Chapter 93: Debts of Blood
The old man's eyes held deep despair that spoke of decades under alien rule. His final breath escaped as a rattling whisper, leaving behind only unfinished business and unanswered questions.
His hand fell against blood-stained stone, fingers still clutching fragments of hope that had died with him.
Lion El'Jonson knelt beside the fallen ruler, his face softening with something like compassion, an expression rarely seen on the Lord of Caliban.
For a moment, the perfect features revealed the man beneath the legend.
"Find peace in the Emperor's light," he murmured, closing the dead man's eyes with surprising gentleness.
When the Primarch rose, all softness vanished. The Master of the First Legion stood revealed in full, unstoppable, terrible, and utterly committed to justice.
"We advance," he commanded, his voice carrying the authority of one born to rule.
The palace's inner sanctum lay in ruins, its ancient glory destroyed by savage violence. Corridors that once echoed with courtly talk now held only silence broken by their footsteps.
Bodies covered marble floors like discarded dolls, their faces frozen in terror that spoke of final moments beyond imagination.
Wall paintings showing the colony's golden age bore claw marks and blood spatters, while sculptures crafted by master artists lay shattered among human remains. The destruction spoke of deliberate hate rather than simple hunting, this had been revenge, not hunger.
"Such butchery," Afuka observed, her augmetic eyes recording evidence while her human heart recoiled from the carnage. "These creatures will answer for their crimes."
"Indeed," Lion agreed, his tone promising absolute payback. "Whatever realm spawned these things, we shall find it. They shall learn that humanity's justice goes beyond death itself."
Their path led to the palace's heart, where the ruler's throne room sprawled in ruin. Glowing fungi provided weak light, casting moving shadows across walls slick with frozen blood.
Steam-powered machinery continued its mechanical rhythm, grinding gears and hissing pistons creating a funeral song for the slaughtered.
Their search revealed what they sought, a hidden entrance disguised among ornate wall panels. Astelan's scanners detected hollow spaces beyond, suggesting chambers large enough to house significant secrets.
"Hidden passages," the veteran observed. "Our answers lie within."
Lion approached the concealed door, his enhanced senses detecting movement beyond. As his gauntleted hand touched the switch,
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Muzzle flashes erupted from the darkness beyond, primitive firearms firing in desperate bursts.
Bullets sparked against the Primarch's armor, leaving scratches that would have been mortal wounds to lesser beings.
"Hold fire!" Lion commanded, raising his hand to stop his companions' return shots. His superhuman hearing told him the attackers' nature through their weapons' sound. "Children. They are merely children."
"Come out," he called into the shadows, changing his voice to show authority without threat. "We come not as conquerors but as liberators."
Several figures stepped into the throne room's dim light, youngsters bearing the marks of nobility despite their current state.
They trembled with barely controlled terror, yet their leader maintained dignity that spoke of breeding and training.
"Identify yourselves," the boy demanded, his voice cracking slightly with stress and youth.
"I am Lion El'Jonson, Primarch of the First Legion," came the measured reply. "We serve the Imperium of Man. You may know this woman as the diplomatic envoy who sought peaceful contact with your people."
"Slowo Talin, heir to the Talin bloodline," the youth responded, then fixed Afuka with an accusing glare. "Your presence brought doom upon us. We warned you repeatedly to leave, yet you kept trying to make contact."
His voice broke with grief and rage. "My sister tried to tell you our situation through a hidden message, hoping you would understand our desperation and stop your visits. The monsters saw her act as defiance and brought punishment upon our entire city."
Afuka's bionic eyes dimmed with regret. "We sought only to extend the Emperor's protection. Your suffering was never our intention."
"No power can shield us," Slowo declared bitterly, rolling back his sleeve to reveal the intricate snowflake marking that Lion had observed on the corpses.
"These brands mark us as property. Distance means nothing, they penetrate our dreams, invade our thoughts, hunt us through our very minds."
"Why do they harbor such hatred?" Afuka pressed, though her expression suggested she suspected the answer.
"Payback," Slowo replied simply.
"During humanity's golden age, our ancestors drove these creatures into the void's cold embrace. Now that we have grown weak, they return to collect old debts with interest."
Lion nodded grimly. The pattern was depressingly familiar.
During the Dark Age of Technology, humanity had expanded across the galaxy with ruthless efficiency, displacing or destroying any species that opposed their expansion.
When human civilization collapsed, many of those exiled races had returned seeking revenge against their former oppressors' descendants.
