"I just ramble until it sounds good and cut half. :)"
-~CattleBruiser~
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| The Fall | | | Author: | | | IP: | pa-gbg-tXXXX | | Date: | 06/15/02 05:06 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 2, Max: 8, Min: 6
Lifetime Rating for TheyAre: 6.1111 |   | Ahhh yes, TheyAre is back with another fic, this one actually is decent. ::sez me:: It's titled the Fall, and has three books.
Book One: Praetor. Details Fenix's experiences from Protoss Mission One, Original where we met Fenix to his final death at the hands of Kerrigan's agents in Zerg Mission Five, Brood War. Three of Five Chapters done, working on No. 4.
Book Two: Roughneck. Details Raynor's experiences from the beginning of StarCraft until Fenix's death and his disappearance in Brood War. Zero of twelve projected chapters done.
Book Three: Savior. Details Tassadar's experiences (that must be DAMN annoying by now, sorry about that) from before SC (the destruction of Chau Sara) to his death at the end of SC. Zero of twenty projected chapters done.
By now, you all want to kill me because A. You all hate fics if they are (hehe) not from .Praetor or citizenKane. Don't deny it, because the Thought Police will embarass you if you do. But, without further ado, Chapter One of Book One of The Fall:
The Fall
Book One: Praetor
Chapter One: Disgrace
Rain fell on the Protoss capital of Antioch, obscuring the pyramidal towers and thin, cylindrical spires that rose into the sky. Most of the citizenry were not in their homes, waiting out the storm, but gone, hiding in the jungle mountains behind the city, scattered far and wide to the other great metropolises of Aiur—or dead.
The lights of the massive buildings usually gave Antioch a comforting glow, an oasis that marked the edge of the massive An’Hari desert, a jewel visible for hundreds of kilometers around.
Not on this night.
Outside the city, the driving downpour had turned the desert sands to rivers of mud, changed defensive trench lines to swamps that none wished to be in. The sound of water hissing as it hit shields and evaporated filled the sky, along with the crash and roar of thunder and lightning—and a low rumble growing ever closer that belonged to neither.
In one of the front-line trenches outside Antioch, Praetor Fenix watched the desert through the eyes of an Observer perched among the storm clouds, many kilometers away from Antioch. What the Praetor saw, he did not like.
A carpet of dark brown was moving along the terrain, and one would almost think that it was only mud, writhing in some odd way thanks to the hard rain—until one took a closer look. Then one realized that the “mud” was actually thousands, perhaps millions of large insects each about the size of a great dane or mastiff. Huge claws rose up from each side of their head, and their fore legs bore monstrous sickles as well. They seemed all hard edges, these creatures—no curves to be seen anywhere, save their glowing red circular eyes and the razor-sharp edges of their claws.
[The enemy has come,] Fenix said, projecting the message to every Templar on the defensive line. [Power up Photon Cannons. Protect the Nexii we have placed around the city to gather minerals.] He could dimly hear the assents of his commanders in his mind, but he shunted them aside as he directed the massive, lumbering Reavers into position. He watched nervously as they struggled through the meter-deep mud, urging them onward to their positions.
Turning his attention back to the Observer, Fenix could see that the Zerg were barely a kilometer away, struggling through the mud much as the Reavers were, but they would arrive soon, nevertheless. The Praetor powered up his Psi Blades, hearing the low hum as power coursed from his mind through the Cybernetically Enhanced power suit, and into the gauntlets on his wrists. Two light blue, almost tealish-white glowing blades of psionic energy a meter long sprang from the gauntlets, and Fenix was ready for combat. [Five hundred meters!] He yelled over the cacophony of the other warriors powering up their own Psi Blades, or the huge, spider-like Dragoons readying the destructive power of their Phase Disrupter Cannons.
[Over the top! The Zerg come!] Fenix uttered a short prayer to Khas to give his brethren the strength needed to stem the tide of the coming onslaught, before vaulting over the rapidly disappearing edge of the trench and up onto higher ground. He watched as hundreds of other Zealots did the same, while Dragoons, High Templar and Reavers slowly crossed over the trench on makeshift bridges.
[One hundred meters! Charge!] The Zerg were visible, now, through the sheets of rain: horrible slavering monsters that leapt over each other, clawed and bit their own comrades as they tried to keep their bloodlust in check until they reached the Protoss line. Fenix watched them in disgust; how could creatures so primitive have pushed the Protoss Empire to the breaking point?
As he remembered the view from the Observer stationed high in the clouds, Fenix knew: there were so damned many of them. How could even the strongest garrisons, with thousands of troops, stand against millions of marauders? How could even the 1st Legion, pride of the Empire, with over one hundred thousand Templar warriors, stop an enemy whose true strength was unknown, and best measured in the billions?
