temple's massive doors open. They swung inward with surprising ease despite their enormous size, revealing the interior.
Everyone stepped inside, and their expectations shattered immediately.
The temple's exterior had been spectacular—soaring architecture that defied conventional physics, structures that seemed to exist partially outside normal space, designs that spoke of immense power and artistic vision.
But the interior was desolate. Destroyed. Abandoned.
"This... what happened here?" someone breathed, shock evident in their voice.
They'd imagined many possibilities for the Temple of Ulnar's interior. Grand halls filled with advanced technology. Libraries containing the accumulated knowledge of cosmic civilizations. Perhaps even surviving Xel'Naga going about their mysterious business.
What they found instead looked like a war zone that had been left to rot for millennia.
The temple's interior appeared to have been deliberately devastated. Broken pillars lay scattered across the floor. Walls showed blast marks and impact craters. There wasn't even basic lighting—the only illumination came from whatever light filtered in through damaged sections of the exterior walls.
It looked like it had been abandoned for thousands of years. A monument to violence and destruction rather than a living place of power.
"Narud wasn't just a Xel'Naga," Marcus said quietly, his tone losing its usual amusement. "He was also a servant of another Xel'Naga. And everything that happened here—all this destruction—is connected to his master."
Marcus walked deeper into the ruined temple, his hand brushing against broken statuary and collapsed architecture. Ancient runes were still visible on some surfaces, glowing faintly with residual power despite the damage.
"Every Xel'Naga who lived here was killed," Marcus continued, his voice echoing in the empty space. "Murdered by one of their own. A Xel'Naga who decided that if he couldn't control the cycle of creation, he would end it entirely. A being who chose to destroy the universe and terminate reincarnation itself rather than accept his place within it."
The explanation hung in the air like a death sentence. Everyone processed what Marcus was saying, horror and fascination mixing in equal measure.
Marcus approached a fallen throne—a massive seat designed for something far larger than a human. The incarnation of a Xel'Naga would have sat here once, conducting whatever business the ancient beings engaged in.
The true forms of the Xel'Naga were incomprehensibly vast. Even a planet the size of Ulnar couldn't support their actual bodies—they existed on a scale that made worlds seem small.
So they used incarnations instead. Concentrated avatars that contained all their power and consciousness but in manageable forms. These incarnations guided civilizations, nurtured developing species, and waited patiently for the cycle of reincarnation to produce new Xel'Naga from among the younger races.
Until Amon changed everything. He slaughtered most of the Xel'Naga in a coordinated massacre, then emerged into the universe carrying infinite malice and the determination to destroy all life.
After hearing Marcus's explanation, everyone's initial excitement cooled considerably. The reality of what they were seeing—what it represented—was sobering.
Though once the immediate shock faded, curiosity began to reassert itself. They started exploring more carefully, examining the ruins with new purpose.
These were relics left by the Xel'Naga, after all. Even damaged and ancient, they might contain valuable insights. If they could find even a fragment of inspiration from studying this place, they might be able to develop more powerful technologies or unlock new capabilities.
"Give me the Xel'Naga artifact," Marcus called out, drawing everyone's attention. "I'll show you the real temple—the parts you haven't seen yet."
They were only in the outer chambers of the Temple of Ulnar. The true heart of the temple remained sealed, accessible only through specific means.
And that means was the reassembled Xel'Naga artifact—the object everyone had been treating as some kind of ultimate weapon. In reality, it was just a key. A very special, very powerful key designed to open the Temple of Ulnar's inner sanctum.
Jim personally brought the artifact to Marcus, handling it with obvious care. But his expression carried deep confusion.
"How do you know all this?" Jim asked directly. "The artifact, the temple, what happened here... are you also a Xel'Naga?"
General Zod echoed the question with his own suspicious stare. None of them understood how Marcus possessed such detailed knowledge about Xel'Naga history and technology.
"Heh," Marcus chuckled. "It's all from Narud's memories. I extracted everything he knew when I read his mind earlier."
He spoke casually, like mind-reading ancient cosmic entities was the most normal thing in the world.
"Telepathy is one of my most basic abilities," Marcus continued with a shrug. "Nothing particularly special about it. No need to make it mysterious."
After hearing the explanation, everyone felt simultaneously relieved and disturbed. They'd been developing elaborate theories—secret information networks, prophetic visions, hidden Xel'Naga contacts.
The truth was simpler and somehow more terrifying. Marcus had just... taken the knowledge. Reached into a Xel'Naga's mind and copied everything.
"So you can read minds?" someone asked nervously.
"Mind reading? Sure, I guess that's close enough. Not much difference." Marcus's casual confirmation made several people unconsciously step back.
Before anyone could pursue that uncomfortable topic further, Marcus raised the Xel'Naga artifact. Energy surged through his hands, channeling into the ancient device.
