"Guilliman? Horus?"
Angron showed no reaction at the mention of those two names, but when Lorgar spoke of the False Emperor, the beast that seemed to have lost all its memories suddenly clutched its head in agony. The Butcher's Nails were punishing him for his slackness.
"I am your brother. I made you what you are now, and I will guide you."
Lorgar used Illuminarium to amplify his psychic power, doing everything he could to awaken Angron's reason.
"Guilliman... Guilliman must die!"
He planted a concept within him, stirring the obsession buried deep in Angron's heart.
And deep obsessions were the easiest things to draw an individual's reason back with.
Angron's mind finally cleared somewhat. He remembered fragments of the past and understood what he had become, but his feelings toward Lorgar were incomparably complicated.
He already understood what the Great Word Bearer's so-called salvation was: Lorgar had offered up his essence to the Blood God, turning him into Khorne's Daemon Prince.
"I should not have become this. This is not freedom. This is a new kind of slavery!" Angron's reason howled.
"Lorgar! Aurelian!"
This was a choice with no turning back. The power of the Brass Throne was influencing his mind, reconstructing his consciousness.
His hatred for Lorgar and his mockery of fate were forcibly suppressed.
Trivial distracting thoughts were swept away by a great will. It reshaped Angron's will.
Like a spectator seated high above, casually molding the model in its hands solely to make him better suit its tastes and desires.
The war instincts bestowed by Khorne allowed the Daemon Primarch to cross all obstacles and lock onto the cobalt-blue figure in the distance, even though they were separated by dozens, perhaps hundreds, of kilometers.
Kharn merely blinked, and a massive sonic boom tore through the air