Zeratul's Dark Templar sliced into the battlefield like wraiths, their emerald psionic blades carving lethal arcs through the mist of blood.
Their sudden arrival was like a shot of adrenaline, reigniting the fighting spirit of the faltering Kares warriors.
Despite the ideological rifts that once divided the two Protoss factions, they now stood back to back, forming a unified defensive line without needing a word.
The azure psionics of Kares intertwined with the emerald blades of the Dark Templar, creating a strange, dual-colored barrier that shredded the charging Tal'darim abominations into pulp.
Kores-Tar's silver-white armor was soaked with black blood. He swung his staff, incinerating a mutated Ascendant into a charred husk, then instantly shifted beside Zeratul.
The Executor's neural tendrils trembled violently, his psionic transmission laced with suppressed fury:
"Zeratul! Is this all you brought? Are you here to die with us? Take my people and flee now—I'll buy you time!"
Zeratul stabbed a sneak attacker through the throat, his emerald eyes glinting in the shadows. "Rest easy, old friend."
His voice rasped like sandpaper, yet carried rare certainty. "This is not all I've brought."
As if to confirm his words, the heavens over Kares were torn apart.
In low orbit, the Tal'darim fleet was unleashing a frenzied assault on the last of Kares's defense platforms, their crimson bombardments dyeing the stars blood-red.
Then, in an instant, the very structure of space ripped open as though by an unseen hand. A vast, indigo vortex a hundred kilometers wide erupted—pierced first by the colossal prow of the Nerva, an Emperor-class battleship.
This ten-kilometer-long behemoth resembled a mobile Greek temple. Its gilded armor bore ancient Greek and Chinese prayers, and as its side turrets unfolded, they stretched out like the wings of a divine being.
It was followed by a fleet of destroyers and escorts, their plasma thrusters spitting solar-core-grade flames, vaporizing any nearby debris.
"Let the purifying flame descend."
Athena's voice rang across all battle frequencies.
Seated atop the Nerva's command throne, the goddess of war raised her right hand. Simultaneously, the Victory Goddess statue at the bow lifted its spear. All 300 lance turrets charged in unison, the gathering energy warping nearby space.
When the main gun matrix fired, night over Kares lit up like midday.
Hundreds of golden beams swept across the Tal'darim fleet like divine judgment. The three foremost carriers disintegrated instantly, their armor sublimating into plasma.
Chain explosions swept across thousands of kilometers. At least one-fifth of the Tal'darim vessels were erased in that first volley.
Even those that avoided direct hits weren't spared. The cascading high-energy particle storms crippled propulsion systems, leaving the twisted metal monsters adrift in helpless spirals.
"Turn! Turn now!"
On the bridge of a Tal'darim mothership, the mutated captain covered in bone spurs howled in panic.
But when it saw the Nerva's missile hives unfolding through the observation window, the howl turned to a wail of despair.
Shhk—Shhk—!!!
Thousands of gold-red afterburns lit the void.
The missile swarm bloomed among the Tal'darim like a rose of annihilation. And every missile was antimatter-based—their annihilation unleashed energy storms that turned this region of space into a blazing forge.
One Tal'darim battleship tried to initiate emergency warp—but the annihilation shockwave caught up instantly. Its hull twisted like tin foil in a child's hands, folding and buckling until it vanished in a dimensional tear.
Alarak's flagship barely withstood the first salvo.
In the bridge, the Highlord watched the rapidly diminishing unit icons on the tactical map. Muscles twitched unnaturally beneath his bone armor.
He had planned to use Kares's crystals and the slaughter of its Protoss defenders to complete his final metamorphosis. But now—
"…Retreat."
The word seemed forced from his rotted vocal cords.
The surviving Tal'darim vessels began converging.
They used tractor beams to drag crippled allies to the center of their formation, then activated some blasphemous machinery.
The chosen vessels split open, exposing squirming organic interiors, then exploded in black-red lightning.
These suicidal detonations tore temporary wormholes into space.
"Trying to flee?" Athena sneered.
The Nerva's pursuit fire turned dozens of escaping ships into molten wreckage. Still, some managed to slip into the unstable, blood-colored wormholes.
Before the smoke of orbital battle had cleared, the Nerva and the Imperial fleet began launching drop pods to the surface.
The metal capsules blazed white-hot from atmospheric friction, descending like a meteor storm of holy fire.
On the battlefield below, Kores-Tar and Zeratul looked up simultaneously.
"Looks like your reinforcements are more than I—"
The Executor's words stopped mid-sentence.
One pod slammed directly into the Tal'darim formation a kilometer away. The shockwave alone sent more than twenty mutants flying.
Emerging from the dust was a figure that even the 200-year-old Kores-Tar found staggering—
A Salamander warrior clad in dark green Titan-pattern power armor. His shoulder bore a pure sigil that radiated a cleansing glow.
Hundreds of Astartes followed, some clad in the jagged armor of the Carcharodons.
These super-soldiers hit the ground running, chain swords whirring, bolters roaring—instantly shifting the rhythm of the battle.
Zeratul's neural tendrils trembled slightly. He noticed some warriors' weapons crackled with golden psionics—
The same source as Athena's—or perhaps something even older.
When a bone-spiked Tal'darim butcher lunged at an injured Kares warrior, a Mourner appeared with a thunder hammer and pulped the mutant in one strike.
"Now…"
Zeratul crossed his emerald blades over his chest and, for the first time in two centuries, smiled at Kores-Tar. "Let's drive these desecrators out of your home."
The Executor nodded silently. The tip of his staff reignited with pure blue light.
Behind him, the surviving Kares warriors raised their psionic blades. Alongside the Dark Templar and Astartes, they formed a battlefront where death and hope intertwined.