The artifact, which had been dormant and quiet, suddenly came alive. Brilliant blue light erupted from its surface, expanding outward in waves that washed over everyone present.
Most people felt nothing from the light—it passed through them harmlessly, warm but not uncomfortable.
But Sarah Kerrigan screamed.
Her entire body convulsed as the Xel'Naga energy flooded through her. The carapace that had covered her skin—the Zerg armor that had become part of her physiology—began to crack and break apart like old paint peeling away.
Underneath the shattering exterior, smooth human skin emerged. Her skeletal wings dissolved. Her clawed hands reformed into normal fingers. The transformation was rapid and obviously painful.
"Sarah!" Jim abandoned all interest in the temple, running toward her with panic written across his face.
"She's fine," Marcus said calmly, still channeling energy into the artifact. "That light contains Xel'Naga psionic power. It's forcing her genes to reorganize, to complete the fusion that had been partially blocked by the Zerg transformation. She's not being hurt—she's being perfected."
As Marcus spoke, he took the activated artifact and walked toward the temple's central chamber. There, set into the floor, was a specially designed receptacle—the lock that matched the artifact key.
Marcus inserted the Xel'Naga artifact into the core mechanism.
Hummm—
A deep thrumming sound filled the temple. The entire structure began to rotate, massive sections of architecture moving with surprising smoothness despite millennia of neglect. Ancient mechanisms activated, power flowing through long-dormant systems.
With a grinding buzz, the central chamber's sealed door began to open. Slowly, ponderously, it revealed what lay beyond.
There was no magical landscape waiting inside. No hidden paradise or technological wonderland.
Just a massive burial ground. Countless corpses scattered across an enormous chamber, the remains of beings who'd once shaped galaxies.
"Look," Marcus said quietly, gesturing to the field of the dead. "These are your gods. The Xel'Naga."
He walked into the chamber without hesitation, stepping carefully around ancient remains. The Temple of Ulnar had been abandoned the day Amon launched his massacre. Rather than a temple, it had become a tomb—the final resting place of an entire species.
Everyone stared at the corpses Marcus indicated, shocked into silence. They'd been searching for the Xel'Naga, hoping to find wisdom or guidance or at least understanding.
Instead, they found only death. The gods they'd sought existed now only as scattered remains in a forgotten temple.
"The threat hidden in darkness," Zeratul's voice cut through the silence, drawing everyone's attention. "He turned this sacred place into a charnel house."
The Dark Templar stood before a wall covered in intricate engravings, studying the patterns with intense focus. These had been left by the Xel'Naga when they still lived—records of their history, their culture, their philosophy.
The designs reminded Zeratul of his own people's artwork. The Protoss and the Xel'Naga shared similar aesthetic sensibilities, similar ways of expressing cosmic truths through visual representation.
We truly were the firstborn, Zeratul thought with a mixture of pride and sorrow. Even our cultures echo each other.
"Is that... me?" Kerrigan's weak voice drew everyone's attention to where she lay cradled in Jim's arms.
She was staring at a particular section of mural—a depiction of a figure with skeletal wings spread wide, lying on some kind of altar or platform. The figure seemed to be awaiting a transformation, preparing for the final step to become something greater.
"That's the bearer of Purity of Form," Zeratul explained, approaching the mural. "I believe it depicts someone like you, Queen of Blades. Someone who achieved perfect physical evolution."
"No," Marcus's voice corrected gently. "That's not quite right."
Everyone turned to look at him. Marcus was smiling at Kerrigan, who had now fully returned to human appearance thanks to the artifact's power.
"You were infected by the Zerg and became their ruler, yes," Marcus continued. "And you achieved an impressive fusion of human and Zerg genetics, reaching a delicate balance between the two. But you're not the same as the figure in that mural. Not yet."
He walked closer, studying Kerrigan with analytical interest.
"The mural shows someone with Purity of Essence and Purity of Form inheriting the accumulated knowledge and power of the previous generation of Xel'Naga. It depicts the final promotion ritual—the moment when a new Xel'Naga is born from the union of perfect body and perfect spirit."
Marcus pulled a set of clothes from somewhere in his armor and tossed them to Kerrigan. She caught them reflexively, her newly-reformed human hands still adjusting to their returned dexterity.
"You're facing a true Xel'Naga," Marcus said seriously. "If you want to defeat Amon completely, you must complete the final evolution recorded in these murals. You have to become what they show."
After hearing Marcus's words, Kerrigan quickly dressed herself, then moved closer to study the murals more carefully.
"Can you tell me more about this final evolution?" she asked, her voice steady despite the enormity of what was being suggested. "What exactly does it require?"
"Of course," Marcus replied with an encouraging smile. "After all, this is your only path forward now."
