High Damage on the Left Fist

Yes.

Khorne is crying.

The Emperor is having a blast.

Lion's lips twitched.

Then, an ancient word escaped his lips—

"Holy shit!"

He said it out loud.

He uttered this classic line from Old Terra.

Moreover, he felt that this statement was too damn sacred.

It fits the scene perfectly.

That's fucking amazing!

"Switch aboard! Switch aboard! All of you, switch aboard!!"

Lion suddenly roared, a roar so loud that it startled the fifty Dark Angels behind him.

Because at that moment, Lion smiled.

He smiled with complete relief.

He smiled like an old man who had finally figured everything out.

He smiled like that man who, ten thousand years ago, stood proudly atop Caliban, overlooking the entire planet.

A male lion.

He has changed.

He hasn't changed.

He's back to normal.

He grabbed the navigator by the collar with such force that he nearly snapped the navigator's neck.

"Run it over!" he roared. "Run it over hard!"

The navigator's face turned green:

"The Primarch! That's the Ark of Omen! Its armor—"

"I told you to hit it, so hit it!"

Golden flames burned in Lion's eyes:

"I am the Primarch! How could I possibly have killed fewer enemies than those little brats?!"

He shook off the navigator and strode toward the hangar.

Fifty Dark Angels followed closely behind.

Their eyes, too, burned with fire.

Those were flames that had been lit.

Those were flames ignited by the roaring Blood Angels.

That was the flame ignited by the phrase "Blood sacrifice to the God-Emperor, Guilliman."

That was the flame ignited by Lion's word "boarding".

They are Dark Angels.

They are the First Legion.

They are the sons of the lion.

them--

We can't lose to those red ones!

The warship suddenly accelerated, like a raging beast, and slammed violently into the Ark of Omen.

At the moment of impact, the entire ship trembled violently, and countless alarms sounded simultaneously, but Lion remained unmoved.

He stood at the edge of the hangar, in front of the airlock, at the entrance to the battlefield that was about to open.

In his hand, the Sword of Loyalty burned.

The Emperor's Shield glowed on his arm.

In his eyes, golden flames were boiling.

The airlock is open.

The void surged in.

Lion took a step forward--

Stepping onto the Ark of Omen.

Step into that Chaos lair.

Step into the impending carnival of blood and fire.

At that moment, he roared:

"Blood sacrifice to the God-Emperor, skull offered--"

He paused.

Then, he roared out the last three words even more wildly:

"The Golden Throne!"

The roar exploded in the corridors of the Ark of Omen, in the hearts of every Chaos Traitor, and in every corner of the Warp.

Khorne:

"..."

He cried even harder.

Emperor:

He laughed so hard he slid right off the Golden Throne.

Inside the Ark of Omen, in a hellish corridor.

Lion was chopping vegetables and cutting melons.

It's truly like chopping melons and vegetables.

Wherever his sword flashed, the Chaos Traitors fell like harvested wheat.

His shield was invincible; with each swing, three to five heads would explode simultaneously.

Wherever his footsteps trod, only corpses and blood remained.

A Imperialis Militia rushed out from a corner, wielding a rusty machete, and screamed as he lunged at Lion.

Lion didn't even look at him.

He simply waved his hand casually.

The Imperialis Militia flew into the air, spun 720 degrees, and then crashed heavily into the wall, turning into a pile of minced meat.

"Too weak."

Lion said calmly.

A Chaos Space Marines charged from the other end of the corridor, his Power Axe raised high, his eyes burning with Chaos madness.

Lion glanced at him.

One punch.

The Chaos Space Marines's chest caved in, his entire upper body twisted and deformed like a flattened soda can, spitting out blood mixed with fragments of internal organs from his mouth before slowly collapsing.

"Too weak."

Lion said calmly again.

Two Chaos Space Marines charged in simultaneously, one from the left and one from the right, attempting to flank them.

Lion threw a left punch, and the head of the man on the right exploded, like a watermelon being smashed by a hammer.

With a swing of his sword, he cleaved the man on the left in two from shoulder to hip, his internal organs spilling out onto the ground.

"Too weak."

Lion spoke calmly for the third time.

Five Chaos Space Marines charged at once.

With a flash of Lion's sword, five heads flew off simultaneously.

At the corner of the corridor ten meters away, twenty Chaos Space Marines stood ready.

Lion hurled his shield, which spun through the corridor, shattering everything in its path, and then—

Twenty heads exploded simultaneously.

Lion caught the returning shield and patted off the bloodstains.

"Too weak."

He said.

This was the fourth time he had said that.

Then, he began to really warm up.

His figure suddenly accelerated, like a green lightning bolt, frantically weaving through the corridor.

Wherever it passed, the Chaos traitors fell like harvested wheat, not even having time to scream.

He smashed one to pieces with his left fist.

The right sword cleaved one open.

One of the shields was smashed.

One of them was sent flying by a knee strike.

He smashed one to pieces with a headbutt.

Every move he made was a harvest of lives.

Every breath he took was accompanied by death.

Every time he said "too weak," he was trampling on Chaos's dignity.

Suddenly, a red figure darted across the corridor from the other end.

That was a Blood Angels.

He was so fast that even Primarch like Lion could only catch a fleeting afterimage.

But wherever that afterimage passed, countless deep sword marks appeared simultaneously on the walls, floors, and ceilings, as if they had been cut by a mad chainsaw all at once.

Then, the wall collapsed.

The hidden chamber behind the wall was revealed, crammed with trembling Chaos Cultist.

The Blood Angels didn't even look back, but continued charging forward, leaving behind a wild roar:

"I've cleared this road! Brothers, get on board!"

The next second, more red figures poured out from the collapsed hole in the wall, like a pack of hungry wolves pouncing into a sheepfold, and began another massacre.

Lion stared at the collapsed hole in the wall, at the frenzied Blood Angels, and at the newly opened passage—

He smiled.

He laughed like a child.

He laughed like a child who had finally found a toy.

"Good! Good! Good!"

He said "good" three times in a row, then drew his sword, raised his shield, and charged into the hole in the wall, into the throng of Chaos Cultist, into the even more frenzied, bloody, and exhilarating chaos—

massacre.

Left fist, right fist, left fist, right fist.

Basic attack, critical hit, combo, finishing move.

Every attack he made was precise and deadly; every movement he made was fluid and graceful; every breath he took was perfectly synchronized with the killing.

He kicked the Imperialis Militia; those fragile lives were like ants beneath his feet.

He punched the Chaos Astartes, and those fallen warriors were like weeds beneath his fists.

His left punch is highly lethal; one punch is enough to kill.

His right punch is more lethal, hitting two targets with one blow.

Wherever his sword flashed, it struck in rows.

Wherever his shield pointed, it struck.

Before he knew it, another red figure swept past him.

As the Blood Angels swept past, it conveniently dealt with three Chaos traitors who tried to ambush him, then continued charging forward without looking back, leaving behind the words:

"Dude, you're not going to be fast enough! You need to speed up! Speed up, you understand?"

Lion: "..."

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but found that he couldn't say anything at all.

Because the Blood Angels was right.

He was indeed too slow.

As a Primarch, how could he be criticized by a Space Marines for being too slow?