"Chaos Mark!"
A war maiden immediately raised her greatsword, unleashing a blaze of pure psionic flame from the blade, incinerating the sigil entirely.
A flicker crossed Athena's face—an expression of loathing mixed with icy, resolute killing intent.
"Do you see now, Executor? This isn't a civil war, nor a clash of ideologies. This is a war of purification—one that decides the survival of sentient species."
She stepped forward, her golden boots crushing a piece of corrupted crystal beneath her.
"The Emperor's protection can sever Chaos's erosion of your neural strands. But only if—you fight on the side of civilization."
Kores-Tar's neural filaments pulsed violently. His mind raced to process this flood of information.
He looked around.
The warriors of Kares, though exhausted, now bore flames of determination in their eyes. The Dark Templar stood silently, but clearly resonated with Athena's words.
Even the usually brutal Carcharodons had stopped sneering, quietly inspecting their weapons with rare solemnity.
"We need time to consider," Kores-Tar said, hesitating. "The Protoss are not vassals of humanity, we—"
"Twelve hours," Athena interrupted sharply. "The Imperium will assist in purging the remaining Tal'darim from Kares. Twelve hours from now—I expect an answer."
With those words, the goddess of war began to dissolve into a shower of golden particles.
But before her form vanished completely, her final words etched themselves like a brand into the minds of every Protoss present:
"Remember—when darkness devours the stars, no race survives alone."
Silence fell upon the plaza. Only the newborn Khaydarin crystals sang in the breeze with clear, resonant chimes.
Kores-Tar glanced at Zeratul—and found a light in the Dark Templar's eyes he had never seen before...
…
Now, only the Protoss of Kares and the warriors of the Imperium remained in the floating city's plaza.
The lesser Greek deities silently boarded their transport craft. Their armor shimmered with divine radiance under Kares's sunlight.
The Astartes had regrouped into tactical squads. The mechanical clicks of bolt guns being reloaded echoed crisply through the ruins.
Soon, the final Thunderhawk gunship roared into the sky, carrying Astartes squads to other war-torn sectors.
Kores-Tar watched the departing aircraft, his neural filaments trembling faintly.
He turned to Zeratul, a complex storm brewing behind his sapphire eyes.
"Zeratul," he spoke softly, ensuring only the two of them could hear, "have your Dark Templar... already pledged loyalty to the Imperium?"
...
Zeratul's black robes swayed gently in the wind. His emerald eyes were as unfathomable as a deep pool.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he raised his bone-armored hand. Void energy coalesced at his fingertips, swirling into a shifting mass of shadow.
"Kores-Tar..." Zeratul began slowly. "Before we encountered the Imperium, we believed Amon was the deepest terror of the Void."
Suddenly, his fingers clenched.
The void energy violently twisted, morphing into a grotesque, eight-limbed form.
"But the beings that dwell in the Immaterium—the Warp—they are thousands, tens of thousands of times more terrifying than Amon."
His neural filaments surged unnaturally. "At least Amon sought a twisted form of 'ascension.' But the daemons of the Warp... they crave only amusement."
At the edge of the plaza, several resting Kares warriors unconsciously froze mid-action.
Though Zeratul's voice was soft, it pierced into every listener's neural strands like icy needles.
"A stray thought. A flash of rage. Even a moment of despair..."
Zeratul's emerald gaze bore into Kores-Tar.
"That's all it takes for them to sense your soul in the Warp."
He pointed at a nearby Tal'darim mutant corpse.
"See? Even after the host dies, the corruption lingers. That's why total purification is needed. To them, we Protoss are like torches in the dark."
Kores-Tar's staff suddenly erupted in a blinding blue glow, his face contorting with shock.
"Impossible!" His psionic waves rippled violently. "You're saying those... things can target us just from emotional fluctuations?"
Zeratul's form blurred—and reappeared twenty meters away.
There, a shard of crystal tainted with black-red mucus sat ominously.
With a whisper, his psionic blade sliced across it. The mucus screeched as it vaporized.
"They don't seek unity like Amon, nor hunger like the Swarm," the Dark Prelate said heavily. "Some daemons revel in rotting flesh with plague. Others delight in twisting minds with lies. Some create slaughter purely for the sound of screaming."
A slab of metal crashed from above, stirring dust between them.
Kores-Tar suddenly realized—across all of Kares, the supposedly dead Tal'darim corpses were twitching faintly, as though invisible parasites squirmed beneath their skin.
"But they can be killed, right?" a young Kares warrior asked hesitantly. "Like we killed those mutants?"
"Death?" Zeratul suddenly gave a bitter laugh. "A banished daemon simply returns to the Warp... waiting for the next fool to whisper into the darkness."
He drove his blade into the ground, pinning a creeping black-red tendril that had silently extended beneath their feet—clearly left by Athena for Zeratul to "demonstrate."
He continued, "And that is the most terrifying truth—this war has no end."
Silence fell like a curtain. Even the wind ceased.
Kores-Tar's staff slipped from his hands, clattering against the crystalized ground.
His silver-white armor seemed to lose all its luster. His neural strands drooped lifelessly over his shoulders.
Behind him, dozens of Kares warriors stood stunned. Some instinctively took a step back.
"So..." Kores-Tar's voice rasped like sandpaper, "...not even the purest psionic flame can truly destroy these... demons?"
Zeratul's blade traced another arc, severing a second tendril creeping toward them—another of Athena's planted exhibits.
The severed limb writhed on the ground, emitting a screech like a crying infant.
"Fire can only purge the tainted flesh," Zeratul said, voice heavy as lead. "It's like trimming weeds without touching the roots buried deep underground."
