The Return of the Lion: Part I

[Wrath of Bruinen]

Dayyyyyyyyyyummm what a twist. What does this mean for the "Unforgiven"? Can't wait to find out

[Manchu warlord]

I can't wait to find out also mate .

[Brother Lunkhead]

Well done Brother

Edited March 5, 2019 by Brother Lunkhead

[Manchu warlord]

Greetings my fellow Banner-kindred, I wish to announce that I am currently formulating a story for the next segment of the Lion's dream-chronicle, except... the Lion has already awoken, so what will happen next is not a dream.

 

Also, I went back and edited the last segment, made it smoother and added more action scenes (the paragraph in red); just gives more life to that segment.

 

Now, I cannot say when the next segment will come out, I have not even began typing yet, just having ideas in my head.  So, if you guys are dying  to read what happens next , you are better off grabbing Solar War - which comes out in May - to sate your appetite. 

 

As always, thank you for reading my story.

[Wrath of Bruinen]

Agreed, the action scene breathes a bit more life into the piece.

 

Looking forward to what you come up with next

[The Vanquisher]

Ditto here! PLEASE LET IT COME SOON! Manchu warlord!

[Manchu warlord]

Hello fellas,

 

 

Agreed, the action scene breathes a bit more life into the piece.

 

Looking forward to what you come up with next

 

I actually went back to re-read the red-sections, as well as other parts of my writing, and boy!  I do have quite a few grammar mistakes , and I tend to miss-out words in a sentence .  I shall atone for my failings for this set of skills.

 

 

Ditto here! PLEASE LET IT COME SOON! Manchu warlord!

 

Dear The Vanquisher, your loyalty to my fan fiction never cease to inspire me. 

*Pats The Vanquisher on the shoulder*

Fear not, I am working on the next segment as we speak.  Though, it is quite challenging, and will take time......  

 

I rest my case for now.

[The Vanquisher]

That is great! I am most looking forward to its arrival, Manchu Warlord   :)

[Manchu warlord]

Brothers and sisters, it is finally here, the sixth excerpt of the story is right here! 

I have to say, I had to get very creative with this part of the story, I had to drag it, extend it, make the simple overlooked parts absurdly long.

This part is basically about once the Lion wakes up in his hidden resting place deep beneath the Rock, and how he makes his way to the citadel of the Rock, as well as getting to witness the reaction of one particularly special Dark Angels sergeant.

Once again, all of this is entirely made up on the manner of how I'd like to see the Lion return, so please don't take offense if you don't agree with my ideas.

Despite being a long excerpt, it lacking good action scenes.

If hope you fella enjoys, and as usual, beware of my grammar mistakes .

 

 

 

 

 

VI

Awaken

 

 

 

            Wake up.

            He opened his eyes.  Darkness answered him, accompanied by an absence of sound.

            He inhaled, then exhaled.  There was not a scent of any kind detectable in the air.

            Wake up.

            He closed his eyes slowly and opened them a second later.  Darkness answered him again.

            It took him two full seconds to realize he was very much awake, that his eyes were opened and functioning properly, but that his surroundings was absolute darkness, a complete absorption of all light.

            His transcognosis functions began to kick in, informing him of the situation his body was in.  He is naked.  He his lying down on his back.  The surface accommodating his resting form is some sort of smooth stone slab, chilling, despite the heat radiating from his body.

            He sat himself up and was met by a clacking sound with a funny pain along his spine.  His limbs were stiff, his tendons ached, and his muscles were weak from newfound vigor.  He moved his hands along the smooth cool surface of the slab, trying to find the dimensions and edges of it.    

             Then, very oddly, the blackness began to dim down, loosening some of its gamma influence.  It continued to lessen until his surroundings became discernable, revealing that he was in a cavern.  It was as if an invisible lamp was floating above him, and was very slowly lighting up the darkness.  Vibrancy and lightness became clearer, and he can see spiky stalactites hanging like icicles and jagged stalagmites rising like the leaves of Terror plants of Caliban.  Together, it created an appearance of a multitude of monsters on the horizon, jaws ajar, perpetually on alert.  Depths became more visible, revealing more and more rows of stalactites and stalagmites beyond the gloom as far as his eyes could see. 

