167 Terra (35)
During a lull in the fighting, Lion Aljonson glanced down at the spear in his hand. 🍫🍫 🐍🎉 It was trembling, gleaming faintly; the deadly winds had heated its blade, yet it remained spotless.
It's hard to imagine that just moments ago, the Lion El'Jonson used it to pierce through enemy shields, armor, and flesh. He looked up; the fog-shrouded battlefield was still a bloody mess, but they had advanced at least...
No, the distance is immeasurable, and even the time is immeasurable.
It doesn't matter.
He swung his sword, and a spear was thrust forward at the same instant. The Lion El'Jonson's golden hair was already stained with blood, and his focus on killing was far greater than before. He used the spear more often than the sword—a deliberate consolation that Leman Russ Russ would be happy to see.
He casually killed two Word Bearers with a slash and a thrust, while the rest looked at him in confusion, neither fleeing nor struggling.
Their choice was to talk.
"Sons of God?" one of them muttered, voicing a question. "The gods say you are dead."
The Lion El'Jonson's response was another merciless slash, the blade shattering the crimson armor and cleanly severing flesh and bone in two. A flash of blood, then the head flew high into the air.
"Dead? "The Lion El'Jonson coldly twitched its lips, an expression that certainly shouldn't be called a smile. It was merely an instinctive reaction born of mockery, which was twisted into a terrifying killing intent in the next second.
Death descended once more, Caliban's beast unleashed its savagery. Greatswords were smashed down, spears were used as axes, and he slaughtered the Word Bearers in the most brutal way.
As he expected, they were still just recruits, not the true elite of the Word Bearers. The Lion El'Jonson didn't care; he simply raised his spear and plunged its shaft deep into the ground.
A crimson meteor streaked across the burning sky as the First Legion announced its arrival in the most flamboyant way. Countless shadows were cleared away, and countless troops were re-conscripted. Reorganizations were rebuilt, and soldiers and officers once again marched side by side. The dilapidated tanks and armored vehicles transformed into a steel torrent, continuing their relentless advance.
The Dark Angels brought hope; they were late, but they still brought hope.
The Lion El'Jonson lowered its head in deep thought.
The spear's blade was inches away, its light gleaming on his face with a gentler light, no longer sharp. For some reason, Lion Aljonson suddenly felt a longing.
He wanted to hear a burst of running behind him, followed by Leman Russ Russ's annoying shouts and energetic frolicking.
You thought I was dead, brother, didn't you?! Ha! I fooled you! Now give me the spear, I'm going into battle!
He didn't hear the sound and continued forward.
"Never forget our birthright," a voice told him. "Our duty is to kill, our duty is to win. Victory or death, nothing more."
"I know, "the Lion El'Jonson replied.
He and his angels, his pack of wolves, continued to walk side by side. Everything was covered in blood and mud, but they still fought.
For Terra, for the Imperium, and for humanity.
The Daemon were endless, and traitors emerged from the flanks, launching sneak attacks from the thick fog. They brought with them heavy firepower that shouldn't have been in their hands, and even several pre-placed death minefields.
Tanks and armored vehicles roared, and artillery thundered. For every meter advanced, four or five enemies were killed, sometimes Cultists from who-knows-where, sometimes clumsy Word Bearers recruits, but most of the time Daemon.
They blotted out the sky, their sheer number stinging the eyes. The effects of the Chaos forces rendered communication devices unusable, the command chain shattered, and no commander could effectively relay their orders to the entire army at such a time—not even the Lion El'Jonson.
Moreover, he had no such intention; he only wanted to continue his journey toward the Astronomican. Then— the Sons of Horus came, along with another kind of Word Bearers, a Word Bearers who was more like Daemon than Astartes.
The elite Justaerin Terminators and these hybrid monsters ambushed the advancing artillery squad from the right rear. They moved with incredible speed and immediately disappeared into the thick fog after the raid.
Then came another artillery position, which was also attacked. No one reported it to him, but the Lion El'Jonson still managed to sense what was behind these two similar attacks with his keen perception.
