What did it feel like to split yourself into ten thousand pieces?
In the past, Buggy would have thought that the patients with split personalities who were specially confined in Arkham Asylum might have had something to say about it.
But now...
He was the top authority on the subject.
Because he really had split himself into ten thousand pieces.
Each division of his body carried a part of his mind. Ten thousand versions of himself existed simultaneously.
Why need a self?
Buggy reveled in this tearing sensation.
Under these circumstances, he instead felt normal, as if this was how a normal person was supposed to exist.
Joyous!
Oh, what joy!
In his one and only Mental World, Buggy felt as though he were looking through the compound eyes of an insect, with ten thousand different streams of information flooding into his brain.
A phantom like a Devil loomed over him, mouth open as it laughed along with him.
A soldier absentmindedly wiped his cheek, not knowing when a trace of blood had gotten there.
As he wiped it, the blood smeared onto the back of his hand.
While a square-faced Vice Admiral shouted soundlessly in the silent surroundings, a thin flake of keratin landed on his neck.
As the elegant woman with pink hair brushed back her hair, a tiny fragment caught in her locks.
The officer with an impassive expression didn't notice either when some unknown fragment stuck to him.
Vice Admiral Doberman?
Had he gone mad?
Vergo froze. First, he was annoyed that the G5 Branch had acted on its own, then he read the general meaning of Doberman's lip movements.
"Traitor."
He was always especially sensitive to that word, so it was the first thing that came to mind.
His expression grew even colder without