A phantom breeze came from nowhere and passed through him.  He detected a faint scent of clear air, dirt and dry leaves, though there were none of those things in the cavern.  The smell from the breeze reminded him of somewhere he used to enjoy spending his time, somewhere that felt like home, somewhere far, yet very close.  Is is as if-      

            Then the memories began to return.

            Terra ablaze.  The Solar system laid to waste.  The birthworld of humanity was a ruined hellhole.  Yet, it endured, just like the Imperium - he will soon come to meet - endures.  

            The being that innately bleeds golden light, whose might and intellect was beyond the mortal mind to comprehend, that mere regular humans would call him a god.  This being is his father, and his dream was to orchestrate mankind into a bright golden future, to forever free it from the shackles of limitation and warp travel.  His glorious plan was forever quashed by the clawed hands of his own son, the most beloved of mankind’s princes: Horus bloody Lupercal. 

A another being, equally majestic and terribly hard to behold like his father, was an angel in all but name.  This being was his brother, everyone loves him, praises him, but he dislikes being called ‘the Angel’, instead, preferring to be addressed and treated in a manner of equality to everyone else, despite his rightful supremacy.  Secretly, that was why he was the best of them.  Now he is gone, slain by the hands of his beloved brother, Horus; The moon-wolf of Chaos, murdering the angel of the Emperor… the degree of Horus’ damnation was beyond imagining.   

            Himself, a proud and beautiful demigod portrayed as the lord of lions, was golden in colour, but cloaks himself in shadows, forever placing one pawed foot in the dark.  Another of his brother, an equally proud and beautiful demigod was the king of wolves, and he has no discretion in displaying his glorious mien of moonlit ice.  They fought like wild animals over a petty insult on ‘honour’, and the lion would have destroyed the wolf’s heart, but it pulled away its claws at the last moment.  The lion learnt a valuable lesson that day.

            In the aftermath, he returned to Caliban, wearied of war and bloodshed, but only to find his homeworld, the only place he ever truly loved, ablaze in the midst of fratricide… And Luther was there, right in the eye of the fiery warp storm that was engulfing Caliban.  Luther, damned Luther, his father, his brother, an apparition of the Grim Reaper.  He – It, struck him down, and he felt no more.

            But he did not die, and these memories were a long long time ago.  The galaxy has changed much since, yet, it also really has not.

            He slumbered, and slumbered, and slumbered for untold millennium thereafter.  His memories of the events that has happened were remembered in the way his mind perceived them.  He remembered each of them very carefully.  Remembered the places he went to, who were there - who were where, what the environment smelt like, and what else occurred beyond the bounds of the sixth sense. 

He dreamt a lot while he slept.  Dreaming about things that happened before he was created.  Things he remembered during his youth, surviving in the forest; his adolescent years, learning lessons of civility from sars and tutors; his years as the Grand Master of the Order, conducting wars on the monsters; his years as the Knight King of Caliban, managing the affairs of planet-ruling; his years as the Primarch of the First legion, waging wars in the galaxy for his beloved true father; his years during the heresy of Horus, wreaking vengeance upon the traitors; and his years after that… 

            He remembers everything now.  I am the king of knights.  Most of all, he remembered the visit of his son, Lord Cypher Zahariel.  I am the lord of angels.  He came to him in his dream, guided him out of the dreamverse and helped brought him back to consciousness.  I am the Primarch of the First legion.  He showed him the ramification of his fall and what transpired in the galaxy after he was laid low by Luther.  I am the Lion.

            He moved his body to the side of the slab, found an end, dropped his feet to the floor and stood up straight.  The floor was cool to his naked feet, but was rough like unhewn stone.  The breeze continued to pour into the cavern, sending chills along his naked body.   

            And there they were, the Watchers in the Dark, standing along the rows of stalagmites closet to him.  Their orange eyes, glowing like pairs of suns in the depths of their dark hoods.  It is as if they have always been there, watching him from the beginning, judging him, and only now appearing visible to him as his memories returned.

            ‘Where am I?’  He asked them.

            ‘Where do you think?’  They asked him back in a chorus.  Their voices coming from everywhere all around the cavern, as well as inside his head.

            He closed his eyes as he replied, and took a dramatic inhale of breath, as if remembering the scent of the forest air, ‘Caliban’. 

