Anyhow, the Report Center is being annoying with my paragraphs, so some of them are indented and some not. To solve that problem, I just left a space at each new paragraph. Enjoy as always.

After Brood War: Chapter Three

“He is not here?” Zeratul’s voice seemed slightly confused, which, coming from a Terran, equaled running around in circles. In this case, though, the situation warranted it. Indeed, any lesser Protoss might have been running around in circles as well.
 
“Raynor has been sending me transmissions every day with his location…what would he have to gain by lying to me?” Zeratul, Artanis, and Klithon had no ready answer for that. The three of them were standing on the bridge of the Gantrithor II, above the planet that Raynor had supposedly made his primary base. The only life forms were clearly a large pack of Bengalaas. In fact, it seemed that a huge pack roamed the single continent amidst the large oceans.
 
“Excuse me for interrupting your conversation, but I think I have some information that you’ll find of no little use.” Arcturus Mengsk said over that very same transponder he had used on Korhal. Needless to say, the Protoss weren’t pleased, though they hid it well.
 
“My Ghosts have been picking through Raynor’s transmissions; it seems that he simply made it look like it came from this place. Pretty simple encryption, too but like I said –,“ Zeratul silenced him with a hand gesture.
 
“Spare me the trivialities, Mengsk. Tell me where I can find Raynor, or else I’ll change my mind and let Klithon here blast your pitiful fleet into oblivion.” Klithon’s eyes flashed in anticipation.
 
“Alright, alright, Zeratul. You don’t have to be so bullying, you know. We have coordinates, but they’re only from the last transmission, six days ago.” Arcturus finished by reading the three sets of numbers, which placed him somewhere on the other side of the Sector.
 
“We need a more exact set to contact him. This will do us no good if we must chase him across half the Sector.” Artanis muttered in aggravation. He was relatively young, still having a hard time controlling his emotional outbursts. In this case, though, it actually helped.
 
“Well, Artanis, here’s a little something that you might find interesting. I’ll have my men send over the coding now. It’s called VAP,” the holographic figure turned its head and yelled something before facing them again.
 
“I highly doubt anything your men could produce would interest us,” Zeratul replied dryly, though he contradicted himself by walking over to a nearby console and began looking over the schematics.
 
“Interesting indeed, Terran. Run this immediately on the coordinates you have and change course to those coordinates. We may not be chasing Raynor, but we must meet up at some time,” Zeratul requested, entering several more commands into the ship’s console.
 
Suddenly, a mental ping sounded through the room, and Artanis immediately rushed to another wall-mounted console.
 
“Zeratul, one of our settlements at 441/17/89 is under attack by a large force calling themselves the UED. I do not believe in coincidences, and this could complicate things. Badly.”
 
*
 
Raynor had been sleeping soundly when the alarm came at two in the morning. Rubbing wearily at his bloodshot eyes, he walked over to the bridge, snapping at the officers there out of sheer irritation.
 
“What is it? If you’ve hit another asteroid or some idiot left the EMP on, I swear I’ll make your lives hell for waking me up this early…again.”
 
The most senior man there, a technician named Ian Ekerban, looked at the other subordinates and decided it was his task to speak up.
 
“We’re being tracked. I don’t know what it is, but there’s a sub-frequency homing in our location at random intervals. It took me about half a day to even realize it was there, but since then, I’ve been able to track the source,” the man paused, as if unsure whether or not to continue. Either the news was that bad, or he was simply overly hesitant.
 
“Well? I’m waiting,” Raynor said impatiently, tapping his foot.
 
“It’s Mengsk. Arcturus Mengsk. You know, the guy that I used to work for –“ Raynor cut him off with a sharp glare.
 
“I’m well aware of who Arcturus Mengsk is. Now, this is what you’ll do. That bastard can’t be up to anything good.”
 
*
 
The isolated Protoss settlement dubbed Argos II, though large, had been caught completely by surprise when the UED Battleships began the slow entrance of its nitrogen atmosphere. Of course, that didn’t mean they didn’t put up an extremely tenacious and brutal fight. Captain-Commander Anghar Morat of the Fists Of Heaven could certainly attest to that fact. The Fists of Heaven were the UED’s elite storm troopers, landing into battle on the Rakyn hovercraft-speeders, attacking strategic areas and biting at the flanks and rear.
 
Of course, that was how it was supposed to work. Unfortunately, the light weapons and armor of the Fists made them even more vulnerable to the tough, hard-hitting Protoss warriors. Standard protocol also didn’t dictate one fourth of the Rakyns shot down as they prepared for insertion and another fourth destroyed in the process of deployment. Still, that left well over a hundred Fists on the ground, and they were the best at what they did. Supposedly.
 
The place was sweltering, the multiple, large surfaced silver deposits reflecting the light and heat from the binary suns. While the standard UED battle suit dealt with most of the blinding light and blazing heat, Anghar still had to squint, and he was well aware of the sweat running down his pale forehead. Which wasn’t helping his immediate situation.
 
