Chapter 8: The Lion
As Terra, a colossal sphere of gold and industry, loomed ever larger on the viewport, Aionos drew in a deep breath. This, then, was "home." He'd witnessed humanity's rise, watched from afar as their little blue planet spiraled into darkness only to claw its way back, a testament to their resilience. But compared to the Age of Technology he vaguely remembered, this Imperium was a stark contrast – a testament to both progress and struggle. Still, home it was.
The colossal starship shuddered as it docked, and Aionos, clad in a freshly issued, ornately decorated military uniform, stood before the ever-widening hatch. Stepping out, he was greeted by a spectacle that stole his breath. Below, stretching as far as the eye could see, was a parade. Citizens, clad in vibrant colors, cheered their loudest, their faces alight with a mixture of awe and fervent faith. Banners bearing the Aquila symbol, the emblem of the Imperium, fluttered wildly in the air.
[Image of Aionos's uniform. Inspired by Pick Me Up, a great series you guys should read it.]
The sudden wave of attention overwhelmed him for a moment, but Aionos, the last defender of Eldengard, was no stranger to daunting situations. With a heavy but resolute step, he descended the landing ramp, his boots landing with a solid thud on the soil of Terra. Here, under the shadow of the Emperor's golden rule, stood Aionos Kaisellin Void. Here, on this war-torn yet defiant world, he was finally home.
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Aionos fell into step beside the Emperor, the cheers of the crowd a fading thrum in his ears. Their destination: the Imperial Palace, a colossal monument that defied human scale. It wasn't just a building; it was a mountain carved and reshaped to serve as the Emperor's seat of power. Walls of adamantium, a nearly indestructible material, gleamed in the sunlight, while countless towers, each a marvel of engineering, pierced the sky. Aionos, accustomed to the desolate plains of Akros, felt a surge of awe. This was the heart of the Imperium, a testament to humanity's audacity and ambition, a stark contrast to the ruins of Eldengard he carried within him.
As they proceeded, the Emperor spoke, his voice a low rumble. "The Imperial Palace," he said, gesturing towards the monolithic structure. "It has stood for millennia, a symbol of our resilience, a beacon of hope in the darkest times." Aionos listened intently, the weight of the Emperor's words settling on him. This wasn't just a building; it was a living testament to humanity's struggle, a chronicle etched in stone and metal.
Their journey took them through bustling avenues lined with soldiers in crimson armor and citizens in garb that spoke of a thousand different cultures. Aionos, a stranger in a familiar land, absorbed it all – the reverence in people's eyes, the thrum of industry, the ever-present hum of power that emanated from the Palace itself. He was a Primarch, a warrior of legend, a once God of the Warp but he felt awed by the grandeur of the Imperium.
Finally, they reached the base of the Palace. A colossal gate, guarded by statues of legendary heroes twice the size of Aionos himself, swung open with a groan of ancient machinery. Aionos stepped through, the weight of history pressing down on him. He was home, yes, but this home was far grander, far more complex than he could have ever imagined. Here, within the walls of the Imperial Palace, his true journey was about to begin.
The rhythmic click of the Emperor's boots echoed through the polished marble corridor as Aionos strode beside him. Aionos, for all his newfound purpose, couldn't help but feel like a country bumpkin on a grand tour. His gaze darted left and right, taking in the grandeur of the Imperial Palace. Golden statues depicting legendary heroes, twice the size of Aionos himself, lined the walls. Stained glass windows, depicting epic battles and forgotten victories, cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the floor. He had never seen such artistry, such wealth concentrated in one place.
"Impressive, isn't it?" The Emperor's voice rumbled, amusement dancing at the edges.
Aionos tore his gaze from a particularly intricate depiction of a Primarch slaying a monstrous beast and managed a sheepish grin. "It is, Father. Overwhelming, even."
The Emperor chuckled, a rare sound that echoed strangely in the vast chamber. "The Palace can have that effect. But remember, Aionos, it is not just about grandeur. These halls hold the echoes of humanity's triumphs and failures. They are a testament to our resilience, our unwavering spirit."
Aionos nodded, his earlier awe tinged with a newfound respect. He understood what the Emperor meant. This wasn't just a building; it was a living monument to the Imperium's long and arduous history.
As they rounded a corner, Aionos caught a glimpse of movement through an arched doorway. Inside, a group of figures clad in crimson armor sparred with practiced ferocity. They moved with a balletic grace that belied the lethality of their blows, their movements honed to deadly perfection.
"Adeptus Astartes," the Emperor said, following Aionos' gaze. "The Space Marines. The Imperium's finest warriors."
