Lion tugged at the stifling collar of his dresswear, wishing he were wearing even the heaviest suit of plate in the Order's armories rather than the starched vestments and layers of gaudy silk he was forced to wear. It had been nearly a year since he last wore them at his engagement ceremony, and they were just as uncomfortable as he remembered. Regardless, his expression gave away none of his misgivings as he hid behind the carefully crafted facade of a noble scion. He understood fully the meaning and purpose behind the pageantry and would play his role as needed to advance the Order's mission.
A year… it had been a year since he was engaged to wed the Borugondi noblewoman, had it not? He recalled their time spent together, patrolling the edges of the dark forests at midday, walking the grounds of the tilling fields beyond the walls… even after all this time he wasn't sure what to make of her. It felt as though their time together had passed so quickly, that he had little time to truly understand her motives… and yet it also felt like it had been much, much longer…
Lion gripped his head as a bolt of discomfort rang through his skull. He'd been suffering from persistent migraines as of late, sometimes dulling his perception and causing him to question his own mind. It was especially troubling as the forest mists continued to linger and spread unabated. Surely that was a cause for concern? Yet strangely, he could not recall Luther or any of the other knights of the Order raising any concerns over it…
Another wave of disorientation drifted through his mind like a rolling fog. He shook his head and recentered his thoughts, returning to the present. He considered the potential cause for his mental disquiet, his mind returning to the incident with Atalanta on patrol a few days ago. He couldn't remember a time when he had lost focus like that, especially not at such a dangerous moment. He'd passed by that tree many times on patrol, the precise location burned deeply into his memory. The forests of Caliban could play tricks on the mind, shifting memories and perception, but never that place. In a way it was like an anchor to him, making his unexpected encounter with it all the more jarring. For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to be drawn back in time, back to that single, pivotal moment.
It was the first time he'd seen a human face. The memory did not come to him chronologically, but as a nonlinear series of sensations and mental impressions. He felt his ragged, labored breathing, his lungs burning from exhaustion and his heart racing with adrenaline. He saw the blood dripping from the sharpened rock in his hands, the knight from which it was drawn lying injured in the tall grass. He heard the sound of bolterfire grazing the trees and striking against the stone-like bark of the great-trunked tree behind him. He felt the shadow of impending death looming as the party of heavily armored knights closed in around him, their weapons glinting in the dappled light of the forest clearing. Then, he saw Luthor.
"Everything alright, Lion?" Luthor said, his silhouette cast in the doorway. "I would ask whether you've practiced your vows, but we both know you've already memorized them."
"Yes, father, I am fine." Lion said, with a look of noble and dignified confidence. "Did the patrols we sent out in advance of the guests' arrival report back yet?"
"Indeed, as did the second wave patrols, and the third. No sign of anything worthy of concern. Your diligence is admirable, my son. I'm not one to believe in omens, but I think the sun shines favorably upon this day. Something tells me this will be a momentous occasion for us all." Luther said with a look of fatherly pride.
"Very well." Lion said. "I will be ready for the ceremony when the guests arrive."
Luthor gave Lion a gentle nod, his face still beaming, and exited the room to leave the young heir to his lonesome contemplation.
Representatives of many noble houses and knightly orders from across Caliban had arrived at the Order's mighty fortress-monastery of Aldurukh, braving the treacherous roads through dark woods and shadowed valleys to attend this momentous occasion. The Order was unique among the knightly orders of Caliban in that it accepted commoners and nobles into its ranks, both given equal opportunities to attain knighthood should they prove worthy. Though some of the houses spoke ill of this practice behind closed doors, none dared impugn their untarnished reputation as unparalleled warriors and hunters in public. Indeed, despite their misgivings, all recognized the power that would arise from an alliance between a dynasty as rich and influential as the Borugondi and the renowned Order of knights whose strength was without equal. Many feared that such a power would prove too great for any to oppose - be they beasts of the forest or rival knightly houses. Regardless, none of the great houses were willing to take the chance, and arrived at Lion and Atalanta's wedding bearing gifts and flattery. As the heir to Luthor, Lion was present before the ceremony had begun, greeting and accepting their gratuities and praise with an unwavering mask of noble decorum.
