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The Return of the Lion: Part I


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#1
Manchu warlord

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​So, I wrote this story of how I see the Lion returning to waking world, how he has been doing, sort of what was going on inside his head, and basically the trigger that finally got him to wake up.

I don't claim to be an expert on the Lion at all, but I try and - if you read - you'll notice I kind of make me appear more human, but after ten thousand years, a few things could change.

Also, it involves Lord Cypher, and this story takes on the belief that Zahariel El'Zurias is the Lord Cypher we all know and love.  For he is the key that would bring his father back and all the other Primarchs in fact.

 

The story is very long, so I will post it in parts, and here is part one...  

 

 

 

 

 

 

I

The Boy and the Beast

 

 

 

            The boy squatted by the shore of the stream and took a sip of clear spring water in his cupped hands.  The water tasted like nectar down his parched throat after hours of running unceasingly from the Thing.  Covered from head to toe in blood, a lot of it his own, his muscles ached very badly, yet his wounds have all healed completely.  The lacerations dealt upon his body would have killed lesser men outright, several times over, but he doesn’t know this yet, for he has not encountered other men before.  They only living things he have seen his short life were monsters that sought only his death. 

            As he drank a generous amount of water, he looked down at the clear reflective surface of the water and saw the face of a boy he had never seen before.  An angular face, with high cheek bones and a broken nose.  Long messy golden locks covered a face that was caked in dry ruby blood.  Sharpe intense eyes, like jade arrows, looking back at him.  He does not often get witness his facial features and physical appearance from reflective surfaces, but whenever he does, he looks different every time, bigger, taller, more intimidating.  But the eyes, those terribly beautiful green orbs never change.       

            He splashed some water on his dirty face, rubbing his palms and fingers along the terrain of his features to wash away the dry blood.  He paused.  He sensed it.  Though he didn’t see it, he could hear and smell it.  He heard its diamond clawed paw scraping against stone and tree trunks.  He smelt its cadaverous breath, the stinky sweat of unwashed flesh, and filth riddled fur.  Its approach wasn’t that of stealthy predator attempting to catch its prey off guard.  It was one of mockery, where the predator knows its prey is cornered, with nowhere left to run, and its death is inevitable.  It stalks slowly but assuredly towards the boy, toying with him; a trait that is not of evolutionary design for life patterns of animals.  But this is no animal.  It is a monster. 

 

            The monster was grotesquely massive.  Scything blades decorated the mane around its neck.  Lesser fur-like razor-sharp needles ran along its ankles and behind its jaws.  Its body is covered in segmented armour plates that gives it an appearance akin to the Terran scorpion`.  A half metre long sabre tooth protruded from the left side of its upper jaw; the right side sabre tooth was broken at the gums.  In the previous encounter with the beast, the boy managed to crack it with a stone, which he then wrenched it free, and is now slung around the boy’s waist.  But the worse of the beast’s features were its eyes.  Its sclerae were orange like a reptile, but its irises were pitch black that did not reflect light like a human’s.  It was a grim darkness that led to a place of terror, a hole into the unreal. 

            The boy’s right hand instinctively reached for the slung sabre tooth, and held it in front of him like combat knife.  He slowly backed away until his left foot fell into the stream with a splash.  Momentarily loosing his balance, the beast chose this moment to pounce.  Its hind legs folded, its fore legs tugged, it sprung right at the boy, teeth like swords and claws like spears aimed at the boy.  Knowing no fear, he braced himself in the face of certain death.

            Then everything stopped.  The beast froze in midair, the water splashes, the falling leaves, even the wind.  The sounds from the background also stopped, the flowing water, the whooshing wind, the creaking trees, all vanished like a vacuum.  Even the sense of smell was absent, freeing the boy from the beast’s rotten odor. 

            Strange facial features played across the boy’s face, expression he has never experienced yet in his short life.  Something strange stirred inside him.  Something that young boys like he do not usually experience in themselves.  This is not right…  The boy though.  That’s not what happened.  The beast leapt at me, so I rolled under it, and struck out with the sabre tooth, piercing the flesh of its abdomen where the protection was weaker.  There was a painful sound of such primal hatred that no natural animal should emit, and hot boiling blood splashed on my face.  It reached its diamond paw down to swat at me, so I rolled to the right and away from its putrid underside.  With a speed and strength that the beast underestimated, I jump unto its neck and wrapped my arms around it.  Ignoring the agony as its dagger mane pierced my flesh, the beast shook its head frantically as it tried to dislodge me, but my grip on it was adamant.  Then I plunged the sabre tooth into its right hellish eye.  An even greater cry emanated from its maw and its attempt to knock me off increased.  I raised the sabre tooth up to land a second blow, but one of its paw somehow found me and sent me flying metres away to crash into a tree.  I was bleeding all over my body, several of my bones are broken, yet miraculously, some of my wounds are already beginning to heal.  The beast looked right at me with its one remaining eye of terror.  The hatred I saw in that black orb of damnation sent chills down my spine – I would have used the word “soul” but such concepts were unknown to me then.  I held my weapon high and charg-  ‘A Calibanite Lion.’  Said a deep voice. 

 

 

            A person, a man, another human.  But he was no ordinary man, he was a giant, clad in black armour of inhuman proportions.  Strange decorations of skulls and seraphic wings decorated the plates and trimmings of his armour.  He wore a cloak that partly covered his frame, and a hood was pulled over his dark features.  Despite the slight unorthodox in the markings and color of the newcomer’s armour, the boy recognized his role of office as the Lord Cypher.  But more importantly, he recognized this man; if the boy was mystified at the armour being worn by this person, he gave no sign.  Age and scar have worn the face under the hood, but his identity could not escape the boy. 

            ‘Zahariel.’  The boy spoke the newcomer’s name in an impossible voice that belonged to a grown man.  It was harsh and beautiful, like a tempest and a torrent combined. 

            ‘I haven’t been called by that name for a very long time.’  Zahariel said.  The boy looked on at him without saying another word, as if trying to gauge his secrets just by looking hard at the man. 

            As if to break the soundlessness, Zahariel spoke ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your dream.  Was this how you killed your lion?’  Boy’s hard stare never wavered from the man’s face, and after an intense moment, Zahariel had to turn his own gaze away. 

 

            ‘As I ran at it, and It towards me.  I jumped right into its opened maw with my weapon outstretched.’  The boy’s sudden reply took Zahariel by surprised.  ‘Its teeth closed around me whole, and like swords, they stabbed me all over the body…’  He closed his eyes, as if trying to recall the physical sensation of the ancient memory.  ‘The pain, Zahariel, the pain.  It was unimaginable.  By rights, I should be dead, chewed up into a dozen pieces...’  He turned from Zahariel to look at the beast suspended in midair, and pointed the sabre tooth at it.  ‘But its tooth which I used as a weapon never ceased cutting and gouging the inside of its throat and other unidentifiable organs beyond.  The smell was almost as bad as the pain.’  There was a long pause.  ‘Then it spat me out, and I hit the ground just in time to look at it convulsing in its agonized death throes.’  He turned his face back towards Zahariel.  ‘Then it retreated, limping back a short distance before it finally gave out and died on the spot.’

             Sensing the story has come to a conclusion, Zahariel decided to share what was on his mind.  ‘I guess you could say, it had a taste of its own weapon.’  He grinned lamely at the boy.  The boy’s face was expressionless, as it always has been. 

            ‘I walked over to its carcass.’  He continued unexpectedly.  ‘I was starving, I wanted to feed on it.  I haven’t eaten anything since... since ever.’  Zahariel listened on, interested in this part of the story that has never before been shared to anymore.  The boy continued.  ‘I knelt by its sliced stomach, and despite the smell and uncooked meat, I was about to plunge my head down and start feasting, but… I sensed it, and I stopped.’  Zahariel knew what the boy was referring to.  ‘You sensed the corruption, the warp that has tainted the feral beasts of our world for generations.’  The boy did not say anything; his lack of response is close enough to a nod of the head.

            But when he spoke again, it was an unexpected surprise.  ‘A couple hours later, as I continue along the stream’ he pointed his unarmed finger in the direction of the stream’s flow ‘I will encounter a raiding party of knights from Order.  They were the first humans I had seen, and leading them was Luther himself.’ 

            He nodded his head in appreciation of the boy recounting his tale.  ‘I can’t remember too well the Calibanite lion I slayed, it has been… so long.’  Zahariel’s face was casted down as he said those words.  Then he looked up at the boy.  ‘But it was the second proudest day of my life.’  Though his face revealed no expression, there was a trace of pride and joy in it.  ‘Indeed, it was a momentous day for the Order, and I couldn’t have been more delighted to have such a warrior by my side.’  Said the boy, as he walked towards the man, still holding onto the sabre tooth.  He looked up at the him and asked the question that Zahariel feared he would.  ‘Why are you here?’ 

 

 

            It was not really a pause, only a slight hesitation that revealed his nervousness and dread of this eventful moment.  He spoke softly, gently, conveying the magnitude of his purpose here.  ‘It’s time to wake up, my lord.’ 

            The boy hesitated, betraying his impassive features. 

            ‘You are needed, I am here to bring to you back.’ 

            Regaining his cold composure, the boy replied.  ‘Bring me back?  To where?’  ‘To the world of the waking.’  Answered Zahariel.  ‘What are you tal-’ but Zahariel cut him off.  ‘You have been asleep for a long time my lord.  Lying frozen in a state between life and death.’  Zahariel wanted to say “like Robute Guilliman” but decided this moment would be a terrible time to reveal the extent of the current Imperium. 

            ‘When you returned to Caliban after dealing with Hours’ heresy, there was a civil war on the planet.  It was an all out war between those who were loyal to the Imperium, and those who have sided with Luther and turned their backs on it.  We attacked you and your warriors, then all hell went loose upon our world.  Do you remember?’  The boy closed his eyes dramatically slowly, and a single tear ran down his cheek.  ‘Yes.  I remember.’  Zahariel did not say anything, and just looked at the boy expressing sympathy and regret for perhaps the first time in ten thousand years.