He smiled slightly, for such a premeditated attack was far beyond the capabilities of those savages and Word Bearers recruits.
This means that others have joined the fray, some who know what they are doing but still choose to aid and abet the evildoers.
Then another instinct of the Lion El'Jonson began to awaken. The emerald green eyes of the Caliban lit up in an instant.
He took only one step, and the damp earth of the forest replaced the thick layer of ash and the cruel mud. He took a few more steps, and the ground changed again, returning from mud to pale ash.
He appeared silently behind the enemy ranks. The Word Bearers and the Sons of Horus were completely unaware of this, still busy reaping the lives of the artillery crews, the pungent demonic aura emanating from them making the Lion El'Jonson's hair stand on end.
For a moment, he refused to believe that what stood before him was a human, and not Daemon.
So, this is what you've done to yourselves? The Lion El'Jonson raises its sword and spear in disgust. Disregarding justice, willingly becoming lackeys, and harming the loyal and virtuous.
Willing to fall for oneself.
Anger burned fiercely in his heart, and he silently began his charge, facing the demonic tide alone.
Many members of the artillery squad were still alive, but they couldn't help him. They had served their duty faithfully long enough; even their hearing had been destroyed by the sound of artillery fire. How could they possibly fight against such a combined demonic army?
However, Lion El-Jonson would not stand idly by and watch them be slaughtered. He roared, attracting many of the traitors who were engrossed in the killing. They roared even more when they saw him, and the enemy swarmed in, which suited the Lion El'Jonson's intentions perfectly.
He swung his sword and beheaded a Sons of Horus; the Terminator's heavy design and helmet did him no good, at least not this time. The Lion Sword killed him with ease and then moved on to another.
The man tried to defend himself with his assault shield, but a spear pierced him from another angle. He only had time to kill two people before compound Boltgun, Autocannon, Multi-melta weapons, or heavy flamethrowers went into fire all at once.
He began to dodge and parry, his instincts driving his body, transforming the Lion El'Jonson into a bolt of lightning. An incredible bolt of lightning.
The bombs missed him, the Autocannon were parried and deflected by his greatsword, and the Melta was shredded by his spear. The Phosphex flames were the only weapon that could slightly slow his movements, but only for less than half a second.
The traitors were still firing, but the Caliban, his hair and beard bristling with flames, had already broken free of the hellish heat and charged into the center of the Terminator, finally showing his claws.
Horizontal slashes, vertical chops, downward smashes. Forward slashes, backhand slashes, spear thrusts, spinning, swinging, his figure fluttering in the bloody battle, like a blood-stained Shadow, his golden hair flowing, his emerald eyes untouched by any dust.
When he killed the twenty-second traitor clad in Terminator Armour, they finally realized who they were facing. Then the Word Bearers arrived, their armor and flesh intertwined and fused together, the mark of Chaos visible everywhere on them.
They surrounded him, and the leader, with an exaggerated and proud air, opened his mouth, trying to say his name. The Lion El'Jonson strode over and, before he could speak, beheaded him with a single sword stroke.
He himself did not realize how terrible it was; he was two hundred meters away from the man, but he crossed it in just one step.
The head flew up, spun, and before it even hit the ground, the scarlet armor gradually twisted and contorted amidst the shrieking, writhing shadows. A pair of fleshy wings emerged from behind the spine and began to vibrate rapidly.
Lion realized that his enemy was still alive and needed to escape. Without thinking, he simply reached out and pulled it down, then sliced it cleanly in two with his sword.
All of this happened within a third of a second.
There was no room for thought; the battle was all that remained. Primal and pure, the Lion El'Jonson's wildness was leading him to witness this truth.
He possessed the skills of a knight and the heart of a human, yet he remained a Lion of the forest. When his territory was threatened, or his pride was harmed by outsiders, Lion would do this—not kill, but retaliate.
Blood splattered as the Lion El'Jonson pounced on another Word Bearers. Time slowed, slowed, slowed enough for the Lion El'Jonson to see every detail of the man's twisted face.