Once the last of the guests had arrived in their long trains of armored wagons, the various knights, nobles, and representatives crowded into the ancient basilica known as The Angelicasta that lay in the heart of the Order's fortress. Banners brandishing the golden heraldry of the Order and depicting its long and revered history hung from the great cardinal pillars, lit by immense iron braziers burning with golden flame. With the audience seated, the ceremony could begin. Lion entered through the tall doors of dark oak inlaid with gold, wearing a resplendent suit of ceremonial armor. He strode past the pews of gathered nobles, carrying himself with a calculated air of knightly pride. At the end of the aisle, Luther stood proudly in the well-worn ancient armor of the Grandmasters, gleaming dull-silver plate draped in the white-gold pelt of a Calibanite Lion. A hunched, hooded figure wearing thick, obscuring robes stood beside him: the elderly Lord Cypher, whose role in the Order was to keep their many traditions and officiate important ceremonies such as this. He appeared almost as a man-sized Watcher, something Lion suspected was intentional. The white of his beard peeked out from under his draped hood, and he held an old arming sword in one hand and a heavy tome of ancient Calibanite script in the other. He ascended the steps to the altar and stood before the two elders.
Luther began the ritual by unclasping his beast-pelt cloak, fastening it around Lion's shoulders. It was a symbol of the young heir's coming-of-age, necessary for the marital rites to be performed. Lion looked up at his adoptive father, who bore a tender look of pride. As he looked into Luther's eyes, for a moment he saw their color shift from a bright green to a deep amber-gold as his vision blurred and distorted. He saw someone else standing above him, a radiant figure he did not immediately recognize. He gripped his head as flashes of discomfort shot through his skull.
Lion opened his eyes to realize he was now standing next to Luther and the Lord Cypher; the ceremony having apparently continued without him noticing. Lion's confused thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the grand doors at the far end of the hall creaking open. Through the doorway stepped two figures, followed by a procession of servants and knights of the house of Borugond. The Duke stood tall in resplendent, ornate armor, adorned with brilliant plumage and draped with all manner of expensive silks, clear evidence of his dynasty's great wealth. Yet Lion's eyes were not drawn to the colorful dynast, but to his daughter. Atalanta, her hand cradled by the Duke's armored gauntlet, walked alongside her father in an elegant white dress lined with floral patterns and coated with elaborate lacework. The stark white of the cloth contrasted with her tanned skin, hazel-amber eyes, and dark, curly hair. She carried a bouquet of red poppies, a flower that grew abundantly in the fields of northern Caliban. She had a dignified, elegant look, but underneath Lion could tell that she chafed under the overly ceremonious dress much like himself.
The Duke walked his daughter up to the altar where Lion, Luther, and the Lord Cypher stood, and the rulers of the Order and the Borugondi exchanged glances as the joining of the two greatest powers upon Caliban began. The Duke and Atalanta ascended the steps to the altar, where the Borugondi ruler released the bride's hand and took his place to the left of the Lord Cypher. Lion stepped forward, and the two heirs turned to face one another. Atalanta's face shone bright with a warm smile. Her lips began to move, but Lion heard no words. He furrowed his brow, turning to the Lord Cypher. He too was speaking, but the words did not reach his ears. Lion quickly turned to the audience in the pews. The entire chamber was empty, with not a single soul beside himself. There was a ringing in his ears that grew in intensity, the sounds of distant explosions echoing through the noise. He clutched his aching head with his eyes shut tightly. He was in a cold, metallic hallway filled with clouds of obscuring fog. The walls were covered in signs of battle, gouged by blades and scorched by fire. He took a step forward and his leg brushed past something. He looked down and saw a decapitated corpse, a giant of a man clad in dark green armor and a beige tabard. His footsteps made a sloshing sound, which he realized was due to the inch-deep blood and viscera coating the floor. He heard shouting in the distance, cries of battle, and the clashing of weapons. His eyes scanned across his gore-soaked surroundings as a glint on one of the giant's armor caught his eye.
