Lion and Wolf (II, 8k)

The Lion El'Jonson reached out and grasped the spear.

Two giant wolves were eyeing him menacingly.

Flames flickered, the aroma of roasting meat slowly spread, and boiling oil dripped from it, bringing an even stronger stimulation of the "food" experience.

The Lion El'Jonson glanced at them, and amidst Leman Russ Russ's laughter, used his spear to pierce two large pieces of raw meat that were behind him, then slowly raised them and shook them up and down in front of the two giant wolves.

They stared intently at the food, drool dripping from their tightly closed mouths, but instead of rushing to snatch it, they sat calmly in place.

The Lion El'Jonson chuckled softly before deftly tossing the meat over for the animals to feast on. He himself remained unmoved by the pure aroma of the roasted meat, as if it were merely bait.

He stood up, turned around, and walked to the entrance of the cave, observing this unfamiliar territory.

The first thing he noticed was the dense coniferous forest below. The branches and leaves of this tree could be used as makeshift weapons, especially the branches, which were extremely hard.

Then there was a snowfield to the west, seemingly lifeless in the wind and snow, but some blurry white Shadow were moving in the distance. They might be wild animals such as tundra cattle or elk.

To the east, there was nothing but a sheer cliff.

"They've chosen a pretty good new territory," Russ whispered contentedly in his ear. "They change it every year. Last time it was the forest by the lake, this time it's the cave at the foot of the mountain. Where will they be next, Lion?"

"Next time, I will win," the Lion El'Jonson replied calmly.

"Really? But you've lost sixteen times in a row—don't you really need the great ice hunter Russ to teach you a lesson? So you won't get found by them again and dragged back to their the Nest."

"I told you, I'll win next time."

The Lion El'Jonson spat out these words through clenched teeth, then turned and returned to the two giant wolves. Without any hesitation, he walked between the two beasts who were eating and slowly sat down against the cave wall.

He leaned the spear against his shoulder, his face reflected in the blade, but his eyes were not a deep green, but a blue that shouldn't be there.

The Lion El'Jonson casually tilted his spear, and the illusion shifted again, revealing a face he knew very well—a smiling Leman Russ Russ.

"Logically, Lion, you could have come here to meet them at any time, but you chose today. What? Is it because this millennia-long hunt is coming to an end? There are still some vacancies on your missing persons list."

The Lion El'Jonson did not answer, nor did it fling its lance. It lowered its head and stared at the ground, its knight's robe billowing in the gusts of wind and snow.

So Russ continued her story.

"They'll proactively message you to go find their Fallen. I bet there aren't many of them. Based on your experience, they're probably one of those confused victims from back then. After running away for so many years, they finally heard news of you and decided to end it all."

"Perhaps it's out of a guilty conscience, or perhaps it's a questioning of why you see them as enemies. That's your thinking, but I want to point out another possibility—could this be a trap?"

"Is it possible that the person who issued the key hijacked Banjo-1's bureaucratic system, took control of the local military and the orbital weapon platform, and was just waiting for your arrival to begin targeting you, and that they are actually numerous?"

"Think about it, Lion, how many names are still on your missing persons list that hasn't been destroyed yet?"

The Lion El'Jonson exhaled a deep, hot breath, and the two giant wolves simultaneously stopped eating and looked over with concern.

One of them walked up to him, stuck out its tongue and licked his face, leaving a wet, but unexpectedly non-animalistic, breathy smell. The Caliban glanced at it, and the giant wolf lowered its head and nudged him with its head.

"Even they know you're troubled," Russ said, his smile gone, his face calm. "So, talk to me, brother."

"What are we talking about?" the Lion El'Jonson countered.

"How would I know? I'm just a ghost. Although I can see what you see, I haven't touched anything you don't want me to know."

"Just like those thoughts you're suppressing right now, I know nothing about them. That's basic respect, Lion. I'm not Fulgrim, who'll pester you to reveal your true feelings to him."

"Fulgrim never did that," the Lion El'Jonson retorted coldly.

"Yes, he definitely didn't do that to you."

Russ said with a grin, which drew a glare from the lion, but just a few seconds later, the Lion El'Jonson's anger turned to joy, and he sighed with a smile.

He shook his head, somewhat helplessly and angrily. "To put it bluntly, it's the same old story—surrender, or die."

"Who knows what they're thinking? Ten thousand years have passed. Unless they're fools who fled to a barbaric world and isolated themselves from the world, any Dark Angels still living in a civilized world should have heard my message."

