Lion was the first to attack. His speed was like a streak of dark lightning, like a phantom flashing through the jungle.
The primarch moved so fast that even the Astartes could not react. Glode, leader of the Ever-Victorious Army, only saw a shadow flicker before the primarch charged forward with his Lion Sword in hand.
Even in his diminished state, Samus still stood eight or nine meters tall. Its savage, sharp bone spurs and thick tail whipped about madly. The daemon's wings looked somewhat limp, yet were spread to their fullest, like a beast putting on a show of strength.
The Lion's blood burned hot. His massive Lion Sword came crashing down, its violent force stirring the surrounding air into visible shockwaves.
With his strength alone, he forced Samus back several meters before the daemon managed to halt its retreat. The Calibanite seemed to have returned to those ten years after he had fallen upon that death world, when he had lived among monstrous beasts and spent every day fighting and fleeing for his life.
On the death world of Caliban, amid endless horrific beasts, not even a genetic primarch was absolutely safe.
Only Lion himself knew that, compared to now, wielding a greatsword and clad in heavy armor as the exalted primarch of the Dark Angels Legion waging war across the galaxy, he actually missed those days of struggling to survive in Caliban's death jungles more.
The Lion hid himself beneath layer after layer of secrets. He always seemed calm, always rational, always unwavering.
His opposite was Leman Russ, the Wolf King. Russ chose to conceal himself beneath layer after layer of recklessness, savagery, and unruliness. Everyone believed him to be a thoroughgoing Fenrisian barbarian.
Only Lion and Russ knew each other's true faces, yet the moment they