The Braveheart Legion armada emerged from the void in spectral silence. A dozen ships, from agile Valkyrie frigates to hulking Minotaur-class battleships, formed a deadly crescent facing the "Green World," a jungle planet where the last Helldiver distress signals had died out. All preparations were complete; every unit, from the clone in his armor to the pilot in his cockpit, was in position, awaiting the spark.
In his private quarters aboard the Star Walker, Julius Braveheart stood before a matte black vault, devoid of any ornamentation. As he approached, invisible sensors activated. A hiss of pressurized air broke the silence as the vault opened, revealing his combat armor.
This was not the Umoja armor he usually wore. It was a unique piece, crafted by Kamino's finest artisans and enhanced by Stetmann and Swann. Of a deep midnight blue, it was streaked with veins of gold that seemed to channel his psyker power. Plates of beskar reinforced the vital points, and the midnight blue beskar eagle on his right shoulder seemed ready to take flight.
As assisted mechanical arms helped him don the armor, Julius raised his right hand, palm open. From its casing on a nearby table, his lightsaber – the duelist's blade with a blue crystal – leapt through the air with a characteristic hum to land with perfect docility in his gauntlet.
Once the armor was locked in place, his helmet still off, he turned to another cabinet, this one beautifully crafted from a dark, gleaming metal. It opened without a sound.
Inside, resting on a stand of black velvet, was a weapon of deadly beauty. A lance roughly two meters long, of an ebony black so deep it seemed to absorb the light. The metal was beskar, but treated by unknown Yautja methods. Along the shaft, complex engravings in a vivid, pulsating blood-red recounted stories of legendary hunts – of terrifying beasts and distant stars. It was the gift from the Yautja Patriarchs, a mark of ultimate respect for the "Elder King."
With a respectful gesture, Julius grasped the lance. The weapon was perfectly balanced. A press on a red rune near the hilt caused an internal mechanism to whirr. With a sharp, satisfying click, the long shaft retracted, segments folding into one another to form a shorter haft, while the main blade and secondary point realigned. In less than three seconds, the lance had transformed into a formidable two-handed sword, equally black and engraved with red, perfect for close-quarters combat.
Years ago, as a fan of Jedi culture, he had purchased Jedi lightsaber combat courses from the System. The forms of Shii-Cho, Djem So, and even the more aggressive Vaapad held no secrets for him. These skills, coupled with his Astartes strength and speed, made him a demon in combat. But this Yautja lance-sword represented something else: an alliance, an adoption of a predator culture, a promise of ancestral and honorable violence.
He stared at the black blade, seeing his reflection distorted in the flawless beskar.
"Data," he said, his voice slightly distorted by the armor's speaker.
"Yes, Lord Commander?" the android's voice instantly replied.
"Open a general channel."
A soft beep indicated the entire fleet was listening.
"Braveheart Legion," he began, his voice now amplified, becoming the calm thunder that precedes the storm. "Today, we do not hunt for sport. We do not negotiate. We deliver justice. For every Helldiver fallen in the shadows, for every life lost to the galaxy's indifference, we will bring an answer. An answer written in fire and steel."
He raised his lightsaber, the blue blade igniting with an energetic roar.
"The enemy believes itself hidden. It believes itself the ultimate predator. Let us show them their error. For the Legion!"
A deafening roar answered him through the channel, from thousands of throats.
"FOR THE LEGION!"
Julius lowered his helmet, a helm with an angular faceplate that revealed only his eyes, burning with intense psyker blue. With heavy, determined steps, he marched towards the deployment hangar. The Battle of the Green World had begun.