Lion ElJonson moved through the forest, tracking prey that emitted a corrupting scent. His movements were swift and decisive, his armor fitting like a second skin.
Lion ElJonson found himself gradually leaving the familiar forests of his home, Caliban, entering an unfamiliar and perilous zone, where the source of the scent grew increasingly potent.
The hunter finally pinpointed his prey: three gigantic predators of different forms, threatening three thin, helpless humans.
He charged into battle without hesitation, severely wounding the beasts with precise attacks while protecting the humans. During the fight, his armor was damaged, and his helmet stained with blood, but he still brought down the beasts one by one with strength and speed.
When one predator attempted to counterattack, Lion ElJonson tore off his helmet and threw it to the humans, ordering them to wipe it clean. Although he had no memory of these strangers, he displayed selfless protection.
He continued to fight, using his strength against the corrupted forest and its predators, fulfilling his duty as a Guardian, even with a blank memory. Senile dementia had nothing to do with Lion ElJonson.
The beast roared again and charged at the Handsome Old Man, its lowered head like a striking hammer. The Handsome Old Man agilely leaped, avoiding the fatal blow, then grabbed the beast's sharp horn and jumped onto its shoulder.
The beast twisted wildly, trying to shake off the threat on its back, but the Handsome Old Man held firmly to the horn, and with a pull, snapped one of them off. He quickly plunged the broken horn into the beast's throat.
The beast roared in pain and fury, throwing the Handsome Old Man off, but blood was already gushing out. It stumbled to its feet, but without its former ferocity. Lion ElJonson clearly had no intention of torturing this poor creature; with an agile dodge, he plunged the broken horn straight into its skull, ending its life.
The Handsome Old Man looked back at the three humans: two adults and a terrified, sobbing child. One man tremblingly handed back the hunter's helmet:
"Sir, your helmet."
Lion ElJonson took it: "Thank you."
He did not put on the helmet, revealing a face similar to theirs.
"Where is this?"
"Calmas, Calmas, Sir," the man stammered.
Lion ElJonson frowned: "Take me to your camp."
The three led Lion ElJonson forward, he walked steadily, carrying the heavy corpse of the beast on his shoulder. The camp was crude, with about a hundred people living there, and the atmosphere was oppressive. The hunter threw the beast's corpse to the ground and said in a deep voice: "Who has a knife? I need to skin it."
The crowd watched in fear, whispering, and the name "Guardian" was repeatedly mentioned. Just as Lion ElJonson wondered who their "Guardian" was... as if summoned by the crowd's chant, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a Space Marine in black armor with a winged sword emblem on his chest.
He was much taller than the humans, yet slightly shorter than Lion ElJonson. He wore black armor with silver trim, and on his chest and left shoulder proudly stood an emblem: a winged sword.
Lion ElJonson's thoughts were like a thin glass window finally broken by a surging current. Images flashed rapidly through his mind, so fast he couldn't savor them.
Planets disintegrating around him, a longsword, more than one, the shape and appearance of the longswords constantly changing as he tried to see them clearly.
A giant beast with bat wings and sharp fangs constantly assailed him with its consciousness.
A figure radiating golden light, and an irritating figure... another planet, viewed from afar, death raining down like scattered drops at his command, yet he knew every snowflake-sized speck of light on the planet was a residential area; and, and, and—the Space Marine gritted his teeth and drew two weapons. Two bolter pistols immediately spat fire.
The bolter rounds fired by the Space Marine cut through the air but did not hit their target. This was not due to lack of skill; he had aimed and fired the moment he caught sight of the Handsome Old Man. However, in just a few microseconds, the Handsome Old Man had already moved away.
The Handsome Old Man did not choose the bustling crowd to his left, but instead dove to the right.
He did not want to draw the Space Marine's line of fire towards these mortals. They were neither swift nor resilient; the shockwave of a bolter round could be lethal. The Handsome Old Man leaped six or seven meters, his hands touching the ground to absorb the impact, while adjusting his center of gravity. He used his left hand as an axis to lift his feet, then leaped again.
