From Titan Corporation to the Empire of Man

Chapter 673 established the "name" of the Human Empire.

Inside the sealed compartments of the Emperor-class battleship, cold blue light streamed down from the dome, illuminating the metallic outlines of rows of stasis chambers.

The surface of the cabin is covered with fine energy patterns that flicker like breathing.

Inside the cabin, the Protoss children who had been corrupted by Chaos were now suspended in a pale golden static field, their delicate nerve cords seemingly swaying slightly, like the tentacles of a sleeping jellyfish.

Their faces were serene, as if they had simply fallen into a dreamless slumber. Only a few scorch marks left on the bulkhead silently testified to the danger they had just faced.

Dorn stood before the sealed floor-to-ceiling window, his heavy, custom-made armor gleaming with a cold, hard metallic texture under the cabin lights.

He crossed his arms over his chest, his knuckles tapping lightly against his arm guards, producing a dull metallic echo.

Those sharp, hawk-like eyes stared through the observation window at the infant inside the stasis chamber, their gaze deep and unfathomable.

Beside him, the elderly Protoss Archon's nerve cords trembled slightly, and scorch marks from the battle still lingered on his silver-blue armor.

The consul gripped his scepter tightly, his knuckles glowing with a pale, psionic light from the force, his voice low and hoarse:
"We... failed to detect the encroachment of chaos, or rather, we know very little about the so-called warp."

As he spoke, the governor's gaze swept over each stasis chamber, finally settling on a young child among them—

The child's nerve cord still had a faint, almost imperceptible dark line at its end, like ashes after being burned.

"Without your intervention, Sahunel's last embers would probably have long since become puppets of darkness."

"."

Dorn did not respond immediately.

The only sounds inside the cabin were the faint hum of the stasis field in operation and the low vibrations coming from afar.

After a long silence, the Primarch finally spoke, his voice like steel being tempered in a forge:
"The corruption of chaos never shows itself; it lurks in the cracks of the soul, waiting for its chance to strike."

He raised his hand, his armored left hand lightly touching the reinforced glass of the observation window, his fingertips tracing an invisible path, as if outlining the filth remaining in the nerve cords of those young children.

"While the emperor's blessing can remove pollution, the deeper shadows in the soul still need time to be purified."

Will they... recover?

The governor's voice betrayed a hint of vulnerability, after all, the Protoss valued the growth of their offspring above all else, and Chaos had nearly achieved a "one-hit annihilation".

Before Dorn could answer, a clear, cold voice, like moonlight, rang out from the other end of the cabin:
"They will."

Aeoyi Lothrian walked slowly, his silver-white elven armor shimmering like water with each step.

She raised her hand and tucked a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear, revealing her pointed ear. Her eyes were as clear as the morning star, and when her gaze swept over the stasis pod, a hint of pity and determination appeared in her eyes.

"The blessings of the elves will heal the rifts in their souls, and the Emperor's protection will ensure that Chaos has no further opportunity to exploit."

The consul turned to her, his nerve cords glowing slightly with emotion: "You... are willing to lend a helping hand?"

Aoi's lips curled up slightly, revealing a faint smile: "These children are innocent victims, no different from the darkness that the Elven race once faced."

She raised her hand, and a wisp of pure silver-white spiritual energy condensed at her fingertips, winding around her like a silk thread. "Our ritual may not be as vast as the power of an emperor, but its ability to soothe the soul is a skill passed down for thousands of years."

At her signal, more than ten elven warriors silently entered the stasis chamber area.

They were clad in light armor, engraved with ancient elven runes, and each step they took seemed to be on an invisible rhythm.

The leading elven priest held a crystal scepter, with a sphere of light resembling a star suspended atop it. The light was soft yet extremely penetrating, making even the metal shell of the stasis pod seem to be coated with a layer of silver.

The priest began to chant Elvish prayers in a low voice, the syllables flowing like a gentle stream.

The remaining warriors dispersed to the front of each stasis chamber, placing their hands lightly on the chamber lids. Silvery-white psionic energy flowed from their palms, seeping into the chambers and gently intertwining with the children's nerve cords.

Those once-polluted psionic energy channels, under the influence of elven power, gradually shed their last traces of gloom and returned to their original pale blue luster.

Dorn watched all of this in silence, his gaze finally settling on Aoi.