Anghar gasped for breath, a nine-foot-tall Zealot looming over him, paying no heed of its multiple gashes and bullet wounds. Lunging forward, it stabbed with both of its Psi Blades. Anghar anticipated it, though, rolling to the right and firing his Basilisk Rifle at the Zealot’s head, forgetting the briefing instructions.
 
“The Protoss have a distributed nervous system, so you won’t be getting any quick kills, especially not to the brain.”
 
Indeed, the Zealot didn’t seem to mind at all, charging again with deadly speed and accuracy. Anghar sidestepped neatly, but the Zealot pivoted suddenly, an energy blade slicing through the reinforced armor as though it were paper, leaving a long cut, already beginning to drip blood. Stifling a groan, he plucked at his belt, coming up with a small, black grenade. He had to end this, and fast, or else he’d surely bleed to death. The Zealot was turning at the end of its attack, giving Anghar the time to roll the grenade out and roll behind a metal pillar, ignoring the burning emanating from his side and the scorching heat on his back. Seeing the fiery explosion and the subsequent blue-white flash, he raised an unsteady hand to his com-link and uttered tersely.
 
“We need backup; the Protoss are chopping the men to flinders. I’m requesting extraction; I’m wounded on my side. I need an ETA for the Legion. We need their firepower to finish this.”
 
In the meantime, he pulled out the small packet of TWR (Trauma Wound Restoration), sprinkling the white powder over the slash, which would stop most of the bleeding. Hugging his short black gun to his chest, he activated his com-link again, this time to the frequency of the rest of his men. They had all gotten separated in the landing, which explained why their leader was alone. Speaking the code for ‘rally immediately’, he settled down to wait. There was no shade with the placement of the suns, but the pillar at least blocked the rays from one of the suns.
 
Surprisingly, the first to meet him was not a Fist of Heaven, but one of the Spearhead. The Infantry of the Spearhead, as they were formally called, were the main unit of the UED, leading the frontal push of an attack. Though in this case the element of surprise required the Fists to land first, it was almost always the other way, with the Spearhead marching in and the Fists striking at the rear. More heavily armed than the Fists yet nowhere near the power of the Legion of the Directorate or the Deathwatchers; they were a welcome addition to the raid.
 
“Honor and Glory, Captain-Commander Morat,” the lean man said in a thick accent, using the formal greeting of the UED Combined Infantry and saluting with his Wyvern Missile Launcher, “I am called Varek, of the Sixth Company of the Infantry of the Spearhead. I received your message, but the rest of the Spearhead moved onwards.”
 
Anghar waved him over, wasting no time on pleasantries. “Listen, the Fists will be moving out of here very quickly, so the battlefield will be on your hands.” The young soldier grinned in anticipation, white teeth flashing in the sun. What a fool. “Relay this message to your commander. Tell him to act defensively; keep as many men alive as possible. When the Legion and the Guardsmen arrive, let them do the fighting. We don’t need more casualties this early.”
 
The man appeared crestfallen that he couldn’t charge off and be killed, but he couldn’t disagree to an officer as high as Anghar. He saluted again, arming his missile launcher.
 
Anghar eased himself up against the ground, waiting for the transports to get him and his men out of the battle.
 
*
 
       “I don’t like the look of this, Kennar,” Abdular Yulan muttered as he studied the holographic feed on the screen. Ironically enough, it was modified off of that same combat simulator that they had given up on a while ago. It seemed that the technicians and programmers onboard were good at improvising.
 
The scene revealed was disturbing indeed. Small pockets composed of the Spearhead were fighting their way through the bleak landscape, having been broken up earlier when the Protoss had seized the opportunity and charged forth. With the Fists unable to provide backup, the Spearhead had had no choice but to fall back or be crushed by the enemy.
 
“The Spearhead are moving in as planned, Commander,” the underling reported as Yulan and Irij looked on from the primary screens. The two of them had decided a ground attack would be necessary, as the silver columns would break up and reflect the Battleships’ ATS/B Laser Batteries.
 
The Infantry of the Spearhead looked impressive as they marched forward, the harsh sunlight glinting off their missile launchers and their combat armor, white striped with dark green, almost black, the emblem of the UED flashing proudly on the breastplate.
 
As the hundred-man column reached the predetermined ground staked out in their briefing, the members of the front two ranks dropped to one knee, raising their Stinger anti-infantry rifles. Their job would be to protect the rest of the column as they unloaded their payload on the Protoss buildings.
 
The other eight ranks of the Spearhead set their Wyvern Missile Launchers at a distinct 45-degree angle. As one, eighty missiles fired, reaching their apex and falling quickly, hitting the first Protoss building. At first, the massive shielding batteries protected the structure, but it failed eventually and small explosions began blossoming on the rounded surfaces until the complex collapsed upon itself, imploding as it burst in a thousand shards, raising a dust that glinted gold and blue.
 
That was when the tidal wave struck from three sides. From the front, around thirty Zealots thronged, the ten or so Dragoons they were escorting opening fire on the front lines, picking off infantry with a vengeance. The men had no time to scream before the energy cut off their lives.
 
On the left and right, warriors scaled the metallic heights, towering structures that the UED’s tactical analysts had deemed impassable. High Templar gestured majestically, and the sky hummed, forked lightning raining among the Spearhead as their accompanying Reavers unleashed a horde of glittering Scarabs, the small robotic explosives rushing down to claim their foes in devastating explosions that blinded the eye.
 
