"Try to communicate?"
Kerrigan seemed amused by the words of the stubborn Dark Templar. She tilted her head back, her face traced with violet veins glowing faintly with psionic light, and shook it with a self-mocking smile.
The idea of cooperating with humans had long since been abandoned, ever since her lover, Jim Raynor, was captured by the Terran Dominion. From the moment she chose to return to the Swarm and once more become the Queen of Blades, she had never entertained such unrealistic fantasies.
Not to mention that in all the years Kerrigan had reigned as the Queen of Blades, she had slaughtered billions of Terrans and destroyed countless settlements and military forces across the Koprulu Sector.
Ah, yes.
Back when the Overmind first transformed her, she had lost—or rather, had been stripped of—the part of her memory that was human. What remained was her burning hatred for Arcturus Mengsk and his "Sons of Korhal," now the Dominion.
Killing had never been her true intent—she had been a victim too.
But try telling that to those who lived trembling under the terror of the Queen of Blades for years. Try saying it to those who lost their families, homes, and livelihoods in the wars against the Zerg.
Would they forgive her?
The hatred had already grown boundless.
Even among the Rangers who followed Jim Raynor to rescue her and purify her back into a human, many had carried the intent to kill her. Of this, the former human Kerrigan was all too aware.
And now this alien Protoss had suddenly appeared, speaking of imminent threats, prophecies, the return of creators, and burning stars. With reason, perhaps some would listen.
But the common soldiers? They only knew this: it was you who killed their parents, you who robbed them of peace… you who were a monster.
Especially when you still wielded overwhelming power, and were far from desperate.
"You won't know unless you try."
Zeratul looked at Kerrigan. He still held onto hope.
"Then you go and try. Zeratul, if you're captured or killed, don't expect me to save you or avenge you—even if you have helped me."
Kerrigan had no intention of persuading this stubborn old Protoss.
"The Swarm is already assembled. The vanguard is ready to depart. The rift leading to Korhal IV, the Dominion's capital, has been prepared. I can't wait to crush that decrepit old bastard Arcturus on the toilet in Augustgrad Palace—the Dominion's imperial palace, named after his grandfather, Orestes!"
"This is the time to gather every ounce of strength. If that alien fleet truly comes from the United Earth Directorate, who do you think they'll help, and who do you think they'll strike…?"
"Enough! You understand me, Zeratul."
Kerrigan stubbornly rejected his proposal. She restrained her fury and raised a hand to calm the guardian Zerg that bristled at the Dark Templar who had angered their queen.
"Jim is still imprisoned in that decrepit tyrant's secret orbital prison. I will rescue him!"
"This is the path Arcturus chose! And I will follow it to the end!"
In truth, Kerrigan understood well the prophecy Zeratul spoke of. Thanks to the Overmind's "legacy," her insight ran deeper even than his. But—
Kerrigan chose vengeance.
Call it selfishness, call it unworthiness.
Ever since the research base on Umojan had been attacked once again by Arcturus Mengsk's men, separating her from Jim Raynor, Kerrigan had sworn: no matter the cost, she would slaughter Arcturus Mengsk and his wretched empire! (At the time, she believed Raynor had died protecting her. Only later, after he painstakingly purified her, did she choose to willingly become the Queen of Blades once more.)
Even after Zeratul later brought word that Jim Raynor yet lived, Kerrigan had no intention of changing her plan.
I am the Swarm's weapon against Amon? Zeratul's so-called indispensable savior? The one who must take it upon herself to resist the great enemy in the dark—Amon?
Fine. All of it. No problem.
To fight for the beings of the Koprulu Sector, to fight for the survival of the universe—that much she could accept. She had no shortage of devotion or responsibility.
But only after she killed Arcturus Mengsk!
Otherwise, she could never rest easy. That old bastard had ambushed her again and again, always scheming for her death. Kerrigan would never trust him.
In short: Arcturus Mengsk must die!
This had become her obsession.
"Either he dies, or I do!"
Throwing down the words, Kerrigan's face twisted with a grimace as she cast one last glance at the overly idealistic, stubborn Protoss before turning and vanishing into the dark organic passages of the Leviathan.
"…May you succeed, Zeratul. You're a good man. But this is my choice."
Her final hoarse words lingered, echoing within the chamber.
"Wait! Kerrigan, anger and hatred will only bring greater—"
Zeratul, far from pleased by her words, grew all the more troubled. He tried to continue his plea, but the Swarm barred his way. Hydralisks raised their ridged spines and hissed menacingly, while a broodmother stepped forward, making a clear gesture for him to leave.
Szzzt!
As though answering him directly, a purple arc of fire ignited in the skies above Char's orbit, spreading over the assembled Swarm.
It was a massive living gateway formed by Leviathan-class bio-ships, opening like a monstrous scythe lined with teeth and throats, fused together under one will.
Their fleshy seams writhed, their gnashing maws pulsating with organic motion. Unified under a single will, the vast Leviathans moved as one.
They would unleash a storm of Zerg—for their queen's fury and vengeance!
Zeratul's heart sank. Through the translucent membrane, he looked out at space. One after another, Kerrigan's warp conduits activated. A strange purple rift widened steadily, swelling larger with every beat.
The arc-shaped veil of violet fire grew brighter, twisted, and warped, birthing visions in its glow.
Then, as the rift pulsed and stabilized—the Swarm surged forward!
Like a tide, they poured in.
...
Koprulu Sector. Terran Dominion capital. Orbit of Korhal IV. Dominion secret orbital prison.
A ragged man sat silently in the shadows of a lower-level cell. His head hung low, his faint snores betraying exhaustion.
Jim.
"Ah—no!"
