Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C75

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At the apex where the columns converged, a colossal energy crystal hovered in midair. From its top hung six silvery strands as thick as a child’s arm, each connected to a crystalline orb that shimmered with a glassy sheen. Across the orbs’ surfaces, streams of Epsilon script scrolled like digital subtitles, their silver glow flowing in intricate patterns.

If one were to slice open the orbs along their longitudinal axis and flatten them, the result would resemble the data matrix from The Matrix—a cascade of alien code.

When Tang Fang and his companions entered the chamber, they found mechanical arms positioned around the orbs. Beams of blue laser light shot from prisms embedded in the palms of these arms, striking the orbs and creating ripples of faint luminescence across their surfaces.

On the opposite side of the arms, glass conduits carried a flow of glowing blue liquid, while metal wires stretched down to the base of the columns, converging into a large electronic device.

At this very moment, twelve researchers were clustered around the device, using specialized spectral analysis tools to transfer clusters of data onto multipurpose PDAs.

For over two centuries since humanity discovered the Epsilon spacecraft, research on the Epsilon civilization had never ceased. Though progress had been minimal overall, there were some notable breakthroughs.

Take, for instance, the instruments these researchers were using. By crystallizing Element Zero into prisms and pairing them with lasers of varying frequencies, they could interact with the data cores of Epsilon ruins. They then collected the resulting wave spectra, processed them aboard fleets of research vessels in space, and converted them into binary units through complex algorithms.

The so-called decryption process involved adjusting the laser frequencies to match the energy fluctuations of the data core, achieving what was known as "resonant synchronization" to digitize the Epsilon runes.

However, the Epsilon civilization’s technology far surpassed humanity’s. Their data storage systems were protected by an intricate and robust security mechanism. Typically, mainstream research computers could only extract minor fragments from the ruins' complete tech tree before triggering the core's safeguard protocols, which would initiate a purge sequence.

By the time Tang Fang entered the ruins, the data upload task had ground to a halt due to interrupted satellite communications. Left with no choice, the researchers resorted to copying the spectral data extracted from the ruins’ tech tree onto their PDAs using the frequency analysis tools.

The copying process was already at 90%. In just five minutes, they would complete the first phase of their mission, board a shuttle, and return to the Thunder Fleet. At that point, what did the outcome of the ground battle matter? Even if they handed the entire planet over to the Sulru Empire, without the core data, what would they gain? The ruins’ equipment? Without the underlying technology, those devices were nothing more than cold, lifeless relics.

Five minutes. Not enough time to smoke a cigarette, take a shower, or even finish a bowel movement.

In a sense, Tang Fang was a miser—a true penny-pincher. Because he wouldn’t leave his enemies even five minutes. Not one minute. Not thirty seconds.

When Francis heard the footsteps at the door and turned to look, the expression on his face shifted through a kaleidoscope of emotions. It was as dramatic as a traveling folk troupe performing a fiery duet under a circus tent, complete with exaggerated makeup and flirtatious banter.

He knew Tang Fang would come for him—but not this quickly. What were the people at the base doing? What about Hu Qing? Couldn’t they stall him for even fifteen minutes? And Simmons—where was he? Why hadn’t there been any advance warning?

After all, the entrance to the ruins was one of the most closely guarded secrets. Only he, Edward, Hu Qing, and another deputy commander named Park Jindong—who was currently directing airborne operations near the equator—knew its location. Without guidance, finding the entrance alone should have been a monumental challenge for Tang Fang and his group.

Even if they managed to locate it, there were still dozens of security gates and alarm systems to bypass, culminating in the nuclear-blast-proof door and Simmons’ security team. By all accounts, stalling them for fifteen minutes—or even half an hour—should have been more than feasible. So why had they failed? How had so many obstacles and personnel been unable to slow him down? Just how powerful was this young man?

Francis froze. His two bodyguards weren’t amateurs—they reacted instantly, spinning their weapons toward Tang Fang and his companions and pulling the triggers.

Their response was swift, but Arroz was faster. As the guards’ fingers squeezed the triggers, a 7mm metal spike erupted from the barrel of Arroz’s C-14 "Impaler" Gauss rifle, streaking through the air like a silver bolt of lightning. It pierced the heart of the guard on Francis’ left, spraying a line of crimson.

Simultaneously, a golden flash erupted in front of Tang Fang. The bullets fired by the guards slammed into Zealot’s plasma shield, ricocheting harmlessly away.

Then came a sharp, ear-piercing sonic boom. A bone spike as thick as a child’s arm whirled like a spear, carrying immense kinetic force. With a thunderous thud, it impaled the chest of the guard on Francis’ right, hurling the blood-soaked corpse across the room to splatter against the silvery wall in a grotesque smear. A spray of radiating blood painted the surface.

Francis’ personal security detail consisted of nine men. Four had been taken by Simmons, and two had just perished. That left two others, who were patrolling nearby. When the intruders appeared, they prepared to retaliate—but before they could act, shadows flashed before their eyes. Two hulking figures leapt into the air, pinning them to the ground.

As the creatures’ abdominal muscles contracted, jets of emerald-green fluid sprayed down onto the helmets of their powered armor like acid rain.

A grating, teeth-clenching hiss filled the air as steel melted and screams echoed through the cavernous hall, blending into a cruel symphony that lingered long after the attack ended.

The twelve researchers were paralyzed with fear. Several collapsed to the floor, their lab coats soaked with spreading wet patches, reeking of urine and terror.

Four guards were dead. Against these aliens, their bodies were as fragile as paper, torn apart with ease.

Francis continued to retreat, step by step. Zealot’s icy gaze pressed against him like the edge of a sword poised at his throat, forcing him backward.

Just then, a shadow lunged from the side. A powerful force knocked Francis off balance, sending him stumbling to the ground. He felt a cool sensation on his cheek and looked up to see a viscous yellow-green slime dripping from above. Its source? A grotesque, humanoid alien standing taller than a man, its form both hideous and menacing.

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