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The huge door slowly slid into the ground with a long, almost deafening screech, opening out into the dark, gaping maw of the phase-smith’s underground complex. The sharp, saccharine stench of stale Terrazine rolled from inside, mixed with the scent of corpses, causing some of the bloodhunters behind him to step back a little, faces scrunching slightly.
Alarak’s eyes narrowed as he stepped into the large entrance chamber, slowly taking in the strangely empty room. It was full of nothing but the dust of the sand outside, particles hanging in the light shafts that weakly reached down from the high windows.
He gestured to the large elevator pad opposite the door, beginning to walk over to it. The others obediently, though reluctantly, followed, gathering together as the tube closed itself around them, and it began to lower itself.
“Highlord.” Yldryth spoke quietly, as though fearful of breaking the tense silence; “This is obviously a trap—"
“As though I am not aware that a direct invitation to step directly into their hovel with barely any defense is a trap.” He snapped.
Nobody else dared speak, though they shifted uncomfortably on the platform as the smell became more oppressive the further down into the depths they went, the weak daylight giving way to the purple haze of Terrazine and the soft, ominous red glow of the crystals embedded in the rock.
Finally, the platform stopped, the tube sliding open in a cloud of dust for them to step out of as they blinked to let their eyes adjust to the dim light and took in the horrific sight before them.
Dozens of heads, scalped, with their gazes pointed at the elevator doors, lined the walls of the bridge, impaled on those same spikes that would have stopped the phase-smiths from throwing themselves over and into the pit below. The lifeless, dull eyes seemed to stare straight through him, his insides squirming with how exposed he suddenly felt. It was like a message.
A warning.
His eyes tore themselves away from the gruesome display, instead following the rope pulled taut across the walkway, hooked to the wall, and holding something up high above them on the ceiling over the threshold of the bridge.
A ship’s wing, sharpened at its edge to create a knife’s blade. It dripped with relatively fresh blood, no doubt from the staring victims. The inky drops lazily splattered against the stone floor and echoed in the silence.
Alarak shook himself and glared at his Bloodhunters, gesturing towards the obvious tripwire. “If any of you fall for that, you deserve to die.”
Each of them nodded, following his lead as they carefully stepped over the obstacle and followed him, ignoring the heads as best they could.
At the other end, through an entrance into a corridor, a corpse sat, propped up against the wall and illuminated by more of that red. She had her head, at least, though she didn’t have her eyes; the sockets torn open as if her attacker had clawed them out. She was littered with knife wounds and scalped as the others were, rotting in a pool of her own blood.
Yldryth was first to break the silence once again, tone tentative. “It seems we will not be getting our answers from an Overseer.”
“What gave you that idea?” Zoll scoffed. The group seemed to relax just slightly as the atmosphere was cut through, though to Alarak’s irritation, it seemed that it would lead to bickering as Dural cut in, their voices echoing uncomfortably across the lofty hall.
“Of course we won’t. Unless you can speak with the dead—”
“Quiet.” He shot a glare back at the four, and they all immediately stood to attention. “I did not bring you here to poke at each other. We are not here to find survivors; as though I would have any use for such cowards. We are here to find their leader.”
“Yes, Highlord.”
They spoke it in unison, too quickly for his liking. He let it show in his next sentence, putting a sharp edge on it.
“The phase-smiths clearly kept as many as they could captive for their little display on the bridge. This is not simply a trap; this is a test, and I suggest you stay alert.”
The idea that a phase-smith would have the gall to test him had been an insult hours prior when he had been extended an invitation to finally negotiate, but now...
This may be an actual challenge. He thought grimly. It would not be one he enjoyed.
The higher levels of the underground complex were mostly made up of wide, open bridges and stairways hanging over a large Terrazine fissure so that the smiths could quickly travel to other sections of the production line that had been hewn from the surrounding rock.
“They have likely holed themselves up in the command rooms.” Dural mused. “We will likely have to travel downwards—”
“I will be sure to reward you for stating the obvious.” Alarak snapped. “There is another elevator that is intended to take the fifth Ascendant from the main chamber to the citadel to report to me directly.”
“Did… Did we not seal that to prevent them from—?”
“The top layer, Yldryth. Pay attention.” He rolled his eyes. “If they have not destroyed the rest of the shaft themselves, then we may be able to use it.”
“Yes, Highlord.”
From his brief time studying the maps of the complex, memorising its maze-like twists and turns, the Highlord mentally planned their route as they made their way down steps and around corners along the dizzying heights of the walkways, wisps of Terrazine dancing in the stale air. In a few places, cracks in the stone and metal above showed sections of the darkening sky on the surface; a brief glimpse of freedom.
