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

Angar threw an uppercut, snapping the Knight's helm back.

The armored foe stumbled, rattled, and Angar pressed in, hammering fists into him, each thud a dull echo splattering blood from his knuckles, each grunt of his opponent a small victory.

His enemy recovered fast, lunging in, throwing a haymaker. Angar ducked low, but the follow-up knee caught his ribs, sending a sharp jolt of pain flaring through him.

He had twisted away and not taken the full knee, and it hurt less than the searing agony of a blaster hit, but it landed right near where a blaster shot had punctured.

Breathing hard, he swung a tight hook into his enemy's head, the jarring impact searing up his arm like a lightning strike. The man grunted, knocked slightly off-balance, but rallied swiftly.

Angar bobbed and weaved, avoiding a flurry of armored punches, but one whacked his mouth, splitting his lip and rocking his head back. New blood trickled, intermixing with the old, the sting fueling his fire.

He roared, driving a straight punch into his foe's face. The helm jerked, and a curse hissed out.

Angar was getting through, rattling the man even if the armor was unharmed.

The man charged. Angar tried moving back and away, nearly tripping over a body, but his opponent couldn't be avoided, tackling him to the floor with a bone-jarring crash.

The Knight's weight pinned him as his fists rained down. Ground Current was seconds from ready. He'd have to survive until then.

Angar twisted, blocking many, dodging a few, before a clear blow smashed his cheek, sending pain flaring through his head as it slammed into the ground with a resounding crack.

With a surge, he bucked the Knight off, rolling to his feet. Standing as quickly as he could, he felt Ground Current come off cooldown a split second too late to have helped.

Both fighters squared up again. As the armored man charged once more, Ground Current made moving around all the bodies littering the floor irrelevant.

Angar reappeared and a bolt tore down, striking the man, another bolt striking the already downed Charitut.

While he was stunned, Angar plowed into the Knight, knocking him to the floor, then kicked his helmet over and over as fast as he could.

The man took the blows, enduring them all as he rose, relentless. He blocked a kick with an armored forearm and swung a wild cross as he fully got his feet.

Angar slipped it, sending his own brutal elbow at his opponent's neck joint. The man staggered, grunting, and Angar followed with a knee to the midsection. The armor took it, but the Knight doubled over slightly.

Angar circled, dodging a sluggish jab, then landed a crushing overhand to the Knight's head. The helm rang like a bell, sending him swaying.

But the Knight wasn't done. He grabbed Angar's arm, yanking him into a savage headbutt.

Metal met flesh, and Angar's vision swam as pain spiked through his skull. He broke free of the grip, stumbling back as new blood dripped down his brow.

The Knight pressed forward with his fists flying. Angar weaved, avoiding most, but a solid punch slammed his upper arm, sending him reeling. It hurt, but he'd taken worse. He growled, closing the gap with a flurry of his own.

A left to the armored ribs, a right to the jaw, each blow shaking the Knight inside this shell. Then they stood and traded blows like titans for long seconds, a slugfest of sweat and steel.

As they broke apart, the warrior's fist hit Angar's upper sternum and throat, choking him briefly, but Angar ducked the next swing and drove a double-fisted smash into his enemy's chest.

The Knight staggered back, the mechanical breathing escaping the helm now ragged.

An authoritative voice screamed out, "Knight-Novices! Reply! What's going on? Do you need reinforcements?"

Angar, his own chest heaving, fists swollen and bloodied, his body a tapestry of injuries, every muscle screaming, almost groaned upon realizing the Knight he was fighting was his own Rank. He thought these men were like Vernost.

The caped Knight turned his helmet, Angar assumed to yell back, something he couldn't allow.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

With a primal grunt, he ran in, feinting low, then slamming a devastating hook into a helmet. The head knocked sideways, and Angar seized the helm, yanking it down into a rising knee. His knee raised three times before he heard a new yell, "Converge on the room!"

He wrapped his arms around the Knight's waist and heaved, the man's arms flailing as his legs lifted in the air.

Angar, with all the strength he could muster, jumped up and drove the Knight's head into the ground, then dropping him like a sack of iron. His opponent hit the floor, unmoving now, the same as Charitut, the armor undented but the man inside finished.

He stood over his enemy, breathing heavily, his body almost spent. He'd taken hits, he felt the new bruises blooming over old blaster shots, but he was still standing, and these two Knights weren't.

He couldn't last much longer. He needed to flank the enemy somehow. Break them up, and fight them piecemeal. If he couldn't, and they converged, Ground Current and Tempest were ready to go. Many more would die before he fell.

As he retrieved his maul, the sound of footsteps thundered closer.

Mostly soldiers by their lighter tread, but at least three knights were among them, their armored steps clanking like a deadly drumbeat.

