After the Zerg General Was Accidentally Marked - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Rebirth

A sickening, sour stench permeated the air.

General Sears moved his eyelids but did not wake up. This was the landfill, a place naturally choked with rot. Even by his standards—honed by years of surviving in such places—today’s stench felt strangely tolerable.

But soon, Sears could no longer lie still. A needle-like pain suddenly pierced his mind, a symptom all too familiar from when his psychic sea had been damaged.

What is happening? Wasn’t my psychic sea destroyed years ago? A withered psychic sea shouldn’t be capable of feeling pain.

Sears groaned and forced his eyes open, only to be met with iron bars overhead. He sobered up instantly: He wasn’t in the landfill!

To be precise, he was locked in a cage, his limbs and wing casings shackled, a muzzle clamped over his face.

Then, memories flooded back. Yes, a squad of soldiers had found him in the landfill and taken him back to the hospital. But it had been too late. Years of survival in the waste, radiation poisoning, and decay had utterly destroyed his body and mind—not even the Zerg Gods could have saved him. Many had visited the former Imperial General; it was even said the new Zerg Emperor himself had come. But a General Sears with a completely withered psychic sea could no longer link with or command the Ieason, the Zerg’s greatest starship, for battle. The Zerg’s attempts to recover him were destined to be in vain.

In his final days, he had lain in a clean, white hospital room, drifting in and out of consciousness, waiting for death.

So, I died?

Then… is this heaven or hell?

Sears struggled to turn over and kneel. The cage was barely a meter high; for a Zerg nearly two meters tall, he couldn’t even straighten his waist. The movement caused the General to let out a muffled grunt of pain.

His condition was abysmal. His psychic sea was on the brink of collapse, and his forehead, cheeks, and throat burned like fire. His left shoulder, forearm, right flank, and right leg throbbed with persistent, varying degrees of agony. He couldn’t even identify the specific wounds in this position, but it was certain that his injuries were severe. As he moved, the metallic tang of blood thickened in the air; his careless movement must have reopened a wound. Blood was already pooling at the bottom of the cage from his right leg.

Sears dared not move again. He knelt, struggling to breathe, his body trembling from the pain. Yet, the location of these wounds stirred a haunting sense of familiarity.

Years ago, before he had his wings torn off and was thrown into the biochemical landfill, he had sustained similar injuries. He remembered the worst one: his right femur had been snapped clean in two. Sears glanced at his right leg, now twisted at an unnatural angle. An impossible thought formed in his mind: It can’t be… how is this possible?

The door suddenly swung open. Two Zerg entered the cramped, dim room. A metal rod slammed against the bars with a loud thud. “Hey! You dead yet?”

The General looked up but made no sound. The muzzle covered most of his face, restricting his mouth and nose. Not only was his breathing labored, but he couldn’t even close his teeth or speak.

“Still alive. What a waste,” another voice said.

“Heard the supervisor put him on the discount clearance page on the mall site. Probably hoping to make back a few credits.” The two began to chat, completely indifferent to the “product” listening to them.

“With a face that terrifying, and being an ex-military officer… and he’s clearly about to die, what brainless male Zerg would buy a ‘female slave’ like this?”

“If he doesn’t sell, we’ll have to deal with him anyway. He’s such a huge hunk of meat, he’s a pain to haul to the landfill.” As he spoke, the Zerg picked up an electric prod and poked it through the gaps in the cage.

Sears tried to recoil, but his injuries were too severe, and the cage too small. He was shocked almost immediately. Intense electricity coursed through his limbs, and the soldier soon collapsed, twitching, onto the floor of the cage.

The staff outside hooked Sears’ collar with a metal rod and dragged him onto a small trolley. His muscles continued to spasm involuntarily, his eyes half-open, refusing to succumb to darkness.

“Stop struggling. If you lose consciousness now, you’ll feel less when they cut off your wings later.”

The two dragged the trolley out, heading down a long, narrow corridor toward the Female Slave Exchange. On their way, they passed a massive light screen that clearly displayed the date: Star Calendar Year 693, October 29th.

October 29th, 693—the exact day Sears had been sent to the biochemical landfill!

