Deus in Machina (a Warhammer 40K-setting inspired LitRPG)

A thunderous, resonant growl enveloped Nalitha, sounding from high atop Mount Kimo. It deeply reverberated, even in Angar's bones, and caused the world to tremble. It was a much louder and ominous rumble than that of an approaching storm, or the earth-shaking bellow of a colossal beast.

This noise stretched out, not only heard but felt acutely, then lingered for long moments after.

Angar looked towards the mountain top, and a light stretched up high, penetrating the dark ash that had blackened the sky, a righteous beacon.

And he felt the challenge that had sung out. It settled in his chest and warmed him. Worthy enemies would come soon, and he'd bathe in their strange, black blood.

But they wouldn't arrive for a while.

Spirit broke his reverie. "Sleep now. You'll get little enough rest ahead. This ritual summoned the reavers through the gateway early. If you survive, we'll have a lot to do and little time to do it."

"How many came through?" Angar asked.

"I won't know until they all emerge. Another wave follows in a handful of days. This beacon is strong. It'll endure for weeks unless defiled. We need to praise Martyr Varko for his selfless sacrifice."

Spirit touched her forehead, right shoulder, then her left. Gazing skyward, she stated, "May he find peace in Your eternal embrace, Lord."

Angar mirrored the gesture out of respect, echoing her words.

"Now, your job is ensuring Martyr Varko's sacrifice wasn't in vain. The surviving reavers will head straight here. Your world is safe from them, but only if you defeat those coming. They'll only need to face the undead left behind. Rest. I'll wake you when it's time."

He went to find a good spot to sleep, wondering if he really wasn't allowed to marry now. It'd be a petty thing to ask about while standing in the radiant glow of a man sacrificing his life to save his world.

Angar climbed to a ledge some twenty paces up Mount Kimo and collapsed, sleep claiming him the moment his head hit the ground.

Sometime later, Spirit gently roused him. Peering over the edge, he froze in surprise, staring at a horde of undead swarming below, their gnarled hands clawing and pounding the mountain's base, nearer to the distant pillar.

"They'll arrive soon," Spirit warned. "The vanguard reavers will strike first, straight from the gateway. The other forty will trickle in as you fight."

"Understood," Angar replied, steeling himself.

Her eyes flickered with worry. "Far fewer reavers came through than I expected."

"How many?"

"Over four hundred," she said, her voice tight. "That worries me. There should be at least three times that."

Angar didn't know the mechanics of the gateways. All he knew was the swarm she described barreling toward him was a number large enough to stir his blood and worry him. Still, he was very strong now, forged anew.

He'd throw himself into this battle with everything he had, and looked forward to doing so. Live or die, he'd shroud himself in glory.

"Clear the undead first," Spirit commanded, "then hold the northern road for the reavers."

"Understood," he replied.

Gripping the ledge with one hand, he swung down and dropped to the ground.

Dispatching the undead took hardly any time and effort. Their numbers paled compared to his last battle with them.

Then he trekked through Nalitha to the northern road. He expected Spirit to join him there, but she never appeared.

Once he spotted a reaver far off in the distance, not easy through this gloomy, ash-inflected darkness, he took a knee and thought a prayer. Lord, let those I kill serve as tithe and tribute. If I fall in this battle, let my blood and last breath be a gift to You.

Standing, he spotted more and more of this enemy. Their bulky forms almost glistened in the dark as they raced down the road, seeming as if they were made just to be a monument to terror.

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They were coming in small groups at a time, spread out in packs on the road south, heading straight for Mount Kimo, that light shining into the sky that had dared challenge them.

Angar stood in their way, his sanctified maul in hand, its dim glow stifled in this gloomy darkness. The reavers, with wicked horns, skin of obsidian, and eyes aflame with maliciousness, charged him.

But Angar was ready. He was Mecian, always ready to war, always willing to tribute more blood and battle to his Lord, the same as his new oath demanded of him.

The first wave madly rushed at their target, their predatory grace belying their size. When they were close enough, Angar activated Ground Current, his form dissolving into charged particles, traveling through the earth to emerge in the thickest grouping of Hellspawn.

As he surfaced, lightning struck all around him, courtesy of Geomagnetic Phenomena, felling several of the creatures in a flash of electric wrath, forking, felling several more after, then a few more too.

Without pause, Angar swung his maul, the weapon singing through the air, each strike a testament to his new strength.