            ‘Yes’ they answered.  Their tone unapparent.

            ‘Caliban was destroyed’, his tone was soft, worn from the tiredness of mysteries.  

            ‘Yes.  Yet, here you are, standing in the netherworld the dead planet.’  Their voices were quite intimidating that it was getting on his nerves.  He did not remember them being this unpleasant in the past.  Even in his dream very recently, their voices then were bearable, and strangely, a little bit comforting.

            He did not say anything.  His silence was the answer the Watchers needed.

            ‘Caliban was exterminated, as you know.’  The voice that spoke came from behind him, and it was certainly not that of the Watchers’.  He turned around and Lord Cypher Zahariel stood there, in the same occult regalia as he had worn when he visited him in his dream.  Expect that right here, he is unhooded, revealing a relatively youthful face with raven hair and minimal scaring.  ‘The planet exploded into billions of pieces, some the size of sand grains, and some the size planetoids.’  As he spoke, the Primarch noticed that he was holding a clean piece of umber robe.  He thinks he knows what it is for. 

            Zahariel continued, ‘Aldurukh, our fortress home survived relatively intact upon the bedrock it sits upon.  It drifted in space for some time as a moon-sized planetoid until it was discovered by your surviving sons.  The Dark Angels then made extensive reforms to the planetoid, refitted with excessive void shieldings, as well as attaching it with a warp engine.  They have essentially turned it into a portable moon.’  He spoke the last sentence with a grin to his tone. 

            The Primarch then spoke, ‘the planet destroyed and its population extinct.  Yet, it still lives, a very vital part of it survived, and my sons are its keeper.  Where the legion goes, Caliban goes with them, and visits vengeful judgement upon our foes, I’ll take?’    

            There was a slight hesitation on Zahariel’s face, as if he is afraid of something, or surprised at what his liege lord has gauged at.  ‘Indeed, sire, that is the situation.  Right above us is the heart of the Dark Angels, where your legacy lies.  Up there’, he pointed his finger up at the ceiling, ‘is where your sons live, train, learn and strategize war plans.  Your sons recruit initiates from worlds that are under the Dark Angels’ protectorate, and from them, produce some of the finest and most loyally dedicated warriors of the Imperium… The legacy of Caliban endures’.  There was a slight pause before he continued.  ‘Although, this cavern does not exist on the same material plane is one you came from.  If one was to drill down from directly above us, they will eventually meet the surface on the other side of the planetoid, and completely miss this place.  Where we are now is a different dimension, a Caliban of a different when and where.  It’s… weird, sire’.  As he finished speaking, he slowly walked towards the Lion, holding the umber robe out in front of him in both hands, as if offering tribute to a god. 

            The Primarch has completely forgotten that he was naked.  Slightly demeaned, he looked around to see if the Watchers were still there.  They were.  His surrounding has all but drained of the chill, and provided a warmth feeling that could only be found in his beloved power armour.

            He spoke as his son stopped in front of him.  ‘This is now the Imperial year of millennium 42, and I have been asleep for over ten thousand years.’  Zahariel nodded and reached the robe out to him.  The Primarch looked as if he did not see the gesture, and continued to speak.  ‘The Imperium endures, but is on the brink of chaos and its survival hangs on a blade’s edge.  Its continued existence is only possible due to my brother, Roboute, keeping everything together.  And he is the only one of my brothers known to be around?’  Zahariel nodded to confirm what his Primarch had said, his hand holding out the robe was still outstreched.  The Lion looked down at it for several seconds before he took it and started putting it on. 

            ‘The Emperor is calling his sons back.  Lord Guilliman was the first to return, and you will be the second.’  Zahariel spoke, just as the Lion was finishing putting on the robe, tying the rope around the waist as the last step; he is a naked lion no more.  ‘The age of Primarchs is returning.  Angels will walk amongst men once more, to battle the enemies, the heretics and the daemons in an apocalyptic struggle, one last time.’  The sudden flare of poetic-speech took the Lion by surprise.  He did not say anything as his son finished speaking.  Zahariel, likewise, appears to be lost for words also. 

            They were saved from the awkward silence by the Watchers in the Dark.  ‘Are you ready?’ they spoke.

            ‘Yes’, was all the Lion said.

