As the last sunken colony in the base erupted in a fountain of Zerg innards underneath his psionic blades, a shimmering, ever-changing beam of blue-white light lanced down in front of the Protoss veteran. The beam solidified to form a stark, gracefully lined image. It was snow-white save for the burning, flickering, fire-filled eyes, and the massive, powerfully muscled jet black wings folded neatly against the body. The figure bore a burning sword, the metal of which glowed an eerie electric blue; the size of the blade alone made the cowering Zealot look small and insignificant. A highly polished piece of jet serviced as the pommel stone; the jewel seemed to flicker with a black flame. The figure was holding its weapon straight up in the air, and as the beam disappeared, the being lowered the sword and slid it into the black scabbard on its back, the metal making a menacing slithering noise against the scabbard. The entity assumed a calm, almost meditative expression.
And then the being spoke.