The tension in the air is so thick that it even seems to envelop those present like a dark shroud. The assassins, their forms tense with energies primed for battle, close on those who still wonder as to the madness that has erupted within these honored walls. The target of their aggressions is still in shock over the ill will that these fellow Protoss bring with them. Despite his mind reeling over the implications of the coming battle, his form stands fast, preparing for what may be a battle most violent and without reason. Though he hardens his will for the coming conflict, he feels a part of his soul dying from the utter uselessness of Protoss fighting Protoss yet again. He makes one final attempt towards reason so that they may instead resolve this matter in a peaceable manner. Sadly, that will not be the case here.
“Listen my brethren,” pleads Kreza to cover his own energies building within him in preparation of combat, “we no longer can afford to battle amongst ourselves! The Zerg are our enemies now! Why do you attack us?!”
“Enough talk! Our fight begins now!” snarls the second assassin as he leaps to the attack.
Kreza gestures and before the assailant can even reach him with his vicious slash a massive bolt issues forth from his outstretched hand to strike his attacker. The energy ball impacts on the Psionic shields of the leaping templar with spectacular results. The assassin is caught in mid-air and sent flying backward over a blasted console, his shields flickering wildly as blue-white energy washes over his form. He impacts with a harsh crunch as he lands among a pile of smoking debris. The air in the room crackles from the powerful mental emanations unleashed. Kreza, his attention completely focused on the now downed templar belatedly realized it was only a feint to the real attack. The attacker’s companion, using the distraction that his comrade bought him presses his advantage from behind. Kreza feels the impact from the downward strike of the massive energy weapon as it slices at his form. His own defensive shields barely manage to deflect the lethal blow but it is enough to force him off-balance. Kreza tumbles forward from the strike; desperately twisting around to face this new threat.
As he is falling, he twists and manages to unleash yet another mental bolt at his attacker that blasts the assassin viciously causing him to impact against the scorched walls of the chamber; blue-white charges of energy dance all over the dark templar’s shields. “Treacherous one,” hisses Kreza with contempt as he gestures yet again to hammer his attacker with another mental bolt. The blast misses and slams into the wall to leave a blackened hole as the templar rolls out of the way to drop into a combat stance. “You strike your foes from behind like a coward?! Have you no honor?”
“It is YOU who have no honor! You and your kind have persecuted us for far too long! We shall no longer be your slaves again!”
“My brethren,” pleads Kreza, “let us end this meaningless fight. If you are willing to voice your concerns to the council I will see to it personally that you are given the opportunity. You have my word on the honor of my caste.”
“LIES!” bellows the second templar as he rises from the debris spewed flooring. “We are nothing more than slaves to you! We were banished from Aiur because we chose not to bow to the will of the Conclave. Later you flee to our world seeking our help when the Zerg come. We offer our help despite previous actions of your kind and in the end, we fight for you while you remain safe on OUR world!”
“How can you speak such words of poison and discord? I cannot forgive nor condone the actions against your kind by the early Conclave but to carry such anger is beyond reason! We ALL are sons and daughters of our beloved Aiur. End this useless conflict while we still can.”
“NEVER!” cries the first assassin. “Your time has passed and it is now our turn to inherit that which is rightfully ours!”
“There can be no good to come from this encounter, only death and misery… end this now,” pleads Kreza one last time.
“That remains to be seen templar as to who shall perish on these grounds this night,” maliciously replies the first dark templar as he cautiously closes on his foe.
“Then you give me no choice my brothers. Though it saddens me greatly… I will do what I must to protect myself,” sadly replies Kreza.
Both dark templars carefully close in on their target, now fully aware of extent of his powers. Kreza stands within the center of the chamber as the dark assassins slowly circle in on their prey like the hunters that they are. Slowly tightening their circle around Kreza as he continues to stand defiantly within the center with Chan’dras beside him.
“Chan’dras,” whispers Kreza without looking towards her for he dares not take his attention off the menacing threats, “you must go and alert others to what is transpiring here! I am unable to summon any form of aid beyond this chamber?!”
“I can no longer sense others beyond these walls either? I do not understand this but I dare not leave you alone at their hands! I shall stand at your side no matter what the outcome!”
“You are a Scholar of Records my friend, ill trained for the rigors of battle. You would serve us best by alerting those of my caste of this grave danger.”
“I cannot leave—“
“GO NOW!” he snaps as he fires a bolt that strikes one templar, driving him aside and leaving the path of escape clear for a moment.
With great reluctance, Chan’dras rushes towards the blasted exit of the chamber in her desperate rush to bring aid to her beleaguered friend. The second dark templar, having recovered from the assault quickly moves to intercept her but is stopped.
“Leave her,” orders the first dark templar, “it is the templar we seek so she will serve our cause best by informing others of his death!”
“Last chance my brothers… stop this foul course and I shall ensure you are judged fairly by the Conclave.”
