V M Fenix Rising

[Fenix]

Confusion rang in Fenix’s senses - for a moment, he had finally met the Khala, and in his centuries of life he had not felt such bliss, at least in the moment - free to be as one with the many who had fallen before him, free to rejoin the Protoss’s combined afterlife.

Now, though, his mind flared, individuality regained, cold rejoining his senses, the flashing screech of a teleportation matrix flaring around him.

It would have been enough to fool the Veteran warrior into thinking this was something routine, were the chill of the cavern air not assaulting worn skin, the feeling of hard earth beneath digitigrade feet instinctively sending him upright.

Fiery eyes looked left and right, part of his thoughts lending themselves to joy - though it was confusing, impossible, his crippled body felt whole for the first time in well over a standard Terran cycle. The lukewarm, sickly amniotic fluid of the Dragoon shell was not surrounding him, the familiar medical tubes that allowed him to use the mechanical walker as a second skin vanished from his skin.

His brain instinctively reached for mechanical legs that were not there for a moment, and the proud protoss was forced to close his eyes and focus, feeling what was and what was not, reminding himself that, somehow, his body was back to what it once was. The Praetor of his people was free of the implants locking him into his mechanical shell - and the crippling injuries that forced his internment.

“Truly…” Fenix spoke to himself.

Flexing his claws, he felt the familiar weight of golden gauntlets resting against them. Looking from side to side, his eyes catch the darkness of the caves around him, the light so suffused within this world, and instinctively the warrior ignites those emitters, the cave walls around him now suffused with a soft blue that revealed a rocky cavern. Soft pink clay was covered in small worms and other insects, running around - many of which spooked by the darkness.

“Care, little creatures. I am merely a temporary intruder. I am no enemy to you.” Fenix spoke to the panicking mass of creatures running from the warrior. Though they did not share a language, the soft tone and the psionic energy did more than the work of translating for Fenix - if not the actual words, the meaning, as the creatures calmed, slowly returning to their normal actions, their fear stymied by the firstborn’s words.

He made his first step, his leg moving forward, and joy filled his body at the feeling, step after step, walking becoming running, as his body was again his own and the musty air of the cavern flew past his nerve cords. The energy around his eyes intensified into a misty smoke as he flexed his fingers in and out, and the old warrior practically flew through the cavern. His shoulders rolled with his arms, his sluggish body now remembering the commands once rote throughout, free of cords or fluids or the agonizing weight of ruptured bones or splintered organs.

He was Fenix, and he was free once more.

The loss of the Khala’s warmth was damning, and the silence of it’s voice chilling - at once teaching him, with certainty, that it is not among them, but what he had gained in his restored body did much to remove his worries.

After all, it was simply a matter of cutting his way through the surface, and his psionic blades were the perfect tool-

Fenix’s mind shut his pondering off immediately as he entered a new chamber - hearing beasts fighting in the front, along with the screaming, so familiar, of terrans amidst the bowels of this planet. He stopped just short of a cliff, as floodlights turned on and the Firstborn praetor stared upon a battlefield.

Terrans in power armour - though armour he had never seen before, carrying guns that fired primitive energy blasts - though nothing compared to the singularity charge of a dragoon, their red lances lit the area as they cut through the monsters in front of them.


Swarming with brown carapaces amidst blacker still, and accompanied by humans who had long succumbed to some ghoulish infestation. Though much of the horde of monsters he did not recognize, there would not be a day he did not know the foul mandibles and scythes of a hydralisk, the drooling, gibbering screeches of zerglings, or the unceasing cries of the bat-like mutalisks that circled above.

Fenix had no questions for this horde that stood with the zerg. Merely a pair of answers that hung from his arms as the Firstborn literally leaped to the fore of the terran defenders, causing many to shriek and jump.

“Fear not! I am here to help, frail terrans! Hold the line…”

Fenix already saw his goal, a frail beast far in the back - a creature more brain than brawn - as his eyes looked over the line. A fresh warrior may not have seen the connection - indeed, not even a veteran could have guessed the importance of the beast behind the assembled horde with skills alone - but a combination of his training against tides of unending abomination and his natural psychic aptitude pointing out the creature the terrans behind him had already termed ‘Zoanthrope’ inside their own minds made it clear what held these beasts’ minds in check, as the fragile alliance fell upon the defenders.