She was closing her eyes and concentrating, her hands clasped in front of her chest. A more solid wisp of spiritual energy emerged from between her brows, enveloping the stasis chamber in the center like a veil.

The moment the psychic energy touched the child, the child's furrowed brows slowly relaxed, and a peaceful smile even appeared on the corners of his mouth.

“The blessing of the elves does not forcibly dispel the darkness,” Aoi opened his eyes and explained softly, “but rather awakens the radiance within the soul itself. As long as the hope in their hearts remains, chaos will have no place to stand.”

The archon's nerve cords flickered violently with shock, and he bowed deeply, paying homage to Aoui and Dorn with the highest Protoss honor:
“Sahunel will always remember this kindness.”

Dorn nodded slightly, his gaze returning to the stasis chamber.

Through the observation window, he saw the child who had been most deeply corrupted by chaos, now unconsciously curling up, like a fetus returning to the womb.

The original's lips twitched almost imperceptibly for a moment before returning to their usual cold hardness.

It was perhaps these redeemed children that reminded Dorn of the offspring he and his wife, Aoi Lothrian, would have together in the future after the Empire had completely resolved the threat of Chaos, or perhaps something else caused a subtle change in Dorn's expression.

"They will wake up in seventy-two hours."

Dorn turned and walked toward the hatch, the armor's servo system humming softly. "Then, the survivors of Sahunel will have to make a choice—either leave and continue searching for a suitable home, or fight for the Empire of Man as allies."

The Archon straightened his body, his nerve cords radiating a resolute azure light: "The answer was already decided, Your Excellency Primarch. When darkness devours the stars, no race can survive alone."

As soon as he finished speaking, the hatch closed silently behind Dorn, shutting out the silvery-white light inside the stasis chamber.

In the shadows of the corridor, the Primarch's figure stood as immovable as a mountain.

In the distance, the engines of the battleships roared at a constant frequency, like the ceaseless heartbeat of the empire.

The dark gray alloy corridor stretched into the distance under cool lighting, with the Imperial Dragon Emblem and the Legion of the Imperial Fist inlaid on the walls on both sides.

Dorne's magnetic boots clattered heavily and rhythmically on the deck, the hum of the servo system echoing low in the corridor. Aoi Lothrian walked lightly beside him, the silver plating of his elven armor shimmering like flowing water under the light, a stark contrast to Dorne's cold, hard armor.

The couple had recently received a direct order from the Emperor of Men to urgently travel from Terella to Mara Sara.

The situation in Universe 18 (StarCraft) is deteriorating.

The chaotic forces in space have clearly set their sights on this star system. With only Athena and the fleets of the four Astartes, the defensive pressure is gradually approaching its limit. Moreover, there is also the ever-watchful UED (United Earth Government).

Dorne, as the most composed Primarch and least susceptible to emotional interference, along with his elven wife Aoi, who is skilled in using psionic powers, are undoubtedly the most suitable candidates for reinforcements.

"Those children."

At that moment, Aoi's voice, like a clear spring, broke the silence in the corridor: "If given the right guidance, their psionic potential is immeasurable."

Her fingertips lightly traced the air, and a wisp of silvery-white psionic energy appeared, swirling like morning mist.

"The Protoss's neural cords have a far greater affinity for psionic energy than humans, even more so than the Elves."

Dorn did not falter in the slightest, but he also spoke, his voice deep and resolute:
"Indeed, in terms of appearance, they are similar to the Sanhri race of Universe 08, those elite races that are born to fight. But in terms of psionic talent, the Protoss are far superior to the elites."

As he spoke, Dorn turned his head slightly, glancing at Aoi, "The vast majority of elites are pure warriors, but know nothing about psionic energy, while the Protoss..."

“And the Protoss are natural-born psionicists,” Aoi continued, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Their civilization is built on a psionic network, and every individual is a node in this network. If they can receive guidance from the Emperor, their potential will not be limited to self-preservation."

At the end of the corridor, an airlock automatically slid open as they approached, revealing a spacious train platform inside.

The streamlined train hovered above the magnetic track, its windows emitting soft white light. Dorn and Aoi stepped into the carriage, and the doors closed silently behind them.

The train started with almost no vibration, only a very faint hum of the magnetic field. Through the windows, you could see the intricate structure inside the warship.

The maintenance corridors stretched out like a spider web, where technicians and automated machinery were inspecting the turret array, and small drones with eye monitors flashing red lights moved between the pipelines.