He turned around to behold a brilliant, golden sun blazing in a starry void. He recognized it, half-remembered from a recurring dream that plagued him since his solitary childhood in the dark forest. In the gloomy pitch of Caliban's black woods he dreamed of that golden sun, a guiding light that filled him with purpose. He gripped his forehead as his mind attempted to recall something which was not there, filling him with a pain like touching a freshly salted wound. He looked again and his eyes widened with fear. A dark shape began passing in front of the blazing star before him, its light diminishing slowly. Instinctively he reached out his hand, as if to grasp something of the golden sun before it disappeared.
He looked past his outstretched arm, seeing the rows of pews lining the interior of the temple filled with people.
"Lion… are you alright?" Luther said, his look of pride replaced with concern.
Lion turned to Luther with a slightly dazed expression.
"We're under attack." He said, softly.
Beyond the great doors of the Angelicasta, there were muffled sounds of clashing swords and shouting in the distance. A murmur spread through the crowd of guests, who began rising from their seats with alarm. The walls shook and dust fell from the ceiling as the harrowing sounds grew louder. All the knights and warriors in attendance drew their swords and a few drew ancient artificer firearms in preparation for battle, Luther and the Duke included.
"Lord Cypher, lead the guests to the Circle Chamber." Luther said, and the elder nodded. "Lion, take Atalanta to safety. The Duke and I will handle the defense until then."
Lion nodded, and grasped Atalanta's hand.
"What's going on?" She said.
"I don't know, but right now the safety of you both is paramount." Luther said. "Make haste, before-"
The great oak doors of the inner chamber shattered open, sending a rain of splinters across the room. Grey fog spilled forth from the doorway as the crowd grew deathly silent. The moment of terrified calm was broken as a limp object flew out of the mist and tumbled across the floor. It was a mauled and bloody torso of one of the Order's knights. Suddenly, a hulking figure leapt from the fog and crashed onto the stonework floor, splitting its maw open and releasing a blood-curdling howl.
The entire room was consumed by a chaotic rush of shrieking and panicked guests, stumbling over pews and their fellow nobles to escape the great beast. Both Lion and Atalanta's eyes were filled with dread as they recognized its dark, wooly pelt and monstrous visage. It bore a disturbingly close resemblance to the wounded beast they had slain earlier, only far larger and more monstrous. Its gnarled, blood-soaked talons scraped across the shattered stone, a myriad of sickly yellow eyes darting from beneath its long strands of matted hair. Drool and chunks of viscera dripped from between the irregular fangs within its jaws.
"Foul beast… you dare intrude upon such a sacred ceremony!?" The Duke of Borugond shouted, brandishing a thick and jewel-encrusted greatsword.
"Slay the beast before it harms any innocents!" Luther shouted, wielding the ancient sword intended to be used in the ceremony. "Lion! Protect Atalanta!" He said, before charging to face the beast alongside the Duke.
Lion and Atalanta fled through the chaos as swords clashed against thick hide and bullets whizzed through the air. They rushed through the crowd of terrified and injured civilians, escaping through a side hall that led into the atrium of the Angelicasta. When they emerged into the main interior of the monastery, they found themselves in a visage of Hell.
Maimed and twisted bodies lay strewn across the gore-splattered stone, the thick fog tinged with blood mingling with the black smoke of fire spreading through the fortress. He even saw the bloody-cloaked corpses of Watchers amidst the rubble but had no time to consider the disturbing implications of it. The sounds of battle still rang out in all directions, indicating the presence of more than a lone intruder. Lion retrieved a sword from a fallen knight whose body was torn nearly in half and proceeded in search of somewhere - anywhere that would be safe. Their escape was interrupted when a frantic shape lunged from the dark fog, shambling to its feet in front of them. The gibbering beast was like a mad amalgamation of a horse and a wild dog, with two mismatched heads snarling with foamed mouths. The abomination charged at them, and Lion blocked both of its gnashing jaws with the blade of his sword. He redirected the creature's momentum to the side, sending it crashing to the ground next to them. He raised his sword and cleaved one of its heads clean off, splattering fresh blood across the stone floor. The creature rose to its asymmetric legs with a dazed and uneven posture, the loss of one of its heads having sent its unnatural nervous system into disarray. Lion took advantage of the beast's confusion, running the tip of his blade through its heart and spine, killing it instantly. The abomination fell limp, sliding off of the sword with a sickening, wet sound.