Hot and thick blood streamed from his wounds, stoking the fire in his chest. He pressed himself beside the door again, waiting, his grip tight on the maul's haft.

Blaster barrels nosed through the doorway, and he lunged, catching them off guard as his maul battered into them, sending many flying back. No shots rang out before he glanced right, triggering Ground Current to hurl himself into the thickest knot of foes.

Lightning erupted from him, frying many where they stood, their screams cut short. He immediately spun into Tempest, a whirlwind of steel and rage, his maul singing as it cleaved through flesh and bone.

Blasters blazed in chaos, so much of it that soldiers hit many of their own, but most bolts struck true, digging deep in his flesh despite his 90% damage mitigation. Pain flared as he spun, taking hit after hit. Too many wounds were piling up, forcing him to change his plan.

Something massive slammed into him mid-spin, tearing a chunk from his leg and sending him airborne, and blood spraying like crimson mist.

He had no idea what hit him, and the impact hurt terribly, but oddly, it aided him as no blaster fire hit him as he twirled through the air.

He landed near a closed door, exactly what he needed to prevent taking more damage. As soon as he landed, he smashed through it, his wounded leg still screaming out in pain.

The room beyond was strangely decorated. A few chairs with padded seats lined the walls. A thick red carpet covered the whole floor, stained a different red now, under him, with his blood.

A bulky table stood near the center, nearer the other side, piled with papers, objects, and odd tools he couldn't name. Windows stretched along one wall, framing the city's towering buildings far off in the distance.

Behind the bulky table crouched a woman, clearly not a soldier, her eyes wide with terror as she peaked over, her hands clutching the edge as if it could shield her.

Angar had no quarrel with her. His war was with the Eyes of Providence, their Knights and soldiers, and no others, especially not women bystanders. He ended Tempest early, the lightning ending before it stretched to the table, sparing her life.

His leg throbbed with a pulsing agony, sending a lot of blood pooling beneath him. He couldn't fight the Eyes in the hall. Twice he tried, and twice it failed. He had to fight them piecemeal. There was some way to make it happen. He just had to think.

As yells came from the hallway, he toppled a large piece of furniture filled with books to block the entrance, and a new plan formed in his mind.

He hobbled to the window with his maul raised and smashed it hard. The glass held at first, cracking into a web of fractures, but the second blow sent it shattering outward, the shards glinting as they fell.

He peeked down, the dizzying drop seizing his chest. He forced the fear out, gripping his maul tighter.

He backed up for a hobbling run. Blaster fire erupted behind him as he leaped and followed the window shards downward.

His plan was simple. He'd fall, use Ground Current to reappear near the main entrance, kill the soldiers guarding it, reenter the building, and fight his enemies in small groups, not so massed as they were in that hallway, and continue until they were all dead.

The building's base lay far below. But he'd misjudged. His jump didn't bring him out nearly as far as he had assumed it would.

The building's walls tapered wider towards the bottom. There had to be well over five hundred meters to the earth. He assumed that would give plenty of time for Ground Current to reset and be available.

But he wouldn't come close to clearing the taper. He wasn't sailing free but plummeting toward the building's slanted side.

Wind roared past, ripping at his face, stealing his breath as his heart hammered. He tried to bellow a prayer, but the gale choked it silent.

It wasn't clear if Ground Current would be ready before he smacked into the building, and even if it was, its range wouldn't reach the ground. It wouldn't even get him close.

The widening wall rushed up fast, sending his heart lurching.

A split second before impact, Ground Current ticked off cooldown. He nervously triggered it, the Ability yanking him out and a little down the taper, but not nearly far enough.

He reformed on the slope. The prior momentum was gone, but gravity seizing him again, dragging him down once more, with probably over a hundred meters to go before reaching the bottom.

He tumbled, battering against the stone, clawing for a hold that never came. His body bashed and rolled, new pain exploding with every hit, until he slammed hard into the earth below, his consciousness dimming and vision swimming.

Then his bloody maul thudded down beside him.

He struggled to rise. He wouldn't let defeat snatch him now. He didn't jump so far down to the earth to have his fight end this ingloriously. If he was going to die, he'd die fighting.

Through the haze, he glimpsed a mob yelling and shoving against a line of soldiers, fighting to storm the building.

He shook his head to clear it, and forced his aching muscles to obey. His shaky hands tried to push him up.

He fell back down.

He tried again. And failed again.

He would not fail. He was Angar, son of Baraga, and he would not fail. He would rise. He'd die fighting, and well.

But no matter how he struggled and fought it, darkness clawed at his mind. A crowd gathered around him as the black took him, and his battered and bloody form stilled.