            ‘I remembered ordering my ships to bombard the planet, I remembered teleporting down to face Luther - my father personally.’  Sensing a rise of tension in the boy’s words, Zahariel moved towards him, hands outstretched as if to cool him down.  ‘My lord, I am not here to remind you of the painful past atroci-’ he was cut by the boy’s sudden continual.  ‘Then he struck me down.  My father, all saturated in the same powers that Horus has sold his soul to.’  He was looking in the direction of Zahariel, but through him and not at him.  ‘The price he paid for such fell powers.  All of this, the death of our world, damnation to all its people.  A never ending war of brothers against brothers.’  His eyes regained focus and was fixed at Zahariel once again.  ‘The dark powers he wielded were terrible, it transformed him into an avatar of death, a reaper of souls, and Angel of Darkness.’  This was once again, part of an event that Zahariel was not privy to, first handed.  ‘But despite all that has befallen my beloved father, I dare not raise my weapon to strike at him, for he is still my father and behind all that corruption, I believed a shred of nobility lurks in him yet… ’  He walked right in front of Zahariel and placed all the tips of his fingers on his armoured chest.  ‘But I will never know Zahariel.  Luther struck me down, then I knew no more.’ 

            Zahariel held the boy’s hand in his armounred fist, it encircled the little hand completely.  He had a treasonous idea of whether he could crush those fragile looking fingers.  The boy looked up at him and asked the big question. 

            ‘How long have I been asleep?  Since I was laid low by my father.’  Zahariel’s hard features never wavered.  ‘Ten thousand years.’ 

 

            The boy, to his eternal credit, did not move a muscle on his face.  He closed his eyes and nodded his head.  Zahariel knew what the boy was going to ask, so he answered, before the question was uttered.  ‘It has been ten thousand years since the Horus Heresy; that is what we now call it.  The Imperium endures, but it has not found lasting respite.  It survives in a state of stagnation and endless wars where millions constantly sell their lives to quell the tide of oncoming foes.  Terra is ruled over by a body of twelve august lords that command their factions, because none of the Emperor’s Primarchs remain to guide us.’  The boy did not say anything and just looked on.  ‘After you fell, my lord.  Corvus Corax was the next to leave us, he just left, and his last words were “nevermore”.  After him, Rogal Dorn went to assault a traitor armada, which he boarded one of their ships and never returned.  Next was lord Vulkan, disappearing, without a trace.  Then Roboute Guilliman, wounded by his brother, Fulgrim, and was put into stasis in a state of undying, similar to you lord.  Then The Great Khan was gone, last seen heading into a webway.  And the last to go, was Leman Russ, heading into the unknown, leaving us to fend for ourselves...’ 

             But there was something on Zahariel’s face, something like surprise, but better.  It was hope, a genuine, warmth of the face that believes the light in the darkness will never, truly, die out.    

            ‘But Guilliman has returned.  He is leading the armies of the Imperium against its foes, and cleansing thousands of world from the clutches of Chaos as we speak.’  He spoke the next sentense with dramatic slowness.  ‘The Emperor is calling his sons back.  And now, father, it is time for you to come home.’

 

            The boy said nothing, nothing at all.  Not because he did not know what to say, but because he is constantly saying a million things inside his head, formulating ideas and possibilities, similar to that of Guilliman’s theoreticals and practicals.  The magnitude of this information could not possibly sit well with anyone, even a Primarch.  His lack of response was absolute that Zahariel feared he might have slipped into a trance. 

            But finally, looking up at Zahariel El’Zurias, the boy, the young Lion, the Lion El’Jonson spoke.  ‘You said you are here to awaken me.  So, let’s get going, my son.  Bring me back to the waking world.’

 

 

 

To be continued in Part II...


Edited by Manchu warlord, 23 April 2018 - 09:27 PM.

  • Brother Lunkhead, TheWeepingAngel, The Vanquisher and 1 other like this

Insult me again, brother, and theoretically I will punch you in your practical face.

 

 


#2
Tarvek Val

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I like it, the portrayal of the Lion is interesting (especially seeing as he has not yet received his own primarch book). One thing I suggest clarifying is the distinction that Zahariel and Cypher are one in the same; I know you state this in the intro, but it just seems a bit of a disjunction to refer to Cypher (as he is known in the 41st Millennium) by the old name he had when he served in the old Legion. 

 

The part where you describe the Lion's reaction when he realizes that he is remembering the battle with the Calibanite lion, not actually living through the moment, is quite good. The introspection you provide is good, and I enjoyed that portion the most out of the writing.

 

I like the dialogue between Zahariel / Cypher and the Lion, but some lines do come across as a little bit forced; you wouldn't normally hear someone saying them in real life. 

- Example: 

 

 

"I’m sorry to interrupt your dream of childhood at such a moment, the timing of my intrusion was unseemly."

 

This line just threw me off when I read it; I almost feel that you could get away with Zahariel simply asking "Was this how you killed your lion?"

 

I would recommend going through the piece and reading the entire thing aloud; if a line strikes you as odd or makes you think twice, try to reword or revise it.

 

Overall, I enjoyed reading the story and look forward to future segments!


  • Manchu warlord likes this

"Our holy hatred will make us free!" ~Nameless Dark Apostle

 

"Though my guards may sleep and ships may rest at anchor, our foes know full well that big guns never tire." ~Huron Blackheart

 

"You shall stand in midnight clad, your claws forever red with the lifeblood of my father's failed empire, warring through the centuries as the talons of a murdered god. Rise, my sons, and take your wrath across the stars, in my name. In my memory. Rise, my Night Lords." ~Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter

 

"So... How are you?" ~Cyrion, First Claw

 

 


#3
Manchu warlord

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I like it, the portrayal of the Lion is interesting (especially seeing as he has not yet received his own primarch book). One thing I suggest clarifying is the distinction that Zahariel and Cypher are one in the same; I know you state this in the intro, but it just seems a bit of a disjunction to refer to Cypher (as he is known in the 41st Millennium) by the old name he had when he served in the old Legion. 

 

The part where you describe the Lion's reaction when he realizes that he is remembering the battle with the Calibanite lion, not actually living through the moment, is quite good. The introspection you provide is good, and I enjoyed that portion the most out of the writing.

 

I like the dialogue between Zahariel / Cypher and the Lion, but some lines do come across as a little bit forced; you wouldn't normally hear someone saying them in real life. 

- Example: 

 

 

"I’m sorry to interrupt your dream of childhood at such a moment, the timing of my intrusion was unseemly."

 

This line just threw me off when I read it; I almost feel that you could get away with Zahariel simply asking "Was this how you killed your lion?"

 

I would recommend going through the piece and reading the entire thing aloud; if a line strikes you as odd or makes you think twice, try to reword or revise it.

 

Overall, I enjoyed reading the story and look forward to future segments!

Thank you for the feedback, brother, and as always, your advices are most helpful.

 

(Would it be weird if I actually edited some parts?  considering the text has already been published above)


Insult me again, brother, and theoretically I will punch you in your practical face.

 

 


#4
Tarvek Val

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My pleasure. If you edit it, that's totally ok, just include a disclaimer before the actual text begins or at the very end saying that it is edited.

 

Something like: "Edited for proofreading errors" / "revised version DATE / TIME"


"Our holy hatred will make us free!" ~Nameless Dark Apostle

 

"Though my guards may sleep and ships may rest at anchor, our foes know full well that big guns never tire." ~Huron Blackheart

 

"You shall stand in midnight clad, your claws forever red with the lifeblood of my father's failed empire, warring through the centuries as the talons of a murdered god. Rise, my sons, and take your wrath across the stars, in my name. In my memory. Rise, my Night Lords." ~Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter

 

"So... How are you?" ~Cyrion, First Claw

 

 


#5
Manchu warlord

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So, the title says that this is "part 1" of the fanfiction, which might suggest that I'll create a separate thread for sequel parts.  But I decided I'm just going to make it one whole story and just post the continuing parts here (in this very thread).

 

So, this next part: part II, is the continuation of the excerpt above.  Once again, I don't claim to be an expect on the Lion or Calibanite history, but this is just my take on it, and what I imagine it to be like.  Also, my grammar and spell will not be 100% accurate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

II

Of Sons and Fathers

            The two walked together through the pitch-black.  Back in the reality of the past, there were no means of illumination in anyway that they could discern, and not now as they relive the old memory.  They are in a cavern system, and its previous occupants had turned the place into a fane, in which they committed gruesome sacrificing rituals to appease their false angel.  However, despite the absence of light, the two continued on as if bright daylight was shining down.  There were places in Caliban where treetop canopies block out the sun completely, leaving the forest perpetually dark.  The air had a strange metallic smell to it, and every so often, a cool unnatural breeze would course its way throughout the system. 

            The two continued to walk on.  ‘Do you know where we are?’  Asked Zahariel.  ‘Sarosh’ Answered the Lion ‘designated as Four Three.’  He was no longer a boy, nor was he a man, but an adolescent in his prime.  Tall, broad shoulders with a narrow waist, and wearing an umber sleeveless robe which is held together by a rope at the waist.  He reached a rough hand up to brush a strand of golden mane from his eyes.

            ‘Yes, Sarosh’ Confirmed Zahariel ‘Where it all began.’

            ‘Where what began?’  Asked the Lion.  Zahariel turned his face away from him as he answered.  ‘The downfall of our legion.’  It would not be out of the question to expect the Lion’s reply to either be a rebuke, or painful silence.  But to Zahariel’s ever growing surprise, the Lion actually answered in a manner that was anything but taciturn. 

