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Juras’ mind wandered, flowing through the depths of his many memories. He heard psionic screams, saw a flash of light. The kalathi had gathered at dawn, two great armies bent on destroying each other. Protoss researchers had watched the young species from an enclosure, protected by their shields.
Juras heard his own voice saying the fateful words, “We must stop them, Executor. They are like children; let us use our weapon to scare them into submission. We cannot stand by and let them destroy each other.”
Juras flinched. He did not want to remember this.
Walking through a devastated city. Slabs of stone lying askew, kalathi bodies strewn everywhere. Splintered bones protruding at odd angles, torn flesh sagging as blood drained from young and old, male and female. All dead. The executor had indeed used a powerful weapon as a warning, but the kalathi had not desisted; they had turned on the protoss researchers. Kalathi Bloodreavers had attacked the shields, screaming their bloodlust. Outnumbered and surrounded, the protoss had let loose their mighty weapon, and the kalathi had died. That was the flashpoint. The kalathi attacked protoss at every opportunity thereafter. General war had erupted and Colossi had been deployed. By the end of it all, hundreds of thousands of kalathi were dead.
Later Juras had walked alone in the kalathi’s great city, letting the images of death, of lives shattered and ended too soon, burn into his mind. He would never forget: the protoss had used a terrifying weapon on another intelligent species.
A weapon designed by Juras.