"I know them. Even the new recruits will seek out ways to get information from the outside world. Newspapers, radio, informants. They have countless ways to hear my voice and know my attitude towards them—those who surrender get a chance to defend themselves, but there are always those who refuse to do so."

Russ quietly continued, "So, like I said, you're worried that the person who issued the key this time is also one of those die-hards?"

The Lion El'Jonson slowly nodded.

This time it was Leman Russ Russ's turn to sigh.

"You have an extraordinary level of focus, Lion. Even among us, you always manage to get things done beautifully and quickly. When you truly want to do something well, no one in the world can stop you."

"Just like back then, you broke into that dark palace and brought back my corpse. If even that thief couldn't stop you, what else could?"

"You're overthinking it, my brother. You're starting to think like a typical Caliban, and you don't need to."

"I am Caliban!" the Lion El'Jonson said angrily. "You'd better watch your mouth, damn it."

"Fine, I'll just say it straight—you stupid Lion, can't you just go find them by yourself? They don't even know you're here!"

The Lion El'Jonson remained silent for a long time, then shook its head.

"You don't understand, Russ. Ten thousand years have passed, but even if another ten thousand years go by, I believe you still won't understand. They ran away not because they were afraid of death, but because they were afraid of seeing me."

"The fundamental contradiction here is that unless they choose to let go or accept everything on their own, my presence will only provoke a stronger reaction. Like a frightened animal, they will do things that even they cannot understand."

"And if they really do control part of the Banjo-1's system, what will my presence make them do? I don't want to see any unexpected casualties. No one should have to pay with their life for my mistakes, except for those who are truly guilty."

"Asmodai might have a different perspective on this," Russ said with amusement.

The Lion El'Jonson's face immediately turned ashen, and he suddenly growled, "Don't mention that fool to me! I've never seen such a stupid and straightforward mind. If he weren't my son, I would have broken his bones!"

"Oh, don't be like that, brother. He didn't do anything wrong. Although he fired first last time, interrupting your conversation with your self-proclaimed sons of the Wandering Knights, didn't the subsequent investigation prove him right? There is indeed some Chaos corruption quietly spreading among the Wandering Knights."

"He didn't do any investigation!" the Lion El'Jonson roared in rebuttal.

"But the result was good," Russ replied casually, as if suppressing a laugh. "And we Fenrisian have never been particularly concerned with the process."

The Lion El'Jonson immediately began cursing him in Fenris, Russ accepted without question. He shrugged indifferently as the spear blades reflected off him.

"Children all grow up under the protection of their fathers, brothers, so you'd better examine yourself first. Asmodai may be a bit extreme, but I bet his extremism is definitely related to you to some extent."

Lion Aljonsen took a deep breath, stood up, and said somberly, "He's just a reckless young man, growing up in this cursed age, suffering the consequences of our incompetence and sins."

"I won't criticize him for anything. I'll just ask that he do his research before pulling the trigger next time, that's all. So take back your damn words, Russ."

"So, where are you going?" Russ asked.

"You know perfectly well what I'm asking." The Lion El'Jonson snorted coldly.

The unique, damp scent of the forest lingered in the cave. The two giant wolves gazed at each other. One of them suddenly yawned, lay down, closed its eyes, and fell fast asleep. The other went to the fire, blew out the flames, and then lay down as well.

The cold wind howled, and so it would always be in Fenris. The Lion El'Jonson had departed, returned to his warship.

It was not any of the First Legion's legacy ships, but a new battleship named "The Reason's Edge," a name he personally chose to admonish himself and the young men of the Chapter.

Now in the fortieth millennium, the galaxy is dark, the Imperium is as stiff as a walking corpse, numbness, ignorance and fanaticism prevail, and faith has become the dominant theme.

The Lion El'Jonson knows its importance, but he still doesn't want to see his offspring devote themselves wholeheartedly to the path of faith and forget the importance of reason.

The conversation he had with Hermot Russ, the "Anchorite," Aurelian's Sons, on the Iron Anvil Fortress in the Sol System hundreds of years ago resurfaced in his mind, causing him to unconsciously furrow his brow.

This made Azrael, who was later summoned, look extremely cautious.

The Lion El'Jonson glanced at him, then suddenly spoke, "Put on your armor, Azrael. Then take your weapons, standard equipment will suffice. We need to get to Banjo-1 ahead of schedule."

Azrael turned to look out the porthole and saw the pale gray planet. Then, he turned back to his Primarch, still cautious, and asked, "Perhaps we should wait a little longer, Primarch? We haven't even reached near-Earth orbit yet."

"We don't ride the shuttle."