Another migraine struck him, and Lion gripped his head with a pained expression. He saw shadows circling around him, lumbering half-metal warriors adorned with spikes and horns like devils. He focused his mind, the shades disappearing as he looked for a way to safety. They stepped over more corpses of men and beast alike, as the flames around them grew hotter and the air was choked with black smoke. Lion saw a figure approaching in the dark grey haze and raised his sword, before the glint of the man's armor lessened his caution. It was a knight of the Order, wielding a sword in one hand and a primitive boltpistol in the other.
"Lion, is that you?" The knight said, his voice muffled through his helmet.
"Yes." Lion replied.
"Thank the heavens. The beasts… they attacked as if from everywhere and nowhere. They breached our defenses faster than our sentries could report the attack. I don't understand how it happened… I see you have the Lady with you, where is Luther?" The knight said.
"He was still in the Circle Chamber the last time I saw him, he ordered me to take Atalanta to safety before engaging the largest beast." Lion said.
"Very well… lead the Lady to somewhere safe, I will rally the men to the Angelicasta and-"
The knight's words were cut short as blood sprayed from his mouth, his weapons falling to the ground as he gripped the meter-long claws piercing through his torso. He was lifted off the ground, still coughing up blood, and tossed against the wall leaving a bright red stain. His mangled corpse knocked over a flaming brazier on impact, the burning coals spreading across the ground and illuminating the massive figure in the smoke-filled hall. It was the beast, the beast from the Circle Chamber. The one Lion and Atalanta's fathers were fighting just moments ago. It lumbered on its overgrown claws, a body hanging from its fanged maw. The bloody corpse of the Duke, his resplendent coated in deep, slick crimson.
"Father!" Atalanta shouted.
Lion placed a hand on her shoulder. His expression communicated more than words could, and she gave him a knowing look before backing away. Lion simply glared into the abomination's feral eyes, the creature letting out a deep, rumbling growl and tossing the Duke's corpse aside. It opened its misshapen jaw with a harrowing screech, blood-tinged spittle flying from within its gore-filled maw.
Lion did not spare a moment to react, launching himself forward with his blade pointed towards the beast's heart. The sword pierced its thick hide, dousing the metal in fresh blood, but the beast reacted before the weapon could pierce further. It brought down its claw to smash Lion, but he merely side-stepped the razor-like talons and then slashed two of the creature's eyes out. Emotions raged deep within him like volcanoes roiling beneath the ocean, only expressed through faint hints of rage in his cold, ruthless expression. His patience was close to wearing thin.
As his sword clashed against tooth, horn, and claw, he was plagued by visions of the other place, somewhere just as hellish as this one. He did not hesitate, his eyes locking in with a predatory coldness as he dispelled the confusion from his mind. There was no thought, no second-guessing to his actions, only instinct, reflex, and aggression. He moved almost inhumanly, matching the corrupted monstrosity's beastly fury with his own relentless ferocity. Again and again he sliced open its thick, wooly hide with geysers of blood, only for the beast's attacks to reach naught but empty air. The beast couldn't continue like this. Instead of succumbing to exhaustion and blood loss, it chose to flare out the last of its clinging life in a flurry of savage strikes and lunges, striking loudly against Lion's sword and pushing him backwards.