            The Lord Cypher Zahariel pulled a knife out of his pouch, the very same alien knife he used to cut through the dreamscapes, from one to another.  He turned around so his back was facing the Primarch, and made a single slit from the top right to the bottom left, touching the ground.  The slit began to split and widen on the sides, as if invisible hands are yanking the slit apart.  Zahariel backed away to stand behind the Primarch.  White light bled from it, which illuminated the gloom of the cavern dramatically, as if a sun had risen.  The Lion’s focus was dead ahead, ‘where will that take me?’

            Zahariel did not say anything, and the Lion looked around to see his son and the Watchers form a semi-circle behind him.  He understands now.  He will be going alone to reunite with his lost sons, after ten thousand years.  The Lord Cypher Zahariel El’Zurias is not welcomed in the court of the Dark Angels.  But also, he suspects, the Lord Cypher has no desire, nor cares to take part in any affairs of the Dark Angels, preferring to act as the Emperor’s shadow agent, His dark right-hand man, his guardian angel in the shadows…  That is his role, a messenger, a spy, a protector.  His mission now is to help bring back the remaining loyal sons that are out there.  The Lion smiled, but on the inside.  On the outside, his face is emotionless as it always is.   

            The Lion walked towards the portal but stopped short before entering the light.  He turned his face to the side, eyes casted at the ground, not looking behind.  ‘Which of my brothers will you go after next?’ he asked.

            The reply Zahariel made was not the answer to his question.  ‘Farewell father, we will meet again’.

            His face still to his side, the Lion nodded once, and stepped into the portal.  His son and the Watchers in the Dark looked on as he disappeared into the light, and the galaxy held its breath. 

 

 

            The second antechamber of the Hall of the Unseen used to be one of the many storerooms the serfs would keep their cleaning equipment of maintaining the halls of Aldurukh, making it pristine for most of the occasions.  Located deep in the subterranean levels, sometimes as a means of light chastisement, the knights-in-waiting would get sent here to perform in janitorial duties, for days or even weeks.  But all that was thousands of years ago, back when Aldurukh was still on terra firma of Caliban, back when Caliban was still a planet.  Now, it has been transformed into one of the antechambers of honuorable deeds for the Dark Angels Fifth company. 

            Artworks of various kinds decorate the room: artifacts; paintings; steles of old campaigns; weapons of Fifth company members that have fallen heroically; weapons and artifacts of worthy adversaries; scrolls, purity seals; oaths of moments; historical tomes; and carvings of the great beasts that used to roam Old Caliban.  

            Not large by any way, compared to scales of dimension to other objects the Space Marines are used to, but it serves the purpose as a place of remembrance for the Fifth company; and there are three such antechambers.  Eighteen by ten metres in dimension and five metres in height, with two pillars in the centre of the room, lengthwise.  The walls are covered with dark, dirty, ancient looking bricks, but they are just cosmetics now, a preservation of Old Caliban’s gothic architecture.  The foundations of the chamber’s walls are adamantium cemented to the bedrock of the planet – well, it is an asteroid now.  Three dozen electric-fueled candelabra provided illumination to the room, and despite a large amount of light, the shadows were still greedy.  Like all rooms within the Rock, they are set in a perpetual gloom; no matter how many candles are lit, how many phosphor lamps and neon torch turned on, there will always be shadows lurking nearby.

            Or it’s like a taint, something ill and unwanted in our chapter’s blood, something dark and terrible in our history that can never truly be expunged… whatever that ill – unwanted thing could be?  Why else does our chapter cloak ourselves in hoods and shadows, and dwell in the dark?  No other loyal chapters - well, except the Raven Guard for obvious reasons – are saturated in darkness as much as we do.  What are we hiding?  Well, why think about it, I’ll never know...  These are the thoughts that occupied sergeant Surhaci Jin of the Fifth company, the sole occupant of the room.  

            Sergeant Jin does know of the humble origins of this room, but if he did, he would most likely find it intriguing.  He is a warrior of the old type.  Aye, there are still old-type warriors indeed.  The Primaris may be the future of the Adeptus Astartes, but us old-typers will still be around for sometimes… maybe even forever.  At only 70 years of age, sergeant Jin has had a very successful and glorious career, one which he only hopes to add to his prestige.  He loves spending time in all the three antechambers of the Unseen hall, more so than any brothers of his company.  He also likes to explore the achievement and remembrance halls of the other companies, investigating their differences and learning about their honourable deeds.      

