"Here is the combat footage captured by the surveillance pict-casters. Please review it, my lord."
Muravski manipulated the data-slate, presenting the pict-feed to the Mad King.
Puhach's augmetic eye swiveled, focusing on the enemy force carving through the Upper Hive, advancing inexorably toward the spire.
Upon glimpsing the giant in the footage, his augmetic eye flared with crimson luminescence.
Seconds later, Puhach surged to his feet with abrupt ferocity.
"Excellent! Truly magnificent!"
His scarlet augmetic eye swept over the assembled courtiers, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Fools, behold your lesson. Now you shall witness the frailty of flesh."
"This deluded brute believes himself mighty, but compared to me, who possesses a truly perfected form, he is naught but a plaything."
"Activate the surveillance feeds beneath the spire. You worthless lot, keep your eyes wide and watch closely."
With that, Puhach strode purposefully out of the palace.
A collective sigh of relief rippled through the courtiers, most sharing a singular thought.
[By the Omnissiah, may that giant triumph and slay the Mad King!]
The moment the elevator descended, Puhach, impatient, smashed through the iron doors, charging toward the spire's exterior.
As he ran, the battlefield's chaos unfolded before his augmetic gaze.
To his dismay, Puhach realized his meticulously crafted Iron Legion, despite outnumbering the enemy several times over, held no advantage. Instead, they were being driven back, retreating in disarray.
[This defies logic.]
His augmetic eye flickered, and he activated the dynamic scanner grafted into his left socket, analyzing the battlefield's dynamics.
Puhach first locked onto two targets: Thierry Viera and an unfamiliar burly warrior. Both tore through his Iron Legion with unstoppable ferocity.
The scanner's analysis rated them as moderate threats, prompting Puhach to dismiss them with disinterest.
He pushed the scanner to its limits, finally capturing the giant's movements.
In the next instant, the scanner crackled violently, and Puhach's left eye went dark.
"Impossible! This cannot be!"
Puhach's remaining eye fixed on the giant. That a being could exceed the scanner's analytical capacity was beyond his comprehension.
His mechanical frame quivered, and he charged directly toward the giant.
Puhach would suffer no affront to the truth. This blasphemous giant must be purged.
Nimrod, the moment the mechanical figure emerged from the spire, identified him as Lukov's Mad King.
Sweeping his power halberd to fell a swath of enemies, he prepared to strike down the enemy leader first, only to find Puhach charging toward him.
"Heretic, perish!"
Puhach's vox-synthesizer emitted a buzzing roar, laced with hissing static.
He raised his left arm, a three-point-two-meter folding blade—resembling a mantis's claw—striking toward Nimrod's skull.
Nimrod countered with a swing of his halberd, the clash ringing out with a resonant clang as the blade's edge scored the halberd's shaft.
The mantis blade, forged through lavish expenditure and repeated tempering, gained the upper hand in the clash of arms.
The mechanical arm's dominance briefly silenced the crackling static in Puhach's mind.
"Mechanicus triumphs unbreakable…"
His proclamation faltered as a tremendous force surged through the mantis blade.
With a thunderous boom, the blade shattered, its fragments scattering like shrapnel, striking several Iron Warriors rushing toward the fray.
A shard pierced one warrior's alloy armor, rupturing a flesh heart before protruding from his back.
A spinning joint struck another's throat, blood gushing like a fountain.
"Error, all is error…"
Puhach registered the machine's lament, swinging his mechanical arm toward Nimrod.
Nimrod's left hand rose, seizing the Mad King's fist with unyielding grip.
With a forceful heave, he wrenched Puhach skyward, the Mad King's body flailing uncontrollably.
Brandishing Puhach like a weapon, Nimrod swung him left, pulverizing several Iron Warriors into gore, then backward, sweeping a cluster of enemies airborne.
Finding the "weapon" in his grasp surprisingly effective, Nimrod charged toward the densest enemy throng, his left arm whirling like a windmill, foes falling like reaped wheat.
Iron Warriors surged toward Nimrod, desperate to rescue their king, their guide to mechanical ascension.
The tide of bodies rushed the giant.
The tide crashed against a reef harder than steel, scattering in ruin.
Nimrod wielded Puhach with savage abandon until a final explosion rang out. The Mad King's iron frame, unable to withstand the Primarch's relentless force, shattered, forcing Nimrod to halt.
By embodying the "Barbarian" Beyonder's ethos and shattering Lukov's order, Nimrod felt his potion digestion near completion.
"King Puhach is dead!"
The Iron Warriors gaped, their faith extinguished, collapsing to their knees in despair.
"The Mad King is dead!"
The spire's palace erupted in fervent cheers, most nobles raising their arms in jubilation, celebrating the end of a dark era.
Their gazes turned to the retreating outliers. "Don't let the Mad King's lackeys escape!"
As the nobles vented their fury, Thierry, trembling with exhilaration, rushed to Puhach's corpse. Confirming the Mad King's demise, he hastened to Nimrod, dropping to one knee.
"My king, Thierry Viera, by the honor of my house and my soul, swears eternal fealty to you!"
"I accept your allegiance!"
Nimrod's voice resounded with gravitas. "Gather your forces and ascend the spire with me."
"Rawlslev, take your troops, secure the prisoners, and establish a defensive perimeter against counterattacks."
"As you command, my lord!"
Rawlslev accepted the order, springing into action.
Thierry led the way, and Nimrod entered the palace.
Upon crossing the threshold, he beheld a golden hall stained crimson with blood, corpses strewn across the floor.
Nimrod's gaze settled on the ornately garbed nobles. Before he could speak, he was astonished to see them all drop to one knee.
"We pledge our loyalty to Lukov's liberator!"
Nimrod paused, activating his spiritual vision to scrutinize the assembly. Their auras radiated predominantly yellow hues of joy and extroversion, interwoven with white brilliance of hope, enlightening his understanding.
"I accept your fealty!"
"My king, all of Lukov will welcome your reign, save for Sage Kivior-15 at the Third Altar."
Nimrod, prepared for this, turned to Lukov's nobles, his voice deep and measured.
"Has production capacity suffered a significant decline of late?"
The nobles stared at the giant in shock, wondering how their new king knew this. Had Thierry informed him?
"My king, I am Count Muravski. As your wisdom discerns, it is indeed so."
Nimrod nodded slightly, his judgment affirmed. A ruler obsessed with heavy machinery, disdainful of flesh, and teetering on madness like Puhach would neglect the food crisis wrought by xenos pirates.
Even remote Tetzvok felt the strain; Lukov, more populous and centrally located, must have suffered greater impact. Yet none dared report to the Mad King, who cared little for frail mortal lives.
"I require an emissary to inform the Sage that I shall restore and elevate Lukov's production."
The nobles exchanged glances, their eyes converging on Muravski, who had spoken earlier.
"My king, I volunteer to go. I believe the Sage desires no further conflict in Lukov."
"My king, I shall accompany Count Muravski."
Thierry stepped forward boldly, and Nimrod consented at once.
"Very well."
"Inform Kivior-15 that, should he doubt my intent, he may consult Sage Kaminski."