These were creatures he had recently seen as insurmountably and overwhelmingly powerful. They remained formidable, but vulnerability shadowed their might, and he felt no fear at all.

His maul flew forward. A reaver tried grabbing it, its hand, arm, and then chest shattering, strange black liquid splattering all over.

Angar laughed, his hammer thwacking into a new head birthed of nightmare, crunching into it, killing another spawn of Hell.

Claws and teeth that couldn't be avoided raked towards him, slashing flesh. He swept his maul in a wide arc, clearing space, then spun, bashing his maul into a new foe.

Then a new foe. And a new one, until there were none. He received some marks, a few good ones too, but he was up in the tally by far, and a long way from done.

Another group neared, much larger than the last. His hammer, once so heavy, was now light in his hands as he waited for their approach.

As the first creature got close enough, he stepped forward, gripping his weapon close to the base of its haft, swinging it one-handed, testing its range.

The range was good. The blow shattered the monster's arm, then face.

Both hands went back on the haft as he spun into the large group, activating Tempest, his maul turning into a blur of destruction.

The reavers' advance halted, now caught in the cyclone, lightning from Thunderstorm leaping from one to another, forking and spreading, bouncing, reducing many to ash, silencing their strange laughs.

And Angar realized the dark whispers had faded, leaving only their strange, tormented laughter. But that laughter was simple to quell, and he silenced more of them with each spin.

The onslaught was relentless. Some of the reavers tried fleeing, some tried timing attacks, lashing in between rotations of the maul.

If he was hit, he didn't feel it much with Tempest going. And he didn't mind all that much. He accumulated Thunder from strikes both given and received, and his counter was climbing.

Some opponents tried fleeing away even with their movements slowed, lightning stretching out towards them, searching, hungry, preventing their escape.

More reavers continued racing down the road to the challenge beacon, all those joined in this magnificent battle too.

The six seconds ended, and Angar stopped spinning. He stood amid carnage once again, this time of a far more glorious sort than undead.

As with the zombies, where few around him survived Tempest, twitching in undeath or electrical discharge, the same was true, but not as true. He waded around, his hammer bashing not-quite-dead reavers as he waited for a new mass of foes to charge.

He didn't wait long. Mere seconds. And it almost seemed like this group of reavers were trying to set him up and help him out, as they surged forward in a tight grouping.

He cursed as he fumbled this important attack, and the lead reaver he swiped his maul at deftly dodged away, but it hit the claw of the one behind it. That was enough.

A shockwave unleashed from his hammer, and it was devastating, his Capstone proving to be every bit as effective against reavers as it was against the undead.

The ground quaked, and a nine-meter cone of pure destruction blasted forward, obliterating everything in its path.

These creatures of nightmare were blown away, literally. The ones outside the area of effect were slammed into by their brethren, and at such high speeds and with such force, often fatally.

And it restored Energy and a Charge.

Angar really loved being a Crusader. He loved all of this. He loved tithing the Lord His due, the same tribute demanded of all Mecians, now coming from far worthier foes.

Ground Current brought Angar right into the thick of his enemies, clearing a new hole, pushing the battleline north along the road.

Then the earnest work began as hammer and claw slashed through the air, bones shattering, skin slicing, blood running, a lot more of the black than the red sort.

As the waves of reavers continued to race down the road, Angar found himself surrounded by these towering, nightmarish figures. Claws he couldn't avoid raked into him, the air becoming thick with the stench of brimstone and heat.

What was once a fight was now a growing battlefield. His maul streaked out, bashing into foes, holding back the tide.

As it ticked off cooldown, he activated Ground Current again, appearing only a few paces away, clearing a new area, obsidian corpses twitching on the ground all around him.

When he was surrounded again, Tempest thinned out that horde, and a shockwave got the rest.

After that, he had a few moments of peace waiting for a new group to race down the road.

Spirit materialized before him. "You're taking too many wounds, Angar. Please, try to be more careful."

"Understood," he grunted. He was doing the best he could. It wasn't as if he craved the sting of bite or claw.

A sudden thought struck him. "The original forty reavers – they're still coming, right?"

"Yes," Spirit replied. "You've cut down a few already. I've been guiding the ones drawn to the challenge beacon straight to you."

"Oh."

Her voice grew grave. "The next part will be far harder. They're massing now, waiting for the scattered groups to unite into one massive horde."

This news kindled a fierce joy in his heart, a heat that spread through his chest, and a grim smile crept across Angar's blood-streaked face.