"..."
Clone Angron swept his gaze around the area.
He immediately noticed that the atmosphere was somewhat strange, and that he himself was the only normal person present, even if he was a clone...
The Daemon Primarch lay sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath. There did not appear to be anything wrong with his body, but the Psychic Power the Emperor had unleashed earlier had undoubtedly made him suffer greatly. He could not even move now.
And because the Daemon Primarch could not move, Clone Angron realized that he was safe.
Khârn, some Space Marines from the Butcher warband, Lotara... the clone found that these people seemed to have already accepted him as one of their own. They simply sat there, neither killing him as the Daemon Primarch wished nor speaking to him.
It was as though... an old friend they had not seen in many years had appeared, and everyone was sitting together with complicated feelings, preparing to talk.
Khârn and the others all bore the Butcher's Nails, while Lotara existed in an illusory state similar to a machine spirit.
As for the former, Clone Angron's guilt was so great that he could not bring himself to say a word to Khârn, much less ask what Khârn thought of him, this clone.
That guilt came from memories identical to those of the original. Because of the "Primarch's" loss of control, those still loyal to him, people like Khârn, had implanted the Butcher's Nails in order to get closer to their Primarch. In the end, the entire Legion had been dragged into tragedy.
As for the latter, Lotara, Clone Angron also felt somewhat guilty. But what intrigued him more was why Lotara had become like this.
Like a...
Ghost.
The word ghost surfaced in Angron's mind.
"You don't have