He saw fear, enlightenment, and madness. He even knew what the man was about to do: to roar, to embolden himself, and to attack him with the arm that had been transformed into a blade by the power of Chaos.
So the Lion El'Jonson dismembered him before he could, completely dismembering him. His internal organs and bone fragments fell to the ground from his severed chest cavity. He tried to say something, but the Lion El'Jonson swung its sword and knocked him away, shattering his jaw and skull.
At the same time, two other claws attacked his back from behind, moving faster than any Astartes. Despicable, effective, precise, and ruthless—the only problem was that they missed.
Without any warning, the Lion El'Jonson vanished again, leaving only the damp scent of the forest and a single green leaf drifting slowly down to the blood-stained ground, as if mocking their incompetence.
Meanwhile, the Justaerin Terminators, who had left the Chapter to hunt down the artillery crew and destroy the position, were once again attacked by the Lion Sword and Wolf Spear. The Lion El'Jonson descended from the sky, cruelly dismembered one of them, and then disappeared again.
The sound of artillery fire ceased, and silence fell. The traitors began to realize something else—they were being hunted.
This was undeniable, for every ten seconds or so, a Lion would leap from the darkness, its fangs bared, and tear one of them to shreds. His armor was stained with blood, steaming hot; he had come solely for their deaths.
Farkus Kaber was also aware of this, but he wasn't surprised; it was exactly what he had expected. He had foreseen this day long ago, when he watched the Emperor's Children slaughter each other on Vengeful Spirit.
Cayber understood that one day they would inevitably face each other on the battlefield, and the Primarch would also be involved—except for his Primarch.
His Primarch no longer exists; it is merely an empty shell. Horus Lupercal would not order his brothers' legions to kill each other, nor would he send them to attack them, nor would he allow the Vengeful Spirit to crash on Terra.
But he dared not resist. From beginning to end, Farkus Kabo witnessed every detail, saw every bit of cruelty and coldness that was never his father's, yet he still dared not resist.
How ridiculous, how pathetic, how utterly deserving.
Therefore, this is the end he deserved.
Farkus Kaber raised his bloodless Lightning Claw toward Lion Aljonson, then lowered it again.
Bring it on.
He closed his eyes. A gust of wind swept in, carrying the fleeting scent of damp earth, followed by a sharp pain in his chest. He opened his eyes and, before darkness descended, saw the Lion El'Jonson's eyes.
A verdant expanse, utterly indifferent, devoid of any pity.
That's how it should be. That's how you should treat me. He struggled to utter half a syllable, trying to say something, but he couldn't say anything anymore, not even a tear.
"Farkus Kaber." The Lion El'Jonson nodded to him. "Traitor."
The Sons of Horus gave a silent, bitter smile as he faced his death. He fell to the ground, both his hearts utterly destroyed in the same instant—such was the Lion El'Jonson's doing. But he was not truly dead yet; his eyes stared blankly at the burning sky.
In his final moments, he saw a golden light and a figure with wings on its back.
The deceased Faus Cibo was the first to see the arrival of Sanguinius.
--
Push it, one more time. Take a deep breath, push, push. Avoid the large blades, use your pierced palms and fingers to hold the stone steady, push, keep pushing. Take a deep breath, almost there, one more round, brace with your shoulder.
Then the stone fell, plummeting from the cliff, straight into the abyss. The wind howled, the dead cried out, and the wronged spirits roared. Karyl stood on the edge of the cliff watching it fall, then silently returned to the starting point, below the cliff.
He continued pushing.
Golden light shone in his palm. As Constantine Valdor had said, he had one more chance—a chance to awaken his memories. He could use it to end the agonizing torment, but he had to continue enduring it.
It's not the right time yet.
He focused intently on pushing the stone, but images flashed before his eyes: the three allied forces and five Primarch before the Astronomican Gate; the Burning Fleet in orbit; the Gloriana-class Battleship tearing each other apart; and the burning surface of Mars.
And a fleet in Warp.
He smiled.
Hurry up, Konrad Curze. Otherwise, how can the god regain consciousness one last time?
This chapter is 4k words long; there's one more chapter to go.