"It seemed that we old clones had truly fallen behind the times."
"But that was a good thing. If a race could only draw strength from the past, then its future was bound to be shrouded in darkness."
"The older something was, the stronger it became—there was something deeply tragic about that."
Leman Russ panted heavily, then utterly without decorum, dropped onto the scorching crystalline ground. He braced both hands on his damaged power sword, looking completely dead inside.
The successive bitter battles, combined with the hardships of fleeing all the way here, had thoroughly worn out these clone primarchs who had only just crawled out of their amniotic tanks.
Especially since Leman Russ had awakened early, these clones had, in a sense, begun moving about before they had fully developed.
And in a damned environment like the Eye of Terror, obtaining clean water or food was obviously an extraordinarily difficult matter.
After escaping Fabius Bile's laboratory, they had acquired only a scant amount of provisions. By now, they were already parched and ravenous.
Apostle Magnus smiled and shook his head. Then, with a wave of his staff, he directly condensed clean drinking water and a wide variety of edible food before the many clone primarchs.
The Wolf King's nose twitched wildly. He could even smell the fragrance of grain fresh from the oven, the wonderful taste created as fats and proteins reacted and melded together at the perfect temperature.
"Th-this... this is absolutely incredible!"
The King of Fenris had always been one of the primarchs most fond of fine food and joyous feasting. Starving as he was, how could he possibly endure any longer?
He planted his sword in the ground, lunged forward, grabbed whatever he could, and stuffed it furiously into his mouth.
Russ's utterly unmannered gluttony snapped