            Free of armour and garbed in only a bone-white sleeveless robe, he knelt down to examine a gigantic orkish cleaver.  It is so absurdly large, it makes Jin look like a child playing with an Astartes-sized weapon; indeed, it will take him two hands to wield it, even with power armour.  The cleaver belonged to an ork warlord by the name of Narzogg of the Green Gore clan, a tributary sub-clan of the Bad Moons.  That would imply that the Narzogg was a “lesser” warlord, if such a category exists in the Imperial archives. 

            During the ork invasion of Erdyne in 102.M42, the Fifth, Sixth and Eight companies went to battle the orks, alongside two companies from the Knights of the Crimson Order chapter, and the Third company of the Guardians of the Covenant chapter.  It was a glorious campaign that lasted a mere eight days, and only the lives 172 battle-brothers from the five companies were lost, while over ten thousand orks were butchered. 

            The campaign was of great significances to Jin, because it saw of the promotion of him into the sergeant he now is, but at the cost of his former sergeant’s life, sergeant Tycho, who was slain by warlord Narzogg.    

            He ran his fingers along the bloodstained blade, and the memories of the events began to play back in his head:  The roof the Bython district’s manufactorum was collapsing on them, the debris and dust was overwhelming and obscuring his helmet’s senses.  It did not matter, the warlord must die, and he will end it.  Sergeant Tycho’s blood still stained his hands as he held the upper half of his dying sergeant, hearing his last words, ‘kill it’.  It was also an order.  He ignored the uncountable ork carcasses and the dead bodies of his fallen brothers, and pursued Narzogg…

He smiled coldly at the chase.  It was a glorious moment.  His sergeant was able to wound the ork warlord significant before he was severed in twain by this very cleaver he held.  He saw it happening.  Blood, so much blood, more blood than he though a space marine’s body contained fountained out like a collapsed dam.      

            Aware that he is still the only occupant of the room, he took the ork cleaver out from its plinth, held it in trembling hands and continued to reminisce on the events:  It was limping like a maimed beast, but was still very much capable of killing him.  He finally caught up to it and emptied his entire bolter’s clip onto its torso.  Some bolt rounds deflected off its crude armour plates, but most found their mark in its flesh and gouged fist sized craters.  It bellowed in pain at him, the voice so loud it could be herd through the tumbling building.  Holstering his bolter, he pulled his chainsword out and charged the damned monster. 

            Cleaver in its right hand, its left hand was severed below the elbow, it swung its weapon sideways at him.  He ducked, a fingers width from lopping his head off, and struck his chainsword into its groin, where its armour was absent.  Blood splatter and a titanic roar answered him.  It returned a swing and he had to pull away to avoid being cut in half like his sergeant.  It swung its cleaver at him, which he avoided carefully.  It swung the weapon widely again, but this time, he ran into its guard, beyond its swinging arc, and leapt onto its anterior armour.  His left hand holding himself in place, he drove his chainsword into its armpit where no armour protected it, and drove it in deep.  An even greater splatter of blood and a louder beastly bellowing answered him.  It released its cleaver and threw him away.  He was not able to relinquish his chainsword, so he left it jammed there, where it continued to saw through its side.  It did not cease its scream of pain as it grabbed the chainsword and yanked it out, which produced a spectacular blood splatter.

            It got down on all three, agonized, panting hard, and blood continued to flow out like a crimson waterfall.  Mortally wounded now, but it has his weapon, so how was he to finish it off?

            He smiled again, relishing the memory and savoring the agony of the beast.  This was the best part, right at the climax.  As if on some divinely, coincidental queue, a large piece of the roof fell right onto the beast, crushing it.  It was squashed, armour crushed, bones broken, and flesh ripping under the impact.  Its head twisted to the side, its remains were mangled beneath the weight, and blood oozed out the most.  But it still lived, breathing slowing, eyes blinking in utter pain and hatred. 