            ‘Really?  So, when I decided to send Luther back home, with you and thousands of other alongside him.  You weren’t happy, thought the task appointed to you was beneath you, and decided to whine.’  He placed a dramatic emphasis on the last word.  A hurt and vexed expression played on Zahariel’s face.  ‘It wasn’t like that, I was loyal, I remained true to the Emperor’s cause, to the Great Crusade, I – we trained the new recruits and produced the weapons necessary for the warfront… but Luther had a way with words… and it was the Imperium that betrayed us.  But never mind all that, what is done is done…  It is ancient history now.’  When the Lion did not say anything, he continued. 

            ‘Actually, I wasn’t quite right, this is not where it all began, but, more of the catalyst if you would.  The seed of Caliban’s death began when we killed the last of the beasts.’  He looked the Lion in his terrible jade eyes.  ‘The proximity of Caliban to Great Eye makes it very vulnerable to the malign influences of the warp.  And so, it was the beasts that was first corrupted by the fell powers.’  He began to circle the Primarch as he spoke.  ‘Generations after generations, the planet’s fauna would spread the effects of the warp amongst themselves.  It was like a plague, but far worse, for it has a foul ploy of its own, asides from corrupting everything, living or not.  Then it began to corrupt men, those who are weak willed and lack spirit were the first that fell to temptation.  But there were others who saw potential for great power in it, such as the knights of Lupus…’ he paused as he took a step towards the Lion ‘and Luther.’

            The lack of a crease on the bridge of the Lion’s nose as he narrowed his eyes suggested that he was bored.  Ignoring the gesture, Zahariel continued.  ‘But the beasts were what kept evil at bay.  Their existence drew the warp away from man, unknowingly and unintentionally absorbing its poison into themselves.  That was why the knights of Lupus kept all those beasts caged.  The moment the last beast died, the warp began to spread its influence amongst the human populace.’ 

The Primarch remained still the whole time, and Zahariel took two steps towards him.  ‘But you already know this, don’t you?’  His dark eyes stared accusingly at the Lion.  The Primarch turned his back on him, and as usual, did not say anything.  But Zahariel suspected that the silence indicates that he is having some inconceivable monologue with himself.  Always devising plans, formulating ideas for the next step and something impossible beyond.  He was correct.  After a while, the Lion finally spoke.

            ‘Yes, I knew.  Everything you’ve just told me, I knew all along.’  His back still facing Zahariel so he could not his is face.  ‘I knew the risks, the repercussions, the consequences if I failed.’  He turned his face towards the Space Marines and Zahariel was shocked to see such a sad and despaired expression on the young Primarch’s face.  ‘I failed, Zahariel.  I failed both my fathers.  I did not arrive on Terra on time, and I did not come back to Caliban once, since I left.’  There were hints of tears accompanying the Primarch’s words.  ‘I wanted to come back to home when Horus’ treachery raged, I really did, and was going to.’  And just as suddenly, his sad face vanished and his usual stoic features returned.  ‘But matters of greater paramount were at hand that called for my attention.

‘More paramount than your own homeworld?’  ‘Yes, more paramount than Caliban, because the fate of humanity hangs on a knifes edge.  And I took it upon myself to turn my back away from the only world I ever loved to deal with the fate of the galaxy, even if it costed me my home.’  Listening to the Lion delivering his account, Zahariel cannot imagine how he held all that in without bursting into years.

            Then his expressionless features returned completely.  ‘You said you were here to take me back, so get on with it.’  Without another word, the Primarch followed Zahariel further into the cave.

 

            The sound of battle echoed along the cavernous walls.  Bolter rounds gave off loud barks, which lit the darkness with flashy lightnings.  Grenades and explosives were deafening, which further added to brighten the place, and chain melee weapons roared like hungry Calibanite beasts.  But in the heart of the battle was a sound that dominated all.  It was something that should not exist in the physical universe.  An eternity of darkness and malice gave off a shriek that sounded like avalanche and, impossibly, a mother wailing at the loss of her children. 

            The impossible thing attached itself to the roof of the cave as it is surgically being hacked to pieces by its attackers bellow.  But no matter how many of its unreal flesh fell off, it rejuvenated new ones just as quickly by no biologically possible way.  Hundreds of black tentacles lashed down at the Dark Angels bellow, ripping some clean in two, pulling others limb from limb, and smacking more of them against the cave wall. 

            The Lion and Zahariel were looking at the abominable spectacle.  Furthermore, they were looking at themselves fighting the thing.  Zahariel saw himself from the past, fighting the daemon while standing protectively over a lying woman on a sacrificial altar.  He saw his cousin, Nemiel, successfully hacking a limb off, only to get hit by three more that sent him crashing against the wall.  But right in the thick of it, the Lion was fighting the daemon with a fury of a Calibanite lion; and hacking off limbs with every blow. 

            But all to no avail.  No matter how many tentacle limbs were dispatched, two more took its place and its assault on the Dark Angels only grew greater. 

‘Why are we here?  Why did you bring me to revisit all this?’  The Lion asked without turning from the scene of carnage.

            ‘To get you ready what is to come’ Zahariel looked to his Primarch as he spoke ‘I said I am going to bring you back, father, and I will, but you must take the necessary steps to be ready to face your daemons.’

            ‘My daemons?’

            ‘Yes, my lord, your daemons.  After all, we all have our own daemons, but I faced mine long ago.’ 

            Then it was over.  Librarian Israfel successfully activated the modified cyclonic warhead and sent its psychic – as well as shockwave explosion at the daemon above; and knocking scores of legionnaires off their feet.  ‘Zahariel now!’ the Librarian cried as he and the Zahariel-from-the-past focused their psychic powers on containing the unleashed payloads.  He could see strain on himself and the Librarian from the monumental effort required to hone such powers.  But they did it, creating a sharp locus of blinding light like that of a million suns, and thrust it at the abomination above, and destroying it.  The flash of white light lit the entire cavern system, blinding everyone for a second.  When the darkness returned, there was no trace of the daemon.   

 

            Zahariel turned his back on the scene, leaving the past behind him, but the adolescent Lion was unmoved.  He reached his armoured hand and touch the primarch’s arm above the elbow.  The Lion flinched, not from surprise that an inferior had laid a hand upon him, but because such sentiments were rather alien him.  Zahariel reached out again, almost encircling the Primarch’s arm in his hand.  The Lion looked down at it, and looked back at his son. 

            ‘Come now my lord, let us be rid of this place.’

 

 

 

 

 

​To be continued in part III...


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#6
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Most exquisitely done Manchu warlord, please continue this great work of yours. This holds an immense amount of promise. Make more of this please!


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#7
Manchu warlord

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Most exquisitely done Manchu warlord, please continue this great work of yours. This holds an immense amount of promise. Make more of this please!


Thank the Emperor for another audience.
Mr. The Vanquisher, thank you for taking the time to read and I am glad you liked my take on the return of the Primarch of the First legion. I certainly have it all planned out on how the Lion will eventually return to the waking world. But as things are with life, my schedule isn't my friend, and lots of other matters demand my attention. However, the third except is almost done, so stay tuned.

Also, feel free to critique any flaws or errors you see in my writing; I don't claim to be an excerpt English writer.

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#8
Manchu warlord

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Part three of the story.  Here I try to undertake a very brief account on the aftermath of the Siege of Terra; I am no Dan Abnett, so do not judge me too harshly.  Word of warning, this may contain spoiler scenes from the Leman Russ: The Wolf King Primarchs novel.  Also, their may be a bit of plagiarizing from that novel, but this is not a college essay, so I am in no danger.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

III

All is not Ended

 

            He arrived too late to save his father, and in his tardiness, the birthworld of humanity was transformed into an underworld with red skies and flensing tempests.  There was fire and smoke everywhere, the golden walls and gilt halls of the Imperial Palace were scuffed dry of its proud shine, and not a single building on the planet was left unscathed. 

            The Siege of Terra.  The Horus Heresy.  The cataclysmic civil war that was unleashed by his brother Horus has marked the fall of the empire of Man.     

            Together, father and son, they viewed a spectacle of absolute carnage that has been wrought upon humanity’s cradle.  He is now a man, tall, big and beautiful, like a moving statue.  He was donned in a polished silver, archaic – almost primitive – power armour of the Order, with a ruby cape draped to the side of his left shoulder.  It was of a design manufactured in Caliban, long before the incident of Old Night.  His son and companion, Zahariel El’Zurias wore the same armour as ever.

            They walked on through the despaired scenery of obliterated buildings and a sea of broken masonry.  Dust, soot and blood littered the walls and the floor was decorated with a carpet of corpses and machines.  Every now and then, a fallen titan of Mars would stick out as monuments to mark the micro wars being fought around them.  Some were still aflame, some were headless and limbless, some were scorched dry of paintwork to indicate its legio.  The casualties on both sides were unimaginable.  Men and women, cybernetic soldiers, Adeptus Astartes, and titans from the loyalists and traitors were mingled together in a fratricidal grave.

This high up in the world, the skies of Terra usually had a light blue hue, but now, it is red.  The apocalyptic weapons unleashed days earlier had changed the climatic patterns of this region from perpetually cold and windy to a choking humidity.  This defilement of the planet’s natural wind system will continue to be disrupted for centuries to come.

 

            Father and son continued walking alongside one another, neither of them saying anything, neither of them needed to, for the aftermath of the battle spoke a million words.  They entered a chamber in one of the tallest spires of the palace that was relatively intact.  The chamber was decorated with a fresco of the Dulan campaign in the year 870.M30.  Two Primarchs were depicted fighting side by side, slaying dragons and cyborg trolls.  One was Leman Russ, the Wolf king, poised as the epitome of savage nobility; the other was the Lion himself, clad in black, every ounce the chivalric Knight-King he is.  Zahariel knew about the compliance but did not take part in the campaign himself, and he also heard of the inevitable hostility that developed between the two legions afterwards.  

            At the centre of the chamber knelt Leman Russ in the flesh, and he was brooding about something incomprehensible.  He wore a simple black robe that left his arms bare, exposing his disgustingly oversized muscles.  Long dirty blond hair covered a face that in the past would have looked more like an animal, but right here right now, it was that of a noble man; a prince grieving at his collapsed empire. 

