Author's Notes: Because of my uniquely diverse interests, I have decided to write a StarCraft fic featuring one of my favorite characters. I hope that you all enjoy reading it.

Summary: At Antioch, his body and spirit was destroyed by the Zerg. Now he finds himself in a medical area with a choice looming before. He must choose to either given up… or to be reborn in the fires that that the Zerg have thrust him in.

Disclaimer: I do not own StarCraft. It is owned by Blizzard Entertainment.

From the Ashes

My body feels like it is floating, suspended in a black space void of sight or touch. The blackness devoured everything, so I do not know whether what I see is actually there. But where is this place? How did I get here? What had happened? All I remember is the sight of my enemies and then a great struggle.

Something went wrong… But what? How? I must leave this place and find out.

My mind tells my body to move, but I was not sure what followed. My body has either failed me and has become unresponsive or the black pit has also stolen the feeling inside my body as well. Oh, how my senses have abandoned me! Now I am forced to sit alone in this darkness and may well lose my sanity, in time, because of it.

…

I do not how long I was in this state, but slowly the blackness receded and blurry strokes of color appeared before me. However, my bodily sensations did not return alongside my sight, but given the state I appeared to be in, that may be a blessing. In front of me I could see the blurry forms of two templar assigned to the medical craft, both looking anxiously at me.

"The praetor has regained consciousness." The one to my right said.

The other one, on my left, merely nodded and went over to an object that at this time I could not distinguish. But the other focused all her attention on me. "Praetor, you were gravely injured during an ambush at Antioch and transported here." She leaned closer. "Can you understand?"

"Antioch?" That was right. I had been at Antioch, fighting off… what were they? Oh, yes, the Zerg. Several Hydralisk had somehow gotten behind me and when I turned to face them, my weapons had malfunctioned. That had never happened to me before in battle. Such a mistake was for much lower templar than I. "What happened?"

"The temple was overtaken. You are the only survivor."

She turned and left me alone with this information. I had failed. My comrades had fallen and Antioch was surely in ruins now. I should have died with them. Part of my spirit did die with them.

"Why can't I feel anything?"

The other templar finally spoke. "We had to numb your senses or you would have passed out from the pain and then there would be the high probability of a coma." Though my vision had cleared, I still could not recognize the objects he was working with. "Your injuries were very serious. There is no way that you'll be able to move about on your own ever again."

"Inconceivable!" I cried. "Why would I not be able to move on my own? I may not feel my body, but surely it cannot be that damaged?" Despite the numbing and table straps, I was able to crane my head over my chest…

And the image was horrifying… Not even the carnage I saw in centuries of battle compared to what I saw before me. My right arm… gone. Bitten, torn and cleaved away just above the elbow with a broken stick of bone piercing through. There was nothing, not even a portion of thigh, below my pelvis and half of what was supposed to directly above that was gone as well. In its place was a machine that I could only guess was to help regulate my body in the place of those organs. From each opening in my body nerve and muscles lay outward like bloody threads of torn cloth. Aside from that, there were scars running all across my body and everything was sticky and blue from the dried blood.

"No… it cannot. But…"

"Hush, praetor, for you can recover." The nurse said.

I raised my eyebrows in shock. "Recover? There is no… How can I recover? My comrades are dead, all my efforts and centuries training are for nothing and you say I can recover?"

"Calm yourself Praetor. The loss of a comrade, especially several at the same time, is a heavy blow and wounds the heart deeply." She said. "But we can at least get you back out into the field."

"But, how?" I said, wondering. My mind was not in proper order, though my vision had cleared considerably. My limbs were gone, irreplaceable. My organs could be replaced, with great difficultly, but I would still be incomplete. Several mechanical sounds, horrendously loud ones, originating from elsewhere in the facility were brought to my attention and I had gotten my answer.

"No… No…"

"Yes, we could place you in a Dragoon exoskeleton. I believe you'll find-"

I would have jumped off the medical bed, dragging it by the straps, if I could. "Unthinkable! You would condemn me, a templar who for centuries has fought for the glory of Aiur, to a half existence! Encased in a cold, soulless, metal shell for the remainder of my life. I would rather end myself, than be subjected to such a fate! I fight charging alongside my brothers and comrades with my blades at the ready, or not at all!" Slowly, I rested my head down onto the bed and closed my eyes. "Now begone, and let me rot with what dignity I have left." Bitterly, I think that may be none at all.

I was awoken the next day by the approach of a dominating presence and strong psionic aura. "Who is there?" I said as I slowly opened my eyes.

Judicator Aldaris stood before my bed, his psionic presence pushing down on those around, as always. I long ago ignored this effect, but never forgot that, as part of the Conclave, he had real power to back his presence.

