NOVEL NEXT B2 Chapter 42
The bridge reeked of scorched bio-metal and foul Reptiloid decay. Shattered consoles sparked erratically, their bio-circuits oozing green ichor that mingled in pools with the Lieutenant's pulped remains amid the wreckage, a testament to the battle's wrath.
Angar's vision swam, the nanite-fueled suffering threatening to break his resolve. He couldn't read right now, nor focus on Theosis' message, not with this pain.
He teetered on the edge of howling out in anguish, but clamped his lips shut, refusing to let any sound escape his lips. He would not succumb to the comforts of a weakling.
He glanced at the Glory Points tally, confirming the award total he already anticipated. He received 4 points for felling the Lieutenant, 1 for killing one Crawler, and 1 instead of 2 for the ten Ruler-caste Reptiloids he'd culled across the bridge, machimotarium, and propulsorium, as it was shared.
The fourth was for securing an enemy battleship, a heavily shared achievement, only granting him 1 point.
Seven Glory Points for four Glorious Achievements were etched into his Annals.
No clatter of loot had registered through the haze of pain consuming him. He sank to his knees, and began meditating, seeking any relief from the fire searing his flesh.
Footsteps echoed as Hierarch Pumatay, Frieden, Simo, and others stormed onto the bridge, weapons raised, sweeping for threats.
"God Almighty," Pumatay exclaimed, her helm tilted toward the carnage, her gauntlet brushing a Crawler's shattered core. "He took down the Lieutenant and two Crawlers alone while at Tier 2."
She turned to Simo. "Your master's a true beast."
"Just figuring that out now, Hierarch? And six other crew too, by my count," Simo added, his voice swelling with pride. Angar noted Simo didn't correct her, as he was no longer Angar's man, but Saint Hidetada's.
"Do we need technici for the comcap station?" the Hierarch asked as her gaze shifted to Frieden. "Or do you know how the Old Guard's work? You have a universal translator module?"
Frieden paused, his helm's optics flaring as he processed the question. "I do. I'll dig into their recent communiques and the ship's destination. Still, I'd appreciate a few technici to assist. If any within your Ordo have Abilities or Capstones available, now's the time to burn them. Our young Knight needs some healing. He should strip himself of that armor too. And move to the shipper's sickbay."
Angar tuned them out, going deeper into meditation. It dulled the aching faintly, giving barely a whisper of respite, but that was better than nothing.
He heard the Hierarch mention holding a worship service to celebrate their victory. He'd have to go to that, as he tried to never miss a service, and pay the Lord his due in that way.
In Cloisteranage, Angar learned Theosis' rewards were a gamble, just random, some useful, some dross.
But all his loot seemed tailored to battles just fought, items that would've really helped if he had them as prior rewards.
The Lieutenant's corpse yielded a pulsing crystal. A weapon mod, a rare gem, and a great one for his hammer, named Plasmatic Infusitron.
A technicus aboard the shipper had already installed it, lacing Angar's hammer with white-hot plasma that'd sear with every infused strike, and would've helped melt the colossus' bio-armor.
The two Crawlers, elite war-machines, dropped identical enhancers, prized modules Simo drooled over, these ones adding an extra mod slot to any item.
Enhancers varied widely, but each type could only be applied once per item. Angar had plans for these, but they'd wait unused for a bit.
Weapons and armor were fleeting, replaced as one ascended the Tiers. His cybernetic leg, however, was top-grade, a permanent fixture.
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Cybernetics were so desired in the first Realm for their raw power granted.
He hadn't yet awakened a psychic power, but he would. It was well known Psychics, though, risked losing potency if too much of their organic body was replaced. His missing leg accounted for roughly 18% of his body mass.
He had checked, and Hierarch Rusak had confirmed it as well, that the threshold for psychic power degradation was 25%. Body mass loss below that, the impact was negligible. After, it became multiplicative.
Angar wanted another cybernetic leg. He saw the blessed Mother again in his memory, her twig-like legs a blur, flipping through Mammon's attacks, hopping around so lithely and gracefully. It was beautiful to behold.
He was chasing her capability, and nothing would help more with that than both his legs being cybernetic. Plus, he liked having claws on his feet.
But instead of replacing his full leg, he'd limit it to the knee down, calf and foot only, about 6% of his mass, leaving the thigh's 12% intact.
He planned on getting many cybernetics going forward, the best ones, as many as possible within that limitation.