Lion glanced up at the beast only to see its immense hand crashing down, cracking the stonework floor and sending a shockwave of dust in all directions. Dust and particles of debris fell from the ceiling as the beast panted heavily, its unnatural physiology pushed to the limit. The next thing it saw was the flash of steel, and the skin, muscle, tendons, and bone connecting its clawed hand to its limb was severed in an instant. Before it could even scream in pain, Lion had slashed its throat, causing blood and foul air to spill out. Mere moments later, he had plunged the sword into its chest and slashed it through, cleaving its heart and whatever other malformed growths lay inside the abomination's ribcage. Its legs went limp, and it came crashing to the ground. With nearly a second having passed, Lion was still not satisfied. The moment his sword exited the beast's chest, he swung it into the air and plunged it straight down. The sword pierced through the beast's skull and embedded itself within the stone beneath it. Lion allowed himself to breathe again, now that the beast would no longer use it to detect his movements.
For a moment, in spite of the chaos around him, Lion's mind was calm, no longer plagued by hallucinations and flashing visions. The problem before him had been solved. There were many more yet to be solved, but there was time. Time to think. Time to plan his next-
From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed movement. In a split-second, the dead beast's coat had parted, and immense barbed quills revealed themselves from beneath the blood-soaked fur. Even without a heart nor brain, some dim spark of electrochemical activity lingered in the beast's autonomic nervous system, like the sting of a jellyfish's tendrils long after being removed from their owner.
The force of the burst knocked Lion against the wall, white-hot pain searing through his body. He looked over and saw a 2-foot barb impaled through his shoulder, embedded in the wall behind him. He gripped the bone-like quill, blood dripping from his hand, and wrenched himself out of the stone wall. He tore the barb out with a spray of blood, tossing the spike against the ground. He gripped the side of his head tightly, a caustic mix of pain and delirium clouding his vision and swarming inside of his mind as his surroundings flashed and shifted nauseatingly.
He opened his eyes wide, and with an almost expectant look he turned towards Atalanta. Her legs wobbled as she gripped the spike impaled through her midsection, a growing red stain spreading across her white gown. She looked up at him, and her legs gave out beneath her.
Lion rushed to her, cradling her head in his arms with an expression of urgency. Upon first glance he could immediately tell she had been pierced through the liver. Even in the incredibly unlikely event she could be rushed to immediate medical attention, the likelihood of preventing death by blood loss was effectively zero. He had seen dozens of men die of wounds like this, often in far more forgiving circumstances. All were buried.
"Lion…" Atalanta said weakly.
"We should find an apothecary, they might be able to-" Lion said.
He felt Atalanta's hand rest upon his lips.
"Lion… you have no need to lie, not anymore." Atalanta said, wearing an expression of compassion amidst the struggling pain.
Lion's brow furrowed, his mind churning as the air around him felt cold and viscous.
"Our promise… I never told you." Lion said.
"Oh, Lion… do not fret." Atalanta said. "You never had anything to hide from me." She said, her dry lips curling into a faint smile.
"I don't…" Lion said.
She caressed his cheek with her trembling hand, staring deeply into his icy, gray eyes.
"Promise me this, Lion…" Atalanta said, her eyes growing faint with tears. "Do not hide from yourself… your true self. That is all I've ever wanted."
Lion gripped the hand that was caressing his face and felt as it went limp. Atalanta's eyes closed slowly, and her head rolled to the side.
Lion sat on the blood-soaked ground for several moments, cradling her body in his arms with a lifeless expression. The world around him moved like a glacial flow, the flames curling and sputtering in slow-motion. He placed Atalanta's hand on her chest, gently laying her body down on the ground. He rose to his feet, a resigned and dull expression cast upon his face.
"What a cruel joke." Lion said.
He closed his eyes, and then opened them to a grimly familiar sight.
Trees surrounded him, the sullen and dark oaks of Caliban's cursed forests. Gone was the fog, the piercing migraines, the Fortress, the Order, Luther, and everything else he had thought was real. It was just the forest - it was only ever the forest, he thought. He should have known from the beginning that his mind would be trapped somewhere like this.