Whether Sears wanted to believe it or not, this was neither heaven nor hell. It was the past.

For reasons unknown, the dead General Sears had been reborn, returning to the past. Unfortunately, he had returned to the most tragic turning point of his life.

He knew exactly what was coming. As a worthless slave, he would be sent to have his wings excised, then tossed into the landfill. He would spend years there, clinging to life by a thread, only to be found by soldiers when he was already on death’s door. The brilliant, star General, hailed as the “Empire’s Savior,” had begun his total ruin from this very moment.

No. I must not be sent back to that landfill!

The two workers pushed Sears into a cargo aircraft, input the commands, and left. Only the AI and the robot pilot remained.

Sears looked up at them and struggled to rise. A heart-wrenching pain shot through his broken leg. Suddenly, an alarm blared in the cramped cargo hold: “Warning! Warning! Cargo status abnormal!”

Following protocol, the robot pilot had to enter the hold to check. Sears gritted his teeth and dragged his broken leg, hiding behind the door leading to the cockpit. The moment the robot entered, he slammed his shoulder into it, pinning it against the hull. Metal shrieked against metal; sparks flew from the damaged circuitry.

With his limbs and wings bound and his muzzle on, he couldn’t use his formidable psychic powers, let alone undergo Zerg-transformation. He could only rely on raw muscle and brute force to disable the robot. The mangled machine finally fell silent, but Sears’ leg pain intensified. He knew he had gained even more wounds, but he had no time to care. He gasped for air, then clumsily fumbled with his shackled hands over the robot, looking for a clearance card to unlock his bonds.

He only found a low-level access card. Desperate, he continued toward the cockpit. But due to blood loss, he fainted for a second as he stood. In that brief moment, the broken robot’s alarm shrieked again: “Warning! Cargo dangerous! Suggest forced—!”

Damn it! Sears crushed the robot’s siren with his good leg. But it was too late. The door to the cockpit slammed shut. The wounded soldier was too slow; he couldn’t reach the door in time and slammed his manacled hands against it in frustration.

The thudding continued for a while, but as anesthetic gas flooded the hold, his strength waned until he lost consciousness.

Sears slumped against the bulkhead, his limbs limp. He realized with chilling clarity that he had likely lost his last chance to escape.

The aircraft arrived. The administrator in charge of disposal checked the hold, muttered about the “trouble,” and hauled the broken robot and the limp soldier away. A delay in filling out the paperwork gave him a moment.

But it was too short. Sears couldn’t crawl up, let alone escape. As he was strapped onto the disposal table, he slowly closed his eyes.

The administrator carefully removed the locking device from his wing casings. Even though Zerg wings were not aggressive in their natural state and only provided lift, the man still stepped back a few paces. “Spread your wings!”

Sears’ wing casings remained shut, refusing to expose his wings voluntarily.

“Don’t be like that. If I rip them out directly, it’s you who will suffer.”

The administrator waited, but Sears remained defiant. Finally, he activated the robotic arm, prying open the casing entrance. The mechanical claw reached inside, gripped the base of the wings, and pulled slowly. The sensation of wings being forcibly torn out was excruciating, akin to having one’s internal organs ripped out. The Zerg on the table remained silent; it was impossible to tell if he was enduring it or had finally passed out.

The condition of Zerg wings was tied to physical fitness and psychic level. Generally, the stronger the body and the higher the rank, the larger the wings. When the administrator pulled out the translucent wings—nearly ten meters in span—he was genuinely shocked.

This must have once been an incredibly elite Zerg.

A pang of inexplicable pity struck him. Zerg sent to the landfill either died or wished they were dead.

But he was just a worker following orders. Just as he was about to press the “Cut” button, a notification buzzed on his device.

The administrator opened it. “Huh?” He stared at the Zerg on the table in disbelief.

Orders were orders. Quickly, the mechanical claw released the wings. The Zerg, barely dragged out, was packed back up and sent to the cargo hold just as he was.

The administrator explained, “You aren’t being sent to the biochemical landfill anymore.”

Sears’ fingertips twitched. He opened his eyes, and he heard the voice say:

“A male Zerg has bought you.”

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