“While I take the head of the beast!”

 

[Jim Raynor]

The crackle of ancient, arcane powers collided. Jim squinted through the searing light that Kerrigan and Amon produced as their strength and wills struck at one another-

As if pushed, Jim toppled forward, landing on his hands and knees. The hydraulics in his robotic limbs hissed at the impact.

A warning beep sounded within his combat suit.

“Connection lost with Terran fleet,” the adjutant said.

“What?”

Jim stood to his feet, noticing the sudden drop in temperature. Immediately he shuttered his visor, protecting him from the chill. He surveyed the area – no massive Sarah Xel’Naga, no Amon, hell not even a solitary marine stood nearby. Chunks of what he first assumed were snow kept crashing against his metal chassis, until he realised they were broken clumps of ice. The winds screeched like rabid zerglings, peppering the area in a dim white fog as it whipped up the vaporised clouds the ice produced.

“What the- how the hell did I end up- where the hell am I?” Jim said.

“Unknown,” the Terran AI responded. “No identifiable Dominion or Protoss beacons detected. Searching...”

“Well wherever the hell we are, we need to find some cover, and fast,” Jim said as a large block of irregular ice exploded against his shoulder. “Not sure how long I’ll last before I’m buried where I stand.”

Jim stumbled forward blindly as ice relentlessly pounded his combat suit, unsure if he was walking towards safety or deeper into an icy tomb.

How did he get here? Did Kerrigan and Amon teleport him randomly as a fluke result of their clashing energies? Had the Void lashed out unexpectedly and flung him deep into space, worlds away from the conflict? Or was he just unconscious, laid out on his ass after the two xel’naga attacked?

Pretty damn realistic dream, Jim thought.

"Well? Anything?" Jim asked impatiently of his AI.

"Protoss signal detected," the adjutant said in its emotionless tone.

"Just the one?" Jim said. "Oh well, one's better than none. Point it out."

Jim bumbled through the ice storm, following the adjutant's directions. How anything managed to survive out here for more than a few minutes beggared Jim's belief. Even in his CMC-400 combat suit he was concerned for his safety. How would anything without a giant metal cocoon endure the endless pelting of ice?

The adjutant led Jim to the entrance of a cave. The howling winds quietened as Jim stepped readily into its protective embrace, the spotlights near his shoulders switching on to provide illumination. After only a handful of steps, a new sound reached his ears. Snarling, screeching... and gunfire.

Jim picked up the pace, sprinting towards the din of combat as fast as his metal shell would allow. He couldn’t know who was fighting, or against what, but it would be a cold day in Hell before Jim let people fight for their lives alone.

A skirmish between monsters and power suited humanoids raged before Jim’s eyes. Nightmarish beasts of breeds the Terran commander had never seen before lashed out, claws and fangs and fury, as they battled back against them with glowing crimson lances and plasma weaponry. These weren’t Terrans, at least not ones part of the Dominion. Their suits did not offer the same overwhelming protection or power that the CMC-400 did. They were much more form fitting, and while better than many standard armours, would not hold up to the primal onslaught for long.

Even though many of the monsters were beyond Jim’s ability to identify, the Zerg were definitely part of their number. Zerglings bounded into the front line, hydralisks peppered the humanoids with projectile spikes from the back line, and mutalisks fired globs of acidic liquid from the air. It was only a matter of time before-

A spindly grey skinned humanoid in gleaming golden armour bounded to the Terrans’ aid, cyan blades of energy flowing from his armguards. His eyes shone the same hue, intensely focused on something in the distance.

A zealot! The backbone of the Protoss’ ground forces. Maybe he got mixed up in the same bullshit that Jim had? At the least, he hoped he would recognise him.

Time for introductions ran out though as the zealot charged forward, cutting a path through the eldritch abominations. Jim gave chase, lifting his Impaler rifle and burying 8 millimetre spikes into anything that wasn’t human. The zealot glanced over his shoulder, but caught in the haze of battle, no doubt had no time to communicate his appreciation. Keeping up with the nimble Protoss inside a hardskin was tough work, but Raynor thinned out the horrors around the zealot as best he could, to give him the best chance at his objective.