He stared ahead with a grim expression, his eyes meeting the gaze of the golden beast that sat before him, perched atop a moss-covered pedestal like a living statue. It was not a beast of Caliban, misshapen and malformed, at least not the kind that inhabited it when he had been raised there. It was a true Calibanite Lion, the one he'd seen before in this twisted dream.
"So the dreamer has broken free of his dream. It's been a long time, princeling… longer than you know." the Lion said, his regal voice ringing out clearly in El'Jonson's mind.
"I take it you are not responsible for my… imprisonment here." Lion said.
"No more than you are." The beast said.
"Who exactly are you then, if not a jailer?" Lion said.
"A god… a spirit… a symbol… I have been known as many things, and by many names to your people." the beast said.
"The people of Caliban?" Lion said.
"I am much older than Caliban, princeling. Ah, but there is one name a certain tribe called me once, one that I quite liked… Arslan. You can call me Arslan." Arslan said.
"Arslan… you spoke of my father before. That he was calling to you." Lion said.
"He and I have a storied past… but right now are more important matters to attend to. The fate of Humanity lies in question. You have a most fateful omen cast upon your fate, firstborn." Arslan said.
The beast raised its head, casting its gaze beyond Lion. Lion furrowed his brow, then felt a peculiar sensation upon his back. A warm light bathed his surroundings from behind him. He turned around, beholding the brilliant, golden sun he'd seen so many times in his visions. It roared with primordial life, hundreds of burning arms fanning out from its fiery core. Yet, he could see plainly that it was dimmer than before. A black circle encroached upon the sun's light from the left, like the darkness itself was eating away at the light. A pang of alarm shot through him. Just below the blazing star, he saw a weathered stone staircase, extending through the clearing and into the sky, where a large obsidian door lay suspended in the air.
"I see." Lion said.
He took one step towards the staircase, his exit from this imprisonment.
"Wait." Arslan said. "Before you embark… I am curious."
Lion hesitated and turned his head slightly.
"When did you realize? That it was a dream?" Arslan said.
Lion turned, looking back at the dark forest surrounding them.
"When I was a child, these trees were all I knew. This ever-encroaching darkness, filled with terrors beyond imagination, was my world. Sometimes, in the fleeting moments when I closed my eyes to sleep… I had visions, vivid dreams of different times and different places. It was where I first saw the golden light which guides me. Yet, no matter how real the visions felt, I would always open my eyes and find myself here. When I left the forest, when I knew that I was no longer a starved child huddling in the dark… a part of me had grown accustomed to expecting that when I woke up, it could all be taken away from me." Lion said.
"I think I always knew."
Arslan bore a surprised expression, then gave him a knowing look. Lion turned back to the staircase to begin his ascent.
"A word of warning, Lion." Arslan said. "Your mind has laid dormant for a long while. You must regain your memories if you are to return… it will not be a pleasant process."
Lion hesitated before the first step.
"I am no stranger to suffering." He said, placing his foot upon the weathered stone.
His eyes shot open, and a burning sensation shot through his veins. His memories, his true memories, ceased to be locked behind an opaque wall. They were clouded and unclear, but he was aware of their existence now. He took another step. He felt the sensation of lashes scouring his skin, and his lips quivered as he nearly lost his footing from the pain. He knew who he was. Lion, first son of the Emperor. Primarch of the 1st Legion.
"I understand now." Lion said.
Arslan raised his brow in curiosity.
"I see only glimpses… the Great Crusade, the Emperor, the Legions… It is all just a prelude to tragedy, isn't it?" Lion said. "That is why I am here."
"I cannot interfere… you must tread this path yourself." Arslan said.
"Whatever dark powers trapped me here, they want me to suffer… to give in." Lion clenched his fist, his face bearing a look of cold determination. "They will be sorely disappointed."
He took another step, then another a moment later. With every step he regained more and more of his lost memory, felt the pain ever clearer. Blood dripped down his body like his skin was being lashed, as each of his old wounds reopened as he felt them being inflicted one by one. His legs moved methodically, seemingly unaffected by the toll the ascent inflicted upon him, as the burden of history piled upon his back.