Azrael's eyes widened, and his shoulders shrugged. He immediately saluted, then turned and ran toward the armory, while the Lion El'Jonson remained standing, showing no intention of donning his armor.

His full armor and the full armor of one of his sons are two completely different concepts. The former would throw most Fallen into disarray, while the latter would only make them wary.

Having been on the run for so long, many of them possessed a vigilance far exceeding that of ordinary Astartes, and the slightest disturbance would make them consider leaving.

He then began to wonder if his actions would cause trouble for Chapter Master Belius afterward, but he ultimately decided to bring Azrael along.

There are three reasons. First, he is smart enough to fully understand the Lion El'Jonson's intentions.

Secondly, among the group of young people who came with him, he is the most skilled in martial arts, and likely the only one. Compared to the others, he will have a greater advantage in any potential battles.

Third, even Belius thought highly of him. This meant that even if his stubborn son wanted to criticize him, it would be difficult to punish Azrael.

The Lion El'Jonson unconsciously smiled.

"Don't get too excited, bro," Russ casually reminded him. "You're going to be dealing with who knows what kind of people you'll be facing later. Neurotic lunatics, traitors who've turned to Chaos, paranoid, hysterical, and intolerant idiots? Pick one."

"That doesn't matter," the Lion El'Jonson said decisively. "As long as we don't succumb to Chaos."

Russ chuckled. "Whatever—but I still have to say, your act of using your own son as a shield is quite the fatherly thing to do."

The Lion El'Jonson ignored him.

Just three minutes later, a fully armed Azrael joined him on a forest path. As for the other Dark Angels on the Reason's Edge...

They would hear a message from the Lion El'Jonson a few minutes later, and no matter how angry some of them might be, they would carry out the commands conveyed in that message.

The Lion El'Jonson understands them—in fact, he understands every single one of them; every Dark Angels who Chapter now passes through his eyes.

The tragedy of ten thousand years ago must not be repeated. He devoted great effort to abolishing the old Inner Circle system and reforming the selection system along with it. Every year, batches of children born in Caliban lined up to be inspected by him; even those who were not selected could enter the Chapter as servants.

"I have to say, you've really changed a lot. If Lion Vulkan knew, he'd probably give you a hug," Russ said silently.

The Lion El'Jonson ignored him and continued walking intently.

He had entered the kind of "concentration" that Russ had described, and at this moment, nothing could disturb him anymore.

Azrael followed closely behind his Primarch, a modified Torchbearer -type Bolt Pistol holstered on his thigh, and Power Sword that carefully mimicked the Lion Sword in its details hanging at his waist.

Aside from five powerful grenades, this was Azrael's standard equipment. He was still a young man, and although he was valued and favored, he was not yet qualified to use those powerful weapons, but he didn't care—as long as he had a sword, that was enough.

They moved swiftly through the forest until they reached a certain point, when Azrael suddenly felt a strong tearing sensation. When he came to his senses, he found himself in a dark alley.

The Lion El'Jonson stood to one side, its spear still gleaming in the darkness.

Azrael looked at the weapon with awe, then whispered, "Primarch, what should we do next?"

The Lion El'Jonson did not answer, but gave Azrael a frowning look, his nostrils twitching.

Only then did the Dark Angels belatedly realize that, in addition to the chemical pollution common in the mining world, there was also a bloody smell in the air that was absolutely imperceptible to ordinary people.

With a whoosh, his longsword was instantly drawn from its sheath. Azrael turned around warily and saw an open sewer pipe at the end of the alley, from which the stench of blood wafted.

"The Primarch?" he asked again in a low voice.

"It's not human blood," the Lion El'Jonson replied with unusual calm.

He strode toward the open drainpipe, his nostrils twitching like a wild beast.

But what beast in the world could move so silently as he did? Azrael tried to imitate him many times, but could never quite get it right.

He followed the Lion El'Jonson and stood at the edge of the sewer opening, gazing down. The darkness failed to obscure their vision; in the wide sewage pipe, some severed limbs were slowly rising and falling.

Just as the Lion El'Jonson said, those limbs did not come from humans; their pale purple skin and unusual strength and sharpness revealed the true identity of their owner.

"Genestealers, those damned Xenos," Azrael said, filled with disgust and rage. "Primarch, we—"

"--Let's go down," the Lion El'Jonson said.

He lightly swung his spear, drawing a circle along the edge of the sewer pipe outlet. The heavy metal and concrete plunged into the filthy water with a thud, splashing up an indescribable stench. Immediately afterward, the Lion El'Jonson took the lead and leaped in without the slightest hesitation.