            This was it.  Jin walked slowly towards the downed warlord, overly confident his prey is finished, (as well that a piece of the roof would not fall on him).  He stared into its yellow eyes, those hateful orbs.  He reached down and lifted the cleaver up, grunting at the weight of it.  He stroked his fingers along the balde, never stopped smiling for a moment.  In one fluid motion, he swung it above his head - like a man chopping wood - and brought the blade down onto its head.  It is dead now.  He has avenged his sergeant.  Now he just has to get out of the manufacto-            

            He was so distracted by the nostalgia of his most glorious achievement (so far), he was completely taken by surprise when a flash white light burst from behind him and illuminated the room.

            He quickly, but gently, placed the cleaver back down on its plinth and turned around.  The white light was all blinding that he had to shut his eyes and put his hands in front of his face.  He went down into a crouch, more of a defensive response than being cowed.  The electric candles were extinguished, and for a brief moment, all the shadows in the room was banished, even the ones behind objects, where the white light seems to warp around it and obscure the darkness.

            Then the light began to dim down gradually to tolerable levels for his transhuman eyes to bare, and he slowly opened his eyes.  He saw the outline of a giant beastly figure, standing in front of what looks like a diagonal slit on the air, which was where the white light was pouring out from.  It was still so blinding that features of the thing were indistinguishable.  He also notices multiple squads of hooded children standing in a row behind the giant figure.  He finds their sight unnerving, as if their child-like appearances were just a guise, and that they are altogether something much viler.

            Finally, the light died out all the way, the slit/portal on the air closed-up, and the electric candles relit themselves.  What emerged, was revealed in full vivid detail. 

            Surhaci Jin thought he had gone mad.  What he saw defied comprehension.  It was the unthinkable, the unimaginable, so impossible he would not even dream about it.  He was shocked dumb, numb to the core, he could not breath, could barely remember his name.  He could barely stay awake.  And with eyes wide, he immediately got onto his knees, touched the floor with his head and left it there.  He would soon believe the Emperor himself has risen from his Golden throne than the emergence of this being of legend. 

            He has never seen this figure before, indeed no one has for over ten thousand years.  Yet, he knew immediately who he was - not because he has seen thousands of statues, paintings, mosaics and other forms of artwork throughout the Rock and within Dark Angels’ star ships – but because of something primal, something in the genetic level, woven into his DNA after his transformation into a transhuman.  This being was none other than the Primarch Lion El’Jonson, his Primarch, his gene-sire, his father. 

            Not moving a muscle, nor daring to look up for an instant for fear of going blind, or some other ailment as a side-effect of his godly majesty. 

            ‘Rise, my son’, the Primarch broke the silence.

            Still very much stupefied, and he will continue to be so for the next hour, yet, his limbs appeared to obey the command of another.  Indeed, it was obeying his father’s will, recovering faster than his wit.  He stood up straight and proud.

            ‘Look at me’, commanded his father. 

            He looked up and took in the full details of his father’s majesty clearly.  Tall, at least two heads taller than himself.  Jade eyes in a handsome, sculpted aquiline face, which fair hair flowed elegantly from, like a golden waterfall.  A knee length, sleeveless umber robe covered a massively muscled frame, yet, with all that bulk, there is much aestheticism to it, like an ancient Hellenistic statue. 

            He was beautiful, he was majestic, he was… royal!

            Since his first year after indoctrination, as he became a scout, then a battle-brother of the Fifth, and eventually its sergeant, he was told by the chapter’s Chaplains that the Lion El’Jonson, the Primarch of the Dark Angels - and various other chapters of the Lion’s lineage - was dead, slain by the arch-traitor Horus during the fabled days of the Horus Heresy.  He realizes now he has been lied to all along, being kept in blissful ignorance by his mentors.  But he could care less about that right now, it was the least of the shock he was feeling, if he was even considering the treasonous conditioning programs of it at all.    

            He could not bare it.  It was too much.  Too good to be true.  He dropped down onto his knees again, blabbering indignantly like a madman, ‘my lord.  My lord, O’my lord, my Primarch. Sire, you’ve come, you’ve returned to us.  I do not believe it, you’ve come to us… my lord!’

His father reached down and grabbed his elbow.  The grip was unyielding, but warm, and guided him back unto his feet.  He looked up into his father’s green eyes again, green like the lost forests of Caliban.  This time gaining significant composure. 

            ‘What is your name?’ asked the Primarch.

            ‘Jin, sire.  Surhaci Jin, sergeant of the Fifth company’, he answered.

