Billuh could feel something occurring within his mental faculties, those of the automaton rather than of the essence or soul which now served to drive him. What this meant he could not say with certainty, but as the massive forearm of his human opponent crashed like a battery powered jackhammer again and again against the exposed steel of his robotic skull as he was being towed along and held in a vice like grip at the neck and head, he was keenly aware that the metal was bending, warping, coming undone against the massive forces being released upon it. What was this man? To be able to bend and warp steel with his bare hands, well, the stubs of his forearms anyway, and seemingly without experiencing what must amount to some of the worst physical pain known to biological entities? No doubt the bone he was striking the Gnome with had long since shattered in a thousand pieces as if glass, the flesh and muscle adorning it liquified under the extreme pressure of repeated blows to solid steel at ludicrous speed, ligaments and tendons snapped and curled like slinkies once held taught and now left to their own devices, and yet still he persisted in clobbering the Gnome, presumably until there was nothing left of him. 

A sharp, wrenching sound echoed off of the cavern walls with each blow, the visceral biting of tearing metal, each utterance of which further disfigured the Gnome’s face and head until it was more ingot than orb in shape, entire chunks being ripped off and sent flying after the first few blows as if they were wood or brittle plastic being struck with an axe or hammer rather than solid steel met by organic tissue. Though he did not feel pain, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the message being sent from his internal faux electronics and hardware meant something along the lines of, "something had broken," and the system was not long for this world should it continue to be forced to undergo such extreme duress. “Screech!!” another blow, or so the Gnome assumed. He hadn’t seen it. His one remaining eye blinked off. Whether it had been removed under the repeated pressure, or whatever served as the mechanical equivalent of an ocular nerve had been damaged Billuh had no clue, but he was keenly aware that he could no longer see. “Errr --, pthhunk, clang!!” another blow, another chunk of head tossed away somewhere into the dark recesses of the underground tunnel to take its place with the rest of the bones. 

Though still conscious, Billuh felt his grasp over his physical and mental capacities quickly fading, increasingly feeling as though he were an outside spectator than an active participant in the carnage. The chorus of a thousand Valkyries cascaded over his entire being, far more fanfare than he had been met with the first time he died. Perhaps this is why he had been allowed to return, the renowned warriors and deific lords in their great halls in the next world had wanted to give him a second chance to prove himself a warrior worthy of dining and doing battle in their company, a glorious placement one who had died of an excess of food and drink simply could not hope to attain. Whatever the reason, there was one more thing to be done before joining the rest of the dead wherever he might be heading. The Gnome did not telegraph his blow, didn’t wind up or do anything to increase his output of force --, he didn’t need to. The steam vents on his one remaining leg opened up once more and, given his small stature and Gonad’s hold over him, he sent one final strike toward Gonad’s heart, with all the power steam and the Beardforce could muster him. It might not kill his opponent, might not burst his heart or send him into cardiac arrest, but if he didn’t manage to do something about it perhaps it was the only thing that could give a titan such as Gonad a moment of pause.