His eyes gleamed in the dim light of the sewer, his unusual focus still at work. But Azrael's mind was a complete mess.

He initially thought the Lion El'Jonson didn't need to personally venture into this filth to seek the truth, but then he wondered why it was such a coincidence that they stumbled upon the remains of the Genestealers as soon as they arrived at Banjo-1.

Was this the work of the Fallen? Are they still protecting humanity? If so, the key might also be part of their plan, not to set a trap, but simply to call for reinforcements.

If that were truly the case, then the Lion El'Jonson would surely forgive their sins. However, Fallen are always cautious in their movements; could there truly be among them so noble as to risk exposing their identities to save innocent people?

Azrael was somewhat bewildered, his breathing slightly altered. He was unaware that his Primarch had already noticed— the Lion El'Jonson spoke without turning its head.

"You don't understand them, Azrael. You think these people are traitors, vicious thugs devoid of any integrity or morality, but that's not the case."

"Perhaps next time I should have you and Asmodai witness their Judgment together. Words can deceive, but not in my presence. They can only face me with their true colors, and thus you will see the truth."

As soon as he finished speaking, he suddenly stopped and thrust his spear forward. Azrael couldn't even see the trajectory of the attack before his eardrums throbbed with pain.

He was horrified—was it an attack? Or an enemy? The answer was neither; the Lion El'Jonson's spear had merely lifted a corpse that had fallen from the sky.

Azrael looked up and saw dozens of Genestealers remains falling continuously from above them. Judging from their appearance, they were probably not purebloods, but they were certainly not the imposters who could blend into various parts of society.

He cautiously drew his gun and went to the Primarch 'Primarch side to protect him. With his right hand raised high, he swung his sword repeatedly, unleashing hundreds of strikes that shook the air in just ten seconds, turning all the falling corpses into fragments without allowing a single speck to touch the Lion El'Jonson.

But his robes and boots were already filthy.

"It's unnecessary," the Lion El'Jonson commented, though he said it with a smile.

Azrael gave an embarrassed laugh behind his helmet, then activated the jump pack on his back. "I'm going to scout, Primarch."

"I'll go with you," the Lion El'Jonson said without room for argument.

Azrael had intended to ask how he was going to keep up, but just a second later, he was glad he hadn't asked that stupid question.

The Lion El'Jonson opened its mouth and bit the center of the spear, then leaped upwards with its legs, its hands gripping the protruding edges of the sewage pipe wall. It then began to jump, its speed even surpassing that of Azrael, who had activated his jump pack.

He stared in astonishment at the Primarch's unimaginably agile movements and his hands, stained black with filth, and recalled once again the Chapter Master's words.

When Lion El'Jonson is on the battlefield, he will not let any opportunity that is advantageous to him slip by. We must learn this, Azrael.

Half a minute later, they entered a huge pipe that was discharging countless amounts of sewage downwards—to where they had come from.

The designers had left two fairly wide side passages for future maintenance workers, but they had clearly been taken over by the dying Genestealers. Crates loaded with various supplies and weapons were piled up on the left-hand side passage, completely filling it.

Azrael glanced at the hundreds of unused standard-issue light guns and noticed them, a discovery that only deepened his unease. Despite his youth, he had already dealt with various Xenos, especially Genestealers and Orks.

He knew the habits of these two Xenos very well, so he understood what the presence of these weapons here meant. The Lion El'Jonson remained silent, carrying his spear, tip down, moving silently and swiftly.

Sewage flowed, and corpses drifted in from afar. Strange sounds of battle faintly echoed from the end of the road. Azrael listened intently but heard no Boltgun.

That makes sense, since the corpses of Genestealers are covered in sharp cuts and puncture wounds.

So, the Fallen have run out of supplies? This might be good news for them, but even so, Azrael realized another problem.

Without the support of explosives or other weapons, how could they possibly wipe out an entire the Nest of Genestealers like this? Just how many of those Fallen were there, and how strong were they?

"Primarch," he whispered.

"I know," the Lion El'Jonson said in a somber tone.

He stopped, turned around, a cold smile on his face, "They've clearly done a good job. Prepare for battle, Azrael, against Astartes."

"Primarch?"

"Their aversion to Xenos doesn't mean they're happy to see us. A group of Fallen with such power couldn't be unknown; therefore, we're likely dealing with a group of pirates, or a band of fanatics intent on overthrowing the local government."

"Understood, Primarch," Azrael said, inwardly lamenting his own powerlessness.