Out in the open, it was easy; in the tunneled sections was where he found himself pushing down panic. There was something claustrophobic about the high-narrow passageways, how it felt as though they may close in at any moment as they picked through puddles of unknown liquid muddied by the blood of the corpses that still littered the place. It was damp, overgrown, and constantly dark save for the purple and red glow of the lights and the gas from the fissure below.
Alarak scanned the suspiciously empty corridor that they had just entered from another bridge, glancing at the bloody smears across the flagstones. They were old, almost invisible if not for the still sticky shine in the red light, all converging on the far exit at the end. It was as though whatever bodies had been there were cleared to make way for… something.
For what?
He couldn’t shake the unease, sudden alertness ringing in his nerves. Gesturing sharply to the bloodhunter beside him, he snapped; “Idon’tyr. Go.”
“Yes, Highlord.” He bowed slightly, one hand fidgeting with his scythe as he cautiously stepped through the arch and into the narrow passage.
There was a sudden shift of stone under his feet, one of the slabs sinking into the floor. Before any of them could react, several sharpened rods of metal had fired from a mechanism hidden where all the bloody smears had converged, skewering the bloodhunter against the wall in several places.
His shoulders heaved as he panted with the agony, weakly trying to pull at the one pinning him through his abdomen with his one free hand. Blood poured into the cracks below him, glinting in the red light, mixing with the congealed dregs.
“Idon’tyr!” Zoll couldn’t stop herself from calling to him, rushing forward and triggering another stone underfoot. Grabbing her cords, Alarak pulled her backwards as hard as he could before another volley of rods embedded themselves into her colleague’s flesh. His cries of pain were finally silenced by one lancing through his skull with a final, sickening thud.
“I suggest you keep your emotions in check.” He didn’t quite know if that warning was for her or for him as he let his voice raise, let his brow furrow into an almost murderous scowl; he was already angrier than he would have liked, his hearts thundering in his head from the shock of what had just occurred. “Next time I will allow you to join him.”
Fear passed across her face for just a moment as she took in his expression, and she finally nodded, stepping back as he let go of her. He ignored the resentful glare that followed once she had gained control of herself. She was lucky he did not want to bother himself with argument.
Yldryth picked up several loose rocks from around them, throwing them down the corridor and triggering several more pressure points. He had to try not to wince as the thick, wet sounds of Idon’tyr’s body being further mutilated filled the silence after each metallic volley. One arm dropped to the floor, the fingers giving a final twitch.
“At least one of us has some sense.”
Finally, the trap seemed to have run out, and Alarak sent the remaining three bloodhunters first, watching as they stepped only on the lowered flagstones, picking up the rocks as they went in case they encountered similar traps in the maze.
As though I expected to be able to just stroll in here.
Finally, they reached the other shaft, and Alarak let out a soft, frustrated growl. It was filled in with the stone that made up the outer tubing for the platform to travel through, large cracks and more rock littered across the cliff face and the bridge below their feet; no doubt they had used some sort of crude explosive to cave it all in.
“Well there goes that.” Dural scoffed, idly kicking a stone into the rest of the pile. “I suppose we’re walking—”
Before the Highlord could snap at him, tell him to stop with the irritating sarcasm, the control panel, still flickering in its pedestal close by, began to chirrup. They all froze in place briefly at the sudden, echoing sound before he swept over to it.
The display opened up to a phase-smith with an arrogant expression across her large eyes. She gave a wave and smirked.
“As though I would make it that easy for you.”
“Hmph. If you wish for a negotiation, phase-smith, I suggest you rethink your little games—”
“No.” She looked unphased by the sharp tone or his usually intimidating scowl, instead shrugging. “I ‘suggest’ you make your way down here the way that we all have to. If you wish for our services back to the way that they were, Alarak, you pay that price and then some. If not, I could just blow up the bridge you’re standing on and be done with it.”
Alarak glanced to the side, catching sight of small, blinking red lights embedded in the low spiked walls. She wasn’t bluffing, and she knew that he was desperate enough to take her insolence.
Swallowing his pride, he nodded; “Fine.”
“I look forward to our meeting.” She waved again, and the display shut off.
Impulsively, he brought his fist down against the screen, cracking the stone beneath the energy field in two and crumbling the stone support, not caring that it uncomfortably echoed across the chasm they were hanging above. Then, he growled at his remaining companions, gesturing to them as he turned on his heel and marched back the way they had come.
“Follow. Now.”
They had no choice but to do as they were told.
The smell of rot increased the further down they went, the further they squeezed themselves through tighter corridors and winding, steep staircases. Eventually, they did not even have the respite of the open walkways anymore, the way down only leading through more of the same carved, cracking stone. There were less bodies, at least, but in the stale air of the underground, it was enough for the decomposition to overpower everything else. The ventilation shafts in the thick walls that led to Slayn’s dusty surface did little more than push the scent around.