The Handsome Old Man was airborne again in an instant, surging forward. However, the next moment, a huge shadow covered him.
Lion ElJonson, Primarch of the First Legion, heavily tackled the Space Marine to the ground.
The Space Marine tried to raise his weapons, but The Lion casually knocked the twin pistols away.
At this moment, memories flooded into Lion ElJonson's mind: Caliban, the Knights, his father and brothers, Horus's betrayal, Konrad Curze's abhorrence, the noble and tragic Sanguinius, the arrogant and flamboyant Russ... and the irritating Guilliman!
Terra engulfed in flames due to his tardiness, Caliban turning to ruins before his eyes. Finally, the overwhelming pain when facing Luther's betrayal.
Pain surged through his heart again like a tide. But now, he pushed these deep into his mind, firmly holding down the struggling Space Marine.
Lion ElJonson glanced at the battle-scarred black armor, the familiar emblem stirring something within him, so he immediately opened the Dark Angel's 'box' in front of him... "Knight of the Fifteenth Space Marine Chapter, Third Company, Second Destroyer Squad, Master of the Order of the Three Keys, Warrior of the Dreadwing... Zahariel."
The Space Marine's faceplate obscured his expression, but Lion ElJonson could feel him stop struggling, replaced by a sense of tension. The Primarch coldly spoke:
"Let him go!" Suddenly, someone screamed. The voice came from behind the Handsome Old Man.
"He is our Guardian!"
"He is a traitor." Lion ElJonson growled, the word seeming to burn as it erupted from his throat.
He stared at Zahariel, memories surfacing. This warrior was one of those he had sent back to Caliban years ago.
"You are the traitor!" Zahariel roared. "You abandoned us, abandoned Caliban, and even abandoned the Imperium!"
Lion ElJonson's anger flared: "Lies!"
But Zabriel's words stung his heart. Had he truly abandoned the Imperium? Had those moments of hesitation, those unspoken doubts, truly led to all of this?
"I'm full of lies? Then where have you been for the past ten thousand years?" Zabriel demanded.
Lion ElJonson paused. Ten thousand years? Impossible! Lion ElJonson then said: "Take off your helmet."
Zabriel hesitated for a moment, but ultimately obeyed the order. When the helmet came off, Lion ElJonson saw the face: dark brown skin, black hair, deep blue eyes. However, this face bore more marks of time than he remembered.
"It's impossible for ten thousand years to have passed," Lion ElJonson whispered. "Astartes don't age like this."
Zabriel gave a bitter smile: "The Warp Storm not only twisted space but also disrupted time. I returned to reality about four hundred years ago, and in the years since, I have been evading our younger brothers."
"Why would my sons hunt you?"
"Because they believe I betrayed you," Zabriel sneered. "But what about you? You returned with your fleet, yet you fired upon us without warning! You treated us as enemies, even personally killing those new recruits who had just donned their armor!"
Lion ElJonson was silent; he knew Zabriel was not lying. But the fragments of memory and the confrontation with reality left him deeply conflicted.
"Zabriel," Lion ElJonson asked in a low voice. "Do you dare swear to me? Swear that you are still loyal to the Emperor and humanity, and that you only raised your weapons because you believed you were betrayed?"
Zabriel looked directly into Lion ElJonson's eyes, unwavering: "I swear."
Lion ElJonson hesitated, remembering his brothers, remembering the memories intertwined with betrayal and loyalty. He nodded: "I believe you."
Zabriel, however, countered: "And you? Do you dare swear to me? Swear that you are still loyal to the Emperor and humanity, and that you only raised your weapons against us because you believed we betrayed you?"
Lion ElJonson pondered for a moment, because with age, his temper had improved, and he would no longer give a back-talking brat a 540-degree head spin... The Handsome Old Man finally nodded: "I swear."
Zabriel let out a sigh of relief, tears even welling up in his eyes.
"What have we done..." he murmured. "We took up arms against each other due to misunderstanding, hurting each other."
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