Perturabo raised his warhammer high and slowly advanced, one step at a time.
His footsteps echoed steadily across the great hall's smooth black flagstones, each step carrying the solemn resolve of someone approaching a moment of profound importance.
His gaze remained fixed on the sleeping beast. His breathing was calm and even, his heartbeat slow and strong. His body was poised for combat, ready to respond to anything unexpected.
He could smell the bloody stench and machine oil emanating from the minotaur.
The stench was like rotting flesh mixed with blood, thick and pungent enough to churn his stomach.
The machine oil had that distinctive mechanical smell, tinged with metal and lubricant. It mingled with the bloody stench to form a uniquely unpleasant odor.
Then there was its engine-like breathing. Every breath the minotaur took came with a low rumble from deep within its chest, like a large internal combustion engine idling, echoing through the great hall.
The instant Perturabo reached the minotaur's side, it awoke.
Its eyes snapped open, orange-red eyes like burning magma, blazing like two fireballs in the dim hall.
It stared at Perturabo before it, its eyes filled with hostility.
It was a primal, undisguised hostility, as pure as that of a beast confronting an intruder.
Its body tensed in an instant. Knotted muscles bulged beneath its skin, and its mechanical components hissed as hydraulic systems drove them into motion.
It let out rumbling roars that sounded half beast, half machine.
The sound mingled bestial howls with the grinding of metal. Behind it, the enormous chains holding it captive scraped with ear-splitting shrieks as it struggled, showers of sparks bursting from their links.
Perturabo sensed something familiar.
Looking at the Minotaur before him was like looking at himself.
Everything he sensed in its eyes, and the