Phase Disruptor barrages, bolts of raging lightning, and Scarab explosions hunted down the unlucky instantly, and the few who managed to escape were ripped apart by the escort Zealots.
 
Of course, that was only the first Spearhead division to attack, but the damage-causing ability of the Protoss astounded those who had either viewed or participated in the slaughter. Clearly, the enemy commander knew what he was doing, and he wouldn’t relinquish this outpost without a long and bloody fight.
 
The other divisions of the Spearhead were caught off guard as the initial attack force fell quickly, allowing the enemy to rush at them before they could get into formation. Even more reinforcements were streaming from towering structures in the Protoss encampment as the two forces clashed.
 
Initially, the Spearhead had tried to hold its ground, until it became obvious that that would lead to a decisive rout. So instead, they fell apart, groups of five or ten fighting for their lives. As the Wyvern Anti-Structure Missiles were no longer effective at close range against foot soldiers, the men had switched to their Stinger rifles, harsh bursts of staccato gunfire echoing through the air.
 
“We must hope for the best, Abdular,” Irij replied dismissively, though not an optimistic man himself. The enemy had sent ships into orbit, and though the fighter escort had vanquished them easily, they had still managed to blast the landing bay aperture shut, preventing any reinforcements from joining the Spearhead. The transports that had extracted the Fists were hovering aimlessly, unable to deliver their passengers.
 
“Hope for the best indeed,” Yulan shot back. He was almost always fiery when battles were against his favor. Though he usually managed to win them in the end. “If the Legion and the Deathwatchers could get down there, this would have been an easy success,” he continued, not bothering to lift his eyes from the display.
 
“I say, the Protoss commander is quite skilled, blocking off our reinforcements and breaking our formations,” Irij commented, watching the latest developments. Now, a group of Shuttles were dropping Zealots into the clusters of the Spearhead, diverting their attention. The Zealots and Dragoons on the outside seized the opportunity and pressed in further. Only when the Zealots vanished in puffs of blue smoke did they realize it was all a bluff, caused by Hallucinations.
 
“Oh yes, he’s skilled all right. Nice excuse when the coroners pass the news to their families,” Yulan replied sarcastically. “I’m not sure the Spearhead can hold out for much longer. If those damned engineers can’t get the ports open, I’ll signal a retreat.”
 
“Using what? The transports are still carrying the Fists, you know,” Irij reminded him, just as angry, his blue eyes flashing. “Unless you would be kind enough to sacrifice one soldier to save another, I don’t think that’s a good plan.”
 
Yulan swore quietly, but continued studying the display. An idea appeared in his mind.
 
*
 
“Trezel, I would like for you to meet our newest ally, David Harfiyn,” Yharg stated, mentally gesturing towards the entrance to their chamber in the Hive cluster. The tall, dark man strode in without a word and looked at the two Cerebrates as if analyzing their strengths and weaknesses.
 
“What madness is this now? Are you encompassing Terrans in our alliance?” Trezel glared at Yharg dangerously. Their agreement had kept them and their broods from attacking one another, but mutual animosity still remained deeply embedded in their minds.
 
“Ah yes. I believe I can clear up that little misconception,” Harfiyn answered in a deceptively soft, mild voice. “My…followers…and I are one with the Swarm, though not in the usual way. You see, during our rehabilitation, some of the Queen’s genetic coding was misinterpreted. Among other effects, it altered our bodies so that the physical differentiation of our rehabilitation became negated. It also changed our minds. Kerrigan believes she controls us. She also believes that we are still on Char. As long as that deception can be kept, we will be safe from her wrath,” he smiled, but it didn’t change his hard green eyes.
 
“As I said earlier, we also acquired other abilities,” suddenly, without warning, his right forearm began…morphing. There was no other word for it. Dark skin became a hard brown cocoon, and in less than a minute, the cocoon fell away, revealing a Hydralisk scythe. Harfiyn smiled again in the same emotionless way, and the process reversed itself.
 
“Since the Queen controls the workings of the Hive, it is no surprise that its DNA strains also encompass those of the other members of the Swarm,” he finished, waiting for the Cerebrates’ response.
 
Yharg, who knew of Harfiyn’s abilities already, merely waited, but Trezel burst out, “That is impossible. Even though Queen’s do contain Hydralisk DNA, that does not mean that Queens can turn into Hydralisks in less than a minute!”
 
“Well, as I said earlier, this particular Queen was a mutant. A deviant, shall we say? It could indeed morph into a Hydralisk, and Kerrigan knew of this. However, I do not believe that the ability could actually have been passed onto us. More importantly, I believe I can reverse engineer the specific mutation that allows for this, and implant it within any Zerg. Imagine the possibilities,” Harfiyn went on, speaking in grandiose terms of the strategic and tactical invulnerability they would have. Apparently he had been a rather capable general before his abduction.
 
As he finished, Yharg and Trezel glanced at one another, reading their emotions. As one, they stated to the Infested Terran before them, “Welcome to the alliance.”