20 Judgment (II, Father and Son)

After the Lion El'Jonson uttered that brief explanation, Zabriel fell into a strange silence, but his Gene-Father gave him no time or chance to catch his breath.

The Lion El'Jonson raised its right hand, precisely located the connection between the Zabriel Power Armour and the helmet, and removed it.

The Fallen did not resist, perhaps because the stimulation was too great and it briefly lost its composure. However, the helmet that the Lion El'Jonson was holding was quite interesting—aside from a few existing blemishes, it was undamaged.

This means that the Lion El'Jonson did not use any violence when it removed the helmet; however, when worn, the helmet itself could never be removed by anyone else unless the wearer himself was willing to do so and sent a signal through a neural connection.

The Lion El'Jonson walked calmly to the cold interrogation table and gently placed his helmet on it.

The soft clanging of metal against metal seemed to awaken Zabriel. The Fallen let out another low growl, and a gust of evil wind followed, striking the Lion El'Jonson's back. He paid no heed and did not even flinch.

And so the wind stopped.

The Lion El'Jonson slowly turned around, lowered its head, looked directly into the Fallen's eyes, and said nothing.

The Zabriel he remembered was a trustworthy veteran who was already Astartes Zabriel he returned to the Legion.

He participated in numerous battles and brutal internal purges, slaying Xenos but also slaughtering unsuspecting mortals. These experiences shaped him, making his deep blue sapphire eyes appear incredibly cold.

He was a living example, the most quintessential, ruthless Dark Angels, far from being Caliban's knight. Despite his later efforts, some things were beyond change.

But now, that person no longer exists.

Standing before the Lion El'Jonson at this moment was an old warrior. His hair, which was originally black, now appeared to be mixed with gray. His eyes were sunken, and his blue eyes looked extremely tired, yet also extremely angry.

His self-healing ability was clearly malfunctioning. Many injuries that should have healed to the point of disappearing were now brazenly left on his face, crisscrossing and varying in intensity, revealing the brutal struggles his owner had endured.

The most crucial point is that, in the Lion El'Jonson's mind, Zabriel would not save mortals unless required by a mission.

At that time, his sword was only wielded for the Emperor and Lion El'Jonson, and salvation was by no means in the nature of the swordsman.

"You," the Fallen said hoarsely, his voice trembling.

He uttered a single syllable, which sounded ridiculous, but the genuine resentment flowing like water across every scar was undeniably real.

The Lion El'Jonson remained silent, staring directly into his eyes. Zabriel took a deep breath and suddenly gave a contemptuous smile.

"So even the great Lion El-Jonson could lie? Ten thousand years, ha, how absurd. We must still be on Dubnos's orbit, and you're just trying to interrogate me. So, tell me, Primarch, what do you want from me?"

He Primarch very heavily, and coupled with his inescapable Terra accent, the sentence became extremely contemptuous and provocative.

Zabriel himself was clearly aware of this, and he even deliberately waited for several seconds after he finished speaking, but the Lion El'Jonson did not fly into a rage as he had imagined, or directly kill him.

This discovery left him somewhat bewildered, and even caused the Lion El'Jonson's lips, buried in his whiskers, to twitch.

Zabriel was unaware of this, and he stubbornly decided to continue.

"You want to know where the other people are?"

The Lion El'Jonson did not answer, but Zabriel gritted his teeth and continued speaking. He had probably only intended to continue provoking the Lion El'Jonson, but now he became increasingly agitated, and one long-suppressed word after another burst forth from the depths of his chest.

"I'm afraid I can't provide it for you!" he growled. "I'm sorry, sir! I've been on the run for three hundred and ninety-two years, and I can count the number of brothers I've seen on one hand! It's my incompetence!"

"But, after all, we are a group of people who never gather or stay; we even have to wear robes and disguise ourselves as enhanced Servitor or slaves to go out—and all of this is thanks to you."

"You ordered your warships to fire upon your home planet and your descendants, and you personally charged into our midst to slaughter them. Even so, you were still not satisfied, and you even wanted to personally lead a group of our replicas to relentlessly hunt us down."

Zabriel stopped speaking and, under the Lion El'Jonson's gaze, asked a question in a soft voice.

"I really want to know why, Primarch. I don't understand what we did to make you hate us so much."

As he stared up at him with his head tilted back, Lion Aljonsen shook his head expressionlessly.

"First, they are not the imitations you described; they are also Dark Angels."

Zabriel suddenly sneered and immediately retorted.

"Really? Dark Angels can't even recognize the complete insignia of the Order? I'm not unfamiliar with them, sir, I know just how incompetent they are in this regard. Therefore, I also know what you've done to silence us forever."

"To have more accomplices, you even allow a group of knights who aren't knights to swindle and deceive people using our names? By the Emperor, you are truly an excellent Primarch. Who in the galaxy can rival you?"

The Lion El'Jonson slowly frowned, reluctantly realizing one thing: Zabriel probably really wanted to die.

At the same time, he also had to admit something else: just a moment ago, he had really lost his temper.

Zabriel's words struck a nerve; he could not tolerate anyone slandering his offspring in this way.

Fraud and deception? What damned words! No one knows better than him how much they have sacrificed over these ten thousand years.

But Zabriel didn't know.

Zabriel knew nothing. He didn't know how much resolve his Primarch had taken to ban the Inner Circle and Societies, nor did he know that his successors had not disgraced the name they inherited.

He has traveled to many worlds, but the world he sees is probably very narrow, and everything is drowned in hatred.

The knight from Caliban Lion Al-Jonson, whispered to himself: He's not wrong. He can't see what you see. He's just an old, weary man, full of resentment, just like you.

Moreover, he is also your son.

