The Lion's Wrath

When Lion El'Jonson stepped out of the sanctuary where he had slept for ten thousand years and into the roaring, trembling corridors of the "Rock" fortress, an invisible yet immense force swept across the entire battlefield.

It was not merely a fluctuation of psychic power, but something deeper, more primal—a call of blood, loyalty etched into the depths of their genes igniting, a banner lost for ages once more snapping in the wind.

To the Dark Angels and their successor Chapter warriors fighting in blood and fire, the sensation was like a drowning man reaching air, like a lost traveler glimpsing the North Star.

A moment ago, they had still been desperately holding beneath the dull, filthy assault of the Death Guard, the stench of plague and the shriek of bolter fire woven into a dirge of despair; the next, a shudder and exultation from the depths of their souls seized them.

No communications channel was needed, nor visual confirmation. Every Astartes bearing the bloodline of the Dark Angels sensed it in that instant—the Father of Genes had returned.

"For the Lion King! For Caliban!"

No one knew who first gave that heart-rending cry, but like wildfire sweeping the plains, it swiftly spread to every corner of the battle line.

The exhausted warriors seemed infused with new life. Muscles bulged beneath their battered Power Armor, and their dimmed bolters once more spat tongues of furious flame.

They no longer passively held their positions. Instead, following that invisible yet utterly clear guidance, they launched a desperate counterattack toward the Primarch.

Their formations reorganized in an instant, and their assault became fiercer and more coordinated than ever, as though an unseen hand were moving the pieces upon the board of war. The war tide of the old Dark Angels, once enough to