The gate's controls, however, seemed unaffected by these abominable acts. Lion ElJonson turned to look behind him.
"Stay behind me until we know what we're up against," he told Zabriel, then reached out to open the gate.
The gate began to open slowly with an overburdened groan, a sound that seemed more like the machine's agony than the complaint of worn-out components.
As the gate slowly opened, translucent threads between the doors slowly straightened and tightened in mid-air. More and more fine lines seemed to converge, then suddenly snapped, falling limply to both sides of the gate with a faint hiss.
The space ahead was dim, lit only by a strange yellowish-green glow in one spot, otherwise filled with mist. The humming grew louder, and then a voice emerged from the darkness before them.
"He came after all, the broken knight. Didn't I tell you?"
The voice's tone and manner sounded like it belonged to a Space Marine, but no attack followed. Moreover, Lion ElJonson's appearance seemed to introduce some uncertainty regarding his identity or nature.
"You were waiting for me?" Lion ElJonson demanded, stepping into the room. "Show yourself!"
He adjusted his helmet's visual settings, and his auspex picked up other figures as another voice appeared.
"Whom do you serve?" The voice was cold and emotionless, like the dead void between the stars.
The room behind the gate was a sizable hall, which The Lion guessed might have been the war room of the Space Marine who once guarded this place. The damage from the battle for the fortress was evident, with bullet holes and impact marks scarring the surrounding walls.
There were no recognizable objects left in the room for The Lion to identify; no holograms or cogitator arrays were in sight. Instead, thick cables, like gleaming serpents, snaked across the floor, connecting to a massive transparent tank against the wall. The yellowish-green light emanated from this tank, illuminating the figures standing before it.
Seven Space Marine stood before the tank, each showing clear signs of corruption. Five of them, armed with Bolters, appeared to be from the same squad; their power armor sprouted various horns, protrusions, and grotesque limbs.
Behind them stood two more: one, taller and cloaked, held a spiked longsword; the other's shoulders, even for a Space Marine, seemed unusually broad, and Lion ElJonson noticed upon closer inspection that he wore a cloak made of human skin.
In the dim room, The Lion could not discern their badges or markings, but their armor was adorned with constantly overlapping clusters of golden eyes.
Most importantly, they did not yet know if Lion ElJonson was friend or foe. To them, The Lion was a giant figure in unfamiliar black armor, even with the Legion's winged sword on his chest plate.
It seemed this symbol was no longer so famous in this era. (Lion ElJonson: Damn it! Who doesn't know me?!)
Lion ElJonson had never sought the awe of others, nor did he care for such things. But he knew that his nature as a Primarch often attracted such emotions. As he moved across the hall, approaching the Space Marine, he tried to extend his Primarch's presence, drawing their attention.
"I serve myself," The Lion declared. "Whom do you serve?"
He frowned as a strange sensation, like a faint, threadlike trace, brushed lightly across his mind.
"His mind is sharp as a blade," the tall Space Marine murmured. The Lion's mouth turned down.
"Get out of my mind, psyker," Lion ElJonson growled, not bothering to hide his disgust and hostility, as he was reminded of Magnus and Malcador's psychic mind-reading.
Five previously lowered Bolters instantly rose, pointing at him, but The Lion did not stop. He was close enough, and these men could not possibly know his capabilities.
"Don't come any closer," the one wearing human skin said coldly.
Lion ElJonson completely ignored his words, just as he would not obey any Space Marine's command. Those who craved power desired obedience above all else: they would endlessly repeat their orders and miss the opportunity to command fire, because dead men cannot obey their commands.
"I said—" The old man suddenly erupted, charging into the line of fire. The Primarch's rush directly knocked two Space Marine to the ground.
The old man bent down using his left arm as an axis, and with the remaining momentum, he lifted one of his victims and hurled him towards the psyker, who hadn't yet reacted.
Then the battle truly began; his opponents were not Primarchs, but they were Space Marine, and their reactions were far superior to those of the mortal cultists before.
A bolter round ricocheted off Lion ElJonson's power pack, and another off his left shoulder guard. The Lion retreated in the direction he came, hoping they would accidentally hit their own comrades in an attempt to hit him, but these traitors were clearly well-trained.
At that moment, another person suddenly twitched, then was struck down by a bolter round flying from another direction. Zabriel burst from the shadows, his twin pistols firing continuously.
The Lion still did not stop. His iron fist smashed into the faceplate of one of the traitors. The ceramite shattered under the blow, and the traitor was sent flying. But another extended his arm and charged, his hand now either transformed into a bird's claw, seemingly fused with some indescribable flesh.
The old man seized the attacker's wrist and twisted it sharply, then swung him around like a nunchaku, just like the Hanma family's secret technique in "Baki."
The Astartes he had knocked down earlier had just gotten back on his feet when he was slammed to the ground again.
