Madrid was flabbergasted. Not one of the spines had even grazed the warrior’s body. He noticed a slight blur and an azure flicker around the form of the Protoss. The warrior seemed to be protected by some sort of energy field, but the blue light was twinkling as though the field might have been weakened. The dragon-creature seemed to consider its next move for a moment, then fired another volley at its enemy. Wit the grace and skills of an acrobat, the Protoss tumbled and leaped out of harm’s way, evading the spines as they tore through the reinforced wall behind him.

The dragon-creature spun around, but was too slow to react as the warrior kept tumbling and then leaped upon its armored back. The creature flailed in protest, desperately trying to buck the Protoss from its body.

Igniting his energy blades and pulling one of his arms back, the warrior seemed ready to separate the creature’s head from its neck—but suddenly, one of the creature’s scythelike arms swung around and skewered him through the midsection. Madrid saw a weak flash of blue as the last of the warrior’s shield energy dissipated. The stunned Protoss took a final desperate swing and severed the arm that was buried in its torso. Hissing in rage and pain, the creature drove its remaining arm into the warrior’s armored chest. The Protoss's body, wracked with violent spasms, went limp after a final, heaving shudder. The smoldering azure light in its glassy eyes slowly faded to blackness.

Madrid was shocked by the battle’s outcome. Somehow he never imagined that the dragon-creature could actually defeat the Protoss. It didn’t seem real to him that the destroyers of worlds could bleed and die like other beings. He imagined that he could feel the furious pounding of the dragon-creature’s heart and taste the Protoss’s bitter blood on his lips. He relished the primal joy of the creature’s savage victory. This isn’t right… These aren’t my thoughts, he thought to himself, on the verge of panic. Yet, as the seconds ticked away, the rage inside him began to cool.

In the wake of the fevered rush, Madrid could only stare in confusion, feeling tinges of remorse and disappointment at the warrior’s death. Although he found himself strangely invigorated by the warrior’s valiant efforts, he shrugged off the notion and coldly reminded himself that the warrior was a Protoss, and the Protoss were murderers. It was as simple as that. Yet, as he gazed again at the savage dragon-creature, Madrid began to doubt his understanding of the nature of murder.

The wounded beast, visibly shuddering under its heavy carapace, attempted to slither toward the room’s exit. The creature abruptly stopped and turned back toward the far side of the room, sniffing at the air. Slowly, the Protoss warrior whom it had flung across the room rose from the rubble.

The Protoss’s eyes scanned the room and came to rest upon the crumpled body of his comrade. The creature flexed its huge shoulders, and a hundred needles shot out at the warrior. The Protoss whirled at the sound of the expulsion and was showed by the tiny blades that tore his flesh and embedded themselves in his worn armor.

Bleeding immediately from dozens of wounds, the warrior faltered slightly as the spines’ poison spread throughout his system. With grim resolve, he inched toward his enemy. The frayed dragon-creature, with no projectiles left, swung its remaining scythe-arm at the Protoss. The warrior blocked the clumsy attack and thrust his energy blade up into the beast’s soft underbelly. The creature screamed in agony as the Protoss worked his blade deeper into its shuddering body.

Madrid winced as the creature’s thick, purple blood spattered around its body. His own blood surged and quickened, as if a presence inside of him could sense the creature’s pain and torment. Damn Protoss butcher, he thought bitterly.

At last, the warrior extinguished the blade and pulled it out of the creature. Though it was mortally wounded, the creature continued to thrash and hiss as it towered weakly above the Protoss. Taking hold of the creature’s splintered rib cage with both hands, the warrior gave a great heave and lifted its massive girth from the ground. Madrid marveled at the warrior’s strength as it flung the dragon-creature over his shoulder. The heavy body hit the floor with a wet smack and lay still.

The warrior made a solemn, signing motion with his left hand, which Madrid surmised was either a salute or a curse. Though his body was battered, he struck a defiant pose that seemed meant to impress Madrid with his courage and valor. However, Madrid only glared at the victorious Protoss as if it had butchered an innocent child.

The warrior’s gaze shifted and fell upon his fallen comrade. He walked over to the mutilated body and knelt beside it. Madrid, with beads of sweat running down his fevered face, strained to see what the warrior intended. Taking hold of one of the dragon-creature’s broken talons, the warrior placed it in his dead comrade’s hand.

“EN TARO ADUN, KHAS IL’ADARE.” A voice boomed in Madrid’s head. Even though the Protoss made no audible sound, he knew it was the warrior’s voice, but he was unable to understand the Protoss language. A wave of nausea rushed over him as the alien poison caused his blood to roar in his ears. Whatever was inside him was reacting violently to the Protoss’s mental presence.

What’s happening to me? he thought. Fearing that the Protoss could hear his thoughts as well, Madrid tried to clear his tortured mind, yet his will wasn’t strong enough to block out the power of the Protoss’s psyche. He watched as the warrior ceremoniously crossed his comrade’s arms over his chest plate. Madrid sensed that the warrior was overcome with grief over the loss of his comrade. The Protoss seemed to wince in pain as he continued to speak.

“Und lara khar. Anht Zagatir nas,” the warrior finished softly. The words had the feel of a prayer or a ritual in honor of his fallen friend. The Protoss turned his gaze toward Madrid, whose body once again began to quiver with fear.

without a sound to give away its passage, another Protoss entered the room with all the grace and power of an earthbound god. Madrid watched as the large Protoss made his way over to the surviving warrior and crouched beside him. There was something distinctively regal about him, something heroic in his proud stature that commanded immediate reverence. Like the warrior, the larger Protoss was heavily ornamented in archaic-looking battle armor, but it was the color of molten silver clouds just before the breaking of dawn. The armor was also inscribed with swirling, cryptic runes that seemed to pulse with power. Beneath the grand armor, the Protoss was adorned with a flowing, midnight-hued stole that reminded Madrid of a priest’s mantle. The Protoss’s face and skin bore the same look as the warrior’s, yet harsh lines and wrinkles around his eyes gave the impression that he was very old, marked by untold years and experiences.

Again, Madrid heard the warrior’s thunderous voice in his head as the two Protoss began arguing with one another. The large Protoss stood up and gazed intently at the paralyzed Terran. Madrid cowered in his combat suit as the Protoss crossed the room and knelt carefully before him.

Reaching out with his huge, scaled hand, the Protoss placed it gently on the Terran’s forehead. Terrified, Madrid shrank away from the Protoss, but was surprised to find the touch was warm. The Protoss closed his eyes and seemed to sink into deep meditation. A strange, tingling energy raced along Madrid’s nerve endings, and he imagined a slight tugging in his brain, as if the Protoss was scanning his body and manipulating the delicate process of his mind.

Madrid found himself unable to scream as terror overtook him once more. This is it, he thought to himself. The Protoss abruptly took his hand away and stood up. He walked back over to the warrior, and they conversed again. Slowly, Madrid began to comprehend the meaning of the Protoss’s thoughts. He had no idea what the Protoss had done to his mind, but it allowed him to understand their thoughts just as if they were speaking his own language.