Carl's words were like an icy quenching agent poured over the heart of Fulgrim's clone, a heart steeped in guilt and despair. Yet they unexpectedly ignited an extreme, pure resolve within him.
"You're right..." Fulgrim's clone slowly raised his head. A chilling fire burned in his deadened eyes—a desire to destroy a specific target, a near-obsessive form of Redemption. "My atonement... should not be a cowardly suicide. I will... find him, find that monster who defiled everything, and then... kill him! I will wash away this shame with his blood!"
Guilliman stared fixedly into Fulgrim's clone's eyes, as though he meant to pierce through that shell and gaze directly into the depths of his soul.
Within those violet eyes, he saw endless pain and self-loathing, but he also saw unquestionable hatred and determination directed at the original.
That hatred was so pure that, for the moment, it even overwhelmed Guilliman's own loathing for this shell.
The silence seemed to stretch on for a century.
At last, a deeply suppressed, almost beastlike growl escaped Guilliman's throat. He suddenly hurled Fulgrim's clone to the floor with tremendous force, producing a heavy crash.
He said nothing more. He merely gave the clone on the ground one final glare with eyes still burning with rage, though mixed with complicated emotions, then abruptly turned and strode out of the Throne Court.
His back was rigid, as if he were struggling desperately to restrain something.
Lion watched Guilliman's departing back, shook his head, gave the Fulgrim on the ground a complicated look, and silently followed.
He understood Guilliman's conflict, but he likewise had no trust in this Fulgrim.
Angron remained where she stood. Her calm gaze rested on Fulgrim's clone for a moment before she spoke in a voice that still retained a trace of gentleness.