BOOM—!
The heavy impact of the strike reverberated across the plaza. A visible shockwave swept outward, launching jagged stone fragments that cut through the air with sharp, piercing shrieks.
And he was far from finished.
"HYAAAH!" Lion roared, the veins along his arms bulging like thick cordage as he hoisted the Spear of Dionysus once more, slamming Solas violently back into the ground.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The plaza resembled a heavy artillery zone. Supersonic shockwaves accompanied the trembling of the earth as a cratered perimeter was pummeled into existence around Lion.
With every brutal strike, dark blood welled and splattered. Solas's frame fluttered like a tattered black rag, hurled back and forth amidst the shrieking air. Vulkan turned his face away, unable to stomach the sight of such savage devastation—it was simply too brutal.
Yet Lion harbored zero regard for brotherly affection. Down within a span of mere seconds, he delivered dozens of crushing strikes, scattering foul blood and leaving the earth broken and cratered.
Victory was all that existed in his eyes; not a sliver of pity could be found.
Only those locked in combat truly understood that despite the catastrophic sequence of slams, the actual damage dealt to a Primarch paled in comparison to the agonizing pain of a spear blade churning within their flesh. A Primarch's physique was impossibly resilient—their flesh tough as refined steel, their bones hard as adamantium. The harrowing scene of flying stone and splintered ground was far more effective at pinning an opponent down than inflicting true lethality.
Sure enough, Solas seized the shaft of the spear amidst the chaotic tumult. Pushing off with both hands, he forcefully pulled his body free from the impaling blade.
He scrambled across the pitted ground, dodging frantically to slip past the oncoming golden spear. The black figure tumbled through blood and shattered stone, thoroughly battered, completely forced onto the defensive, utterly unable to mount a counter-attack.
Nor would Lion afford his renegade brother a single opening. He was the ruthless hunter of Caliban; he would not relent until his prey was broken beyond recovery.
The long spear thrust down continuously, repressing every attempt Solas made to rise. The cold edge of the spear gleamed, bringing away bursts of dark, foul blood.
It cannot go on like this!
Teetering on the edge of life and death, Solas adjusted his condition as best he could, acutely aware that he had to break the deadlock immediately. If he failed to break free from the ground, he would be pinned and broken in the dirt.
Yet Lion was a master of martial perfection; having secured the upper hand, he left zero vulnerabilities to exploit. Solas tried countless times to push himself up in the micro-second gaps between spear thrusts, but the retreat of the spear was a lethal mix of feints and true strikes, making it impossible to tell a deadly trap from a path of survival.
Even for a Primarch, fully analyzing another Primarch's combat patterns in the heat of rapid evasion was nearly impossible. Evasion—only evasion could mitigate greater harm. Yet he could not dodge forever. The relentless accumulation of minor wounds would eventually drag down his bodily functions; dodging was merely a slow death.
Finally, as the spear thrust down just as it had a thousand times before, Solas executed his gamble.
The golden blade descended. This time, he did not dodge completely.
Blood sprayed into the air. Solas deliberately pulled away from the vital zones of his thigh, exposing his muscle tissue as bait to lay a trap.
Relying on his extreme perceptual focus, he caught a microscopic tremble in the tip of the spear in that fraction of a microsecond.
Solas knew he had succeeded—he had forced a sliver of hesitation into the ruthless Lion's sharp offensive.
He needed that split second of decision to escape the threat range.
Ultimately, the spear drove down, plunging through the outer muscle group of his thigh. Solas endured the agonizing pain, forcefully wrenching his body backward! Amidst the tearing agony, he could feel the cold spear blade slicing through muscle and tendon, hearing the distinct crunch of muscle fibers snapping inch by inch.
Yet the heavy price yielded an opening. Before the spear could retract for another strike, he would be able to stand.
Lion had not anticipated Solas acting with such ruthless resolve—sacrificing a thigh wound to escape the kill zone. His eyes narrowed, and he executed an even more decisive measure.
Releasing his hold on the Spear of Dionysus without hesitation, he drove his legs into the ground, lunging forward with full force right at Solas's retreating frame!
In a full-armored charge, Lion slammed violently into Solas's chest. Meeting the renegade's startled eyes, he locked his arms firmly around his waist and back.
The two massive frames tangled together on the deck, skin scraping and power armor clashing into a chaotic din as both Primarchs exerted every ounce of strength to pin the other down.
Lion's cheek was swollen from an elbow blow, blood spurting from his nose and several teeth knocked loose. Yet his iron fists grew even more lethal, hammering relentlessly into Solas's face until his nasal bridge caved in and his facial bones shattered.
Two distinct strains of blood mixed together. The skin across Lion's knuckles tore open to reveal white bone beneath, instantly soaked in blood. Mounted over Solas's waist, he delivered strike after unrelenting strike, sinking the ground beneath them and sending shockwaves rumbling through the plaza.