Zoll was next to die. In an almost pitch-black corridor, under the burning light of psi-blades, they had caught the holes in the floor beneath their feet a little too late for her to move out of the way as a set of polished metal spikes burst from them, piercing through her armour and skewering her like a pig on a spit.
Alarak, briefly, thought of Idon’tyr. It was a mercy she had died more quickly than he.
Then, it was Dural. The traps they had managed to avoid had become more deadly the closer they got to the control centre, utilising the heavy equipment still scattered about in the open chambers. Alarak had stepped onto a panel he had not noticed, and the bloodhunter was sucked into an open mechanism with many metallic teeth, his body ground into nothing but chunks and a rain of ink-like blood as he screamed and struggled and thrashed right to the end.
For a moment, all he could do was stare, frozen. That new guilt grabbed him by the hearts, intensified his fear as the image of such a horrific death that he had inadvertently caused flashed across his mind’s eye. He had seen many fall in battle, watched Zerg and Terrans and many of his own torn apart and stabbed and left to bleed out in the grass or the sand or wherever he had been ordered to fight, but…
There was something barbaric about dying like this. Dural’s blood mixed with the old that stained the sides of the machine; this had not been the first time a Protoss was pulled into the jaws of the beast, even if this had been set up to kill them, its usual setup was just as deadly.
The phase-smith’s mocking voice rang in his head.
“You make your way down here the way we all have to.”
“H-Highlord?” Yldryth’s voice, trembling under the weight of what she had just witnessed, broke through the fog, and he blinked, setting his face into a deep scowl.
“Keep close.”
She didn’t argue.
Finally, past the elevator shaft that would have brought them safely to their destination, the large stone door that held the control centre opened, showering them with dust and rubble as the huge stone slabs receded into the rest of the rock.
As they stepped over the threshold, the soft psionic whisper of many conversations stopped. Many pairs of exhausted red, amber, and pink eyes swiveled to stare at the newcomers. They were all littered with scars or fresh wounds, some cords leaking with energy from a fresh cutting; a way to free themselves of their rings, he supposed.
Unlike the outside, this place was spotless; the stone and metal surfaces had been scrubbed of whatever massacre had taken place, and it smelled of nothing but the usual slightly stale air and lingering Terrazine wisps.
One phase-smith finally stepped forward in the tense silence. He didn’t bow, didn’t acknowledge them with a greeting, only gestured down a corridor that led to the main control room. Yldryth didn’t dare to try and chastise the Protoss with notions of respect. Alarak only nodded.
It would have been foolish to demand anything from a room full of those who would tear him apart at a moment’s notice.
They walked alone to the next door as it opened out into what looked like the cockpit of a ship. Screens hovered over many blinking consoles, bathing the darkened room in an ominous red. A large chair meant for the head overseer or the fifth ascendant sat at the apex of the screen’s curvature, turned away from them to face the displays.
As Alarak stepped inside, the large chair turned, and that same phase-smith hopped off the seat, stepping forward to stand before him. They both had to crane their necks to look each other in the eye.
“I see you managed to survive, then.”
“Obviously, or I would not be here.”
She nodded. “I’m just surprised you came almost alone like I asked. It seems you do actually realise how valuable your little group of vermin are.”
“A show of good faith.” Alarak gestured to Yldryth. “Wait outside.”
He knew it was foolish, knew that he was opening himself up for yet another attempt on his life, but he needed something to go correctly for once; he could see no other way.
She did as she told, and as the door closed, he stepped over to the table littered with scrawled maps abandoned pieces of metal scrap, and various smithing tools. The phase-smith watched him with narrowed eyes, periodically glancing over at a still bloody shaft of a scythe against the wall next to her.
“We are watching this room. If you do anything to me—”
“And if you were to do anything to me, Nyad will give the order to flush you all out by force.” Alarak snapped back. “But I highly doubt you would have the strength or the skill.”
“As if you’re in any position to threaten me.”
He sighed, rolling his eyes. Once again, he realised, he would have to swallow his pride; she was right. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he levelled his voice. “I am aware of that. The only thing that I am here to do is hear your terms. I am sure we can come to an agreement that will benefit us both.”
She blinked, and then carefully walked over to the table as well, standing at the head of it as a way of marking their temporary truce. He stayed silent, waiting even as irritation that she would not just speak began to creep in as the silence stretched out further under the soft chirrups and beeps of the mechanisms that surrounded them.
“Well?”
It was clear that the small Tal’darim hadn’t expected to get to this point. She laced her fingers together, slight worry passing over her face as she stared at the table and weighed whatever she wished to ask for in her mind.
“… Well, to start with, some of us want to be able to go to Aiur.”
