Interlude 58: Lion, Wolf, God (I)

Lion El'Jonson felt that he was about to fall asleep.

His entire body was warm and exceptionally comfortable, as though he were lying in a bed that fit him perfectly. His windows were tightly shut, the fireplace burned quietly, and the room was pleasantly warm despite the heavy snow falling outside.

This wasn't real. This was only an illusion.

With great difficulty, he forced his eyes open. Using the last of his strength, he tried to breathe, tried to stay awake, but he was simply too tired. Even after struggling this hard, he could only draw in the slightest bit of scorching air.

At the same time, that overwhelming sense of comfort returned, gently wrapping around him like a reassuring blanket and whispering: Sleep. Just close your eyes. There's no need to struggle anymore.

Lion seemed to hear the voice, and his eyes slowly closed.

The desert remained scorching. He lay on the ground, utterly still, without even the rise and fall of breath. Yet only a few seconds later, he opened his eyes again. Slowly, painfully, but he opened them nonetheless, then tried to breathe once more.

A tiny stream of air passed through his nostrils into his windpipe, flowed into his lungs, and then left again. This simple process took Lion El'Jonson more than ten seconds—ten seconds that drained every last ounce of his strength. And what had all that effort won him?

A few grains of windblown sand.

The knowledge bestowed by The Emperor and the extraordinary physique wrought by genetic engineering were still helping him, but they could only do this much. His wounds were simply too severe, enough to kill an ordinary man a thousand times over.

He knew that too. But the Lion of Caliban could not allow himself to fall here, to surrender