The cries and wails echoed inside the sealed warehouse, mingling with the stench of blood and disinfectant.
Six Salamanders stood silently in place, their towering forms casting long shadows under the dim lights.
Their armor was still stained with the blood and brains of the white-coated personnel; viscous liquid dripped from the joints of their power gauntlets. Yet now, these giants—so merciless moments ago—seemed somewhat... at a loss.
One of the Salamanders looked down at his blood-soaked gauntlet, then up at the trembling child in the cage. The red glow of his tactical visor flickered faintly, as if caught in some internal conflict—
They had come to rescue these civilians, yet the children were even more frightened of them?
"By the Emperor…"
One Salamander muttered softly, his voice heavy with guilt and self-reproach.
Fortunately, the squad leader reacted first.
Thud, thud.
He strode toward the cage holding the woman and her son, the servo systems in his Titan armor emitting a low hum.
The woman, alarmed, clutched her child and backed away, but the next second—
Crack!
The squad leader tore the alloy lock off the cage door with his bare hands. His movement was precise, as if opening a gift rather than tearing through steel.
He then slowly knelt, lowering his massive frame to eye level with the mother and child.
"Do not be afraid."
His voice was low and gentle, entirely different from the battle cries of earlier.
He reached toward the pouch on his lower back. The boy flinched again at the movement, but soon, a delicately painted 1:6 scale Salamander action figure was placed gently before him.
"We are the Emperor's sons, humanity's loyal protectors."
The squad leader pushed the figure slightly forward. "We will protect you."
The boy's sobs gradually quieted. He reached out hesitantly and touched the miniature warrior—so detailed and exquisite that it was clearly expensive.
The figure's paint job was identical to the warrior before him, right down to the insignia on the pauldrons.
The squad leader then took out a few compressed rations and nutrient supplements, handing them to the boy's mother.
"Eat. It will restore your strength." His tone remained calm, yet firm and undeniable.
The woman took the food with trembling hands, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
Seeing this, the other five Salamanders began to follow suit.
They mimicked their leader's actions, reaching into their own storage pouches for various small items.
One warrior pulled out several high-calorie chocolate bars and cautiously handed them to the children in the cage.
Another offered a portable water bladder to the thirsty civilians, letting them drink in turns.
One even produced several brightly colored candies from a hidden compartment in his armor—who knew why these giants carried such things around?
Mike stood off to the side, dumbfounded.
"Did I just see that right?" he muttered to Leon. "These guys, born for war… are actually soothing kids?"
Leon's expression was calm behind his mask, clearly unsurprised.
"I've heard Salamanders often carry children's toys in their pouches," he explained. "During Imperial Palace open days, they even give gifts to kids who come up for photos. They're said to be the most child-friendly Chapter in the Legions."
Mike raised an eyebrow. "So… they expected this kind of situation?"
"Maybe," Leon shrugged. "Or maybe… they're just used to it."
Sure enough, with food, water, and toys in hand, the children began to calm down.
One little girl even worked up the courage to reach out and touch the Salamander's gloved finger.
The warrior froze instantly, terrified he might accidentally hurt her.
"Your hand is so big," the girl said softly.
After a pause, the Salamander slowly opened his palm to reveal a beautifully wrapped candy.
"For you."
His voice, muffled by the helmet, was deep but oddly reassuring.
The warehouse atmosphere gradually eased.
The adults began to eat cautiously. The children gathered to share the gifts from the warriors.
An elderly woman gave one Salamander a gesture of blessing. The giant seemed unsure how to respond but finally gave a small nod.
The squad leader stood up, his gaze sweeping over the warehouse.
"Prepare to evacuate," he said gravely. "Children take priority."
Leon and Mike moved quickly to assist, helping the civilians pack their belongings.
The Salamanders spread out across the warehouse, watching the exits with vigilance.
Their armor was still bloodstained, yet at this moment, these towering giants felt utterly reliable.
The little boy clutched his action figure tightly, looking up at the squad leader, still hesitant about what lay beyond.
"Will you… really protect us?"
The squad leader looked down at him. The red glow of his helmet lenses pulsed softly.
"In the name of the Emperor, child."
It was a solemn promise.
The boy blinked, then nodded and held the tiny Salamander figurine even tighter.
Outside the warehouse, the battle had all but ended.
Scattered gunfire still echoed occasionally, but large-scale resistance was finished.
Deadwater Base's soldiers lay strewn across the battlefield—some torn apart by bolt rounds, others on their knees in surrender.
Helmets removed, armor discarded, their faces were pale and hollow-eyed, completely crushed by the terrifying might of the Astartes.
Helljumpers were escorting prisoners to a makeshift containment area. Their light power armor was streaked with dirt and blood, but their steps remained steady.
Seeing the Salamanders escorting civilians from the warehouse, one Helljumper raised a salute. The squad leader nodded slightly in return.
"Command center has been cleared," came Chris's voice over the comms. "We're extracting the data core now."
Leon looked toward the distance. The once-towering command center was now half-destroyed—much of it reduced to ruins by orbital bombardment.
Through shattered windows and visor feeds, he could faintly see the silhouettes of the Special Ops team moving inside.
Mike let out a whistle. "Looks like we can relax a little early this time."
"Don't slack off," Leon warned. "We still have civilian evacuation to handle."
As he spoke, a low rumble suddenly rolled across the sky.
