Long Live the Imperium

The standoff on the battlefield lasted only a few seconds.

But those few seconds felt like an eternity to Seraphax.

It was long enough for him to recall countless memories—the days of training in the Caliban forest, the years of following the lion on its expeditions to the stars, and the glorious moments under the Emperor's radiance.

Then, everything shattered.

He shattered in the flames of Horus Heresy, shattered in the inferno of Caliban's destruction, shattered at the moment he was accused of treason and abandoned in endless darkness.

His gaze shifted from shock to complexity, then to coldness.

"Lion Al Johnsen"

His voice was deep, yet clearly audible amidst the chaos of the battlefield.

He did not call him "Father" or "Primarch," but simply addressed him by his name, as if facing an equal opponent, a fated enemy.

"You're still alive."

Lion gazed at this fallen offspring, at the four-colored light surrounding him, and at the complex emotions that had been accumulating for millennia in his eyes.

The lion's gaze is calm as still water, yet it contains a depth that could devour the stars.

"I am alive."

His voice was like the tolling of an ancient bell, "And my son stands in the camp of Chaos."

Seraphax's lips curled up slightly, revealing a sarcastic smile.

"Your son?"

He shook his head slightly. "What's so strange about the son you abandoned, the son you forgot, the son you left in Caliban to die—now standing in the camp of Chaos?"

He did not wait for Lion's reply.

His figure suddenly shot up, so fast that it tore through the air and was completely beyond the reach of ordinary eyes.

The sword in his hand—the one that had just been enhanced by the power of the Four Gods—transformed into a dark red light, piercing straight for Lion's throat.

"I am blessed by the Four Gods!"

His voice exploded amidst the flashing sword:

"Father! What do you have to fight me with!"

The sword's edge has arrived.

The sword embodied Tzeentch's unpredictability and Khorne's rage, Nurgle's tenacity and Slaanesh's precision; the power of the four gods was perfectly fused in this strike, transforming into a deadly thorn capable of slaying a demigod.

Lion moved.

He did not retreat, did not dodge, and did not even raise the Emperor's Shield.

He simply raised the sword in his hand—the precious sword named "Loyalty"—and held it horizontally in front of him.

The two swords clashed.

The clang of metal against metal reverberated across the area, and the shockwave spread outwards from the two figures, sending Orks who had no time to dodge flying and sweeping up rubble and dust from the ground, forming a circular clearing with a diameter of 100 meters in the center of the battlefield.

Seraphax's sword came to a steady stop in front of Lion's sword.

Unable to make any progress.

The power bestowed by the four gods vanished without a trace before that seemingly ordinary sword, like a clay ox sinking into the sea.

Lion looked at him, a hint of a smile appearing in his eyes.

There was irony, pity, and a depth that Seraphax could not comprehend in that smile.

"Blessed by the Four Gods?"

Lion's voice was calm, yet it exploded in Seraphax's ears like thunder:

"It's like nobody doesn't have the blessing of the Four Gods."

As soon as he finished speaking, Lion's body suddenly burst forth with dazzling light.

The light flowed in four colors—not the colors of the Four Chaos Gods, but four colors of a more ancient and primordial kind.

Those are the four fundamental forces of the Material Universe, the four origins that constitute all things, and the four foundations upon which human civilization depends for its existence.

The light burst forth from Lion's body, illuminating his sword and shield, enveloping him in a divine glow.

Seraphax's pupils suddenly contracted.

He sensed it.

That power—a power that shared the same origin as the Four Gods' Blessing within him yet was entirely different—was overwhelming him.

"You--"

For the first time, Seraphax's voice trembled.

"You think that only Chaos has four gods?"

Lion's voice was like a judgment:

"Now we, the Imperium of Man, have one, and there will be many more!"

He took a step forward.

Just one step.

Seraphax felt as if the entire universe was pressing down on him.

"What you call the Four Chaos Gods are nothing more than distorted projections of these four primordial forces in the Warp."

Lion's voice continued, "Tzeentch is the distortion of change, Khorne is the distortion of struggle, Nurgle is the distortion of life, Slaanesh is the distortion of Pleasure."

He took another step.

"And we--"

His gaze was like the blazing sun:

"What we possess is order, protection, creation, and inheritance!"

Seraphax's body began to tremble.

The trembling was not due to fear, but rather to the power of the four gods blessing him.

Faced with the four more fundamental forces surrounding Lion, they began to waver, to crumble, and to betray him.

"Impossible..."

Seraphax Whisper, a genuine panic appearing in his eyes for the first time:

"This is impossible... I have been trapped in this cycle of suffering for millennia... I have offered countless sacrifices... I have fought countless battles for them..."

Lion looked at him, a complex expression in his eyes.

That complex emotion contained anger, disappointment, sadness, and a deep sense of self-reproach.

"Child."

His voice suddenly became low:

Tell me, why have you fallen?

Seraphax suddenly looked up.

His eyes burned with fire—fire containing anger, resentment, and the pent-up grievances and pain of millennia.

Why the fall?

His voice was hoarse.

"You ask me why I fell into depravity?"

He abruptly flung away the sword he was facing off against Lion, took several steps back, and stood in the center of the battlefield strewn with corpses, between the Chaos Cultist and Orks, amidst the pervasive smoke and blood.

"I have fought for you for a hundred years! I have followed you across the stars! I take your glory as my glory, and your faith as my faith!"

His voice grew louder and louder:

"Then what?"

"And then you left me in Caliban! In that damned monastery! Among a bunch of brothers who could betray me at any moment!"

"Where have you gone? You've gone on an expedition! You've gone to expand the Emperor's territory! You've gone to pursue your glory!"

"And what about us?"

The pain that had been suppressed for millennia finally surfaced in his voice:

"We wait in Caliban! Day after day, year after year, decade after decade! But what we get is not your return, but the flames of rebellion, the swords of our brothers, but—"

His voice suddenly stopped.

Then, even more subdued:

"But rather the stigma of being a ' The Fallen '."

Lion listened quietly.

He did not interrupt, did not defend himself, and did not make excuses for himself.

He simply listened, listening to the accusations of this depraved descendant over ten thousand years, listening to the deepest pain in the heart of this once loyal warrior, listening to the truest feelings of the son he had abandoned—whether intentionally or unintentionally.

"I have not betrayed the Emperor."

Seraphax's voice suddenly calmed down, a calmness more chilling than any roar:

"I was still fighting for the Emperor during the Horus Heresy."

I slaughtered traitors, I protected Caliban, I thought I was fulfilling your expectations of me."

"Then what?"

"Then Caliban destroyed it."

Then I was accused of being a traitor.

Then I had nowhere to go, no one to trust, and nowhere to go."

He looked at Lion, and a hint of pleading appeared in his eyes:

"Where are you, Father? Where were you when all this happened?"