Their reply is a fierce battle howl that seems to shake the archives to the foundation as they both lunges at Kreza; their formidable blades glowing white-hot as they seek to slay him. Kreza gestures yet again and another blast streaks from his hand to impact on one templar. The powerful blast energies ripple over his shields as he is propelled into a console and crumples to the floor. He quickly turns to fire upon the next one who undoubtedly seeks to take advantage of the situation. He quickly turns in the direction of the first and fires but his attacker swiftly dodges the bolt and rolls behind cover. Kreza continues to fire on their positions in order to cause them to hesitate with their assault. His energy bolts continue to lance out and impact against the ruined equipment in the chamber. Time is their enemy and his ally. The longer he can occupy his attackers, the more time Chan’dras has to bring aid. Quickly coming to that conclusion themselves, the two dark templar instead seek to overwhelm him with sheer ferocity.
“You cannot maintain your energies for long old one,” sneers one templar from behind cover. “Soon you will tire and then you will be helpless before us.”
“Perhaps… but the longer I delay your efforts the greater the risk of capture for you and your companion. Surrender and I shall see to it that you are treated fairly.”
“NEVER! You will perish before this night is ended!” screams the second assassin as he leaps yet again from behind cover towards Kreza.
Kreza aims towards the incoming threat and fires again but merely to dissuade his attackers for he does not relish the thought of claiming the life of a fellow Protoss. Such noble behavior will soon prove to be his undoing as the bolt, weakened from the previous exertions merely succeeds in stunning the intended target allowing him to close within range. With a brilliant flaring of energy, Kreza’s own shields are hammered again by fierce energies emitted from the beam weapon. He staggers backward from the impact upon him as his attacker readies another deadly blow. Seeing their prey reeling from the attack, the other joins in the assault as he lunges towards Kreza. Moving swiftly, his blade hums loudly in the crowded chamber leaving a glowing trail in its wake to strike Kreza with a massive display of crackling energy. A brilliant flash of dispelling energy and Kreza’s shields collapse under the abuse leaving him vulnerable to his attackers. He retreats backward seeking to widen the distance between him and his attackers. One of his attackers draws his blade in a horizontal slash and he is unable to dodge the deathblow that tears into him. A fierce cry of agony fills the chamber as the massive energy weapon slashes his robes and slashes deeply into him. The blade burns his flesh and boils his fluids as he cries out in blinding agony; his legs wobble and are no longer able to support him as he crumples against a column.
“Now your time has come templar and a new era shall begin anew for us,” mocks the leader of the assassins as his subordinate moves in for the kill.
Eyes flaring brilliantly with a burning hatred, the lesser templar advances on Kreza to deliver the killing blow. Kreza, weakly leaning against his support as he clutches at his grave injury is overwhelmed by the burning fury that lies within his attacker’s eyes. He reaches out and touches the mind of those who seek to bring madness to his race and reels back in horror at the darkness contained within their souls.
“You… are not… Protoss,” he barely manages through the cloud of pain that fills his mind. “You and… your companion… are not… who you claim… to be.”
The leader, his eyes flaring briefly answers with a tone of complete contempt. “On that you are correct first-born. We are far beyond that which you consider life and that is a secret you will take with you to the beyond.” Gesturing towards his subordinate, he issues the final order for the night. “Eliminate the first-born so that we may depart this place.”
“As you so order,” viciously replies the lesser templar as he strikes Kreza and slashes into him; cloth, flesh and vital fluid are boiled away yet again under the vicious assault. Kreza’s screams fill the chamber for the second time as he slides down the column to rest in a pool of his rapidly expanding fluid.
“You still live first-born?” asks the leader with some surprise. “You are foolish to cling so desperately to that which you call an existence. Let us finish this foolish creature and be on our way.”
Kreza, his vision blurry from the numbing pain that racks his form, he bears witness to his attackers readying the final blow. Drawing upon the last bit of energy that he can draw from within him, he prepares one last final act of defiance.
***
Outside at the entrance to the archives, Chan’dras rushes desperately inside seeking to come to the aid of her old friend followed closely by a small detachment of members of the Templar Caste.
“Quickly! Kreza will need our help! We must—“
An intense cry of fury issues forth from inside followed quickly by a massive energy wave that blasts from the depths of the archives and rushes towards the arriving rescuers. The waves of intense energies ripple throughout the building and literally bowl over those too slow to seek cover. Eventually the wave subsides and those left undazed slowly advance into the interior except one whom already knows the outcome of the battle.
“Kreza… my old friend…” she says with grief into the chilled night as she slowly lowers her head.