 

             ‘You remember Dulan, then.’  The speaker of the voice belonged to the Lion, and Zahariel turned to look at his sire.  But the Lion – in his Calibanite knight armour – did not say a single word.  He looked around the room, and from one of the other hall ways emerged another Lion El’Jonson, the one from the past that is experiencing this memory in the present.  His sword, the Lion Sword, was drawn in a combat-ready fashion.  He was clad in his regalia of war, the black armour of old night, with red and silver trimmings along the edges, and a pale ivory cloak hung from his shoulders. 

            'I remember it.'  Said Russ, clambering stiffly to his feet as if he was drunk or sleepy; or both.  The Lion had his sword drawn to the side, blue-steel of the blade shone in the light.  It was the same one that Russ had wrenched from his grasp in the Tyrant's throne-room, all those years ago. It was said that he had never let a weapon slip from his fingers since.

            'I thought I knew wrath, on Dulan' said the Lion, eyes locked on the image of the fresco ‘but I knew not then what wrath was.'  Russ pushed his way past him, not wanting to do this. History would not remember why they had been delayed, only that they had been, and that would be enough. 

            'Come back, Leman.'  The Lion said, turning to follow him.  Russ walked on, ignoring him.  'What for, brother?' he asked, turning his head around 'what more is there to say?’  The Lion pursued him, catching up at the end of the gallery where more statues of old triumphs languished in the dust. He reached out and grabbed Russ by the shoulder, spinning him round. 

            'It was never finished, that duel.'  The Lion hissed, his green eyes narrowed with fury.  'We left it undone, year after year.'  Then Russ replied.  'You left.’  He sounded tired and worn. 'When I woke up, you were gone.'  'If I had stayed,' said the Lion, his voice shaking with fervour, 'truly, I would have killed you.  But now I feel no such restraint, for all is ended, and all is madness, and nothing remains but vengeance for old scores.'

            'All is not ended.'  Russ said softly.  'Not yet, not unless we let it be so, but our fight is over.  Leave it on Dulan.'  The Lion's face contorted in a fury, driven by his unspeakable grief.  He looked more like an untamed beast than Russ did.  'You never learned!'  He cried.  'You should have been faster! It was your pride that kept you in the void!' 

            Still Russ made no move, though the Lion's eyes were wild and dangerous.  'And I am guilty, just as you are.'  The Lion urged again, his grip on the sword tight.  'So fight me, and we will pass sentence on each other, the guilty slaying the guilty. I will not ask you again.'  There was madness in the Lion’s eyes, as if he was not really seeing the world around him; believing he was back in the throne room, passing the sentence onto the Dulanian king.

            Russ did not move.  He stood straight, baring his throat and exposing his chest.  The tip of the Lion’s sword was touching the centre of Russ’ chest. 

With a cry that was more pain than triumph, the Lion shoved his blade deep, carving through flesh, the steel shrieking as it bent against a Primarch’s bones.  But in the nanosecond just before tip of the Lion Sword could kiss the Wolf King’s beating hearts, the Lion turned the blade away.  It went through the flesh of his back to pierce the stone floor beneath and cracking it. 

            Russ roared out in pain, his back arched from the force, and blood gurgled from his throat.  The Lion was propped on top of him, one arm on the sword hilt, the other on the ground to support his weight.  They locked eyes, the greys of Fenris’ cloudy skies and the greens of Caliban’s forests.  Realization dawned upon the two Primarchs.

 

            ‘Why did you spare his life at the last moment?’  Zahariel asked his sire as they walked back through the hall way.  The Lion - to Zahariel’s ever growing surprise, replied instantly.  ‘I realized the childish, mindlessness that developed between our legions after the Dulan compliance.  Even after all that, I still believed in code of conducts, “honour duels”, rules of chivalry...  But to what end?’  They rounded yet more corridors, littered with even more soot and debris.  ‘What is the point?  My father’s empire is in ruins, our species have suffered a blow from itself, the likes of which it can never recover from.  To think I would have killed Russ for no reason other than to settle “our honour”…  To think I would deprive the Imperium of such a formidable killer and warrior, that could be used to destroy our foes in such a time.’ 

            He looked down at his son.  ‘In that moment that I decided to turn the blow aside, I realized how pitiful I have been.’  He turned away from his son.  ‘I always though myself above my brothers, even Horus.  I had the mindset that no one could to antagonize me.  The slightest jest, the slightest friendly-rivalry is an assault to my honour and puts on the defensive.  I was easily wounded from such pathetic reasons.  I was… paranoid.’  There was a sick smile on his face that held absolutely no warmth.  ‘I still wanted my honour restored by killing my brother.’  He waved his hand at the air.  ‘After all this, I still want my honour.  To hell with Terra, to hell with the Imperium, to hell with it all.  I just wanted my honour.’  The ailing in his words and expressions disappeared right away, like he was just putting up an act.  ‘No more, my son.  We can’t afford petty disputes if we are to ensure the survival of our species.’ 

            He placed a silver mailed gauntlet on his son’s shoulder.  ‘United we stand, Divided we fall.’  Zahariel wanted to place his own hand on his father’s, but decided against it.  ‘Are you ready to move on father?’ 

            ‘Yes, my son, let’s get going.’  He let his hand fall from his son’s shoulder and turned his head to look at the aftermath of the Siege of Terra.  The pandemonium was exactly like how he remembered it.  ‘I wish to remain here no longer.’

 

 

 

 

 

To be continued in part IV...


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#9
Brother Lunkhead

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Bravo Brotherthumbsup.gif Your story is coming along quite nicely. Each part is better than the last. Your grammar and structure is improving tremendously with each chapter. As far as editing goes, I advise you to just concentrate on grammar  and structure. Any content editing should be saved to the end as this can be disruptive to the creative process.

 

Once again, you're weaving a excellent tale and I look forward to the next installment with great anticipationyes.gif


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#10
Manchu warlord

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Mr. Lunkhead, thanks for joining the show, it's not selling very well, so your participation is much appreciated. 

Ahhh, I sometimes forget my grammar is worse that I realize, and though I try to avoid mistakes, I have a better excuse than most to be lacking in it tongue.png.

 

Once again, thanks for coming in and spending the time to read my story.


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#11
The Vanquisher

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Nicely done... this part 4.... keep it up!


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#12
Manchu warlord

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Patience my young bannerman, the IV excerpt will come soon...


Edited by Manchu warlord, 06 June 2018 - 10:55 AM.

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#13
Tarvek Val

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It's looking very good thus far. I like the use of flashback in the third segment, with the conversation between the Lion and Russ. You do a good job approaching The Lion's character, and the story is coming along quite pleasantly. I would agree with Brother Lunkhead in that any changes should be saved until the end, it's much easier that way msn-wink.gif


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"Our holy hatred will make us free!" ~Nameless Dark Apostle

 

"Though my guards may sleep and ships may rest at anchor, our foes know full well that big guns never tire." ~Huron Blackheart

 

"You shall stand in midnight clad, your claws forever red with the lifeblood of my father's failed empire, warring through the centuries as the talons of a murdered god. Rise, my sons, and take your wrath across the stars, in my name. In my memory. Rise, my Night Lords." ~Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter

 

"So... How are you?" ~Cyrion, First Claw

 

 


#14
Manchu warlord

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Ah yes, my utilizing of flashbacks do have its merits.

Also, it is important to note that the conversation between the Lion and the Wolf (the italicized parts) were paraphrases from the Leman Russ: Wolf King novel.  Indeed, I copied pasted it, did a few re wordings and changed some of the sentences, but otherwise the conversation (the words in quotation marks) were original and weren't tampered with. 


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#15
Manchu warlord

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My loyal banner-brothers, apologies for the long wait, the fourth excerpt is finish, and it is long...  Very long indeed.

Do not judge me too harshly as I try to take on Guilliman's imprisonment in the Blackstone fortress, I am no Black Library author.

And lastly, apologies for grammar mistakes, I not a robot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

V

The Warrior King

 

 

            ‘Where are we?’  The Lion asked.  He was dressed in a highly ostentatious shiny armour which was decorated with gothic scripts, seraphic wings, and multiple carvings of the Calibanite great beasts.  A lone sword pointed downward on the middle of his breastplate signifies the rank of the wearer as the Grand Master of the Order.  He has aged, but the trace of youth did not go away.  His hair has lost some of the baby yellow, making it appear more of a sagely white.  ‘I do not recall being here.’

            ‘Because you haven’t.’  Said Zahariel.  ‘This isn’t one of your memories, it is one of mine… Not too long ago, in fact.’

 

            They were inside a starship that was not of the Mechanicum’s design, nor was it that of the Aeldari or even Orks.  It was something much more alien.  The surfaces of the deck and the walls were a strange onyx that reflected light from somewhere the Lion could not discern.  The air had a strange feel to it that left an iron taste on the inside of the mouth after every breath.  Columns that extend all the way into the endless depths of the ceiling lined the hall way in intervals. 

            ‘We are in a Blackstone Fortress, one of six in existence.’  Zahariel explained.  ‘We are here because there is something you have to see.’ 

The Lion did not reply.  The two continued to walk along the spooky hallway.

            Zahariel brought them to a turn which led to a corridor that looked different from the rest of the starship so far.  The surfaces of the walls and the deck were cracked and broken at places, like a worn and decayed road system that had not been repaired.  The ceiling was visible, revealing a dimly visible grid surface that looked as if was better off being the floor.  

            Zahariel slowed his pace, and muffled his footsteps by walking on his tiptoe, as if afraid of being heard.  He indicated to his Primarch to do the same.  The Primarch ignored the attempt.

            As they walked further along the unorthodox corridor, the decay on the surface became more and more vivid; the dimness lessened, and the saturation increased.  The onyx, to steel-grey, to grey, and to dirty white.  It is as if a bored painter had decided to do his senseless work in the name of entropy.  And there, at the far end of the corridor, right against the wall, was a device that was absurdly out of place. 

