The Wisdom of the Older Generation of Lion Tamers

Leman Russ turned his head and looked at Azrael, who was trying to slip away without a sound.

Azrael's steps were light, like a little black cat sneaking away from some terrifying beast. He crept along, his body trembling faintly, as though the instant he was noticed, he would collapse onto the ground, belly up, and beg for mercy.

There was no need to say it aloud. Azrael knew this behavior was avoidance, even a kind of disloyalty toward his Gene-father. But after facing the Lion in person, Azrael had no choice but to admit one fact.

He was afraid.

Before the Lion, every excuse and every justification vanished into smoke. What rose from within Azrael was nothing but pure fear. He simply could not muster the courage to face the Lion directly.

Slip away quietly; no shooting.

"Where do you think you're going?" A gloomy voice questioned him as a hand clad in dark green armor settled on Azrael's shoulder.

Azrael's Power Armor caved in at once. A wave of pain surged from his shoulder, mixed with the horrifying fear radiating from the man behind him. His knees gave way, half his body collapsing while the other half was hauled high by Leman Russ.

Leman Russ extended the fingers of his other hand and clamped them around Azrael's helmet. With a sharp squeeze, Azrael's helmet exploded. Beneath it was a face somewhat similar to Leman Russ's, yet lacking the common Calibanite gloom. Instead, it carried something of the Fenrisian's roughness, along with a strange sense of humor in his brows and eyes.

In truth, many brothers in the Chapter had remarked that Azrael did not feel much like a Dark Angel. He was always fond of teasing jokes, his words and actions carrying an odd humor. He liked provoking