He saw worlds burning in the Crusade. Trillions of lives extinguished, a mountain of corpses to build the Golden Imperium that would lead Humanity into a bright future. Each death a necessity, friend or foe… sacrifices, all. Lion looked up and saw the disk of darkness encroach upon the golden sun further. His movements did not falter.
Then came the unraveling. He knew it was coming, that it had happened. It did not dull the pain. He climbed further and further, the memories of bloodshed and betrayal opening up like fresh wounds with every step. Brother slaying brother, sons bleeding for their fathers, a million worlds burned to ash. He experienced the pain again and again, all the suffering and trauma his mind had locked away playing out in his mind as if for the first time, every time. Every mistake. Every failure. His expression did not change.
With every second, the golden light grew dimmer. The blackness consumed the sun more and more, hollowing it out from within. He tried to focus on it, the guiding light, clinging to the one thing that had kept the darkness surrounding him at bay for as long as he could remember. Then, he saw the Emperor, in a pool of his own blood, dying.
Lion's knee buckled, halfway to the door at the stair's summit. The darkness of the forest swallowed up the light around him, and his skin felt icy cold. Blood dripped down from his face and limbs as he looked up. No gold remained to guide him, just a hollow, pale shroud of dim, chilling light. The eclipse glared at him with a cold indifference.
Lion's body felt old. He had aged thousands of years in a few moments, the burden of his past bearing down like the weight of a mountain on his back. His bones felt as though they might shatter, and his limbs cried out in agony. He tried to continue, to move in spite of the crushing weight of his own regret, but his legs would not budge. He was paralyzed with pain. Lion looked down at his hand, marred by centuries of scars and calluses, soaked in his own blood.
Arslan stood tall at the base of the staircase, watching intently at what the Primarch would do.
"So this… is man's fate. To be crushed by his own failures… swallowed up by the dark." Lion said. "Nothing but a cruel tragedy…"
It was like he had never left the cursed black forests of Caliban at all.
He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed intensely as his face twisted with suppressed emotion. Then, it stopped. His eyes opened, that same look of stoic, implacable determination etched onto his face.
"But I survived this darkness. It was my world. It did not consume me then, and it will not consume me now." Lion said.
He clenched his fist tightly, so tightly that it felt like it was burning.
"One thing I learned, surviving that hellish abyss… is that any burden holding one back, any obstacle to one's survival… must be discarded…" Lion said.
A searing heat ignited inside of his chest. His teeth clenched as his fist tightened, the rivers of blood dripping down his arm growing hotter by the second.
"...And burned to light the way."
His bloody hand erupted in golden fire, the same golden fire that once guided him before it was lost. In the same instant, one of the towering black oaks lit up like a pillar of golden flame, illuminating everything around it. Arslan was taken aback in surprise. Lion's skull was filled with fire, the searing heat dulling the pain in his mind and burning away his burdens of regret. He stood up slowly and purposefully, holding his head and chest high.
He took another step, the lashing pain instantly consumed by searing, dispassionate flame. Another vein of blood erupted in fire, another tree set ablaze. With every step, he fed the golden flames inside of him with his anger, his sadness, his grief, He felt lighter and lighter as the weight of his regret was burned like kindling. He ascended the path towards the future, towards his father's vision. Even if there was no light to guide him, he would burn himself to make it. There was nothing he would not discard, no part of himself he would not cast away to keep moving forward. His emotions, his memories, his humanity, even his very soul… all of it was a means to an end, to create that golden future for mankind.
Arslan watched with rapt attention as Lion rose into the sky like a golden comet, brilliant fire trailing behind him. The entire forest was ablaze around him, the light of the searing flame banishing the dark from the black forest with a scathing fury.
"Ah, so there it is… The destined flame of the firstborn son." Arslan said to himself. "But tell me, son of Revelation, what kind of fire will you be? A guiding beacon of light for humanity, or a scouring inferno of ruin upon the cosmos?"