            It was the colour of bleached bone, it looked like an arch or a gateway, and it had a medusa of wirings and cables that was clumped up at its based.  The Lion knew to which alien race this technology belonged to, for he had fought their kind before.  Eldar.  An Eldar webway.

 

            As the though entered his head, Zahariel held his hand up to stop their pacing.  As if on a timer that only he was privy to, the Eldar webway began to hum.  Then strange eldritch electricity started forming from the conduits on the inside of the arches, which shot out and connected to one another, eventually forming a blurry, cloudy, elliptical portal.

            Then a figured emerged from the webway.  It was a female, clad in a motley spandex of    seemingly random pattern of colors, with high pointed boots, and a grinning half-mask in front of voluptuous ginger hair.  Aeldari.

            Another figure emerged, and he was identical to the very person standing right next to the Primarch.  The only differences were that he had a pistol on both hands, a bolter on the right, and a plasma on the left; lastly and most interestingly, a massive long sword was held by chains on his back.      

‘You?’  The Lion asked the obvious.  ‘Yes, me’ Zahariel replied ‘keep looking.’

            More figures emerged, armoured in black archaic power armour (the kind that were abroad in the 30th millennium) very much like the one the Lord Cypher Zahariel was wearing.  Dozens of them, then two dozens.  They were most definitely Dark Angels, sons of the Lion, but these were no angels of the Emperor.  They are the Fallen, the ones whose stayed on Caliban and turned their backs on the Imperium.  The Lion made no comment or expressed any emotions at the sight of his fallen sons.

            As the stowaways made their way along the hallway, the Lion and Zahariel followed.

 

 

            They continued for two hours along the onyx hallways, with its depthless ceiling and random columns until they reached a gigantic hermetically sealed door.  During the entire journey, no one spoke a single word, not the father and son visiting this memory, nor the warband living in this timeline. 

Then the Eldar Harlequin spoke in a beautiful music voice.  ‘We are here, messenger.’  The Lord Cypher nodded. 

            He pulled a knife from his waist.  It was small but incredibly remarkable and beautifully wrought.  It had a flawless shiny iron hue along the blade, and its grip was in black with crisscrossed rings.  Its design suggested it was not made for combat, or to take a life; The Lion was momentarily reminded of the black obsidian knives that were used amongst the heretics when he visited his brother’s realm a long time ago, in an unremembered age.  He dismissed the idea just as swiftly.  No, this not an athame.  Indeed, it is something xenos entirely. 

            Lord Cypher raised his alien knife up, and a strange emerald lightening danced across the blade with a mesmerizing effect.  He made a horizontal slit on the door from left to right, then vertical all the way to the ground.  Crouching, he made another horizontal slit, parallel to the top one, and another vertical to the top, creating a rectangle.

            There was a fizzling noise like acid chewing through a material, then a sickly green glow emitted from the slit.  Not exactly chemistry, for this is not science, the four green lines began to move towards one another, leaving a trail of corroded surface in its wake, which continued to disintegrate, until it eventually vanished.  Once the four lines reached the centre of the rectangle, and the surface final disappeared, the other side of the door became visible.             

            ‘Stay here’ Lord Cypher said to his companions, and without another word, he and the Harlequin crossed the threshold. 

           

            The Lion made to follow, but Zahariel’s hand reached out and grabbed his arm.  The Primarch looked around at this unexpected halt, but Zahariel simply shook his head to the sides.  ‘We mustn’t go in there.  Even in dreams, certain visitations could be harmful.’  He let go of his Primarch’s arm.  ‘We are inside a construct designed by a race long before the warp came into being.  But the followers of the Ruinous Powers have acquired it, corrupted it, and turned it to their own foul ends.’

            ‘What is in there?’  The Lion asked.  And by way of reply, Zahariel pointed a finger.  The Harlequin emerged from the rectangle, followed by Lord Cypher who was supporting a larger figure on his shoulders. 

            ‘Guilliman…’ Muttered the lion.  ‘Yes, Primarch Guilliman.’  Zahariel agreed. 

Roboute Guilliman was wounded, that much was obvious.  He was still armoured in his glorious regal blue armour, the Armour of Reason, but cracks and scorch marks were visible in many places.  His face was worn, his azure eyes have sunk into their sockets, and his fair hair have taken on a darker hue. 

            Lord Cypher came to a halt in front of his companions, some of them made for the Ultramarines Primarch to help him up, but Guilliman waved them all away; he then broke from the crutch of Lord Cypher and steadied himself against the wall.  ‘Who, are, you people…?’  He spoke through rasping breaths.  ‘We are Dark Angels.’  Said one of them.  ‘I know that… But who is your commander?’ his breathing is steadier now ‘and why do you look different from your kind?’

‘We have fallen from grace.’  Lord Cypher spoke from his side.  ‘We are the knights of Caliban no more, but the knights of penance.’ 

            Guilliman stood straight now, gauging, observing, formulating theoreticals and practicals on this scenario.  The Harlequin went to join them.  ‘We must get moving, our efforts to free you have not gone unnoticed.  The other prisoners are located in the lower levels, but we have to go now.’  Guilliman looked at the penitent Dark Angels and said ‘I need a weapon.’ 

 

 

            ‘The Emperor is calling his sons back.’  Zahariel explained to the Lion as the duo followed the freed Guilliman, led by Lord Cypher and the Harlequin back the same hallway they came from; of the other Fallens, they have gone on to free the other prisoners.  Zahariel continued.  ‘When Guilliman was resurrected, he found his world, and the entire realm of Ultramar overrun with heretics of the Despoiler, and -’  He cut himself off lamely.  ‘And basically, after he cleansed Ultramar of traitors, he gathered as much force as he could muster and headed straight for Terra with all haste.’  The Lion’s brow furrowed with interest.  ‘It was a reckless and arduous journey that saw many of his followers dead.’  He then spoke the next segment with the drama of a fabulist.  ‘But it didn’t matter, a Primarch has returned, and there was nothing the warp could do to quell the loyalists’ vigor.’

            They passed through yet more turns along corridors and random columns, but wherever they went, every direction looked exactly the same.

‘But Guilliman and his crusaders were attacked by Magus the Red and a legion of daemons.  They were defeated, Magnus himself personally brought Guilliman down and imprisoned him in this place.  Him and his followers were held here for a while… ’ he glanced at his father with a sly expression ‘until we came along, as you just saw.’

            The Lion spoke for the first time in a while.  ‘He eventually escapes this place, with your help, and successfully made it to Terra?’  It was an educated guess on his part.  ‘Pretty much, but not after more threats from the warp.’  Zahariel added.  ‘The deities of the warp were taken aback, and in their eternal scheming of the universe, they never foresaw his return.  They did everything in their power to stop him reaching the Emperor.  But they failed, and once he finally reunites with his father, he would declare himself the Lord Commander of the Imperium, and initiate the Indomitus Crusade against the enemies of Man, but specifically, against the traitors.’

            ‘Guilliman… Regent of the Imperium?’  The Lion’s tone betrayed his unease.

Zahariel almost replied by saying “It wouldn’t be the first time”, but did not want to share with his father the fact that his brother had been the Lord Commander once before.  So instead, he said ‘Does it unsettle you my lord?’

            ‘Yes, but not in a bad way.  After what you’ve told me, the Imperium is in dire need of immortal rulers, if it is to keep itself together.  I do not approve of Guilliman being regent of my father’s empire, but it was a necessary choice on his part, and if there’s anything I know about Guilliman, he would not openly take the mantle unless there is no choice…’  There was a pause as the Lion was having some internal monologue.  ‘I’m sure he did his theoreticals, and gauged that the Imperium would be in better hands if he took it all upon himself.  So no, my son.  My brother made the right choice, because if I were him, I would have done the same thing.’

            Zahariel was not expecting these words from his father.  His Primarch has changed significantly in the short period since they met.  He simply remained silent.

 

            As they continued onward, they encountered other groups of prisoners.  They came in squads, they came in their dozens, they came in company-size groups, each were led by a Fallen.  Most of them were Ultramarines, but their were elements of other chapters such as the White Scars, the Raven Guard, the Black Templars, various other chapters and even some mortal soldiers.  They cheered their gratefulness and blessings that the Primarch was well and unharmed, and that they could finally be out of this place.  One Ultramarines officer with a highly decorative armour, and a red sideways-horsehair plumed helmet spoke to his Primarch.  ‘My lord, it is good to see you again, what are your orders?’

            Guilliman looked at his paired rescuers, and the two dozen Fallen Angels that have led a – now – large of group of escapees to him.  He had a chainsword in one hand that he procured from one of Lord Cypher’s followers, and a bolter in the other, which he holds as if it was a bolt pistol.  He looked back at the Aeldari and Lord Cypher.  ‘Lead on, take us out of here.’

 

            They have entered the unmissable hallway with the different hues of black, grey and white, and finally the webway portal was within sight.  ‘Hurry, Azure one’ the Harlequin spoke hurriedly ‘they will be onto us any moment now.’  The prisoners and their rescuers broke into a run.  ‘The portal will take you and your men to your ships, and other prisoners as well.  From there, we will guide you through the warp.  But make su-’ she never finished what she was saying when the walls started to scream.  The depthless ceiling gradually became visible, as the blackness vanished, revealing a smooth concave surface.  Red mists began to form from nowhere, surrounding the escapees, and the temperature began to rise significantly; sweat began to form on Guilliman’s face.  ‘Hurry, make for the portal’ he shouted.  The followers of the Terran crusade made all haste to the webway, where the white lights from the conduits began to coalesce in the middle, processing the doorway of their escape. 

            But hell found its escape prisoners, and it was not happy with their breakout.  The walls began to melt, but not in the literal since, for it did not turn into slag, but transformed its molecular structure into something organic like.  The onyx began to fade, and a sickly red-purple took its place.  The walls parted, like it was giving birth to neonates from the other side sanity.  But instead of innocent infants, a disgusting horde of daemons poured out.

