Heavy footsteps approached from the gangway on the bridge of Macragge's Honour.
When Lion El'Jonson appeared outside the hatch, the low conversations on the bridge abruptly fell silent. He wore black armour stained with dark red blood. Half the Imperial Aquila on his pauldron was covered in dried blood, and his breastplate was riddled with blade marks and bullet craters of varying depths.
He strode onto the bridge like a lion emerging from a pool of blood, radiating a pressure that made everyone involuntarily hold their breath.
Corswain followed close behind him, with blood that had yet to clot still clinging to the armour of the Legion warriors at his back.
It trickled through the gaps between their armour plates, leaving a trail of gruesome red footprints across the deck.
Corswain's face betrayed little emotion, but his movements held a taut vigilance, his gaze sweeping every corner of the bridge.
Lion El'Jonson approached Guilliman and Sanguinius, stopped, and gave a slight nod in greeting.
His mane-like hair was soaked with sweat and plastered to his forehead. A streak of blood ran from his brow to his cheekbone, though whether it belonged to an enemy or to him was impossible to tell.
Guilliman and Sanguinius had already been waiting there.
Guilliman stood beside the tactical table, watching Lion El'Jonson enter the bridge. His gaze moved from Lion El'Jonson's pauldrons to the blood on his boots, then swept over the weapon in Corswain's hand.
Sanguinius stood beside the viewport, his white wings folded behind him, his expression grave.
"What happened on your end?" Guilliman asked curiously, his gaze lingering on the blood Lion El'Jonson had not even had time to wipe away.
Lion El'Jonson fell silent for a moment. He lowered his gaze to the longsword in his hand, slowly brushed his