War raged through the shattered ruins of the floating city. Metal platforms buckled under psionic corrosion, crystal shards rained from broken domes.
Tal'darim mutants howled inhumanly, charging recklessly. Their corrupted black-red psionics spread through the air like plague.
But now, they faced a force like no other—
The mighty psionics of the Protoss fused with the iron will of the Imperium.
The Salamanders advanced in tight formation.
Their dark green armor bore purification runes. The sigils on their shoulders emitted soft gold halos, repelling corrupted energies.
Every bolter shot precisely pierced a mutant's skull. Their power swords traced arcs of white light, slicing through Tal'darim bone blades and bodies alike.
One Salamander veteran even crushed an Ascendant's skull barehanded, flicking the gore off like filth.
The Carcharodons fought like rabid predators. Their armor bristled with jagged trophies, chain swords roaring like beasts.
They didn't bother with formation. They charged into the enemy with savage efficiency, chain claws ripping flesh, bolters blasting enemies to shreds at point-blank range.
One Carcharodon impaled a mutated Tal'darim, then bisected it mid-air with his chainsword. Black blood splashed over his armor—he only laughed.
The Mourner Blood Angels displayed a different style entirely.
Their red-gold armor bore weeping emblems of grief—but their weapons burned with the Emperor's wrath.
A Mourner wielding a thunder hammer marched forward. Each strike came with bone-crushing shock and ground tremors.
Golden plasma arced over his hammer. When a bone-covered Tal'darim berserker charged, he slammed it into chunks, corrupt flesh raining across the field.
At first, the Protoss of Kares regarded the Astartes with suspicion—even wariness.
But soon, they saw these giants were not emotionless killing machines.
When a Kares warrior was wounded by corrupted psionics, a Salamander apothecary rushed in, stabilizing him with nano-med gel.
When the Dark Templar's blades clashed with Tal'darim corruption, Mourners adjusted tactics, suppressing flanks to give their Protoss allies an opening.
The Dark Templar flitted through shadows. Their emerald blades were reapers' scythes—every flicker meant another mutant fell.
Zeratul moved like a ghost. His twin blades cut a perfect arc, severing three Ascendants' heads in a single strike.
The warriors of Kares began to realize—these shadow-walkers they once considered heretics… were now their most reliable comrades.
The battle raged for thirty minutes. Every inch of metal floor was soaked in blood.
Finally, when the last Tal'darim mutant was crushed by a Mourner's hammer, the killing in the central plaza ceased.
The surviving Kares warriors gasped for breath. Their psionic blades flickered dimly, but their eyes now held new light—
Recognition of their allies. And hope for victory.
Kores-Tar looked around. The floating city was in ruins, and much of Kares still burned—but they had, for now, cast out the Tal'darim corruption.
He turned to Zeratul, his neural tendrils trembling, about to ask the true reason for this Imperial-human alliance—
Suddenly, the air in the plaza shimmered like rippling water.
A radiant beam of golden light descended from the sky. Athena's figure slowly materialized within.
The goddess of war was clad in golden armor, the Spear of Victory pointed to the ground. Where it touched, lingering corruption evaporated in gleaming motes.
Her gaze passed over every warrior present, finally landing on Kores-Tar.
"Executor of Kares," her voice echoed like a distant bell in every mind, "this battle was only the beginning."
Even the air seemed to freeze at her arrival.
Kores-Tar's neural tendrils trembled involuntarily. His knees felt compelled by some ancient instinct to kneel.
Behind him, the other Kares warriors paled. Their blades lowered slightly, trembling under the sheer presence, like ice crystals cracking under the sun.
To psionically sensitive Protoss, this was no ordinary fear—
It was reverence, buried deep in their genes, triggered when lesser beings beheld a higher existence.
After all, Athena had received the full enhancement of the Human Emperor. In single combat, she now surpassed many Primarchs who lacked psionic mastery—second only to the Emperor himself.
She was a walking psionic beacon. Even as she restrained her aura, golden light still surrounded her, banishing the shadows from the ruined city.
Her eyes were like cold twin stars. Wherever they looked, even the floating dust particles seemed to halt in place.
Kores-Tar resisted the urge to kneel, slamming his staff into the ground. Psionic sparks flared around him.
"Goddess of War of the Human Empire," he said, steadier than expected, "you saved Kares. We will remember this debt. But if you came to bring the Protoss under Imperial rule—"
He never finished.
Athena simply raised her hand—a small motion that made the entire city tremble.
"Rule?" Her voice rang in every Protoss mind, layered with countless echoes. "You think the Emperor cares about the submission of one remote planet?"
The tip of her spear tapped the ground. A golden ripple swept across the plaza.
Where it passed, the black-red stains of corruption curled up and vanished like burned mold. In their place, pure Khaydarin crystals sprouted from cracks, glowing soft blue.
"Amon is dead." Athena's words struck like a hammer. "I nailed his corpse to the edge of the Void with my own hands. But greater threats are coming—those that lurk in other-dimensional shadows have turned their gaze upon this universe. And you…"
Her gaze swept across every Protoss warrior. "Your psionic sensitivity makes you a blinding flame in the dark."
Zeratul stepped forward, emerald eyes glinting with complexity.
"Lady Athena speaks truth," the Dark Templar rasped solemnly. "We detected that Tal'darim corruption was not from internal decay—but from an external contamination. Something far more insidious than Amon."
As if to confirm it, a massive explosion rocked the city's edge.
All eyes turned.
A forgotten Tal'darim corpse convulsed violently. Black-red energy surged from it, coalescing midair into a twisted octagram sigil...
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