            Without slowing his pace, Guilliman charged into the horde of damnation, shouting of courage and honour to his men.  Weary and battered, but unbowed, his followers fought with a vigor that could only be found fighting alongside one of the Emperor’s son.  No matter what hell threw at them, no matter the odds, they have never been more eager to spit in the face of death.  But the prospect was not so grim.  Simply by being near the reborn Primarch, they drew new strength and fought alongside their sire like the legends of old.  Dead warp spawned monstrosity after dead warp spawned monstrosity, the Imperials began to press onwards towards the portal, like the inevitable tide.  They lost significant casualties, even some of Lord Cypher’s Fallen Angels have fallen finally redeeming themselves, but their exit is within reach.  

 

            Then their leader came, one of the prince of the skull realm and an equivalent of a Primarch to the legion of Khorne.  Its name is Skarbrand, and it was a massive monster of red muscle with dragon wings and fiery breath.  As it landed in front of Guilliman, a massive axe materialized in its meaty hands.  It swung its weapon like it weighed more than it could lift at the Primarch’s head.  The blow would have surely severed Guilliman’s head, but he ducked under the swing and returned with a blow of his own; all the while firing with his bolter.

            The two sires traded thunderous blows at one another, while their children and underlings slaughtering each other, painting the hall ways red. 

Where the newcomer was fresh and invigorated, Guilliman was wearied and tired; the earlier sluggishness from imprisonment has returned to plague his limbs.  It did not look like the Primarch was getting the better of the duel. 

            Skarbrand slammed the flat side of his axe at the Ultramarines Primarch, sending him to land amidst a pile of lesser daemon; lesser daemons which were more than capable of dispatching fully armoured Astartes.  He crushed many to paste with his bulk, but the rest came unto him, biting and tearing at his armour.  ‘To the Primarch!’  Shouted the Ultramarines officer with the red horsehair plume helmet from earlier.  The Ultramarines cleared a way to get to their father, cleaving and carving through red daemonic unfleshed.

            But they were not fast enough to reach their leader.  Skarbrand leapt over the battling combatants and landed on top of Guilliman; both his weapons fell from his grasp.  There was no ceremony, no mockery and taunts for the subdued foe as the bloodthirster brought its axe up to execute the Primarch.  But before the axe blade could reach the apex atop the bloodthirster’s crown (for once it falls, no force in the Imperium’s disposal could halt it chopping the reborn-Primarch’s head off) a single Space Marine came and intervened.  He was armoured in black with white trimmings, a bone-white tabard hung from his hips and a templars cross decorate his shoulder plates. 

 

            ‘That’s Amalrich, marhsal of the Black Templars chapter.’  Said Zahariel to the Lion.

Amalrich – somehow able to force his way through the press of bodies – jumped and struck a powerful swing with his charged twohanded executioner broadsword at the bloodthrister’s ribs.  The blow rocked Skarbrand from his footing, combined with the heavy axe above his head, it lost its balance entirely. 

            ‘Black Templars?’  The Lion asked.  ‘One of the second founding chapters of the Imperial Fists; the most zealous sons of Primarch Dorn.’  Replied Zahariel.  Whether the Lion understood or not what the “second founding chapters” was, he gave no sign, and simply nodded slowly.

            Amalrich of the Black Templars made to strike again, but Skarbrand’s tail shot out and pierced him through his hearts.  Back arched, the Black Templar gave a silent shriek as his body died.  The sword fell from his grasp, but before it hit the ground, Guilliman caught it onehanded and rammed it into the bloodthirster’s side; the opening which Amalrich have made with his life. 

            Dropping the axe entirely, the bloodthirster screamed in agony as the length of the metre-and-a-half blade found its way deep into its body.  Guilliman jumped unto its chest, hooking his fingers into its pectoral for purchase, and dragged the sword further along; obliterating much of its anterior portion.  A greater cry of pain emitted from Skarbrand.  It tried to yank the Primarch off its front, but to no avail as the reborn Primarch surgical hacked off pieces of its unfleshed.  It constantly sunk its foot-long ten digits claws into the Primarch, but the would-be Imperial regent was set on sending this foe back to hell. 

            Then it was over, the prince of hell fell before the prince of Mankind.  It’s already-rotting carcass clattered to the floor, its foul flesh and body parts littered the floor in tons.  And like all of its kind, whatever unreal flesh it was able to material from began to break down and putrefy.          

Just like their fallen sire, the lesser daemons shrieked and fled from the scene: some exploded in bloody gobs, some melted like liquid, and some vanished entirely.

‘Hurry’ shouted the Harlequin as the prisoners were gathering themselves from the exertion of battle, the Black Templars were supporting the fallen form of their marshal, and Guilliman was still panting from the near-death experience.  ‘To the portal.  They will be back in greater numbers.’  Holding on tightly to the sword and gathering himself to his full height, Guilliman commanded his men ‘Let’s move.’

 

            The Lion and Zahariel watched as the Aeldari, the Lord Cypher, the Fallen Angels, Roboute Guillimand and his crusaders disappeared through the alien portal.

 

 

            Alone in the carnage-dealt corridor, the father spoke to the son ‘I am done with all these visitations, I am ready to face my daemons.’  The son replied.  ‘There is one more thing I have to show you.’  If the Lion was about to protest, his words and his expressionless facial scorn were enveloped in a blinding yellow light, and they were cast to the near-future, in a place light years away.   

 

            As the golden light faded, a new setting was revealed to them.  It was a place where they have just visited previously: It was Terra, the Imperial palace. 

‘You are ready to face your daemons, but I must show you one last thing.’  They were in the one of the gilt halls, like one of the many thousands that decorate the palace.  But this one had a particularly grey feel to it.  ‘When are we?’  The Lion asked.  Zahariel did not say anything but pointed pass the railing to the floor below.  The two walked up to it and looked down.  There again, is a twin of Zahariel El’Zurias.  He was flanked by two Custodian Guard as they led him deeper into the deeps.

            ‘What has happened?  Why are you in the custody of the Custodes?’

            ‘It only appears that way, father, but in truth, it was only an act, staged to look like I’m being apprehended.’  Zahariel turned up to look his father in the eye, and gently, with dramatic slowness, he pulled his hood down.  Short cropped raven hair with amber eyes set in a fairly young face that had minimal scaring, was revealed in vivid detail. 

            ‘The Emperor summoned me.’  There was no hint of bravado or pride in his voice, just deeds and duty.  ‘As Caliban was in its death throes and I lie on the brink of death…the Emperor came to me.  He spoke to me, but I cannot remember what he said.  But he needed me, he wanted me to be his messenger, and that a great many task was waiting for me.  I accepted, I couldn’t refuse, how could I?  And through the stars and many unimaginable bright lights, I was gone form the dead world and brought here.’  He indicated the door the Custodes were leading his past self to.  ‘Then I met the Emperor, father.  I laid eyes upon him… for the second time.’ 

            ‘The second time?’ The surprise in the Lion’s voice was priceless.  ‘Yes father, I met the Emperor before.’  ‘When?’  His father’s curiosity was almost childlike.  ‘On Caliban, right after the compliance of our world.  There was a group of people who wanted to assassinate the Emperor.  I was able to stop them before they could do damage, but I was badly hurt and taken to a legion apothecarion.  And their he was, the Master of Mankind.  He visited me personally and thanked me.’  Without realizing it, he was smiling.  ‘Of course, thinking about it now, the Emperor needing protection from mortal assassins, the notion is absurd.’  He made a slight chuckle.  ‘I guess it’s the thought that matters, and the Emperor saw something in me.’

            ‘I’m sure he did.  For I saw something in you as well.  It was potential for greatness.’  Once again, father and son met eye to eye.  Despite the lack of expression on the Lion’s face, this rare occurrence of warmth felt very much genuine.  The Lion broke the intimacy before it could continue further.  ‘Is that where the Custodes are taking you?  To see the Emperor?’  ‘Yes.’ Replied Zahariel.

 

            They continued to look at the backs of the trio as they walked through the titanic golden doors that are big enough for a warlord titan to walk under, and it shut behind them. 

            ‘I’m afraid I cannot show further of what happens beyond the door.  Even now, the Emperor’s need for secrecy is still adamant.  But, after all, are not the legion of secret keeping?’ He grinned as he said the next words.  ‘Like father, like son.’

The Lion said nothing, but he smiled, and it was the most appropriate reply he could have made.  Zahariel smiled back. 

            ‘Are you ready father?’  Asked the son.  ‘Yes’ replied the father.

 

 

            And so, Lion El’Jonson and Zahariel El’Zurias have reached the termination of the Unwaking realm, to face their destiny.    

 

 

 

 

 

To be continued in part V, as the Lion faces his daemons...


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Insult me again, brother, and theoretically I will punch you in your practical face.

 

 


#16
Tarvek Val

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Excellent work, as I had anticipated!

 

One thing I would love to know is, how did the escaping prisoners find weapons and armor? I would think it unlikely for anyone to be foolish enough to imprison Space Marines in full battle-plate, even if it were rendered difunctional in some way. Did they raid some armory where their gear was; kill enemies for weapons during the escape; or some other scenario entirely?

 

Great work adding descriptive details and bringing your characters to life, I've enjoyed the series a lot thus far and look forward to part 5!


  • Manchu warlord likes this

"Our holy hatred will make us free!" ~Nameless Dark Apostle

 

"Though my guards may sleep and ships may rest at anchor, our foes know full well that big guns never tire." ~Huron Blackheart

 

"You shall stand in midnight clad, your claws forever red with the lifeblood of my father's failed empire, warring through the centuries as the talons of a murdered god. Rise, my sons, and take your wrath across the stars, in my name. In my memory. Rise, my Night Lords." ~Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter

 

"So... How are you?" ~Cyrion, First Claw

 

 


#17
Brother Lunkhead

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Once again, WELL DONEthumbsup.gif Each chapter is better than the last. I really like the direction you are taking this. Looking forward to the next installment.