"I heard that you had awoken…" Aldaris said.

"Yes, and what of it?"

Aldaris' tone quickly changed. It was still amazing how quickly he go from being irritatingly passive to being stiffly belligerent. "I had also heard that you vehemently refused transference into a Dragoon, an action that one could quite easily construe into blasphemy!" He unclenched a fist just enough to point a finger at me accusingly. "Even now Executor Artanis searches for the rogue Tassadar while all you can do is lay there a pity yourself!"

Though it was immature for someone of my years, I met his rage head own with my own. "What? You would waste troops searching for Tassadar while the Zerg attempt to overrun Aiur? How could-"

Aldaris cut me off. "Remember your place, Praetor, and remember that the Zerg would not even be on Aiur if it weren't for Tassadar's actions. The Conclave has the situation with the Zerg under control." Slowly, as we both realized the stares that we were getting from the medics, our respective rages died down. "Now let us return to the matter at had. Why have you forsaken the sacred honor of becoming a Dragoon?"

"Though I know it may mean blasphemy, I cannot." I answered. "I wished to do battle as I've always have. With my blades ready and my legs eager to stride into enemy camp. I cannot see myself in battle any other way. To become a Dragoon would rob me of myself, which would be even greater blasphemy than lying here in this state."

"Do you still wish to go into battle along side your brethren and strike down the enemies of Aiur and the Protoss?"

"Yes, of course!"

Aldaris' eyes narrowed and, although it was not psionic in nature, I felt an immense pressure from him. The pressure of the greatest kind. The pressure of expectation. "Then there is no other way. If you ever hope to avenge your fallen brothers, then you must." Aldaris went over to the wall and, with a wave of his hand, the blue psionic crystals pulled away. The view outside was becalming, as it was sunrise after a refreshing rain. In the courtyard below, I could see Dragoons who were piloted by those like me, greatly injured. Due to how clumsily they moved, I could easily deduce that these pilots were recently transplanted in the exoskeletons.

"Ah, how stupid of me." I sighed. I should have realized that I was in the Dragoon Temple this whole time.

For a rare, fleeting moment, Aldaris' pressure lightened as he stifled a laugh. "Yes, Praetor, you can get very, very stupid sometimes. Rushing headlong into trouble with Tassadar and Artanis."

"How odd. I recall that the very mentors who called our tactics stupid later called them brave." I said. "And, indeed, brave and stupid they were." Struggling against the machines that the medics had attached to my body, as well as ignoring the protests of said medics, I was able to push myself into a sitting position.

Aldaris waved the medics away and pulled a chair toward the bed. Continuing a shocking chain of events, he sat next to me. "I just remembered. The Terrans have a myth of creature whose name is similar to your own. It was a great bird of fire that, when it died, was consumed by its own flame."

"The point?"

"Afterward, when the fire died, the bird would be reborn from its own ashes. Now, Praetor, the Zerg have thrust into the flame and you can be reborn as one of Aiur greatest sons. The choice of death or rebirth is yours, but will you let yourself die with a conquered spirit or turn it into wrath to unleash upon your enemies?"

And with that he left…

The choice was mine alone. I do not know if should be allowed to return to the field of battle, but I know that I am what many would call a 'sore loser'. The thought of defeat makes me burn with an intense rage that not even the sun can challenge! I refuse to sit idly and I refuse to be conquered! The idea of sitting that robotic shell still pains me…

I know what I must do.

I stood in front of the gateway anxiously. This would be my first deployment since I was released from medical care. I feel like I did in my younger days just before my rite of passage. Indeed, I had adapted faster than any other pilot that came before, so the experience is still new to me.

We, a small attack force led by myself, are being transported to a newly established Zerg base on the far side of Aiur. Now the Zerg will feel my wrath, honed by months of training and preparation. Now they shall know the burning wrath of Fenix, Praetor of Aiur, reborn as Dragoon and as Protoss! They had thrust me into the flame, but now they shall fall to my cerulean flames of antimatter!

We are given our orders to march and I, with my band following, ascend the gateway's steps. Upon reaching its pinnacle we step through a warp portal and exit out at another gateway on Aiur's other side, currently facing the sun. Before us were Zerg and Protoss warriors engaged in battle. No army gave any way and both were locked in a cruel stalemate. But the tide would soon change. I look out and see the scenery my life had become accustom to. The scenes of glorious life or death struggles!

I have returned…

Author's notes: Fenix was always one of my favorite StarCraft characters, right up there with Jim Raynor, Zeratul and Tom Kazansky (No idea how he got there!), even though he was only playable for three missions (I have, unfortunately, not played Brood War even though I know most of its plot). Review all you want!

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