Solas's head throbbed, his vision blurring. His brother's iron fists fell like heavy sledgehammers, fracturing his thoughts and shattering his capacity to process the fight. His arms retaliated on instinct, tearing through power armor plating, snapping augmented fiber-bundle musculature, and ripping away the suit's inner lining.
Primarch power armor—the absolute pinnacle of Imperial technology—proved entirely brittle in a duel between Primarchs, crumbling upon direct impact.
Gradually, Solas's struggles grew weaker and weaker until the sledgehammer fists finally halted.
Lion pushed himself up with clenched fists, his shattered power armor revealing a powerful frame drenched in blood, his chest muscles shredded to expose a lattice of cracked bone-plates. Heavy bruising covered his face, his eye sockets swollen and his golden hair a tangled mess.
Beneath his boots lay the broken form of Solas, his lower limbs twitching while his head and upper torso had been beaten into complete structural collapse.
Lion leaned down, his left hand locking into Solas's shoulder blade and his right locking around his thigh.
"AAARRGGHH!!!"
The Lion bellowed, a visible wave of sound washing outward, carrying a chaotic surge of complex emotions—fratricide, the grudge of his Legion, the debt owed to the Imperium. It felt as though everything was poured into that single roar, venting every emotion within his chest.
He hoisted Solas high into the air. As his brother's blood rained down upon his head, a heavy mist of stinging bitterness rose in the Lion's eyes.
Solas struggled out of instinct, but his limbs could find no purchase in the air.
Around the perimeter of the plaza, the Primarchs standing watch turned their heads away in pained reluctance, unable to bear the sight of what was about to transpire.
CRACK—!
The crisp snapping of bone rang out like a sudden bolt of thunder, shattering the grief hanging over the plaza and causing the Primarchs to shudder on instinct.
With a heart-wrenching roar, Lion brought Solas's body down with everything he had, snapping his brother's spine over his knee.
"AAAAAAARRGGHH!!!!"
A shriek of agonizing pain shattered the sky above. The sheer agony of a severed spine snapped Solas back into total clarity, releasing a scream of absolute torment. He struggled on instinct, yet could feel no movement in his limbs—his central nervous system severed, his physical sensations plunged into a cold, dead silence.
The duel was settled; the dust had fallen.
Solas's body lay bent backward, his black outline revealing no facial expression, only the faint rising and falling of his chest proving he still lived. Yet he seemed already dead, his frame lying extended without neural control, motionless with open arms as though embracing the starry expanse.
Lion cradled his brother's body and laid him gently on a flat patch of ground, his movements remarkably careful, doing everything to preserve the flickering candle of his brother's life.
"Do you have any final words?"
With his facial muscles torn and jaw shattered, Lion's commanding voice sounded faintly distorted. He did not wait for an answer, turning instead toward the Spear of Dionysus and pulling it free from the stone.
Heavy footsteps echoed around the plaza. Seeing that the battle had concluded, the Primarchs closed in to hear their brother's last words.
Cough~ Cough~
Solas coughed violently, blood welling uncontrollably from his lungs, as though seeking to drown him. Multiple internal organs were ruptured and failing. Though his transhuman regenerative abilities were attempting to repair his body, it was already far too late. His spine was fractured into several segments; though muscle groups were struggling to realign the structure, needing only a few minutes to stand again, the golden spear resting against his heart would afford him no such time.
"I..."
Solas turned his head with the last of his strength, looking at his brothers gathered around him, vomiting another mouth of dark blood: "My... betrayal... brought shame upon you all."
No one spoke, silently listening to their renegade brother's final words.
"It was never what I truly desired, yet I never knew how to face the contradictions within my heart."
"I grew up under the care of human slaves, only to undergo my transformation through the love of an alien species. In the end, I earned my freedom and ventured into the cosmos alongside those I cherished most."
Facing death, Solas' voice grew peaceful, abandoning all remaining burdens: "Yet they were brutally slaughtered. And the one who killed them was the genetic father who created me."
He let out a hollow chuckle, as though mocking the cruel games of fate: "How was I supposed to face such tangled emotions? How could I possibly sustain such a fractured reality?"
Silence held the plaza, broken only by Solas' heavy, raspy breathing.
Not a single brother could answer his question. Lacking his lived experience, none could truly understand, nor could they find the heart to offer words of blame or comfort.
It was an impossible, unbreakable knot.
Guilliman unclasped his blue cloak, laying it over Solas' frame, gently holding his brother's hand in a formal gesture of farewell. He could not imagine—had the Emperor slain Konor or Euten, how would he have ever faced his genetic father and brothers?
The Primarchs remained silent, stepping forward one by one to grip his hand in farewell. Through their silence, they offered Solas his answer: There was no solution.
"Do it," Solas received his answer and urged Lion to end it quickly: "This universe that tore me apart... I do not wish to linger in it for another moment."
"Let death carry me into eternal peace."
With those final words, Solas let out a long, slow breath. His chest rose and fell gently, as though he had truly drifted off to sleep.