Rebirth

It had happened again.

He had been fighting against the zerg on the space platform called Braxis Holdout. Fate, ever whimsical, had seen fit to draw those monstrosities into the Nexus. This cosmic storm that could tear apart entire worlds, entire realities, had plucked just a small piece of the universe he had once called home. One piece, and it had taken the bastard children of the xel'naga with it.

He'd fought them, these creatures of flesh and steel, welded together in a vain attempt to control the creatures. Fought them with his allies. Minions, heroes, and whatever other terms the realm lords of the Nexus might use. Fought, but fell. Fought, but died. Again. Over and over, for reasons he could scarce understand. Maybe for no reason at all. And now? Now he was back in the Hall of Storms, listening to some terran scientist prattle about field research and showing people excitement. Not a realm lord himself, but no better than the demigods that called the Nexus their home. That claimed dominion over the storm, and all who dwelt within it. Including beings such as himself.

"Hey Fenix. You okay?"

Including beings like James Raynor. Through his 'eyes,' such as they were, he beheld the terran in the hall as well, mounted on a device called a Vulture. A device that never ran out of fuel, and would disappear in an instant. The Nexus not only consumed elements of the multiverse, it bent the rules of them as well. Everything from clouds, to wolves, to everything in between, he had seen his enemies and comrades right upon them.

"I am at optimal capacity."

"Yeah, well, don't look that way."

"I am in the cold shell of a Dragoon. How would I look different?"

"I dunno, different skin?" Raynor laughed. "But, yeah, you look down."

"You have not answered the question."

"Time and space man. Give a monkey eternity and a typewriter, and he'll eventually write Shakespeare."

Fenix didn't know what a monkey was, any more than a typewriter or a Shakespeare. But he knew better than to ask. Some of the heroes drawn into this realm embraced this life – often, they were not heroes at all, like the Tal'darim cretin that had seen fit to sully this place with his presence. Others gave into despair, like the terran called Stukov. Some of them had minds that he could not penetrate, ranging from the demon known as Diablo, to that mysterious creature called Murky. And some, like James Raynor, treated their lot in life with irreverence. Just like that pandaren girl which was apparently similar to a creature on Earth called a panda – a species extinct in Raynor's universe, but not in the universe of Tracer and her ilk.

And he? He, who had marched across hundreds of worlds, and slain the enemies of Aiur wherever they may raise their heads? He, who had given his life to defend his homeworld, only to fall to the traitorous hands of the Queen of Blades after his rebirth? He, who could exact his vengeance against her a hundred times, only for the being called Sarah Kerrigan to return time and time again? What of him? Fenix, Steward of the Templar?

"So…we going?" Raynor made a gesture with his hand. His one-thumbed, four fingered hand, in all its alien complexity.

"Indeed." Fenix activated his gravitic thrusters. "We shall engage the enemy."

"Groovy." The two heroes sped off to engage their foe. Soon enough the beacons would reactivate, and they would have to use the zerg against their foes – a detestable tactic, but it was one required for victory. Having fought her over a dozen times, Fenix found it no more appealing than when he had first arrived in this place. Tassadar, Zeratul, Artanis…they had welcomed him as best they could, but the denizens of the Nexus were many, and the realms vast. Seeing his old comrades was at the whim of the realm lords, and they made no allowance.

"So…" Raynor began, still speeding along. "Before we get to the nitty gritty, you mind telling me what's got you down?"

Within the depths of his shell, Fenix closed his eyes for a moment, processing the meaning behind his friend's turn of phrase. Got you down…what does my height have to do with my state of mind?

"Well pal? Penny for your thoughts?"

"My thoughts are many and complex," Fenix said, ploughing ahead with his words, as well as his body. "They are for now focused on dealing death to the enemy."

"Yeah, but besides that. I mean, battles being fought for eternity and all that? Sounds like your cup of tea."