Arslan turned to see a cloaked figure behind him, emerging from the blinding golden flames. She looked up at Lion with a disquieted expression, the light of his golden fire flickering in her eyes.
"Only he can decide that now." Atalanta said.
Lion blazed ever closer to the obsidian door, the flames around him growing larger with each step he took. He saw his own ships burning above the skies of Caliban as he burned his own homeworld to ash. He continued onward. He saw his own sons turned against him, shedding the blood of their kinsmen without mercy. He did not hesitate. He saw the face of the man he once called father, twisted by the same chaotic corruption they had fought against when he but a young apprentice within the Order. The flames grew brighter around him, and his legs did not tire. He saw Caliban, his home, his world, everything and everyone on it torn asunder by the warp, shredded to pieces and reduced to burning shards of lifeless rock floating in the void. The tears burned along with his grief. He took one, final step towards the obsidian door, and outstretched his hand.
Azrael's sword clattered to the ground as the Grandmaster of the Dark Angels was pinned by the daemon Vashtorr's monstrous hooves. The Grandmaster's helmet was partially shattered, revealing half of his face covered in bruises and blood. His other arm lay limp at his side, bent to an unnatural degree. Dead and wounded Dark Angels lay scattered around him. He had fought the daemon to a standstill for several hours, sword and boltgun clashing against hammer and claw until Azrael's superhuman physiology could no longer match the daemon's unnatural vitality. Vashtorr bore down on Azrael's chestpiece, crushing him into the ground as hairline fractures spread across the surface of the ceramite. Azrael grabbed at the daemon's leg in struggling futility. The daemon lord cast his baleful gaze down upon the astartes with an unmoving expression. Had his eyes not been malevolent searchlights and his mouth something other than a twisted metal grill, his face would likely have borne a sickening grin.
"Take heart, mortal. You fought well. Your worthy death in battle will herald my ascension to godhood!" Vashtorr said, his spindly metal claws clenching together.
He hefted his twisted hammer aloft, burning with dark crimson chaosflame, and prepared to strike the final blow.
A thunderous explosion filled the room, sending chunks of flaming rock and dust flying in all directions.
"What now!?" Vashtorr rasped.
The daemon immediately spun around, ignoring his crippled foe to face whatever new threat had just appeared. One of the doors to the vault had been shattered from within, a great hunk of obsidian shattered like glass. The chunks of debris burned with a golden fire that filled Vashtorr with a strange discomfort. He gripped the hilt of his hammer and peered into the thick clouds of dust. He felt the ground shaking slightly beneath him, repeatedly, like… footsteps. Azrael turned his head weakly, following the daemon's gaze with one eye half-shut by bloody swelling. He could scarcely believe what he saw.
The shadow of a man loomed within the clouds of dust, tall and regal. As he emerged, his ancient, green-tinged black armor glimmered with a golden sheen. His weathered face and silvery golden hair shone bright in the dark depths of the Rock, the lingering traces of golden fire around him illuminating his majestic figure. A slightly tattered and impossibly ancient beige raiment was wrapped across his armored figure, and the gold and silver trimmings of his shoulder plates seemed to glow with a fierce and righteous light of their own.
"My eyes… deceive me… can it be?" Azrael said.
Lion stared directly into the baleful daemon-lights in Vashtorr's eyes, his intense glare etching into Vashtorr's daemonic soul exactly who and what his opponent was. His bearded lips were turned in a fierce scowl, and he uttered a single word with a venomous hatred.
"Daemon." Lion said.
"Well, this… is unexpected." Vashtorr said.
Author's Note:
I wanted to thank everyone for continuing to follow along with the story and apologize for my long periods of inactivity. It isn't due to any disinterest in writing or a lack of ideas, it's just a series of very annoying and persistent personal issues that can make it very difficult for me to write for periods of time. I can't guarantee I'll be able to consistently update all the time, but I'll do my best to try and write as often as possible both because I really enjoy making things people like reading and because I just enjoy writing period. Here's hoping the next chapter will be coming more promptly than this one, lol.