Kenthelion and Castellan Ursarkar E. Creed had been waiting by the portal for an hour.
In the distance, Castellan Creed spotted the silhouette of the war fleet that His Majesty had spoken of. Though the design differed greatly from that of the Imperial Navy, he sensed that these ships held their own unique advantages—advanced, foreign technology, yet highly organized and formidable.
Creed:
"Your Majesty, is that the expedition fleet you mentioned?"
Various warships emerged from the dark void of the galaxy, their sleek, silver-white hulls gleaming under the starlight—an unmistakable sign of unmatched power.
A few minutes later, the docking process completed. Hundreds of space stormtroopers, clad in gleaming white armor and armed with blasters, began moving in disciplined formation—boarding and disembarking from the massive ships.
A large steel door slowly slid open with a familiar hydraulic hiss. From the flagship emerged a middle-aged man dressed in a sharp gray Imperial uniform. His officer's cap sat firmly on his head, and the red-and-blue rank insignia on his chest clearly indicated a high-ranking commander.
He stepped forward and stopped a few paces from Kenthelion. Placing his right hand over his chest, he gave a slight bow.
"Your Majesty Kenthelion," he spoke with a calm yet authoritative tone,
"I am Wilhuff Tarkin Yularen, Admiral of the Imperial Navy. I have been assigned to lead this expeditionary force. The entire fleet awaits your orders, Your Grace."
His eyes were sharp but filled with respect. Beneath the rigid posture stood a seasoned veteran—one who had served in countless campaigns and was now fully loyal to the system's master: Kenthelion.
Creed studied the man for a moment and nodded. Just from his demeanor, his tone, and his gaze, Creed could tell—this was a commander forged by war.
Kenthelion:
"Yularen, is it? Allow me to introduce Castellan Ursarkar E. Creed beside me. He will be your new Supreme Commander, and you will serve as his second-in-command."
With that, Creed and Yularen began to size each other up with a warrior's understanding—two experienced leaders, now allies, ready to command the stars.
Kenthelion boarded the Gloriana-class Battleship alongside Castellan Ursarkar E. Creed and Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin Yularen, once again taking command of his fleet as they followed the formation of the Imperial Navy. To bolster their strength, Castellan deployed Space Marines aboard each of Yularen's warships.
Shortly after the expedition's departure, Creed and Yularen detected a large number of unidentified ships ahead.
"Your Majesty," Yularen reported calmly but firmly, "we've encountered a fleet of unknown vessels directly in our path. Do you wish to engage?"
Kenthelion's gaze remained fixed as he replied coldly, "Kill them. They're aliens. Not human—meaning they have no human rights."
"As you command, Your Majesty," they responded in unison.
Turbolasers and plasma towers across the fleet's warships began calibrating. Artillery systems were loaded, and officers at the consoles started targeting the distant alien fleet.
"Fire!"
Blinding volleys of energy shot across the dark void.
Meanwhile, in the Zygorra Flow sector, a band of interstellar pirates rushed toward the coordinates, having received news of a supposed slave ship docking there. But as they approached, they were met with an ominous sight.
"What… the hell is that?" muttered the lead pirate captain as he laid eyes on an armada of warships—some bearing gothic architecture with cathedral-like structures on top, others gleaming with silver-white hulls.
"This doesn't look like a damn slave ship… That's a warfleet! Run!!" he shouted to his crew, horror spreading across his face as he noticed massive turrets turning toward them.
Too late.
The full might of the fleet's firepower unleashed in an instant, tearing through the pirate vessels. In the blackness of space, the ships exploded like fireworks—bright, brief, and utterly destroyed.
"Target eliminated," one officer reported.
"Begin surface bombardment," another added. "Wipe out everything down there."
Back aboard the Gloriana, an officer cautiously approached Kenthelion.
"Your Majesty, would your… companions care to change attire?"
He glanced nervously at Kahn and Yarrick. Kahn, towering over two meters tall, exuded raw power, while Yarrick's face bore the brutal scars of a thousand battlefields. The officer swallowed hard. He knew better than to question further.
Behind them, the ship's massive halls echoed with a mix of ancient banners, war-torn statues, and the heavy footfalls of warriors bred for conquest.
Kenthelion: "No need. Let them handle themselves."
Kenthelion glanced at Kahn, speaking silently in his heart. He had a feeling that if Khorne's chosen god were to unleash his fury, he could slaughter every single soldier from the newly summoned Star Wars fleet.
And soon… the galaxy would remember their names.