Already the massive Photon Cannons were firing, sending out blazing spheres of energy the size of a Dragoon into the midst of the Zerg, blowing dozens of Zerglings into the sky or incinerating them completely with a single blast. Moments later, deeper, larger explosions were heard, and bright blue points of light appeared to the left and right of Fenix; the sound of Cannons exploding as the Zerg overwhelmed them.
He could dimly hear the clashing of Psi Blades and Claws off to the right of him as the Zerg slammed into the thin, thin Protoss line. [Bring up Reavers for heavy firing support!] Fenix yelled. [High Templar, prepare to storm--] his orders were cut short as the Zerg reached his part of the line, and instantly he was engulfed in the swarm.
Cut, dodge, slash, pivot… It all came naturally to him as he hacked his way through the mass of brown. He barely paid attention to each individual Zerg; by the time he killed one his mind was already on the Zergling three kills ahead, and there were so many of the damn things, if one fell, ten took its place, it seemed. He slashed one in half before turning to eviscerate another, one that would have almost surely cut through the shields on his back and started clawing into his armor, before turning once more to face another five.
All around him, Zerg and Protoss were fighting and dying in an eerie dance of death, one Fenix had seen dozens of times during the war with the Zerg, and hundreds of times during his life as a Templar. Dragoons fell, their life tanks ruptured, spilling dark blue liquid onto the ground, along with the ruined bodies of the Templar they had kept alive. Zealots were hacked to pieces with a ferocity Fenix knew only the Zerg could achieve. Reavers exploded in a fury of white light, throwing white-hot chips of themselves, now deadly shrapnel, through the fray.
[Storm, now!] Fenix yelled, his voice growing frantic, even as he struggled to keep calm. [The line will not last much longer. All Templar, prepare to Psionic Storm on my mark.] He paused a moment, watching as the myriad Templar sprinkled among the Protoss ranks gathered energy to themselves, shimmering blue particles swirling around them as they readied their bodies and minds for the drain of casting the most devastating weapon the Protoss had: a Psionic Storm.
As Templar progress through their training, their minds become more and more attuned to the Khala. The “vibrations” caused by this can severely harm the minds of other, lesser beings. As such, a Templar can magnify these “vibrations” into chains of lightning that literally tear the minds (and bodies) of the enemies of the Khala apart.
[Shield yourselves, brethren!] he yelled as the Templar began channeling the energy they’d gathered into a truly crippling strike. The rain began to slack off as the air became heavy and wet. The Zerg and Protoss stopped, all watching as the Templar began their assault.
A keening wail rose from the ranks of the Zerg as blue lightning, the physical manifestation of a Psionic Storm, crackled into existence all over the battlefield. The wail rose to a scream as the minds of the Zerglings were ripped apart with little effort, and their bodies soon followed. Some merely fell to the ground, lifeless, while others were violently torn to bloody shreds, organs slipping out of gashed abdomens, bodies smashed to jelly or flattened by the attack.
The Storms slipped out of existence as soon as they’d appeared, but the effect on the attacking Zerg was devastating. The massive Swarm that had descended upon Antioch began to pull back, as other Templar around the city unleashed their own assaults. Fenix watched in wonder as Scouts, hoarded against sometimes desperate need, flew in low over the Zerg and launched Anti-Matter Missiles into their midst, causing more kills in those few seconds than in the entire battle.
[Back to Antioch,] Fenix called to his brethren. [This day’s battle is over.] And not without its losses, he thought. Only two in three of every warrior who had strode out to battle that day had survived, and every one of those two remaining was injured severely enough to need high-level medical treatment not available at the front. For the first time, Fenix was beginning to see Dragoons outnumber Zealots at the front lines, and it scared him. It worried him to no end as well. How long before all Protoss were dead or encased within the cold, hard shell of a Dragoon? How long before all those Dragoons were destroyed, their tanks ruptured, contents spilled into the dirt of some outlying planet, or Aiur, the Homeworld, herself?
Trudging back through mud now stained red and green with blood and ichor, Fenix watched as a high-speed Shuttle flew over the battlefield before apparently heading for him. What now? He thought wearily as the Shuttle tried to find a dry spot among the muck before setting down a dozen meters away. The hatch on the Shuttle slowly opened and Fenix cursed as three Zealots garbed in ceremonial battle armor he recognized as being used by the Judicator’s personal guard slowly made their way down the ramp. Following them was an aged Templar, who looked around at the devastation and mud with distaste.
Walking slowly up to the Shuttle, feeling bruises forming all over his body, Fenix slowly said, [good day, Judicator Aldaris.]