He was clearly lost in thought, but when faced with the Lion El'Jonson, he couldn't utter a single word or offer any useful advice. He was like an answering Servitor, constantly repeating "Primarch, Primarch, Primarch."

Azrael gripped his sword tightly, but did not raise it; instead, he kept it lowered like Lion El'Jonson.

They continued on and soon reached the end of the pipe. However, the scene that appeared before them was not at all what they had imagined—a battle between Fallen Genestealers.

In reality, there are no Fallen here at all, only the corpses of Genestealers scattered all over the ground.

It was chopped up, severed, its hands, feet, and head torn off. Its spine hung from the ceiling cable, wrapped around another head that died with its eyes wide open. Its internal organs and bits of flesh covered the metal like mud.

Perhaps one day they will bloom into flowers of flesh and blood, but Azrael doesn't care. He notices that these Genestealers haven't even left a trace of resistance. He wants to know, who has the ability to do something so horrific?

He looked at his Primarch, hoping the Lion El'Jonson could offer some explanation, but little did he know that Lion Aljonson was no less shocked than he was.

That's really weird, bro.

Leman Russ Russ's voice once again crossed some kind of boundary, drifting over in a deep, serious tone.

Does this scene look familiar?

"Nonsense," the Lion El'Jonson growled inwardly.

Such rapid fighting, brutal attacks and resistance—this style of doing things that invites even greater violence is truly bizarre, brother. I can only think of one person in the galaxy who has the ability and the will to do this.

Russ let out a low sigh: But the problem is, that person is gone forever.

The Lion El'Jonson suddenly gripped the spear tightly, the divine weapon that transcended reality and reason creaking in his hand.

A name flashed through his mind, followed by pain, regret, and longing. The battlefield of Terra from ten thousand years ago transformed from the corner of his memory into a man-eating monster that rushed towards him, roaring as it entered his veins and began to create pain far beyond the limits of ordinary people's imagination.

He simply took a deep breath.

"The Primarch?" Azrael asked anxiously.

"Nothing's wrong," the Lion El'Jonson replied calmly.

"Speak up if you have something to say, you idiot!" Leman Russ Russ roared at him impatiently.

Normally, whenever he did this, the Lion El'Jonson would argue or retort, but not this time. His brother silently gripped his weapon and stepped straight into that hellish place, beginning to carefully observe every detail.

Through his eyes, Russ was also able to witness those brutal attacks.

The two shared an inexplicable affinity for intuition, and at this moment, they were one. Wherever the Lion El'Jonson looked, the Wolf King mentally depicted how the carnage began and how it would end.

Unlike him, the Lion El'Jonson focused more on the killer's strength and the direction of the strike. Under this strange coordination, a conclusion slowly emerged.

The killer's speed and strength surpassed those of humans, even those of the Astartes.

His killing skills were extraordinary; every strike he made perfectly avoided the bones, like a seasoned butcher dismembering an animal on a chopping board with a sharp knife, always managing to cut away from the bones.

Clearly, he was very familiar with the physiological structure of these Genestealers —no, rather, he was familiar with the human body structure. He remembered every weakness and every vital point clearly, and could even use them on Genestealers, these Xenos that had stolen the human form.

"Well, maybe we should contact Jago Sevatarion, "Russ thought to himself.

"Why contact him? "the Lion El'Jonson retorted. "That brat always says something awful to me whenever he sees me."

His Primarch has returned; aren't you going to let him know?

I don't believe it.

The Lion El'Jonson slowly rose to his feet, followed by Azrael's voice. "On the Throne, Primarch, who... is responsible for this?"

"A monster," said the Lion El'Jonson. "And, there's something else—"

He suddenly turned around, and a golden light burst forth before Azrael's eyes.

The Dark Angels belatedly discerned from a quiet breeze what the Lion El'Jonson. He immediately raised his sword and roared as he charged, but the Lion El'Jonson roared back at him.

"Stop, Azrael!"

With a bang, the Dark Angels was sent flying backward, his longsword flying from his hand. Upon seeing this, the Lion El'Jonson suddenly let out a roar far more violent Azrael's, and the spear in his hand seemed to shine as brightly as the heavens.

Without hesitation, he thrust it out, piercing through a body of flesh and blood. But the face illuminated by the golden light that followed caused the Lion El'Jonson to immediately release its grip and even take several steps back.

"Hoo," the stabbed man slowly exhaled a long, cold breath, smiling and shaking his head. "It's been a long time, Lion."

The Lion El'Jonson did not answer, its eyes wide with shock, but then suddenly raised its paw and charged at him.

"Azrael, no!"

The Boltgun was fleeting.