He paused for dramatic effect, then delivered the revelation:
"You need to become a Xel'Naga."
The words hit like a physical shockwave. Everyone reacted at once—gasps of surprise, exclamations of disbelief, heads turning to stare at Marcus like he'd lost his mind.
Even Zeratul, who'd witnessed prophecies of impossible futures, couldn't quite suppress his shock. The Dark Templar's eyes widened, his usual composure cracking.
The prophecy he'd seen had shown that Kerrigan needed to evolve again to gain power sufficient to fight Amon. But Marcus was saying something far more extreme—that Kerrigan's only viable future was to become the very thing they were fighting against.
The Zerg's greatest enemy, the being who'd orchestrated humanity's suffering, becoming the same type of entity as the gods the Protoss worshipped? The implications were staggering.
"Wait, hold on," Zeratul started to protest, but Marcus continued before he could formulate his objection.
"The murals depict the cycle of universal reincarnation," Marcus explained, his tone shifting to something more professorial. "In each cycle, there are survivors from developed civilizations. These survivors possess either the purest physical form or the purest spiritual essence—sometimes both."
He gestured to the murals, indicating specific sections that illustrated his points.
"When these survivors accept the accumulated essence of the dying Xel'Naga—when they inherit the knowledge and power of the previous generation—the old Xel'Naga perish. And the inheritors become new Xel'Naga, continuing the cycle of guidance and creation."
After hearing Marcus's interpretation, everyone began to understand what the murals actually depicted. It wasn't just art or religious iconography—it was a literal instruction manual for cosmic succession.
"But you said all the Xel'Naga were slaughtered," Kerrigan pointed out, her analytical mind immediately finding the flaw in the plan. "If they're dead, how am I supposed to receive their essence? How can I become a new Xel'Naga without an existing one to pass down their power?"
"Hehe," Marcus's smile turned mysterious. "Amon did slaughter the Xel'Naga, yes. He killed almost all of them. But there are always survivors. Someone always escapes, always endures."
He looked directly at Kerrigan, his eyes gleaming with knowledge.
"At the right time, the surviving Xel'Naga will guide you. They'll appear when you're ready, when you've completed the necessary preparation. Trust the process."
Marcus knew about Ouros, the last true Xel'Naga who still existed within the Void. Despite suffering endless torture at Amon's hands, despite being trapped and tormented for millennia, Ouros continued to guide events from the shadows. He'd been subtly directing both Zeratul and Kerrigan, orchestrating their meeting, pushing them toward the confrontation that would eventually defeat Amon.
Even without Marcus's interference, Kerrigan would have received guidance. The path was already laid out, already in motion. Marcus was just... accelerating things. Making the process more efficient.
Kerrigan spent a long time studying the murals, committing every detail to memory. The images, the symbols, the implied sequence of transformation—she absorbed it all with intense focus.
Finally, she turned back to Marcus, one more question burning in her mind.
"Can I ask you something? You said I still need to evolve, that I'm not ready yet. But then why did you let me return to my original human appearance? Doesn't that undo the transformation I'd already achieved?"
"Your original appearance?" Marcus smiled and shook his head. "Sarah, you're not human anymore. Not in the traditional sense."
He gestured to her, indicating her current form.
"You possess exceptional psionic talent—something you had even as a Ghost operative, but now it's magnified beyond anything you achieved before the Zerg infection. And after becoming the Queen of Blades, you gained the Zerg's incredible physical adaptability and regeneration."
Marcus began pacing, organizing his explanation.
"It seemed like you were incredibly powerful as the Queen of Blades, and you were. But that power came from your genes reaching a delicate balance—human consciousness directing Zerg capabilities, with emerging psionic might binding them together. It was impressive but unstable."
He stopped pacing and looked directly at her.
"The Xel'Naga artifact's power completely reorganized your genetic structure. It didn't remove the Zerg traits or suppress your psionic abilities. Instead, it perfected the fusion. Now you have the physical capabilities of the Zerg—the regeneration, the adaptability, the raw strength—combined with psionic power that rivals what the Xel'Naga themselves possessed."
Marcus's smile widened.
"You only need to evolve one more time. Just once more, and your full potential will be unleashed. Your body and spirit will achieve perfect unity, Purity of Form and Purity of Essence merged into a single being. That's when you'll truly become what you need to be."
Zeratul had already given Kerrigan the method for that final evolution during their earlier conversations. The path was clear. Now it was just a matter of Kerrigan making her choice—accepting the burden of cosmic responsibility and walking the road to apotheosis.
The chamber fell silent for a long moment. Everyone waited to see what Kerrigan would decide.
Finally, she looked down at her hands—human hands now, but carrying the potential for something far greater. Her expression hardened with determination.