Zabriel also moved past his first victim, charging towards the psyker with a shout. power swords and Chainswords clashed, erupting in a shower of sparks and a teeth-grinding screech, like nails on a chalkboard.
The Commander roared, charging at Lion ElJonson, his power maul poised. The old man chopped off the hammerhead with an open hand, then slammed the Commander into his chest, breaking him over his knee. The traitor died instantly.
Zabriel shrieked as the psyker enveloped him in a sinister glow. Lion ElJonson picked up a Bolter and shot the psyker, allowing Zabriel to decapitate him with his Chainsword.
Lion ElJonson disgustedly threw down the Bolter and crushed the skull of another traitor. Three were dead, and the remaining four were stunned by The Lion's ferocity.
Suddenly, warp turbulence surged, and two massive figures appeared. They were once Space Marine, now their flesh and armor fused, grotesque and terrifying.
Lion ElJonson instinctively reached for a non-existent weapon, a half-beat too slow, and the enemies attacked without hesitation.
A rocket struck Lion ElJonson's chest, the explosion sending him flying into the wall, triggering alarms. A dense barrage of fire followed. The Lion dodged the bullet storm, and one monstrous figure swung a massive fist at him, again sending him flying through the wall. The monster furiously pounded the wall, trying to pursue.
Lion ElJonson got up, checking his damaged armor, realizing his power pack was precarious. He needed to create distance but had no ranged weapons. He looked around, finding himself in an armory, albeit looted, but perhaps something remained.
Lion ElJonson weaved between weapon racks, dodging enemy fire. He picked up a Bolter magazine and a frag grenade. A monster charged into view, its right foot massive and deformed. The Lion threw the grenade, landing it precisely at its feet; the explosion knocked it over.
Another mutated traitor appeared at the end of the corridor, with gun barrels growing from its arms. Lion ElJonson dove to dodge, bullets striking where he had just been.
He closed in on the traitor, punching its exposed ribs and tearing off the weapon from its body. Another gun barrel extended from the traitor's shoulder flesh, pointing directly at Lion ElJonson.
Lion ElJonson dodged the hail of bullets, only to be sent flying again by an enemy's heavy punch. He got up, threw the Bolter magazine at the monster, detonating the magazine, and used the opportunity to retreat.
Is this Chaos? Lion ElJonson thought. Ever-changing, twisting the familiar, bestowing unimaginable ferocity. He resolved to eliminate these Heretics, but he needed conditions to turn the tide.
He groped his way to the back of the armory, hiding in a smaller room adorned with banners representing campaigns and heroic deeds. He felt a sense of resolute determination; this was a meditation chamber for the Crimson Crescent warriors.
Bullets grazed his helmet, igniting a banner. The traitors pursued.
And suddenly, the broken wall before him seemed like the branches of an ancient tree, and the ceiling above like a low-hanging canopy... The ground beneath his feet turned into a smooth, damp, massive rock, upon which a cold gleam flashed... It was a sword hilt.
Lion ElJonson grasped the hilt and drew it out. It was an elegant power sword, its guard carved with winged arms embracing the blade.
The symbol of the Dark Angels, and the personal mark of The Lion himself. He activated the energy field, and the disruption field covered the blade.
The dreamlike forest vanished, and he was back in the ruins of the fortress, two massive figures closing in.
Lion ElJonson charged, catching the traitors off guard; one's barrage hit its companion.
Lion ElJonson severed the enemy's right elbow, slamming it into the wall. He dodged bullets from the other traitor, then turned and shredded the giant's spine, tearing more flesh.
Another stray bullet shattered the enemy's skull. Lion ElJonson threw his skinning knife, hitting the other monster in the eye, then tore it in half with his power sword.
Lion ElJonson gasped, his steps faltering. He returned to the war room and saw Zabriel finishing off the last enemy with his bolter pistol.
Zabriel looked at Lion ElJonson, relieved, seemingly still sharp.
"What were those things?" he asked.
"They're dead," The Lion replied. "That's enough."
Zabriel raised his pistol, aiming at the traitor Commander still twitching on the ground.
"Wait!" Lion ElJonson stopped him, looking down at the enemy. "Your psyker is dead. What else do I need to do to remove the weakness you've inflicted upon me?"
"Weakness?" the traitor hissed, laughing through the pain.
"You slaughtered my finest men, and you easily broke my spine. Even so, you still feel weakened. What in the Warp are you?"
Lion ElJonson stood up and removed his helmet:
"I am Lion ElJonson, Primarch of the Dark Angels, loyal son of the Emperor."
The traitor's eyes widened, then he burst into laughter. "There is no sorcery here, my lord. You are simply old."
Lion ElJonson stared at him for a few seconds, then turned and left, his anger unappeased. Zabriel shrugged; it seemed someone wasn't accepting his age... With the final shot of the bolter pistol, all fell silent.
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