The man jolted awake. His robust body nearly leapt upright.
His limbs were powerfully built, upper arms bulging with muscle, shoulders broad as pillars, chest like a wall of iron. Every muscle line was thick, solid, unyielding—like steel beams forged together. His rolled sleeves could have easily held a pack of cigarettes.
When his dazed eyes refocused and he realized it had only been a nightmare, he clenched his fists, flexed his arms, then dragged a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. Finally, he tilted sideways and collapsed with a heavy thud onto the floor.
In the silence of the prison, the sound was enough to draw the attention of the Dominion guards outside.
Thump, thump!
Clang!
"Prisoner Jim Raynor!"
Following the pounding on the heavy metal door, the viewing slot scraped open, revealing a Dominion guard clad in crimson CMC-300 power armor. His rough voice barked a warning: "Cease your pointless resistance. You cannot defy the will of His Majesty, Arcturus I…"
Then his voice lowered suddenly. "Jim Raynor… don't make this harder on us."
"Alright, alright… tell me, are you people overreacting a bit? The conditions here are terrible—I can't sleep, so I had a nightmare, so what? You're the ones in tin cans, I'm just flesh and blood. What are you so afraid of?"
(PS: Since CMC-300 power armor is a standard necessity for everyday Terran troops, its defensive capacity in real combat is laughably poor against Zerg and Protoss attacks. Thus, Marines mockingly call it 'tin can.')
Jim Raynor lay flat on the cell floor, staring up at the riveted gray metal ceiling. He forced a crooked smile and let out a dry chuckle.
As a high-security prisoner, it was rare for him to make noise at all. Now he shouted with a mock bravado, playing the part of a pig unafraid of boiling water.
"..."
Clang!
Surprisingly, the prison guards didn't retaliate against his taunts. Instead, they quietly shut the viewing slot.
Normally, prison guards would answer a convict's provocation with blood and brutality. But this time was different—unless the prisoner had a name too big to touch…
And indeed he did.
Jim Raynor. From the days of the Sons of Korhal, he was already a hero renowned across Terran space. Founder and commander of Raynor's Raiders. Once the close comrade of Emperor Arcturus I… once. A founding hero of the Terran Dominion… once.
Because of irreconcilable ideals, he split with Arcturus, and in the Dominion's propaganda became the greatest terrorist, public enemy number one.
No matter what, Jim Raynor was a name known throughout the Terran Dominion and the entire Koprulu Sector.
Media spin and propaganda were one thing. Belief was another.
Especially after Raynor and his Raiders raided UNN's broadcast tower, exposing Arcturus Mengsk's crime of unleashing the Zerg on Tarsonis—the capital of the Terran Confederacy. When that evidence spread across the Dominion, Mengsk's approval rating plummeted to as low as 14%. Though he later clawed much of it back, the damage was undeniable. And everyone here was no fool.
Raynor had been captured, yet despite the broadcasts declaring his public execution, he was hidden away in a secret orbital prison instead of killed.
That was worth questioning.
The Dominion was only a few years old. Raynor's Raiders were already a force to be reckoned with. Who could say when Arcturus might be toppled? If those above didn't dare execute this hot potato, why should lowly guards risk themselves with torture? What if the tables turned?
A few hundred credits weren't worth one's neck.
So they looked the other way. As long as he didn't escape, all was fine.
Even small men had their wisdom.
Once more, silence fell over the cell.
The forced smile soon faded, replaced by exhaustion. Though his adrenaline still surged from the nightmare, the memory of what he saw made him want to laugh bitterly.
In his dream, Sarah—Kerrigan—had become the Queen of Blades again…
If that really happened, wouldn't it drive him mad? He had nearly died retrieving the Xel'Naga artifact to purify her, hoping someday to retire together into a life of peace.
"Sarah… please don't do anything reckless," Jim Raynor murmured, lifting his head with weary eyes.
Wooop! Wooop-wooopp—!
Suddenly, piercing alarms shrieked through the prison, snapping him from his thoughts.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack! Korhal IV is under assault by an unknown fleet, please—zzzt—"
Thud-thud!
The rapid pounding of steel boots echoed.
"Form up!"
"Check weapons!"
"Seal the prison gates, layer defenses! Move!"
...
The urgent alarms, the tramp of boots, the static-hissed announcements from damaged speakers, the shouted orders of guards—together, they wove the soundscape of a fortress bracing for war.
"Hey, what's happening?"
Raynor called, lifting his head. No answer came.
Moments later—BOOM!
A deafening blast rocked the prison, its steel bones groaning. The world spun, and Raynor—already weakened—was hurled across the cell. Thud! He slammed hard against the wall, dazed.
"Fuck you!"
The impact rattled his skull. It took two full seconds before he slid down from the wall like a rag doll, vision swimming.
"Is it the Raiders, or Sarah, come to break me out?"
No one answered. He could only wait.
BOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM—!
Rumble!
Rat-tat-tat…
He lost track of time amid the pounding explosions and the rattle of heavy guns. The rivets around him rattled loose, the ship shuddering with every strike.
Thud. Thud.
Suddenly, heavier footsteps echoed, far weightier than the Dominion guards. A chainsaw's roar mixed with crackling arcs of electricity. Somewhere close, a cannon thudded like a heartbeat.
Thud.
The steps halted at his cell. A colossal shadow blotted out the light. Raynor held his breath.
CLANG!
With the teeth-grinding screech of tearing metal, the reinforced door was ripped free and hurled aside, slamming against the opposite wall in pieces.
Long-blinded eyes squinted at the sudden light. Through the twisted frame, Jim Raynor saw it.
The golden emblem of a double-headed eagle.
—
—
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