A bone-chilling wind suddenly swept across the plaza, dispersing the smoke still hanging over the floating city.
Kores-Tar looked up. The light of Kares's star had dimmed—devoured, it seemed, by some unseen force.
"They feed on emotion."
Zeratul's voice continued, his emerald gaze sweeping across all the Protoss. "Anger, fear, despair... even excessive joy or ecstasy—they all nourish these beings."
His bone-armored hand clenched tightly. Void sparks danced from between his fingers.
"The cruelest irony is—they maintain balance. Like shepherds who never slaughter all their flock."
Suddenly, a young Kares warrior collapsed to his knees, his neural strands involuntarily pulsing with fear.
"So we're just..." His voice trembled, "...livestock in a cage?"
Zeratul appeared beside him like a ghost, resting a hand firmly on the warrior's shoulder.
"No." His voice grew firm. "This is why the Emperor exists."
"Zeratul," Kores-Tar suddenly asked, regaining a measure of composure. "This protection from the Emperor... what does it actually look like?"
The Dark Templar stepped back, drew a crystal from his belt, and gently cradled it in his palm.
Surprisingly, it didn't shatter—but began to glow with countless fine golden lines.
He offered it to Kores-Tar. "Imagine your soul is a fortress. The Emperor does not demand you tear down your walls—but only asks that you place sentinels at your gates."
The moment Kores-Tar touched the crystal, his neural strands erupted with golden light.
All around, the Protoss instinctively recoiled a step—the glow was so pure that even residual black-red stains around the city edge began to smoke.
"This is..." Kores-Tar's voice was reverent.
"Pure psionics," Zeratul explained. "Drawn from the Emperor's power. He doesn't ask you to abandon emotion—but to build a buffer through faith in the Imperium, in the Emperor himself, to shield your soul from the dark."
Gasps erupted throughout the plaza.
The warriors stared at their Executor—the golden light streaming through his neural strands, something none had seen before.
Some reached for their own neural cords, as if wondering what such protection might feel like.
"What's the cost?" Kores-Tar asked suddenly, eyes sharp under the golden glow. "The Emperor wouldn't grant such blessings freely. No taxes? No slavery? He doesn't even demand we serve as cannon fodder?"
Zeratul gave a near-bitter smile.
"Eternal vigilance. Eternal struggle. But isn't that already our creed as Protoss? Personally, I believe the Emperor merely wishes to protect humanity—and includes us other sentients along the way. To end the darkness once and for all."
Kores-Tar gently rubbed the crystal, golden patterns flickering across his brows, his neural light wavering.
"I don't doubt the Emperor's power," he said, voice low and cautious. "But I struggle to believe a species' leader would help us unconditionally. Protection just for faith? No tribute? No conscription?"
Zeratul's emerald eyes flickered. He raised his hand, and void energy projected a holographic image—
The ruins of the Khala Palace. Athena raising the Spear of Victory, and a massive golden figure looming in the sky—vague, yet utterly majestic.
"I have not seen the Emperor in person," Zeratul said with rare reverence. "But during Mengsk's execution, his psionic projection crossed dimensions to descend. In that moment..."
Zeratul's neural strands shivered uncontrollably.
"I saw visions of Heaven and Hell—sinners wailing in magma, while the faithful became stars, merging into a grand celestial network."
The image shifted again—leaving the Kares warriors breathless:
Amon's twisted Void form pierced by countless golden chains. Athena's spear impaled his core, while a golden figure larger than a star looked down upon the god-slaying battlefield.
Kores-Tar's knees buckled slightly—but he forced himself to stand straight.
"This... is what you witnessed on Khala?" His voice was barely a whisper.
"Not just that."
Zeratul displayed more images—Salamanders escorting civilians, Astartes gently supporting wounded children.
"Look at how they treat the weak.
Old friend..."
Zeratul crossed his arms over his chest. His voice rang clear.
"Our choice is simple.
Become playthings of Chaos, watching our people decay into husks... or take the hand humanity offers. At the very least—"
He looked around at all the Protoss.
"—give our next generation the chance to see the true stars."
"…"
Kores-Tar didn't answer. He simply removed his helmet, revealing a face scarred by centuries of war, and pressed his neural strand directly to the golden crystal.
In that instant, radiant gold surged over his entire body like a waterfall. His silver armor shimmered with intricate golden patterns.
"I saw it..."
His voice turned ethereal.
"...the figure upon the Golden Throne... He truly burns himself to illuminate the galaxy."
As the light faded, a single blue psionic tear slid from the Executor's eye.
"What a lonely vigil."
Zeratul nodded silently, the golden patterns reflecting in his green eyes.
"Twelve hours from now..."
Kores-Tar donned his helmet once more, voice restored to full authority.
"I will convene all survivors for a vote.
But in the name of Kares's Executor," he raised his staff—its crystal now completely golden, "I personally agree to join the Imperium's protection network!"
As if answering his declaration, mechanical rumbling echoed from deep within the floating city.
Ancient Khaydarin arrays lit up one by one, projecting a planetary hologram beneath the shattered dome.
Twelve still-contested zones were marked in blood-red, while seven golden points flickered on the surface—forming an ancient Protoss sigil that meant "Dawn Approaches."
Zeratul's neural filaments quivered faintly. "Kares is answering your call."
The Executor said nothing.
He turned skyward—where a golden veil was slowly unfolding across the horizon—
It was the Nerva, deploying an orbital-grade psionic shield to cover the entire planet.
As the barrier resonated with the Khaydarin crystals, brilliant auroras formed in the clouds. And in that radiant light, the black-red mists of Chaos began to recede...
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