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#18
Manchu warlord

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Sage Zhuge Liang (Tarvek Val) and grandfather Kangxi (Brother Lunkhead), as always, I appreciate your participation in my fanfiction immensely; I am willing to shed blood for both of you. 

 

As for your bewilderment, sage Val...  All of what you've pointed out could be true, or all of it could be false.  That I did not write it down would mean that whatever the reader believes happened could certainly be the case.  A possible scenario could be like this:  They were imprisoned with their armor on, for their jailers didn't have time to un-suit all of them.  They were left in an electric cage so they couldn't spit their way out with their caustic saliva or hack the lock somehow.  When the Fallen came and freed them, they went to the armory to retrieve their weapons. 


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Insult me again, brother, and theoretically I will punch you in your practical face.

 

 


#19
The Vanquisher

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Bravo Manchu Warlord! Bravo! The part 4 of this fanfiction work is a consummately made one. The characters well-fleshed out, the pacing impeccable, the drama and tension of events, very riveting!..... Keep them new chapters coming.....and  Way to go!


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#20
The Vanquisher

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Hello Manchu Warlord, how are you? Are the updates to this story coming anytime soon?


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#21
Manchu warlord

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Oh Brother Vanquisher, a thousand apologies. I have been away for so long, and in my absence, I did not have the chance to be involve in any WH40k affairs. I am very touched by your excitement of this story, so know no fear brother.
Now that I am returned, the exiled prince of Manchuria shall began working on the ultimate excerpt.
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Insult me again, brother, and theoretically I will punch you in your practical face.

 

 


#22
Manchu warlord

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Brothers and sisters, gentlemen and ladies, princes and princesses, khans and khatuns.  It is finally hear, the Mongolian cavalry has arrived.  I, the Manchurian Warlord have completed the next excerpt of Primarch Lion's dream-adventure. 

In this excerpt, he finally faces his "daemon", the reckoner of whether he will finally wake up from his ten millennium period slumber, or remain in the underworld forever after.  Before my banner-brothers read this excerpt, can you guess what the Primarch's daemon can possibly be?

Anyway, I hope ye enjoy this segment that has been long overdue.

 

Manchu Warlord out,

 

 

 

 

 

V

Daemons

            He is the Lion El’ Jonson, first son of the Emperor of mankind.  Tall, titanic and terrifying, yet beautiful and graceful like a fair beast in a wild forest.  He is clad in his renowned Martian forged black armour, with red and silver embroideries to decorate the trims of his armour.

            His son and companion, the Lord Cypher Zahariel El’Zurias is not with him in this final stage of this dream journey.  He is alone as he faces his daemon in this ultimate test of psyche judgement.  Whether he passes or fails, this will decide if now is the time for him to wake up, or remain sleeping until the end of time. 

            His surrounding is a scene of absolute carnage, and it was one which he remembered all too well: it was Caliban dying in the throes of patricide.  The night was black like the abyss, but flames were raging everywhere the eye could see, all the way to the horizon.  Carcasses of slain star ships were falling through the atmosphere, like a sinking sea leviathan.  The ground was littered with the bodies of Astartes, traitors and loyalists alike, undistinguishable from the identical black armour which both sides wore.  The mighty citadels and Imperial facilities were all reduced to rubble from outcoming and incoming cannon shells and other explosives.   

            But despite the hellish scene surrounding the Primarch of the First legion, it all pales in comparison to the figure standing before him.  It had a slender frame and stood a metre above the Primarch.  Cloaked in black robes that bled out smoke, a hood covered its face, hiding all hint of a face beneath it.  A monstrous scythe was held in its right hand, bigger than even Mortarion’s famous manreaper, Silence.  It was the epitome of the soul harvester, the ferryman of the dead, the Grim Reaper, the Angel of Death

            ‘So, brother’ said the Luther daemon, ‘you have come?’  It wasn’t a question, and the Lion did not answer.  Instead, he said ‘Luther!  Look what you have done!’ the rage on his face was almost as terrifying as the avatar of the Angel of Death ‘You have damned us all!’  ‘Damned us!  I am saving us, I am saving Caliban and its children from the Imperium’ Luther replied, the voice sounded like it belonged in stories to scare children into behaving.

            The lion stood still, and calmly closed his eyes.  The pandemonium momentarily forgotten as he became the eye of the storm.  He knew this was going to happen, not simply because he had lived through it, but also because the Watchers in the Dark has forewarned him of a terrible power down on Caliban’s surface, before his fleet arrived in the system; and that terrible power was his treacherous brother.  He lowered his sword and spoke the same word he spoke right here, ten thousand years ago, ‘why?’

            ‘Why what?’  Luther asked back as he brought his scythe in front of him and holding it in both hands, like an elderly monk leaning on his staff. 

            ‘Why did you betray us?’ the Lion’s eyes remained closed as he spoke. 

            The Grim Reaper appearance of Luther balked momentarily, and the Lion could sense a flicker of doubt playing across his face, even though nothing but absolute blackness is his face.  ‘I was trying to save us’ its terrifying composure has returned ‘the Imperium is an evil parasite, based on nothing but lies, oppression and more lies.’  The Lion still had not opened his eyes.  ‘They take our land and uses it to build weapons and war machines.  They take our children from us, and for what?  To fight and die for a tyrant that offers nothing for us in return.’  Had anyone spoken of the Emperor in this manner before the Lion, no other reason would be needed for him to slay them outright; he has brought low entire planets because their warlords spoke ill of his father.  But here and now, coming from the monster that used to be the man that raised him, he remained unmovingLuther continued ‘Caliban.  Us.  Our tradition, the knights of the Order, died when the Emperor came to our world.  We were a people with meaning, with purpose, our world was our destiny, we were self-sufficient, and we were free.  But when the Emperor came, we became slaves.’

            ‘No’ the Lion opened his eyes.  There was a long pause as neither of them said anything.  ‘Everything you have just said, was false’ the Lion continued.  ‘The galaxy is a cruel and dangerous place where a single world, or even a single planetary system cannot survive on their own.  Xenos lurks in every corner, in thousands of worlds, and they are all too happy to see mankind extinct.  Other, unspeakable things, are only too hungry to devour us all.   Divided and conflicted, humanity will never be able to overcome the threats that assails it.  But united and with a mutual purpose, our species could claim a place of peace and prosperity in the stars, free of dangers.  That is why my father did what he did, that was why he needed as many soldiers and weapons from as many worlds as was possible.  He sees far beyond any of us could possibly imagine, and he has considered on the best course for the survival of our species.  That was why he did what he did.  Alone and isolated, Caliban will not last long.’

             ‘Hollow words, they mean nothing, and you are wrong in this, my son.  I have seen into the depths of the void, the secrets of the warp that the Librarium order constantly works to prevent us from knowing about it.  I have seen gods, and they have seen me, and the power they hold is the key to our survival, they are the future.  The Emperor was a fool for steering humanity away from the light of the gods.  He wanted our unquestioning obedience, our utter devotion to him, and with a galactic-scale civilization under his will, he could leech our power, our soul, and feed himself with it, so he could ascend to godhood!  He wanted to fight real gods, so he could himself become a god.’  The daemon made a disgusting chuckle sound, like bones snapping in an echoed chamber.  ‘But he failed miserable in it, and now he will suffer for all eternity.’

            ‘No.’  The Lion’s voice was like a single rain drop on wet stone.  ‘No.  You have been lied to.  The Emperor did not intend for any of that… I confess, gods are real, but they are evil…  I have seen their handiwork, I have seen the unspeakable horrors their powers can unleash, warriors of the other legions being cursed, mortal men and women being corrupted by them, it is chaos.  And a galaxy ruled by them is not one I wish to live in, and nor should anyone.  You have been diluted Luther, you have been corrupted by their honeyed false-promise of unlimited power and freedom.  But the gods have made you their pawn.  You are being used.’ 

             ‘Enough!  Time to die!’  Luther struck first.  The scythe arced towards the Lion in a decapitation stroke.  The Primarch barely avoided the blow, dragging his head down and rolled towards Luther in one move.  Gaining his posture, he slashed out with the Lion sword, only to have it blocked by the scythe’s haft.  Luther floated back a few metres, a trail of black smoke in his wake, and swung the scythe in a one-hundred-eighty degrees stroke.  The Lion dodged, but was not able to avoid it completely.  The edge of the blade struck the Primarch’s breastplate, and gouged along the surface to his left pauldron, and exited as the arc of the swing lost momentum.  The blow was deep.  Deep enough that it pierced metal to reach flesh and draw blood, but not enough to wound.  The Lion was stalled by just one second, he did not even feel the wound, and he was out and running, sword drawn, towards his daemon. 

            He jumped-swung in a chopping motion, the blow could part a legionnaire in two perfect halves with zero resistant, but Luther dodged to the left it mocking ease.  The Lion, going along with the blow’s momentum, spun around to slash at his brother in a perpendicularly.  Luther leapt/elevated his Grim Reaper form, and the Primarch’s blow only caressed the black smoke accompanying Luther’s undersides.  The Daemon-Luther came back down and reached his unarmed hand to the Lion.  The Primarch was not quick enough, and the deathly grip found its digits around his throat.  Almost instantly, the Primarch began to feel a tombstone’s coldness around his neck, dread and despair followed the funeral chill, and his energy was slowly draining away.  Very much a simulacrum of Death, the mythical Terran horseman of the Apocalypse.  The Primarch still had a strong grip on his sword, Luther appears confident that he is about to triumph (even though his features were void inside a hood), the Lion, with all his strength, swung his sword upwards that sliced portions of Luther’s anterior.  The blow had great effect.  The daemon Luther gave an owl-like screech, and white light bleed from the slit wound; so white it was blinding to look at.  And just as instantly after being release from the death grip, the Primarch felt life, warmth and strength flowing back into him.  Seeing his prey wounded, the Lion charged at his foe in earnest.  His sword blow was aimed to create anther crippling slit, but Luther gained his equanimity, swung his scythe down and blocked the blow.