Aionos' curiosity piqued. He'd heard whispers of these Astartes, genetically engineered super soldiers who served as the Emperor's angels of war. Here, they trained in a ballet of violence, their every move infused with purpose and deadly skill.
"May I watch them train closer, Father?" Aionos blurted out, the warrior in him itching for a closer look.
The Emperor smiled, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. "Of course, my son. Perhaps you'll even learn a thing or two from these elite warriors."
Aionos followed the Emperor through the doorway, his steps lighter now, a spark of anticipation igniting within him. He was a Primarch, a warrior of legend, but even legends could learn from those who had honed their craft to such a fine edge. The training grounds awaited, and with them, a glimpse into the heart of the Imperial war machine.
Aionos' breath hitched as they entered the training grounds. The air crackled with the thrum of violence, the rhythmic clash of steel on steel punctuated by grunts and shouts of exertion. Then, amidst the blur of crimson armor and flashing blades, his gaze snagged on a particular figure.
This man stood apart from the others. While they trained with a focused intensity, he moved with a deliberate grace, almost like a predator stalking its prey, and he bore a heavy blade unlike any Aionos had seen before.
As Aionos watched, captivated, the Emperor placed a hand on his shoulder. "Lion El'Johnson," the Emperor rumbled, his voice carrying over the din of combat. "He is one of your brothers, Aionos. He was stranded on the world of Caliban, a realm of verdant forests and monstrous creatures tainted by the touch of Chaos."
A jolt of recognition shot through Aionos. The name, the aloof air, the undeniable power radiating from the figure – it all fit with the fragmented memories he nursed from his own childhood. This had to be Lion El'Johnson, the brother he'd only glimpsed through the haze of lost time.
Lion El'Johnson, sensing the attention, turned his head slightly. His gaze, piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a lifetime of experience, met Aionos' for a fleeting moment.
A flicker of something akin to surprise passed through those eyes before a mask of stoicism settled back in place. He offered a curt nod, then turned back to his training, his movements even more precise as if demonstrating a point.
Aionos felt a surge of emotions. Excitement bubbled within him at the prospect of fighting with someone like him, someone who could understand him, someone who has experienced times like his.
Aionos felt an undeniable pull towards Lion El'Johnson, a mix of curiosity and a strange sense of kinship. Ignoring the stares of the surrounding Astartes, he strode towards his brother.
Towering over the Lion at an impressive 4.2 meters, Aionos cast a long shadow across the training platform. The other Astartes, normally boisterous and focused, fell silent, a hint of awe creeping into their gazes as they witnessed the towering newcomer approach their legendary commander.
Lion El'Johnson, sensing the interruption, finally stopped his fluid movements and turned fully towards Aionos. He tilted his head back slightly, those piercing blue eyes taking in his brother's imposing stature.
"You are?" he inquired, his voice a low rumble that belied his surprise.
Aionos met his gaze head-on, a newfound determination hardening his features. "Aionos Kaisellin Void," he declared, his voice deep and steady. "One of your brothers."
A flicker of recognition crossed Lion El'Johnson's face, a spark of something akin to a buried memory. "Aionos," he repeated, the name tasting foreign yet oddly familiar on his tongue.
A tense silence stretched between them, the air thick with unspoken questions and a warrior's intuition. Finally, the Lion's gaze flicked down to Aionos' hand, currently resting near the hilt of his sheathed blade. A hint of a smirk played on his lips.
"A duel, then?" he inquired, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.
Aionos didn't reply with words. He simply met Lion's gaze with a resolute nod, a challenge burning in his eyes. The Emperor, who had been observing the exchange with a hint of amusement in his own eyes, cleared his throat.
"Very well," he boomed, his voice cutting through the tension. "Let them have their duel. But remember, Aionos, this is a training ground. No serious injuries."
A slow smile spread across Aionos' face. This wasn't just a duel; it was a chance to connect, to test his mettle against a legend. With a gesture of respect, he swept his arm across the platform, clearing it of any stray training equipment. The other Astartes, eager to witness a clash of Primarchs, retreated to the edges, forming a silent, expectant ring.
On the cleared platform, Aionos and Lion El'Johnson stood facing each other, a sense of anticipation crackling in the air. They were brothers, yes, but they were also warriors, and this was their first dance – a test of strength, a forging of a bond, perhaps, in the crucible of combat. The Emperor watched, a flicker of hope sparking in his eyes. Perhaps, amidst the chaos of the galaxy, his sons would find a way to connect, to fight not just for the Imperium, but for each other.
———[Chapter End]———
This chapter was 1,737 words.
A/N: Epic Fight next chapter between Aionos and The Lion. I'm in the process of making it and it should be uploaded by today, look forward to it.
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