Alarak rolled his eyes. “Hmph. You had your chance at that when—”
Her brows knit together in a deep, disgusted scowl. “No. They had their chance. The moment you gave that order, the overseers locked the doors and kept us from leaving, beat us until we could barely move. If any of us got out, it was because we were lucky. We didn’t have a ‘chance’.”
He had nothing to say to that. A small twinge of regret gnawed at him for a moment before he pushed it down, a twist of irritation that he was not clear enough with his orders. The fifth Ascendant had clearly acted against him, and for a moment he dearly wished that he had been the one to gut her. If they had been able to leave, maybe he wouldn’t have had to lose three of his five best warriors in a single day.
“Some of us want to go, and you will let them.”
“… Fine; it is a simple enough request. What else?”
“Clean water, beds, a chance to go outside once in a while. Honestly, pick anything that you get to enjoy and that’s something we want. We don’t want to be treated like animals any more, we don’t want to be trapped down here with no way of escape. Considering the fact that none of you up there in your precious citadel would have been anything without our work, I think it’s a small price to pay.”
“What else?”
“I want whatever overseers are left alive gone. They can join the chain and be slaughtered like everyone else who thinks they’re better than us because they were born ‘right’; they don’t deserve to have a ‘get out of Rak’Shir’ card and a license to subject us to torture every day.”
At that, he scoffed. “As though anything could be run without them to keep you in check—”
She shrugged, the bump between her eyes wrinkling in another cruel sneer. “We’ve been doing just fine without them. Apart from the smell, that is.”
The Highlord growled softly. Her tone and her demeanour were becoming grating to listen to; she had an arrogance that made him dearly want to tear her to pieces, but after what had happened to the group he had led in here, after all the dead he had seen… That arrogance was warranted. It only angered him more.
“We also want a say in all this.”
“What?”
“The Prelates get that, don’t they? From their cushy temples they can bend your will however they see fit, I’ve heard.”
The temple caste. Alarak rolled his eyes again. They were nothing but a thorn in his side, especially after their ill-fated attempt to bring back their traitor god and their subsequent whining about Ji’nara’s method of retaliation. “They do not have that level of power now that Amon is no more.”
“But they do have power. They control the younglings, don’t they? Assign the executors, bundle them into their training batches, sort them into their castes? Machines are just as valuable as the bodies needed to make and use them. We want the power they have.”
Once again, she was correct. He sighed inwardly, rubbing his temples as he tried to think of a solution. The temples had their five prelates, with an ascendant as a liaison between them and the Highlord. There was no reason that he could not perhaps assign a similar setup to the phase-smiths that dwelled down here.
With a more structured approach, perhaps those like the grisly death he had witnessed could be prevented. He was bleeding Tal’darim faster than they could be produced, and the sheer number of dead that he had seen today was likely a usual sight for the phase-smiths that stayed down here with the machines. An odd feeling tugged at him. Sympathy? Understanding? He pushed it away.
“… Assemble a council of five. You will be their representative; a liaison between your workers and the new fifth Ascendant. If you wish to have power so badly, you can put yourself at the top and deal with the headache of management.”
“I only want to speak with you, Highlord. I know those Ascendants don’t care, and I know that they will warp my words to benefit themselves; if it isn’t through you, I won’t speak at all.”
“The prelates still answer to the first Ascendant, phase-smith. If you are so concerned that something has been manipulated, only then will I allow you to have an audience with me. I will not concede to every whim.”
She said nothing, shuffling her feet with a scowl as she no doubt thought of any way to change his mind.
“How do you know I will not manipulate your words in the same way that an Ascendant may, hm?”
The phase-smith looked up at him, right into his eyes. Hers were large, tired; deep pools of red that seemed to look straight through him. His insides squirmed; he suddenly felt naked, even as he knew his mental walls were strong, far stronger than she could ever hope to breach.
“I don’t think you’re capable of lying like that.” She sighed. “Besides; if you wanted to do that, you would have before even coming in here, called my message a threat and just… killed all of us.”
Inwardly, Alarak growled. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have sent in his army by force as he had to the outer colonies in order to keep them quiet. But they were already stirring, already taking up arms to try again; they would do the same. He had no other choice.
“If I find that you cannot handle production without encouragement, I will be assigning overseers personally, and you will never taste the power you have taken again. Do we understand one another?”
“… Yes.”
“I find your other requests reasonable; gather those who wish to leave, and I will provide ships based on how many are willing.” Carefully, he moved towards the door. “Gather whatever prisoners you have, and I will facilitate their release. If even one is killed before they are in my custody, I will rescind my grace and continue with my initial plan.”
“Alright.”
“As for the rest…” He stopped at the threshold. “Assemble your council and make your plan. I will, since you are so insistent on my input, look it over myself and grant you the supplies if I find it agreeable.”
For the first time, she bowed just slightly. “Thank you, Highlord.”
“Do not make me regret this.”
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