            The blade of the Lionsword formed an X as it kissed the blade of the Grim Reaper’s scythe.  For dragging seconds, the son and the father stared at one another, their blades wrestling each others’ with a wills seemingly of their own.  The night was very dark and the world dying around them.  It was ten millennium ago that the Lion fought this duel in real life.  He has been sleeping for the duration of the Imperium’s existence.  He is still sleeping right now, re living his worse dream and greatest failure.  He remembers…  He remembers the event of the Calibanite civil war started by his brother.  He remembers it like it was yesterday, for after Luther struck him down, blackness took him and he knew no more…  Until Zahariel came and visited his childhood memory of the Calibanite lion.  Yet, he cannot remember how the battle was fought.  He cannot remember what went wrong, and how he was defeated…

            This is similar to the duel between the Emperor and Horus.  But there will be no Sanguinius to help me in this.  But Luther is not my father, he never was.  I though he was.  I made that mistake once.  I’m not going to make it again.  But I cannot defeat Luther, he is beyond my ability to subdue.  But this was never about striking down my traitorous brother.  I made the mistake once, the only mistake I never should have made, and because of it, I fell for ten thousand years.  I will not make that mistake this time.  By my father, the immortal ruler Mankind, I will not fail.

            After reminiscing the past, the two combatant’s blades still locked liked a captured pic-vid, the Lion spoke the words that will unmake his antagonist.  ‘Luther, I am not going to strike you down.  You are my brother, and no matter what, I love you.  I… I cannot fight you.’  Luther, in this daemonic form, overpowered the Lion and pushed him away to land on his back.  I will not make that mistake again.  Then it was over, laying on the dirt, the Lion softly spoke three words ‘I forgive you.’           

            All the sound on the planet was banished.  The scene of carnage around the dueling brothers froze, like a pausing pic capture.  ‘What?’ bellowed the daemon Luther, his surprise was genuine and he dropped his scythe.  Picking up his sword, the Lion stood back up, closed his eyes as he repeated the words ‘I forgive you.’

            Almost instantly, the darkness surrounding Luther like a black cloak vanished like vapor.  An outline of a muscular man was visible as the shadows parted; black tendrils were wrapped around his body like veins.  He was lifted up, arms and legs spread out in an X, his head was thrown back and his mouth opened and uttered a screeching agonized sound.  His bellowing initially sounded daemonic, but as the black – corrupted – tendrils began do dissolve, his roars became more and more human like.  Then the corruption was gone all together, a puff of black smoke exiting his mouth and nose, and his scream was that a man; great man’s cry of anguish.

He was slowly lowered onto the ground by invisible chords, and he collapsed like his exertions have been put to their limits.  He is in fact dying, his life bleeding away from him, but this is not real, and it is not the end.

            The Lion dropped his sword unceremoniously and went over to his fallen brother and oldest friend.  ‘Lion…’ Luther spoke through his dying pants.  ‘I am sorry brother, I never wanted any of this.  It wasn’t suppose…’ he took a deep breath then continued ‘… to, be like this.’  The Primarch knelt down by him.  ‘Brother, I…’ he did not finish as the Lion gently hushed him.  ‘Rest, brother, be at peace.’  The Lion made shushing noise as if to rock a baby to sleep ‘it’s alright, my friend.’  Luther stared blankly into his green eyes, bewilderment writ across his face.  The lion spoke the three words again, and the fate of the galaxy will forever be changed ‘I forgive you.’  Then Luther died.

            Sometimes, absolution is better than vengeance.

 

            The Lion cradled the body of his fallen brother and stared into nothingness for sometimes, the frozen scene of Caliban tearing itself apart completely forgotten.  A single tear rolled down the Primarch’s check.  Then Luther’s body started to fade, like snow being lifted up into the heavens.  The paused battle in the background also began to dissolve: the hellfire being extinguished, the machine debris and corpses were flaking away into oblivion, and the starless night sky turned blacker.  Then Luther and the carnage scenery were gone, leaving the Primarch alone in a black, boundless room, in which their seemed to be no sign of a floor (a surface to stand on), yet he has not fallen down, or up. 

            He was too tired to wonder what will happen next, when a pair of orange eyes appeared in the distant.  Then two more pairs appeared to the sides of the first pair.  Then two more again, which appeared on the sides of the two flanking pairs, and yet even more pairs appeared.  More and more, appearing by pairs in a circular fashion, until the Primarch was standing in a circle of orange orbs.  The Lion looked around but was unfazed, nothing in the galaxy could faze him anymore.  He closed his eyes and shook his head, all wearied and hollowed.  When he opened them again, a lone pair of orange eyes stood in front of him, but the height of the eyes came to just above his knee.  The darkness was still absolute, the only thing other than black were the hundreds of pairs of orange eyes. 

            Then it spoke or was it them? ‘You have done well, Lion, son of the Emperor, First Prince of the Empire of Man.’  The voice or were they voices sounded like it was emitted from all around him, and also inside his head at the same time.  ‘We have been keeping you in a state of undying for the past ten thousand years.’  He began to feel cold in his spine as he heard those words.  ‘After you were unmade by the one that raised you, and Caliban was breathing its last breath, we gathered you and brought you to the underworld.’  The temperature in the Primarch’s body began to drop even further.  What is this sensation?  Am I nervous?  ‘You have done things that have gone against our order’s interests.  You have hastened the pace of the Primordial Annihilator’s venture in consuming the galaxy.’  He found he could not come up with words to formulate a reply.  He had nothing to say.  He was being judged right now, his gaolers his watchers are putting him on trial and this is purgatory.  ‘You cannot speak, you are nervous, because you know what we say is true.  The Great Enemy’s strength has only grown greater in the past ten millennium.  Your victory in what your kind refer to as the “Horus Heresy”, has only made the Great Enemy more powerful.’  The pair of eyes in front of him blinked.  The Lion could not help but blink as well. 

            Then, very slowly, the blackness of the surrounding began to change in gamma contrast, becoming dimmer, then lighter, and eventually the surrounding was revealed to be a massive underground cavern.  Under the light, the owners of the hundreds of pairs of orange eyes was revealed as dwarf, childlike figures in full body white robes.  Watchers in the Dark.  It was now so bright as if direct sunlight has shone in, and the brightness of the eyes of the Watchers began to dim under their hoods, turning from fiery orange to light brown as the light was taking over. 

            ‘But the axis of the galaxy has recently changed.’  It/they continued.  'The Great Enemy has stalled in their unholy scheming, and the portents have been rolling in our favour.  The resurrection of you brother, the Thirteenth Prince, has smashed the destiny table asunder.  This means nothing is certain anymore, and anything may still happen.’  The lead Watcher approached the Primarch.  It appeared to hover rather than take strides.  ‘There is yet hope, Lion El’Jonson, and it is not the road to disappointment.’  It stood half a metre from the Primarch now.  ‘Their may be a chance to defeat the Primordial Annihilator once and for all.’  It spoke, looking up.  The dim oranges of its eyes appear to be suspended in the centre of its hood.  ‘And you will have a crucial role to play in it.’  The midget creature looked almost childlike in this position.  ‘We have judged you, Lion El’Jonson, and you have not been found wanting.  You have passed the test.’  The Primarch has not moved a muscle during the entire intercourse since the Watchers began their proclamation. 

The Watcher reached a gloved hand up and touched the Primarch on his right fingers.  The Lion gently closed his fingers around Watcher’s.  The Primarch knew what was going to happen, he knew what he had to do, and he was ready for it.  I am ready.  I will not fail.  Then the Watcher spoke a single word ‘Awaken.’               

               

 

 

 

 

Well fellas, that is all I have for now.  I can't guarantee their will be more, for I have not thought of how events will play out.  The Lion has woken up, and then what?  That is the question I am facing, and until I figure that out, this excerpt will remain final... for now, or forever, I know not.


Edited by Manchu warlord, 31 March 2019 - 12:49 AM.

  • Brother Lunkhead, The Vanquisher, Tarvek Val and 1 other like this

Insult me again, brother, and theoretically I will punch you in your practical face.

 

 


#23
Tarvek Val

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Well written, Brother Manchu.

 

A compelling ending to a well-woven tale, though I would love to see future progression if inspiration strikes!


  • The Vanquisher and Manchu warlord like this

"Our holy hatred will make us free!" ~Nameless Dark Apostle

 

"Though my guards may sleep and ships may rest at anchor, our foes know full well that big guns never tire." ~Huron Blackheart

 

"You shall stand in midnight clad, your claws forever red with the lifeblood of my father's failed empire, warring through the centuries as the talons of a murdered god. Rise, my sons, and take your wrath across the stars, in my name. In my memory. Rise, my Night Lords." ~Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter

 

"So... How are you?" ~Cyrion, First Claw

 

 


#24
The Vanquisher

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Wow! Just like that? I admit I did not see that coming..... The Lion forgiving Luther in the Sleep-vision? Resulting in Lion'el Jonson being finally released from his millenia-long slumber by the Watchers?... Bravo Manchu warlord! Sure the next and final touches of the story was far more shorter than I thought, but nevertheless it has proven to be a most poignant and most fitting end to that story.... MY KUDOS TO YOU!


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#25
Manchu warlord

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Much gratitude bannerman Vanquisher.  To be honest, I was lazy to write a detailed duel between the two combatants, where in the end, the Lion just overpowers his enemy because his will in the Emperor is strong.  Also, I figured this way would add a nice change in the way things are handled (not by violence). 

So yeah, like it or hate, it is official how the Lion will comeback teehee.gif msn-wink.gif.


Insult me again, brother, and theoretically I will punch you in your practical face.

 

 





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