Jim quickly realised what that was. A horrid alien creature hovered right at the back of the enemy force, its head shaped similarly to a hydralisk except for the visible brain at the back of its bulbous, oval skull. While looking more like a corrupted worm with a elongated head, Jim knew the zealot was targeting it for a purpose. A commander maybe, or a secret weapon preparing itself for combat.

The zealot bisected another unidentifiable monster, reaching its target. The longheaded alien’s forehead shone with some unknown power, and Jim wondered if the Protoss warrior had miscalculated.

“Hey! Over here, ya damn freak!” Jim shouted, peppering the creature with steel spikes.

The unexpected volley of projectiles seemed to have an effect, as the light died down. In that split second, the zealot saw his chance and slashed diagonally upwards with his psi-blades. The top half of the alien slid downwards as its entrails spilled out.

The attacking beasts suddenly paused – not mollified, but acting more confused, surprised. Did they sense the death of that monster?

The other humans took the break in battle to deliver the death knell for the enemy forces. Those that didn’t crumble scrambled away, deeper into the dark and shadowy tunnels.

Jim strode over to the zealot. His back was to Raynor, hunched down after his impressive strike.

“Hoo boy, quite an eye you got there,” Jim said, tapping his rifle against his shoulder. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised when a Protoss does somethin’ out of the ordinary.”

The zealot turned. Despite a lack of what a Terran would traditionally recognise as unique facial features, the Protoss had their own individual traits only discernable after spending much time with them.

And Jim knew he was staring into the eyes of a Praetor long dead.

 

[Fenix]

It had been hours, or perhaps years - the glow of the Khala cut time into a murky substance, unknown to all who reach it’s depths. The glowing eyes that gazed upon the terran in front of him doubted themselves for a moment - not for lack of knowing. While the human had his hair grown far past the shaved look he had known before, bits of ivory adorning the ebon mustache that had grown, his every feature was familiar to the praetor, though it may have been his first time seeing it without the robotic second-skin tinting his vision. The Terran had aged - and they were not so short-lived that this did not mean time had moved on without Fenix.

Still, the eyes of an old friend were more soothing than perhaps any other substance could be in the midst of such unknown territory, and the hard press around his eyes softened as his own widened.

“Friend Raynor! Though I do not know what fresh abyss we have been thrown into, pleased I am to see I will brave it with a trusted comrade, after all!”

“Fenix… You’re alive! And you’re outta your suit!” Raynor called out, as though seeing a ghost, awe and grief welling within the Terran warrior’s psyche. Fenix’s response was to place his hands across his hips and laugh, his psionic echo trailing through the caverns to the terrans nearby.

“Death has once again spat me out, and with my body restored!” Fenix called out with a booming laugh. “Though I miss the embrace of the Khala, life is something to find fortunate!”

Raynor’s shock turned to a smile as the shock turned to happiness. “Ah hell, It’s been too damn long since I heard your voice, Fenix!” the man said, fighting back tears as Fenix watched with some shock. To think that he’d once again be fighting alongside a brother in arms of Raynor’s caliber had filled Fenix with joy, but he clearly was not the only one, as he placed a clawed hand out, as he’d seen him do with his men multiple times.

Raynor looked surprised, but was quick to grasp it, his alien hand squeezing against Raynor’s Powered suit.

Like that, both of them felt a brief measure of solid ground in this turbulent struggle, as the two shared a brief moment of laughter. Still, as it died down, young Raynor’s eyes fixed on his as his emotional outburst was pushed back by the cunning strategist Fenix also knew well, reminding him of his situation.

“I ain’t got a damn clue where we are or how we got here. Any chance your protoss wisdom’s got some explanation for this place?”

“I fear not! Though I have been on hundreds of worlds across twice as many years, I have no explanation for my resurrection, nor how I have been spirited away to this place! If you are in the dark on this strange place, then I can offer no candle to illuminate the matter!”

“You seem awfully chipper about it.” Raynor muttered, giving a sigh of frustration.

“Though we know not what has happened, time must eventually surrender the answer to many of these questions! We have been blown by the winds of fate, and we cannot change that… but we have much before us to focus on, battles yet to win! There is no use worrying about an unknown, unchangeble past when so much lies ahead!”

