75 Rebirth (IV)

Lion El'Jonson felt as though he had had a very, very long dream.

But he also understood that this was merely an appearance. In truth, he had died, slain by the aftermath of the war. And even at a moment like this, he could still recall that incomparable pain with perfect clarity.

To escape it, the Lion's thoughts began to wander aimlessly.

He had been born of the Warp—this was no secret; the primarchs had long sensed it—while their bodies had been painstakingly created by the Emperor through genetic programming. They could not be called perfect, but they had come close to that standard.

Every primarch had an archetype, fashioned from a fusion of heroes, great figures, and characters from myths and legends throughout human history, with their functions predetermined. Their muscles and bones were then adjusted, and memories of battle instilled in them, all so that these bodies would be worthy of the essence they contained.

Thinking of it now, Lorgar's devout faith during the early days of the Great Crusade was understandable.

After all, he had come from Colchis, a world where faith flourished, and the existence of the Emperor and the primarchs happened to prove the local Colchian myths of gods and divine sons.

We are not merely the Emperor's sons, the Lion thought.

Caliban.

A narrow path branched off from his drifting thoughts, and he quietly walked down it, deeper and deeper.

Caliban had shaped me.

It taught me cruelty, ruthlessness, and how to strike without mercy when necessary. It also taught me to hide my claws and fangs, waiting for the fatal blow.

But those things did not belong to humanity. They were the qualities of beasts, the means of survival that pitiless nature bestowed upon solitary predators. I had lived in a daze as