Aldaris looked at the ruin all around him before saying to himself, [if this is war, should we all be cured of it,] before turning to Fenix and stating in his usual loud, brash manner, [Praetor Fenix, you have fought well on this day. The Conclave observed the battle from orbit, and applauds your brave actions in the defense of our Homeworld.]
[I am honored by the recognition the Conclave gives me,] Fenix said, although he felt anything but honored. At the moment, he felt tired, beat up, wet, and dirty. [I beg your pardon, Judicator, but I wish to clean myself and tend to my wounds, minor as they are compared to what we have seen here today, and minor compared to what our race has seen,] he said.
Aldaris looked at him, his eyes full of something… was that actually sympathy, coming from the wizened old Judicator? [Of course, Praetor,] he said. [I remember what it is like to be in battle. If anyone deserves rest on this day, it is you. Take your leave of me. I must report to the Conclave and consult with the other Praetors about the defense for the next attack. Only Khas knows how we will stop their main strike force, when this was only a small probe against our lines.]
[A small… a small probe?] Fenix asked in disbelief. He waved his hand to encompass the battlefield. [We suffered over sixty percent casualties here, Judicator! Our Templar are exhausted from their efforts, and you tell me that this was only a small probe against our lines?]
Aldaris’ eyes were filled with sorrow, now. [It is true, Praetor,] he said. [We will send the 4th and 5th Legions up from Skir’at to strengthen the lines here at Antioch, but it will leave the port city almost defenseless.] His head drooped. [Even so, each legion only has twenty thousand Templar in it each. I do not know how much they can help in this time of desperation, but it is all we can do.] His voice filled with rage as he said, [if only Tassadar had not fought the will of the Conclave, if only he had listened to our orders and burned the Terran worlds—] he stopped for a moment. [It took the Conclave many days to decide that burning the worlds was the best decision. The wanton destruction of a species under the protection of the Dae’Uhl may not seem like the right way to uphold the dictates of the Khala—but now Tassadar’s indecision may have doomed us all.]
Fenix wanted to defend Tassadar, one of his closest friends, but he couldn’t. He knew that Aldaris was right. If Tassadar’s Expeditionary Fleet had burned the Terran worlds, the Zerg advance would at least have been delayed. Now Tassadar had disappeared, his Fleet assumed destroyed—and the Zerg were assaulting the capital of the Protoss Empire itself.
[Farewell, Judicator,] Fenix said, and then turned and started slowly walking through the muck back to Antioch. How could this have happened to the Protoss race?
* * *
Two days later, the true Zerg onslaught began. Fenix watched this time, instead of being out there with his men, and he hated it. Aboard the Gal’Rae, one of the massive Carriers orbiting Aiur, he transmitted orders to his troops and watched in cold fury as the Zerg overran position after position. They were almost at the last line of defense. Antioch lay open to them. Aldaris and several other Judicator stood behind him, watching his every move. This would be a much easier if they weren’t watching me like some kind of tribunal deciding my fate!
[Praetor, the Zerg have broken through in Sector Three once again! Zirae reports he has no more men he can spare from the 4th Legion to fill the gap! Praetor—!]
[By the Gods,] Fenix whispered. He turned to the Judicator. [We must recall the closest Fleet to the skies above Antioch immediately. I see no other way of saving our capital. I believe the Second Fleet is currently in orbit over Antioch.]
[We cannot Recall any new forces to Antioch,] Aldaris said sadly. [The forces in the Scion province requested the aid of the Second Fleet, and it was sent there bare hours ago. If Antioch falls, Scion will become the capital of our Empire. We cannot afford to have both fall to the Swarm. The Conclave has heard of the… difficulties… we are having at Antioch. I pray that their judgment of the situation is kind.]
Damn you! Fenix wanted to yell at them. How could any of them had held off the Swarm this long? He’d defended Antioch for a month, holding off the huge numbers of the Swarm. How long had other commanders held their cities? Praetor Raena had held Tir for only three days. And now he was to take the blame for the almost inevitable fall of Antioch?
As he looked at each Judicator, their fiery eyes contrasting with the cold slate-gray of their skin, Fenix knew he would be disgraced by the Conclave. [I request to be sent back to Antioch to lead our defense in the field,] he said softly.
[Very well,] Aldaris said. [I hope you can lead your men better there, than you could here, Praetor.] I am sorry, he said privately to Fenix. There is nothing I can do. The Conclave has passed Judgment. I wish you luck down there. If there is any way I can help, say it, and perhaps someday you can help me…
On the ride back down to Antioch, Fenix realized just how devious Judicator Aldaris was. I will not become his lackey, he thought angrily. I will not.
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