-Mars, Council of Red Steel Chamber
The chamber's vaulted ceiling disappeared into shadow, the air thick with the scent of machine oil, incense, and ancient iron. The unrelenting thrum of countless cogitators echoed through the vast hall. Countless adepts lined the upper galleries, their bionic eyes tracking Nusa's every movement, murmuring among themselves in sacred binary.
Twenty towering thrones encircled the central platform, their occupants a mixture of ancient, desiccated flesh and gleaming cybernetics. The Council of Red Steel, Mars' highest authority.
At the center sit Nusa, the only rusted chair on the chamber.
The council of red steel set the seating arrangement making as if Nusa is a criminal waiting to be trialed.
A blatant display of authority.
The most powerful of mars technocrat against a lone person.
Nusa, a single figure, clad in deep obsidian robes traced with burning machinist sigils. His eyes swept the chamber with the calm detachment of a man used to command.
Beside him stood no guard, no retinue. His ANBU had remained outside at the council's demand.
An Archmagos with layered augmetic optics leaned forward.
"Lord Machinist," came the cold, synthesized voice, "I bid you welcome to the sacred mars. We are the omnisiah's chosens. We are the council of red steel. We granted you audience your petition."
"Thank you for your being a generous host, your greatness will be known to the people of exile." Nusa replied in sarcasm.
"Your arrival stirs great interest. Your war constructs, mobile armatures, and armored assets observed in the Luna conflict possess architectures unrecorded in the sacred archives. Such ingenuity beckons the Mechanicus. The Council stands ready to barter, wealth, sacred resources, eternal alliance, in exchange for these data-construct schematics." The archmagos didn't realize the sarcasm or didn't care as he goes straight to his point.
A ripple of approving noospheric exchange passed through the council. Offerings of power, position, uncounted position. A huge favor from Mars.
Nusa smiled faintly. "I have no need of Thrones or Martian favor. My Exiles are well provisioned."
A flicker of unease. Noospheric murmurs tightened.
A second voice, ancient and metallic, spoke with a calculated tone. "Perhaps... relics then. STC fragments. We possess many. Certain lost patterns from the Age of Technology."
Nusa replied, shaking his head with a smile. "Tempting. But no."
Internally, he scoffed as Mechanicus STC collection is a grain dust on the dessert compared to his own.
Tension rippled once more, this time more intense.
A Magos Explorator's optics flared. "Name your price, then. Every technology has its cost."
"Some things," Nusa said, his voice a calm ripple in the tension-charged chamber, "are not for trade."
The veneer cracked.
A Fabricator Lord leaned forward. "You would deny the Omnissiah's chosen? Know you stand upon sacred soil. Mars does not beg. It takes."
"By the decree of Mars' will, relics of such power belong to the forge-world's archives. Denial is heresy punishable by eternal dismantlement."
A harsh silence fell.
Then the council erupted — not in coordinated authority, but greedy infighting. Their speaker volume raised, fingers pointed.
"I claim the drop pods systems."
"The knights are mine. I have the forge-facilities ready."
"You overreach, Dominus Valen. The tanks schematic will fall under my forge authority."
Voices overlapped, the once-imposing council degenerating into bickering claimants squabbling over imaginary spoils.
Nusa's smile faded.
"This," he thought, "is no longer amusing."
He was expecting clean arguments with hidden or multiple meanings under each eloquent sentence just like what he read on some 2nd millenium novel. Yet, what he received was an undisguised greeds barelling at him and among each other.
His gaze swept over them, irritation creeping at the edges of his composure. Ten thousand years of orderly councils, precise military briefings, and flawless obedience from his gene-clones, and this — this was what the lords of Mars had become. Petty, grasping, blind.
He remained silent, letting their discord stretch until even the lesser Magi grew uneasy under his gaze.
Finally, Nusa spoke, voice low and edged.
"You mistake me. I did not come to barter."
The chamber froze. The bickering council stops at the abrupt sentece.
"I came to look upon my old home." His eyes narrowed. "And what I see disgusts me."
Without waiting for a reply, Nusa turned, his cloak whispering against the metal floor.
"We are finished here."
"Where do you think you are going!? Stop him!" The first archmagos immediately orders the skitari guard to stop the machinist. He will not let a chance to gain technology schematics and STC from him.
"You! Stop him!" the magos explorators point at his own guard skitarii.
In a mere moment, skitarii surround Nusa.
Galvanic rifles, plasma calivers, and arc rifles pointing at Nusa's face.
The machinist stood with expresionless face. His posture relaxed.
"You shall not depart these sacred halls before relinquishing such relics to the Omnissiah's chosen, lest you be unmade within the crucible of Mars." The archmagos said. His remaining eyes burning with greed. "We will hold you here and force your subordinates gives us what we wanted if we had to."
"You really want to do this? I was originally wanted to do this gently. I will show you fear on those iron hearts body of your." Nusa said turning back to the archmagos.
His eyes sharp. Electricity ran around his body as his power is spiking.
The first Archmagos stiffened. His auspex array flared to life, multiple detection runes screaming warnings in his optic overlay.
[Alert: Warp signature detected — Upper Alpha-class threshold.]
His synthetic voice faltered. "Th-this is impossible… he… his readings exceed known parameters!"
The noosphere rippled in sudden alarm, several Magi exchanging frantic datastreams. Skitarii hesitated, momentarily confused by their masters' panic.
Nusa smiled, sharp as a knife's edge.
"You still don't understand what you've invited into your sanctum."
"Seize him! Now! Lethal force authorized!" the archmagos orders hurriedly.
"Neutralizing." under their master order, the skitari fires their deadly weapons.
As the energy and projectiles near their target, it flickers and dissapears.
"Keep firing!" Archmagos explorator bellows the orders.
"Range attack ineffective, switching to melee combat." A skitarii commader said. A skitarii switched to blades weapon and dashed at the machinist.
His blade crackling with charged energy. The weapon blurred toward Nusa's chest.
For a heartbeat, it seemed madness flesh against power blade. But just before the blade could strike, the air around Nusa palm shimmered, a near-invisible layer of warp-imbued force encasing his skin.
The power blade struck the barrier with a high-pitched screech, halted mid-swing.
Nusa's fingers closed around the weapon, the blade's shimmering field rippling in protest. Without any theatric, Machinist then crushed the charged blade into fragments, shards clattering to the floor.
"Enough of this charade." Nusa said as his power is rose once more.
"Machine. Sleep." His voice was calm—but the force behind it rolled through the chamber like a psychic storm.
In an instant, Skitarii collapsed as their systems shut down. Magos slumped in their thrones, lifeless as critical implants failed. The forge's distant sounds faltered.