"Jim," she started, turning to face him. "I need to—"
"I understand," Jim interrupted gently, his voice thick with emotion but steady. "I support your choice, Sarah. Whatever you decide, I'm with you."
His eyes were bright with unshed tears, but he smiled anyway.
"There's no going back from this path. I know that. But it's your choice to make, and I'll stand by you no matter what."
The love between them was palpable, painful in its intensity. Both knowing this was another separation, another sacrifice required by circumstances beyond their control.
While the humans dealt with their emotional moment, General Zod and his Kryptonians observed everything with careful detachment. They were studying the temple itself, analyzing the residual energy that permeated the structure.
"This is the Temple of the Xel'Naga," Zod murmured, feeling the oppressive power radiating from every surface. "The sheer presence here is... intimidating."
Even though every Xel'Naga in this place was dead, the power emanating from their remains created an almost physical pressure. It set off every combat instinct the Kryptonians possessed, made them want to adopt defensive postures despite no visible threat.
And it wasn't just the corpses. The temple structure itself exuded energy that triggered their danger senses—psionic power woven into the architecture, dormant systems that might activate at any moment.
"This is Xel'Naga territory," Marcus said, approaching Zod with an understanding smile. "Of course the psionic energy here is overwhelming. This entire structure was built to channel and amplify that power."
He studied the Kryptonians' tense postures with sympathy.
"You're incredibly capable in direct combat. Your physical abilities are nearly unmatched. But your resistance to special energy attacks—psionic power, magical forces, spiritual assaults—that's significantly lower than your physical defenses."
Marcus's expression grew more serious.
"This is your critical weakness beyond kryptonite. Though I should note, even with lower resistance, you're still far more durable against these attacks than baseline humans would be. You won't be instantly destroyed. But you can be hurt, and against sufficiently powerful psychic opponents, you can be defeated."
Many Kryptonians nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of Marcus's assessment. But none of them looked discouraged or frightened by the revelation.
"We understand our vulnerability," Zod said firmly. "And we'll address it. We may not have these powers now, but we have something equally valuable—the most advanced scientific knowledge in multiple universes."
His voice carried absolute confidence.
"We've survived worse than discovering a weakness. We'll develop countermeasures, create defensive technologies, find ways to shore up our defenses against psionic attack. Challenges don't frighten us—they motivate us."
Marcus smiled approvingly. "That's the spirit. Just... be careful, alright? You're planning to establish a permanent settlement in this sector. I don't want to return someday only to find you've all been wiped out by something you couldn't defend against."
His tone softened slightly.
"You're the last of Clark's people, after all. The final survivors of Krypton. That means something."
The Kryptonians appreciated the concern, even if they didn't show it outwardly. They straightened slightly, pride mixing with determination.
Departing the Temple
After everyone finished exploring the Temple of Ulnar, after absorbing the lessons and knowledge the ancient site offered, the assembled fleet began preparing to depart.
They each had different destinations, different purposes calling them away.
Jim returned to Korhal with his fleet, already planning for the war ahead. They needed to mobilize forces, coordinate with allies, prepare for a conflict against an enemy that had slaughtered gods. The scope of what they faced was almost incomprehensible, but they would fight anyway.
Kerrigan, who had regained her human form through the artifact's power, boarded her Leviathan with new purpose. She was preparing for her final evolution—the transformation that would elevate her from Queen of Blades to something far greater. The path was clear now. She just needed the courage to walk it.
Zeratul, after thoroughly investigating the Temple of Ulnar and recording everything he'd learned, departed with singular focus. He had to find Artanis as quickly as possible, had to tell the Hierarch everything he'd discovered about Amon and the coming threat.
More urgently, he had to prevent the Golden Armada from returning to Aiur. The Protoss homeworld remained under Zerg occupation, yes, but it was also a trap. Amon's influence permeated the planet through the corrupted Khala, and any Protoss who returned while still connected to the psychic network would immediately fall under the dark god's control.
Unless they severed their nerve cords first—cutting themselves off from the Khala entirely—entering Aiur would mean instant enslavement.
Sitting in the cabin of his Void Seeker, Zeratul stared out at the stars with a troubled expression. One hand rested on a metal case beside his seat.
Inside that case lay the Xel'Naga artifact. Through his investigations at the temple, Zeratul now understood how to properly use it. He'd learned the activation sequences, the focusing techniques, the precise applications.
The artifact was the only way for the Protoss to safely reclaim Aiur. It could sever Amon's connection to the Khala, could purge his corrupting influence from the planet.
But first, Zeratul had to convince Artanis to wait. To prepare. To understand that rushing in would doom them all.
It wouldn't be an easy conversation. But then, nothing about this war would be easy.
The Void Seeker's engines engaged, and the ship slipped away from Ulnar, disappearing into the void between stars.
The final battle was approaching. And everyone was preparing in their own way for what came next.