The greatsword imprisoning the Slaanesh Demon let out a hum just as it was about to cleave down. It was about to descend with tremendous force; this was the weapon's own decision.
But the Daemon Primarch gripped the hilt tightly and restrained the motion.
There was barely half a meter between the clone and the original.
Clone Angron could feel the madness, rage, and unwillingness emanating from his original self.
The Daemon Primarch sensed something as well. He could not describe what it was, but the feeling even made the sword in his hand hesitate for a moment.
Hesitation, a fleeting hesitation.
Utter fury and the battle lust brought on by the Butcher's Nails replaced the Daemon Primarch's strange feeling, and the greatsword in its hand still came crashing down.
Clone Angron raised his chainaxe to block, but what he felt next was neither the crushing force of his original's savage attack nor the pain of being wounded, but a fierce gust of wind.
A figure descended from the sky, grabbed the Daemon Primarch by the horn, and flung it away.
"If you thought your colleagues could keep me occupied, then you were mistaken." Qin Mo threw the heads of two Bloodthirsters at the Daemon Primarch.
The latter swiftly swung its weapon, splitting the flying heads apart with two strikes, then let out a roar.
A roar like that of a beast.
The roar shook the ground, and the resulting wind pressure even blew Clone Angron back a full meter.
"You have the power to erase me completely!" The Daemon Primarch stepped forward, its hate- and fury-filled voice squeezing through the gaps between its fangs. "If you are not a coward... duel me! Duel me! Duel!"
"What value do you have, lackey?" Qin Mo leaned on his scepter and asked