            ‘Sergeant Jin, where am I?’ the Primarch asked again.

            ‘You are in the hall of Unseen, sire… the second antechamber’.  He replied, as if he expected his liege to know.

            ‘And where is this hall of the Unseen at?’ his father’s tone was unchanging, not hiding his ignorance of the place.

            ‘It is in the Rock, my lord, the fortress monastery of the Dark Angels’, replied Jin.  He took a momentary glance at the hooded dwarf-things, noticed their malevolent orange eyes, and quickly returned his eyes to those green orbs of his Primarch’s.

The Primarch did not move for a moment.  Jin was considering to ask his Primarch a question.  Actually, he wanted to ask his Primarch, his father, a million questions, but before he could, his father smiled.  It was a very unnerving sight, like a warm fatherly figure protecting his ward, at the same time, a cunning beast with a confident that its target is helpless.

            ‘Sergeant Jin.  Will you take me to see the rest of my sons?’ his father asked.

 

 

 

 

That is it my mates, the Lion has finally returned - or at least, how I'd imagine the manner of his return to be.  Will their be more excerpts?  Maybe, maybe not, I certainly have not been thinking about it.  Technically, my work is done, the Lion has returned, what happens next is up to you people to use your imagination! 

 

As usual, I appreciate you people reading my fanfiction immensely, and I hope you enjoyed this last one, or least, not been disappointed by how I handled it.

[The Vanquisher]

Hehehehehehehe.... Bravo Manchu warlord! Surhaci Jin huh? Sounds like a name-play for Nurhaci Aisin Gioro, the man who laid the groundwork for his descendants in eventually invading and conquering the Middle Kingdom.... and establish the Manchu Qing dynasty of China... a Manchu warlord indeed..... Impeccably done the story by the way, good pacing, inserted with appropriate drama, an interesting concept behind the scenes.... The flashbacks got me riveted ... What else can I say? It's great!.... Will there be a next chapter, if so when is it coming?

Edited June 25, 2019 by The Vanquisher

[Manchu warlord]

Hehehehehehehe.... Brother Vanguisher, I'm glad you find this excerpt to your liking, despite it not being full-to-the-brim with action .  I thought I was being funny and creative with the Lion waking up naked and the Lord Cypher Zahariel comes to him with his clothes.

 

As for the name of our new friend, sergenat Jin...  Surhaci is actually a brother of Nurhaci Aision-Gioro.  I'm impressed you know quite a bit about this .     

I am the Manchu warlord, do you except me to name my original characters with European names?  'ell no mate!!!

 

As to your last question "Will there be a next chapter, if so when is it coming?"  I... can't say.  I mean, at this point, the Lion has returned and is back in the Rock, does it "need" to be written down?  I'd rather think you folks could use your imagination on how the rest of the chapter would reactor to their Primarch's return, and by the Emperor, it's a chapter now, not a legion, how would the Lion react to that?  Also, if their is to be a next excerpt, it will involved a lot more of the POVs of the chapter members, which I do not think I am equipped to write about.

[The Vanquisher]

I am a bit of a history buff myself, Manchu warlord.... You ...can't say huh?(concerning the next chapter). How about making a new story that picks up where "Return of the Lion" left off?... Surely that's a prospect worth considering?

Edited June 26, 2019 by The Vanquisher

[Brother Lunkhead]

Bravo honorable Grandson Once again you have scribed a wonderous tale that is a delight to the mind

[Manchu warlord]

I am a bit of a history buff myself, Manchu warlord.... You ...can't say huh?(concerning the next chapter). How about making a new story that picks up where "Return of the Lion" left off?... Surely that's a prospect worth considering?

 

Good to know, young banner-brother Vanquisher.  Well, when you put it that way - 'a new story that picks up where "Return of the Lion" left off' - then their could be additional stories to write about.  How about You write about them ?  

 

 

Bravo honorable Grandson Once again you have scribed a wonderous tale that is a delight to the mind

 

Much appreciated glorious imperial emperor grandfather.  Anything you wish to say to this last except, asides form an overall comment?  Parts you liked?  Things I did, that you found interesting?  Things you think I could've done differently or shouldn'tve done?

[calgar101]

A very enjoyable read and what motivated me to finally start my fan fiction. \Any more works planned?