***
Kreza’s attacker readies his weapon to deliver the killing blow and it is with extreme effort that he speaks. “If I am… to perish and… leave this… existence… I WILL NOT… go alone,” he states defiantly as his eyes flare with the brilliance of a small nova. With that final word, he cries out with an insane fury and unleashes all the energy that he could muster within him. The air in the chamber suddenly crackles with raw electricity and becomes heated beyond belief as massive energies surge outward. His attackers are immediately blasted by the intense waves as they are bathed within the violent crackling fury that issues forth from Kreza’s battered form. In the wake, his assailants are left mere charred, smoldering forms on the chamber’s littered floor. His fierce cry follows quickly behind the rapidly expanding waves, echoing off the now scorched walls seeking the stillness of the night air. His vision blurs and fades as coldness grasps him and he feels great sorrow over the secrets that are soon to be lost with him.
***
The rescuers, moving cautiously into the central chamber behold a sight beyond comprehension. Everywhere they cast their view; unbelievable destruction lines these once glistening walls of learning. Damaged equipment with still functional components spark briefly into the darkened chamber casting sudden flashes of light. Debris and shattered crystal shards litter the once pristine floors and crunch beneath the steps of the new arrivals. Those few illumination strips that somehow managed to survive through the chaos cast a sickeningly pale glow throughout the blasted interior. At the center of the room, the members of the Templar Caste come across a sight that causes them to pause. The battered form of Kreza lies against one of the central columns as fluid flows from his grave wounds to form into a small lake around him. They rush forward in the hope that he still lives though the carnage around tells another tale.
“His injuries are extremely grave. I fear we have arrived too late Gratix,” sadly states a zealot as he gently checks Kreza’s battered form.
“Perhaps not,” replies the tall robed figure of a fellow high templar. “I still sense his mental presence… though it is fading fast. We must move him to a medical facilities quickly!” he urges.
“We have called others to our aid… they shall be arriving soon.”
“Good. Secure the area and ensure that nothing is disturbed,” he commands. Those present quickly comply and move to seal off the grounds.
“How is he?” asks Chan’dras as she slowly steps within view of his battered form. She beholds a sight that crushes her hopes.
“It is by his strong will that he continues to cling to life Chan’dras.” Turning to face her he asks the first of many questions for the night. “What form of madness has happened here?”
“I am still unsure. Only one of us will hold the true answers to your questions here tonight and unfortunately he is incapable of responding,” she replies as she seeks to gather any records containing their earlier discovery. However, judging by the amount of damage to the chamber, she entertains little hope of recovering much.
“Who were his attackers?” asks Gratix as he surveys the two charred forms on the littered floor. “It would seem that their identity shall remain unknown to us until Kreza recovers… if he recovers.”
“I still do not know as to who the attackers were but of this I am sure… they were dark templars seeking retribution for the injustices committed against them.”
“Dark templars?! Why would the dark ones commit such an act? There is little to be gained by attacking a member of the Conclave. This act of madness is without reason.”
“Only those without honor would dare strike an unarmed foe down so viciously,” snaps a zealot with contempt.
“These dark ones should be punished for such an attack on a member of our Caste! If we do not respond to this heinous crime, it will only serve to give cause to more such acts.” Several zealots voice their agreement.
“ENOUGH!” snaps Gratix with steel to his tone. “Such words will not be tolerated in my presence! There is something about this attack that troubles me greatly. We will have no such words of hatred spoken towards our fellow Protoss until we solve this mystery.”
The soft humming of a shuttle is heard from the outside and is suddenly silenced. A small group of technicians soon rush into the chamber with a robotic medical chamber trailing behind them. They work quickly to secure him in stasis for transportation back to a medical facility while Gratix’s forces continue to sweep the shattered building clear.
“I cannot understand the reason for such an attack but there is something about this that does not seem right,” states Gratix as he glances about the chamber.
“I too share your views,” adds Chan’dras, “though they appeared in the form of the dark ones they seemed… different.”
“Different you say? In what way?”
“I cannot say now… perhaps at a later time when I know for sure,” she says softly as she attempts to recover their early findings.
“It would appear that the few, if any records will be salvageable scholar. The damage to this chamber and its contents was extreme to say the least,” grimly states Gratix.
“Perhaps all is not in vain,” she replies as she recovers several darkened crystals from beneath a pile of debris. “I believe these records will shed some light on this mystery… that is if they are still functional.”
“Let us hope so Chan’dras, for all our sakes.”
Gesturing towards the waiting shuttle for Chan’dras to follow him, Gratix speaks into the chilled air. “We must find the truth of what has happened here quickly for even I fear that once news of this attack is made known… it might very well result in strife.”
Gratix’s words hang heavy in the air as they follow the stasis cell into the robotic transport. Grasping the crystals tightly in her hand, she suspects that what they have learned this night is even far more ominous. The enemies of the Xel’Naga now know and are watching them closely. The ramp closes with a soft hiss and she feels the transport quickly rise and wheel in the air to roar off towards the distant facilities. Zeratul and the others must be informed of these dire events immediately or all will be made to suffer. Clearing her mind of these thought she continues her silent vigil over her fallen friend as feelings of dread seek to envelope her like a dark shroud.