"We can end this cycle," the Primarch declared, gesturing toward Astelan. The veteran produced the severed head of their earlier enemy, placing it before the terrified youngsters.
The children recoiled as if struck. "Madness!" Slowo gasped. "They never hunt alone. Your violence will summon the entire pack!"
"We encountered many such creatures arranged throughout the palace," Afuka explained. "We assumed your people had stored their remains."
"Impossible," Slowo protested.
"Those were its kin, cursed beings from the Warp's depths. During rest, they take the appearance of harmless statues. Only when the hunt begins do they become living nightmares."
The warning came too late. Lion's enhanced body registered the change before any baseline human could react, the Gene-Engine's alerts cascaded through his consciousness like digital fire.
[Anomalous psychic signatures detected. Immaterium breach imminent. Multiple hostile entities materializing.]
Inhuman growls echoed from the palace's outer chambers, growing closer with each passing moment. Through doorways and shattered windows, shadows moved with purpose that spoke to supernatural intelligence.
More than a dozen creatures flowed into the throne room like living nightmares, each standing taller than two men, their forms combining bestial savagery with unnatural grace.
Where pure white fur should have marked them as creatures of winter beauty, blood stains created patterns of crimson horror. Their eyes held intelligence that mocked their bestial appearance, promising cruelty beyond mortal understanding.
The children collapsed in terror, their courage finally broken by the sight of their tormentors. "We are finished," Slowo whispered. "So many... they will flay us alive for sport."
"No," Lion El'Jonson declared, drawing his master-crafted blade. The weapon's disruption field hummed to life, its edge capable of cutting molecular bonds.
"They will find only death, and your people will know freedom."
His companions abandoned their bolt weapons, having learned from previous encounters that the creatures possessed supernatural defenses against projectile attacks. Chainswords roared to life while power weapons crackled with barely contained energy.
Lion charged without hesitation, his superhuman body propelling him forward faster than normal eyes could follow. The lead creature met his assault with claws extended, confident in its otherworldly might.
It had never faced a Primarch.
Claw met blade in a shower of sparks that lit the throne room like lightning. The daemon, for daemon it surely was, possessed strength that could crush Space Marines, yet found itself matched by the Emperor's son.
Lion's counterattack severed its arm at the shoulder, sending the limb spinning away to dissolve into crystalline snow.
The battle became a whirlwind of violence as superhuman warriors engaged creatures of the Warp. Each swing of Lion's sword carved through supernatural flesh, each block deflected attacks that would have shattered stone.
His gene-sons fought with the fury of the righteous, their weapons taking terrible tolls upon enemies that existed partially beyond physical law.
When the last creature fell, the throne room had become a winter landscape painted in supernatural frost. The temperature dropped as dying daemons released their essence, covering ancient furnishings in sheets of ice that gleamed like diamonds.
With their tormentors dead, the children's terror began to fade. Trust replaced fear in young eyes that had witnessed too much suffering.
"There are others," Slowo explained, leading them toward another concealed passage.
"Over two thousand survivors, children too young to work, women carrying the next generation. When the creatures began their latest hunt, my grandfather commanded that all non-combatants be sealed within our ancestors' final sanctuary."
The hidden chambers stretched deeper than the palace foundations, carved from living rock during humanity's golden age.
Here, sophisticated life support systems maintained breathable air while automated food synthesis provided sustenance for the refugees.
Children huddled together for warmth while pregnant women tended them with maternal instincts that went beyond species-wide trauma.
"Your grandfather was a hero," Afuka observed, her voice heavy with respect for the dead ruler's sacrifice. "I witnessed his final stand, he fought until the very end."
Slowo nodded, struggling to contain grief that threatened to overwhelm him. "He was everything I hoped to become."
Above ground, the sounds of renewed conflict echoed through stone corridors.
The Stormbird crews had fought off attacks on their vessels while calling for reinforcements from the orbital fleet.
As Lion emerged with his rescued charges, gunships descended through intensifying snowfall like metallic angels, their weapon systems painting the night with las-fire and missile trails.
The creatures possessed psychic abilities that went beyond normal physical limits, yet raw firepower applied with Imperial efficiency proved adequate to the task.
Daemon-flesh could not indefinitely withstand the fury of humanity's war machines.
Still, greater challenges awaited. Bale IV approached the deepest phase of its orbital cycle, when frigid night would grip the world for months.
During this season, the surviving creatures would emerge in vast numbers, seeking to wash away ancient humiliations in oceans of human blood.
The hunt was far from over.
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