Raynor gave a sigh. “Well, now you got me feelin’ silly for worrying about it! But you do have a point - the zerg are still creepin’ around here, and they’re not the only ones!”

It was at this point another terran - one wearing far more primitive power armor than the already-medieval stylings of the CMC-300, to Fenix’s eyes - came up to the both of them, looking for counsel, by the nearly watery look in his blue eyes.

“ I’m Overseer Pask of the Rock raiders! you guys just saved our lives, and hell if we’re not grateful, but our evac’s still cut off by Rose’s forces, and I’d appreciate some assistance!”

“Rose?” Raynor asked aloud,

“Rose Quartz! The fallen arbiter? You one of those people who just get dropped in?” He asks suddenly, puzzled.

“Maybe we are. I need some answers if we’re gonna be able to help you though, son.” Raynor replied in a voice that exhibited both authority and patience. The panicked Pask’s body relaxed, his muscles untensing as his armor once again moved with his breathing, calmed and focused by young Raynor’s words.

Fenix took the moment to appreciate and take pride in his friend’s natural qualities of leadership - a rarity even among the firstborn that he wielded with a calculated ease most high templar would envy. He would allow Commander Raynor to take the lead with this interaction among terrans, just as Jim had done with him during their time on Aiur amongst his people.

“So, ahh, welcome to the Crossroads. People sometimes get spirited away from different universes and dropped here. You couldn’t have appeared at a worse time, sorry to say.” Pask added, with a bit of sweat. “Rose Quartz is the result of an arbiter being corrupted by a greater evil - one called “Darkseid”. She’s taken over the already hostile inhabitants of the world and made them into a great swarm - one poised to kill off anyone who doesn’t become one of her slaves.”

Raynor’s frustration seemed to grow as the man spoke. “Oh, great. My life’s went and entered a damned loop!”

“U-uhhh…” Pask stumbled, the armored man tapping on his visor nervously as he added. “Point is… my division’s stuck behind some organic base they’ve set up. We were part of a battlegroup sent to clear these caverns, but only my battlegroup has survived. If we don’t clear the way, We’re… probably all dead. But you guys! You can fight, and seem to be veterans or something! This is… actually my first battle like this. We’d dealt with monster attacks before sure, but this is even worse than the illithid raids! At least back in the day the monsters all hunted us by themselves, in their own special ways! This is like… fighting a tide.”

Raynor’s eyes flashed. “Well, lucky for you, you happen to be speaking to two experts on the subject. How about you show us what you’ve got going for a base right now, give me a tour, and we’ll figure out how to make this work?”

A pale glow lit the tunnels as Fenix’s eyes blazed an orange flame.. “And once we’ve finished our glorious battle, perhaps you could offer us some explanation for our situation - and transport! These caves lack in light, and even I cannot live off of battle alone.”

“Sure. You can head up to the hub with us the moment we get out of here. Our transport ships were originally built to haul vast quantities of precious minerals, not people… so they’re pretty damn roomy, all things considered!”

Jim gave a nod, as the three began to walk, following the overseer as he brought them to a small compound - these terrans equivalent to pre-fabricated barricades.

Jim looked to Fenix with concern, and Fenix met his eyes with his own, guessing what was on Raynor’s mind.

“Rest assured, young Raynor, I am well and truly no phantom - nor will I allow the coming battle to render me one.” The Templar spoke with a touch of concern. “Though I know not what came to pass after my death, I would not touch death a third time so unceremoniously! Though, personally, I would have been fine with the second! The former was mere ill luck, while the latter was against a worthy foe, and insurmountable odds! I shall have to work hard to find a suitable replacement for my final hour!”

Raynor gave a smile, seeing through Fenix’s insanity. “Come back from the dead after who knows how long and you’re already makin’ jokes!”

“Come now, friend Raynor! Templar do not make jokes! It would take up so much time we could use to speak of honor, and nostalgia of eras long gone![/]” Fenix joked, a joke the two had developed speaking of some of the more rigid templar they had spoken to on Aiur.

Both of them shared another bout of laughter, and like that, a bond that had been lost long ago reforged itself between the two friends.