Everyone looked up instinctively—
Three Thunderhawk gunships broke through the clouds, their massive engines leaving blazing white trails across the black sky.
Their hulls bore the same dark green as the Salamanders, emblazoned with the Chapter's sigil.
As they descended, the engine roar became deafening, kicking up clouds of sand.
"Evacuation transport's here."
The squad leader raised a hand to signal the civilians to follow.
The gunships landed slowly in the center of the base. Before the ramps were even fully down, two Apothecaries in white-trimmed Titan armor strode out, using scanners to perform rapid medical checks.
"Malnutrition and dehydration widespread," one Apothecary said angrily, clearly appalled by the abuse these civilians had suffered. "Recent injection marks present—further testing required."
"Get them onboard," the squad leader replied, helping a limping young man toward the gunship.
Mike and Leon stood not far from the Thunderhawks, weapons still at the ready despite the end of combat.
"What kind of experiments were these bastards running?" Mike asked quietly, scanning the emaciated civilians.
Leon didn't answer immediately.
His gaze lingered on the children, watching as the Apothecaries gently carried them onto the Thunderhawks—each child still clutching a Salamander figurine.
"Whatever it was," Leon finally said, "these people won't have to suffer anymore."
As the last civilian boarded, the gunship engines roared again.
Once the squad leader and his men had cleared the landing zone, he turned and saluted Leon and Mike.
"Thank you for your decision in the field. It allowed these children to be saved. May the Emperor watch over the rest of your mission."
Leon returned the salute. "It was our duty. We did what any Imperial warrior would have done."
The ramp closed slowly. The engine whine rose sharply.
Then, the towering vessels lifted off—not with clumsiness, but grace—rising into the sky until they vanished as green glimmers in the clouds.
Mike watched them go, then swiped across his tactical interface.
"Let's see where we stand…" he said, activating a holographic projection before them.
It was a global strategic overview of the terrestrial planet, marked "Mar Sara" in the upper right corner.
Dozens of dark green markers advanced rapidly across the desert—each representing a Salamanders 3rd Company unit.
They were surgical blades, slicing along pre-designated routes to dismantle resistance across the planet.
More striking were the hundreds of golden dots—each denoting an Imperial Guard.
The projection showed another Thunderhawk squadron rushing toward a fortress near the equator of Mar Sara.
These transports were unlike the standard models—their hulls gleamed with dark golden luster, emblazoned with the sigil of the Custodes.
Mike zoomed in on live footage captured by orbital drones.
Hundreds of Custodians surged across the fortress perimeter like a golden storm.
Their movements were so fast they left only afterimages, and each swing of their power glaives released blinding arcs of energy.
The local troops' power armor crumpled like paper before them.
One soldier had barely raised his rifle when his head was already airborne. Another tried to jetpack away, only to be pinned mid-air by a thrown glaive.
This wasn't a battle—it was pure annihilation.
Facing the Salamanders was already a nightmare for the Terran Empire's forces. Against Custodes, whose strength far surpassed even standard Astartes? There was no hope.
However, Leon's attention was drawn to a small, remote desert town in southern Mar Sara.
He zoomed in on the settlement's details and cross-referenced drone intel.
The aerial shots revealed a cluster of low, sand-covered metal buildings—nothing unusual for desert colonies.
But under enhanced scanning modes, anomalies appeared.
The outlines of major warehouses indicated massive stockpiles of military-grade equipment. Energy readings were off the charts. Three heavy tanks were half-buried in the dunes—their barrels hidden under tarps, but clearly identifiable by scan outlines.
This town held military assets—armored units included.
Most crucially, there were no Terran Empire garrisons nearby.
Leon's interest piqued. He suspected this was the hiding place of the Terran Empire's most-wanted "terrorist"—Jim Raynor.
"Think there's something off here too?" Mike leaned in.
Leon swiped across the terminal, pulling up comparison data. "Heat signatures are abnormal, no local garrison, but plenty of heavy weapons. Highly likely this is the terrorist's base."
Mike caught on immediately and contacted HQ. "Investigation Department, this is Team Seven. We've identified a potential high-value target location. Coordinates uploaded. Requesting Tactical Analysis Group to verify."
Simultaneously, Leon opened a secure frequency to the Salamanders' 3rd Company.
The secondary screen in his visor blinked, then revealed a rugged face—Captain Gaozan of the 3rd Company.
"Mr. Kennedy," Gaozan said bluntly, "I assume you're not here to praise our orbital strike and drop efficiency."
"We need to assault a suspicious town," Leon replied directly, syncing the data to him. "We'll need your support."
Gaozan skimmed the info in an instant and agreed without hesitation.
"Understood. A tactical squad will accompany you, and I'll dispatch a Thunderhawk Raider for your transport."
"Thanks for the support."
"Of course."
As the conversation ended, their visors updated with the tactical team's location—it was the same squad of Salamanders who had helped rescue the civilians.
Moments later, a Thunderhawk Raider descended into the square where Leon, Mike, and the tactical squad waited.
They boarded swiftly.
And with a roar, the vessel surged southward into the desert—
——
Meanwhile, in the Meditation Hall of the main universe:
Sitting on the Golden Throne, Samuel Young was reviewing the data pouring in from the dimensional gate.
In truth, the moment he saw the human soldiers' gear and weaponry, he had already recognized the new parallel universe as another sci-fi game he'd once played—and regarded as a classic:
StarCraft.
(End of Chapter)
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