The Lion: Son Of The Forest by Mike Brooks

Author:Mike Brooks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2023-03-14T14:54:22+00:00

XXI

‘Seraphax can burn! If the Lion’s here, I want his head!’ roars the apparent leader of the new arrivals. He is a monster, bloated by the foul powers of Chaos in his Terminator armour so that he near rivals a primarch in size, and is surrounded by other warriors nearly as massive, each one armed with a brutal collection of close-combat weapons. The Lion sees chainaxes there, and lightning claws, and power fists. The leader clutches a power sword in his right hand, while his left is enveloped in a huge powered glove from which the toothed tongue of a chainfist protrudes, already powering up to speed with a bone-jarring whine that is nearly a weapon in its own right.

‘Then come and take it, if you can!’ the Lion shouts, striding to the rail and looking down at them. His challenge is not mere theatricality; the bridge crew are scattering away from the Terminators, and with good reason, since they could no more fight them than they could a supernova. The Lion can see the minuscule twitches in the warriors’ limbs as their instincts press them to pursue and butcher the fleeing humans. He has to keep their attention on him.

He raises his sidearm, and opens fire.

Marshal Haraj presented it to the Lion as a gift: the Arma Luminis, a plasma weapon of ancient and unknown origin, which local myth has that the Emperor left on Avalus at some unspecified point in the past. There is no other evidence that the Master of Mankind ever visited the planet, but the Avalusians are so convinced of this divine legacy that the weapon has been stored in a stasis chamber in the governor’s palace for as long as any records of it exist. One thing that is undeniably true is that it does not appear to be sized for a mortal, for it fits the Lion’s hand like a pistol.

The other undeniably true thing about it is that it still works.

The Arma Luminis spits a bolt of energy as bright as the sun straight at the Chaos lord. However, instead of vaporising ceramite and punching into the flesh and bone beneath, the shot is enveloped and consumed by a crackling darkness that disappears as quickly as it materialises. The sigil emblazoned on the Chaos lord’s chest, a crude and blocky thing that weeps what looks like blood, flares with an ugly light that is echoed by other runes which flash into existence across his armour. The Lion’s skin ­prickles, and thoughts of his blade biting into flesh rise unbidden in his mind.

‘BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!’ howls the Chaos lord, and he and his bodyguard rush for the stairs that will carry them up to the command deck where the Lion stands.

‘Admiral! Clear the bridge!’ the Lion snarls, but Derrigan is already moving and ushering other crew members ahead of him. There is bravery, and then there is foolishness, and the admiral is no fool.

‘Zabriel, hold the door!’ the Lion orders as he moves towards the stairs and holsters the Arma Luminis.

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