Julius, in his quarters on the ship, demanded: "Give me the strength of an Astartes and increase my psyker power to level 4! And give me armor – the Umojan Protective Spirit combat suit in dark blue – and a lightsaber in the shape of a sword with a blue crystal and my psyker powers. Buy Battlecruisers: powerful warships capable of attacking ground and air units." The points were mounting quickly; he forgot to listen to the count. War was everywhere. "I'm going down with my men to meet the governor of this world. Data, you command the air troops and destroy everything that isn't human."
The bridge of the Conqueror's Star was controlled chaos. Screens showed troop deployments, artillery salvos from Siege Tanks churning up the green hordes, and Spartans striking like lightning, their Mjolnir armor shattering the ranks of Nobz with brutal efficiency. But Julius no longer saw the details. He only saw blood, fire, and the inexorable slowness of his fleet to contain the scourge.
It wasn't enough. He had to be more. Now.
"System!" he roared mentally, leaving the bridge with brisk steps for his private quarters. "Give me the strength of an Astartes! Increase my psyker power to the next level! And give me armor and a weapon worthy of the name!"
Notifications appeared at a dizzying speed, the cost in energy points – a number skyrocketing thanks to the Ork slaughter – scrolling too fast for him to read.
< Acquisition: [Physical Modification - Basic Astartes Level]. Consumption: 800,000 units.>
< Acquisition: [Psionic Evolution - Beta Level]. Consumption: 1,500,000 units.>
< Acquisition: [Armor - Umojan "Protective Spirit" Combat Suit - Customized]. Consumption: 100,000 units.>
< Acquisition: [Lightsaber - Duelist Sword - Blue Crystal]. Consumption: 75,000 units.>
< Acquisition: [Terran Battlecruiser] x 5. Consumption: 500,000 units.>
The pain was a rebirth. His muscles expanded, his bones densified, his stature gained several centimeters. A brute, inhuman force flooded every fiber of his being. Then came the power. The Beta level. The inferno within him became a stellar furnace, a reserve of power so vast it threatened to consume him. The silence of his helmet became vital, no longer to hide, but to contain.
In a flash of light, the armor appeared, fixing itself onto his body. Dark blue, like his helmet, with clean, aggressive lines, it emitted a faint protective hum. In his hand, the lightsaber ignited with a characteristic vwoom, the blade of pure blue energy stable and far deadlier than a Force blade.
He didn't even bother to look at the five new Battlecruisers that materialized their imposing mass into the battlefield. The points? He had forgotten them. War was everywhere, and he was now an integral part of it.
He walked with heavy, transformed steps towards the landing bay. His armor clacked on the metal floor.
"Data!" he called out, passing the bridge door. "I'm going down with my men. I'm going to meet the governor of this world and hold the line. You command the air troops. Destroy everything that isn't human. Clear the skies."
Without waiting for a response, he jumped into the hold of a Dropship that was already taking off. Around him, a squad of Marines and two Spartans stood ready. Their gazes, behind their visors, fell upon him. This was no longer their commander in uniform. This was a divine warrior, a warlord in blue armor, brandishing a sword of light, an aura of brute power and psionic will emanating from him like heat.
The Dropship plunged through hell. Streaks of Ork anti-air fire, explosions, Valkyries chasing cobbled-together fighters. Then a brutal landing in a central square, a few hundred meters from the governor's bastion.
The ramp opened onto chaos. The noise was deafening: the screaming WAAAGHs!, explosions, the crackling of Impalers. A horde of Orks rushed towards them.
Julius was the first out.
He did not run. He advanced. His lightsaber became a whirlwind of blue. He slashed, swept, carved. Ork weapons exploded on contact with the energy blade, their massive bodies cleft in two with obscene ease. His Astartes strength allowed him to strike with the power of a pile driver, sending Orks flying ten meters away.
A Nob charged, a huge axe in hand. Julius raised his free hand. A bolt of Beta-level force psychic energy, far more powerful than anything he had ever produced, shot out and hurled the creature against a wall where it exploded into a green pulp.
"FOR BRAVEHEART! FOR HUMANITY!" he roared, his voice amplified by his armor and carried by his power, dominating the battle's din.
His Marines, galvanized, formed a wall of fire behind him, their Impalers spewing explosive bursts that shredded the Orks. The Spartans, silent and deadly, cleared the rooftops, eliminating snipers and rocket launchers.
Julius Braveheart was no longer a strategist in orbit. He was a force of nature on the battlefield. The counter-attack had just found its general. And his name was terror.