The Lion El'Jonson looked at Zabriel, who still wore that cold smile. However, once the influence of anger was gone, the stiffness and pain hidden behind that smile were laid bare before the Lion El'Jonson's eyes.

Guided by his intuition, he saw every detail, from Zabriel's trembling fingers and taut muscles to his almost flat chest.

All of these things strangely combined to form an indescribable force that brought the Lion El'Jonson to a state of utter calm.

The tone he used next could even be described as amiable.

"I have never had any thoughts like what you're saying, 'to shut you all up forever,' Zabriel."

The Fallen tried to repeat his old trick and interrupt the Lion El'Jonson again, but the lion's gaze rendered him speechless, leaving him standing there.

The Lion El'Jonson slowly recounted. "Indeed, I have been hunting you down, but I have only executed about twenty of you. They either lost their way and committed irreparable sins, or they sided with the Chaos."

"You might say that they became like this because of me. If you think that way, I won't argue, because you're right. However, there has always been an insurmountable wall between loyalty and betrayal. These two concepts can never be confused."

"They may hate me, but they must die. I may feel guilty, but I will still draw my sword against them."

"Now, let's talk about the biggest problem right now. I'm not lying to you; you really are already ten thousand years in the future, in the fortieth millennium. Accept reality, Zabriel. Everything we're about to discuss concerns this passage of time."

I cannot accept this.

Who is he? The person standing before me, the one patiently guiding and explaining things to me—who is he?

My mind was a complete mess, and even my eyesight was affected. It's ridiculous; before today, I had no idea that Astartes could become so vulnerable to such intense emotional fluctuations.

I thought we had overcome most of our physical and psychological weaknesses; otherwise, the Emperor wouldn't have entrusted us with such important responsibilities. Now it seems I was wrong.

Or perhaps it's simply because I'm facing Lion El'Jonson.

My own Gene-Father.

Ordinary people cannot understand Astartes' feelings about Primarch, and I would say that even we ourselves find it difficult to describe clearly.

I have discussed this matter with my brothers, and while we have differing opinions, we all agree that there is a spiritual connection between the Primarch and us. This connection makes us instinctively obey Him, follow Him, admire Him, and desire His approval.

During my years on the run, I thought about this matter over and over again, and finally I came to a conclusion: it was not a coincidence, but something that someone did deliberately.

So, who is it?

I know who it is, but I actually understand him—I thought I would hate him, but I was wrong, because I know what we are.

As the world knows, we are Astartes, cyborgs with two hearts and three lungs. From the day we joined the Legion, we have been trained for slaughter, mastering all kinds of weapons and tactics. We were born for slaughter; we are the Emperor's blade.

But we are still human.

For some reason, the Emperor did not erase our feelings.

This gives us humanity, the capacity for joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, and a sense of honor. However, it also allows us to lose our rationality in anger and impulsively do things that cannot be undone.

The Emperor must have known all this. When he created us Primarch on the Primarchs, he must have asked himself: Do I really want to preserve their emotions?

His final decision conjured up the above scene in my mind, but it also raised some questions in me.

War doesn't actually require humanity. No matter how we assign meaning to war, its essence remains unchanged. Ultimately, it's about one group of people killing another group of people or things.

So, how exactly does emotion play a role in this?

The Emperor could easily transform us into cold, emotionless machines, like Servitor who only carry out orders. If he did that, I don't even think Horus Heresy would occur.

But he didn't, which is strange.

On the one hand, he preserves our emotions, allowing us to identify as human beings; on the other hand, he imposes a restriction on us, giving us a special connection with the Primarch.

I don't know what other people think, but to me, Lion Alderson is simply Lion Alderson, it's that simple.

He wasn't my brother, my friend, my father, or a trusted general. He was more than just those things I fought for, but not anymore. What happened on Caliban changed everything.

I looked at him and realized I couldn't actually face him. From the start of the conversation until now, I had been on the defensive.

But I can't run away from it; I don't have that right, nor do I intend to—there are some things I absolutely must get to the bottom of.

"Do you dare swear?" I suddenly asked him.

I suspect my expression must have been quite ridiculous as I spoke, otherwise he wouldn't have frowned so deeply. He's getting old, and I've realized that clearly once again.

This painfully reminded me once again that what he told me was very likely true, and it was like a thunderbolt tearing my world apart.

One moment I was fulfilling my vow in the Underhive of Dubnos, and now I stand ten thousand years in the future.

I don't even dare to think about whether Dubnos still exists.

"Swear?"

I took a deep breath to make sure I could speak clearly. I didn't want him to look down on me.

"Yes, swear, swear to whomever you want, I just want to make sure you'll tell the truth from now on. You've changed, Lion El'Jonson, but I don't want to know why right now, I just want to know why you hate us so much."

After I finished speaking, I took a step back and waited for his answer. I think I must have looked very eager for an answer, otherwise he wouldn't have suddenly pursed his lips.

Yes, it was a gamble. What I did was absolutely audacious and outrageous.

In the past, my brothers might have drawn their swords against me for this, but who cares? Now I stand before the Lion El'Jonson, Zabriel, and so I will do it.

I want him to swear to be honest with me; I want to see if he slips up and tries to kill me.

I saw the Lion El'Jonson slowly raise its right hand.

Then he bent over, very slowly, clenching his right fist, moving it to his chest, and pressing it tightly against his chest.

He stared straight at me, but I didn't see anything I wanted to see in his eyes.

I knew I had lost the bet, and I lowered my head, but the Lion El'Jonson was never Mercy man, and he was about to deliver his final judgment on me. I heard him take a soft breath.

I heard him say, "I will remain completely honest with you, Zabriel."

I fell to my knees, feeling as if a sharp sword had pierced my heart.