Aoi's gaze fell on an observation window in the distance, through which the azure surface of Mar-sala shimmered under the starlight.

“I have already notified Newtown,” Dorn’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “They have told them to prepare to receive at least 40,000 Protoss refugees.”

As Dorn spoke, he used his armor to create a holographic screen in front of the two of them and brought up a projection of the surface of Mar-Sala.

“The ecological dome in Zone 7 can be temporarily converted into a refugee settlement, where the climate regulation system is the most complete.”

Aoi nodded slightly: "The elven medical team will also participate in the resettlement work. Those young children who have just awakened from the stasis chamber need special care."

She tapped her fingertip on the holographic image, marking several key areas.

“Here, here, and in the northern annex, a psychic energy stabilization field can be set up. Their neural cables need time to adapt to the fluctuations of pure psychic energy.”

At this moment, the train began to slow down, and the magnificent space of the bridge gradually became clear through the transparent isolation doors ahead.

On the dome, which is tens of meters high, a holographic star map slowly rotates, projecting the real-time situation of the entire galaxy.

Imperial Fist soldiers, clad in lightweight power armor, busied themselves at a circular control console, the blue glow of data streams dancing on their faces.

As the car door slid open, Dorn stepped out first, his Primarch's signature armor looking particularly imposing under the bridge's lighting.

A fleet officer in a dark blue uniform immediately stepped forward, his right fist clenched in front of his chest: "Primarch, New City has confirmed the takeover plan. The Seventh District will be rebuilt within six hours."

Dorn nodded: "Notify the Flame Lizards stationed there to strengthen the perimeter of the Seventh District. Although the Protoss are our allies, there may be undetected Chaos Infected mixed in with the refugee camps."

"Deployment is complete," the officer replied. "In addition, the three fleets led by Lady Athena are continuing to pursue and annihilate the fleeing Taldarim fleet."

The Protoss Archbishop's main force also appears to be assembling on a large scale, and their target may be our occupied territory. Therefore, Lady Athena has warned us to be extra cautious.

As the officer gave his report, Aoi walked to Dorn's side, her gaze sweeping across the main display screen on the bridge, which showed live footage of the Sahunel refugee fleet.

The battered Protoss ships hovered silently like wounded beasts, surrounded by Imperial escort ships.

"I understand. Reply to Lady Athena that we, the Fist of the Empire, will ensure the safety of the rear, allowing them to focus on dealing with the Chaos threat."

"And then," Dorn's voice echoed through the bridge, each word as firm as steel, "the Imperium will fulfill its duty as an ally, but any Protoss who aboard Mar-Sala must undergo a full psionic test."

With that, Dorn turned to Aoi, “The elves from Tyrell are best suited for this job.”

Upon hearing this, Aoi's lips curved slightly, her delicate face appearing exceptionally beautiful under the cold light of the bridge.

A wisp of pure silver light gathered from her slender fingertips, drawing intricate Elvish runes in the air. The ancient symbols shimmered and flowed in the void like stars.

“They are already on standby.” Aoi’s voice was like a stream under the moonlight, clear and calm. “No chaotic pollution can escape scrutiny.”

Outside the observation window of the bridge, the azure silhouette of Ma Sara filled the entire field of vision.

This once war-torn desert planet is now bursting with amazing vitality. The lush forests and azure oceans shimmer with a jewel-like luster under the glow of the energy shield, while the aurora flowing across the shield's surface dances like a veil, casting ever-changing light and shadow on the planet's surface.

In the far reaches of deep space, the engine exhaust of countless starships twinkled like stars.

A fleet of refugees from different Protoss worlds is gathering in an orderly manner under guidance.

Those elegant Protoss ships were battered and bruised, some even trailing blue contrails from plasma leaks, but they still retained their innate noble air.

Near the more distant jump point, more ships were breaking out of their faster-than-light travel state, their engine nozzles emitting a dazzling blue-white light.

It seems that the human empire has already made a name for itself in the StarCraft universe. Even the rigid, stubborn, and inflexible Protoss will instinctively choose to seek refuge in Marsala when faced with unknown threats from the warp.

The holographic projector displayed constantly updated identification signals for the refugee ships, while a data stream scrolled rapidly before everyone's eyes, with new Protoss clans joining the asylum application queue every second…

...

(End of this chapter)