"I cannot drink, and any cup would be but poison to lips should I possess them," said Fenix. He deactivated his thrusters and began firing at the wave of minions approaching the gate – terran slaves, existing only to die. No better than the zerg in mind, and little better than in body. He pitied them.

"Yeah, well, you're a poor liar." Raynor had dismounted from his Vulture, and as it always did, the vehicle disappeared into nothingness. He began shooting at the minions as well – if he had any qualms against killing members of his own kind, he didn't show it.

"Think of me what you may."

"Yeah, well, I'm thinking that we ain't gonna have a chance for this conversation soon, so you might as well get it out." He fired a penetrating round, sending the minions scattering. "Come on man, something's got you down. And it's a bit beyond the whole 'stuck in the Nexus' thing. Cause we've all got that problem."

KILLING SPREE!

Not a problem for all, Fenix reflected. And yet…

"I…am not at ease."

And yet he began to speak. Raynor was young, a fraction of his age, and yet, he felt at ease talking with the man. They had trod on only a handful of worlds together, and yet, he was proud to call him both friend and ally. After all that James Raynor had done to help the sons and daughters of Aiur, the least he could do could be being honest with the man. So even as they both fired, even as the minions gave themselves to Death, Fenix spoke.

"When I die…I hope," he said.

"What?"

"I died once, on Aiur," he said. "The Swarm felled me, and I thought that the end. My spirit would join the Khala, and my body would either return to the earth, or be consecrated in a mausoleum. But it was not the end. The Dragoon enclosed me. Eternity embraced me."

"Yeah…and?"

"And I died once more, on Korhal," Fenix continued. "I knew at the time that I had no hope, that one way or another, the servants of the Queen of Blades would break my shell, and rend my flesh." His 'head' swivelled towards Raynor. "That day, I understand, is one that you have not forgotten either."

"No." He could see Raynor grit his teeth before reloading his weapon (infinite ammo was apparently another thing the Nexus provided). "That day is…complicated."

And yet you call the Queen of Blades an ally, the Templar thought. Thought, but did not say, even if the distinction was less clear for the Firstborn than other races. Instead he said, "and so, I find myself here. Beyond Aiur. Beyond space and time. Beyond-"

"Oh dear. The beacons are charging up again."

So they were, and Doctor Cook had reminded them. Raynor turned to Fenix. "Better make this quick pal – get to the beacons, it's gonna be less chat, more splat."

"Indeed." Fenix reactivated his thrusters. "But here, in this place where death has no meaning, where I die again and again…"

"Yeah, it ain't pleasant. I think Uther's starting a counselling service."

"I die, but always return to the form of the Dragoon. The realm lords deem this my form, and this form I must have." The two of them headed for the beacon. "Is this my fate, Friend Raynor? To never again feel the wind on my face, or see the stars with eyes unencumbered? Am I to never have flesh touch grass, or walk upon my own feet? Am I to fight for reasons without meaning, to give my life for nothing again and again?"

"I…" Raynor sighed. "I can't say man. But…I get it."

Do you? You, who can still remove your armour? You, who can know the pleasures I cannot? You, who can die, and be reborn in flesh rather than steel?

He didn't say that. The enemy was coming for them. Creatures taken from across time and space. Some fair. Many foul. All resigned to fight and die for their gods. All that differentiated them from him was the level of commitment. And his commitment? How could he be committed to such a worthless cause? To fight for the sake of mere fighting. To die and be reborn, again and again.

He did not know, and yet he had to. To not fight was to invite something worse than death. Something that even the realm lords spoke of in whispered voices. Something that compelled him to unleash his planet cracker on the charging enemies, causing them to scatter. To buy himself and Raynor time, however fleeting. Time, while eternity charged towards them. He did not fear death – there was no reason to fear death. And here, there was no Khala. And yet…

Test me, cretins, the Templar thought to himself, as he saw his foes close in once more. For I am Templar, and you shall not find me easy prey.

The realm lords had robbed him of his body. Of his home. Of his purpose.

But as technology met magic, as eternity clashed around him, Fenix knew that they would not take his spirit.