The enhancers were destined for his cybernetic legs. All enhancers would be as he climbed toward peak Seraph, as they'd be permanent gear that wouldn't be swapped out on ascending, unlike armor or weapons, and only top-quality implants would do for him and his needs.
Thinking about his build and future distracted him from the nanite-fueled fire gnawing at his nerves. He cracked an eye open, hoping the medicus had left.
No such luck. She sat nearby, looking at a slate, her presence an irritant.
A new graduate, fresh from Pinaculum Ordinis, she was earnest but ineffective, dosing him with incapacitants that didn't even make him tired. "Max dose again," she kept saying, oblivious to his resilience.
Worse, she was strikingly beautiful, with flawless features framed by glistening hair done up under a sleek medical cap, her large eyes filled with kindness and curiosity.
She had to be at least six years his elder, but she looked his age, and Angar refused to let his anguish unman him in front of her.
So, her lingering in the room was almost as terrible as the nanites. He wanted solitude to grit through the pain, not an audience for his weakness. He was about as healed of injury as the resources at hand allowed. He'd endure, but it'd be easier to do so alone.
Stripped of his corroded armor, he lay in a side chamber off the shipper's sprawling sickbay, hooked to a medicum machine like those in Saint Krakus' Aedificium Medicum.
The nanites hadn't ravaged his armor as badly as he'd feared. Pits and holes marred the left hand, forearm, lower side, and belly, but the core structure held.
For safety, the armor was kept outside the room, as its nanites could target his flesh.
The shipper's sickbay hummed with sterile efficiency, its walls lined with chirping and flickering screens displaying readouts. The medicum machine's cold embrace did little to dull the nanites' relentless burn in Angar's nerves, its antiseptic tang clashing with the blood dried on his skin, and medicus' flowery scent.
Through the door, he heard machinery beeping, whirring ventilators, distant crew chatter, and bootsteps approaching.
Simo strode in, helmet off, a grin breaking through his grizzled features as he looked at Angar. "God and Empire, Doc. How's Sir Angar faring?"
The medicus smiled, her voice bright. "God and Empire. He's recovering strangely well. I'm monitoring him closely, as you asked."
Simo nodded. "Why's he awake?"
She glanced at Angar as her brows furrowed. "I thought he was out. I've given him three max doses of incapacitants for Tier 2 in the last few hours. Too much can be lethal."
Simo's eyes narrowed. "The pain?"
"Strangely enough, he isn't in any," replied the medicus. "I've asked a dozen times, and he always says he feels no pain at all. We learned the Old Guard's corrosive nanites cause extreme and debilitating agony once latched onto nerves. Maybe these were a different a type?"
"Are you…?" Simo began to say before stopping himself, his voice edged with frustration. "He's just sixteen. He won't admit it, but he's in anguish. Didn't they teach you this? Men hide their hurts, especially in front of young women. Give him painkillers. For incapacitants, use something stronger, something for early Saints maybe. His body can take it."
The medicus straightened, her voice firming, becoming more authoritative. "I'm following protocol. Second Tier limits are clear."
Simo's jaw clenched. "Protocol isn't working, though, is it?"
Angar caught frustration and concern flaring in Simo's eyes, something like a paternal worry he'd glimpsed before too.
He was grateful Hidetada had made the man whole again, and glad to still be fighting alongside the gruff veteran. Almost enough to be thankful to the military for discarding those it broke in Holy War. It was a terrible thought, but if they hadn't, Angar and Simo would never have crossed paths.
But Simo could be a stubborn bastard when his dander rose, and Angar was in too much pain to endure the brewing argument.
He forced himself upright, pain lancing through his groin, wanting to end their disagreement before it began in earnest. "What did we learn from the comcap station?"
Simo's grin returned. "Quite a lot, Sir. We've cracked their navigation too. We're about to plot a course back to Ierne. It could take up to three days to arrive, faster if Old Guard's drives are as swift as they say."
"No," Angar growled out. "Set course for the military station we were headed to before the interception, in the Belted Expanse, near the arm's fringe. That's where Saint Hidetada will be, if he survived."
Simo blinked. "How do you know that, Sir?"
Pain devoured Angar's patience for explanations. "I know," he growled out. "That's our heading. Second Tier or not, I'm a Crusader and giving the order. Where's my armor and maul?'"
"Easy, Sir," Simo said, raising a hand. "I'll handle it. You've done enough. Take the painkillers and rest."
Angar stood, the fire in his nerves be damned, they'd head to the correct destination.