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

Venerable Sister Kenson stood imposingly behind Angar in Rectoria May's office, her shadow stretching across the cracked stone floor like a specter of judgment, as the head of the boys' Scholarium explained why his action was regrettable.

When Theosis established the Holy Empire's social hierarchy, three estates were formed – Crusaders at the pinnacle, Ecclesiastic below, and the faithful Laity as the foundation.

Within the Laity, all the various Orders were supposed to be equal to one another, with individuals of similar rank within these Orders seen no differently.

Over time, this hierarchy warped to something new, as some nobles and corporate magnates steadily amassed influence and power.

At the top of this shifted hierarchy stood the nine Duke and Duchess Imperators, each ruling over vast domains spanning multiple star systems in the ancient imperial core of the Orion Arm.

There were the Duke Imperator of the Sol Dominion, Pleiadean Expanse, Zeta Reticuli Dominion, Orion Nebula Dominion, Barnard's Loop Expanse, Lambda Orionis Stretch, Eridanus Veil Dominion, Cygnus-Orion Reach, and of the Belted Expanse.

These nine held unparalleled authority within the Holy Empire, eclipsing that of even Seraph and the grand marshals leading Knightly Chapters, with power equal or greater to the four Pontifices Maximi, the supreme Ecclesiarch for each species, God's voice in absence of Holy Theosis.

The only others rivaling these nobles in power were individuals holding the highest rank of the Filii Ordinis, Dominus Corporis, running galaxy spanning corporations such as Pax Trinitas Mining Conglomerate and Kryon Systems, both headquartered on this world.

Outside of those ancient clusters of stars, no other Duke Imperators reigned, only Archdukes ruling systems, and Dukes ruling worlds, even though the Holy Empire had expanded into all major arms of the galaxy.

Most children of all Lay Orders not tithed as newborns were typically sent to a Cloisteranage before their twelfth year of age, aspiring to Knighthood at sixteen, including the children of nobles.

Sir Maximillian Donnerdun, Duke of Zanaya, was the ruler of this world, and a retired Crusader. His son, Leopold, was the student Angar had injured.

All students in that classroom were sons of nobles, spanning from Marquis to Minor Gentry, the lowest of the fourteen noble ranks, the rank Angar had been granted, grouped together for classes.

Since nearly all the students of Saint Krakus had to live on Zanaya after graduating, no one dared make an enemy of Leopold, and even Venerable Sister tread carefully, wary of Duke Donnerdun's wrath.

As punishment for assaulting a student during class, Angar had his knuckles rapped, ten on each hand, with a flat, wide leather strap with a handle called a tawse.

It was hardly felt, either due to his Attributes and Stats, the thick and coarse skin of his monstrous hands, or their dulled sensation. He'd also have to perform extra physical training during the evening when other students were granted free time.

Kenson escorted him back to class, but it was lunchtime, so she dropped him off at the cafeteria's doors.

As Angar stepped inside, silence rippled outward. Boys froze with forks hovering, their eyes locked onto him, some wary, some venomous.

He met their stares with a furrowed brow, a challenge clear in his gaze, daring them to say or do anything requiring a response.

He'd never seen a cafeteria, and didn't know how it worked. Watching the others, he joined the line, clutching a tray. It seemed only Laywomen staffed it, each down the line placing a different food onto his tray with bored indifference.

He claimed an empty table, far from the whispers and glares. As he lifted his spoon, a drone buzzed into view, hovering a meter above him. Its red alarm spun, shrieking, and a voice blaring, "Cease! That meal is tainted!"

The room stilled as confusion moved through the boys. Angar set the utensil down, and the drone's alarm died.

Moments later, the boots of Eyes of Providence soldiers and a Knight thundered into the cafeteria. They tackled a Laywoman server. She shrieked nonstop until muffled, then shackles snapped shut around her wrists.

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The Knight approached, a few soldiers alongside. "Sir Angar, we believe the food's poisoned. We'll need to collect it as evidence."

Angar rose, nodding curtly. "Thank you, Sir Knight," he said, starting to believe Kenson was right to force a peace between him and this chapter.

He grabbed a fresh tray, the line parting as he moved, and ate in silence as the weight of eyes pressed against him.

When he finished, as he didn't know where to go, a stern-looking sister brought him to the hypno-indoctrination chamber, a poorly lit room where the air was thick with incense and hums, filled with large machines.

She gestured to one. It was a pod, its interior a coffin of black steel and pulsing conduits.

"Don't try to fight it," said the sister, "or focus too hard. Just stay relaxed, watch the lights, and let the experience happen."

Angar climbed in, and the hatch sealed with a hiss.

Darkness swallowed him, then a blinding and invasive light stabbed into his skull. The hypnotic rites began. Information entered his head as pulsing lights while strange shapes danced in his eyes. They held him mesmerized, and he couldn't look away.

Even so, he forced his mind to focus on what was entering it. It seemed to be a relentless tide of demands searing into his mind – obedience, absolute loyalty to the Holy Empire, obedience, hate of Heresy and Heretics, obedience, intolerance of sin and nonconformity, obedience, complete faith in Trinitarianism, obedience, accepting customs and laws, and obedience.

It lasted a long while, then the pod finally released him.

He doubted it had taken hold, but also doubted he'd know if it had. He didn't feel different, or more obedient.

Next came the Gymnasium. A new sister marched the class to a massive hall of rusted iron and sweat-soaked mats, Angar disregarding the other student's sidelong glances and muttered jibes, glad most of them were ignoring him.

The class started by stretching while in rows and files, then running laps. Various exercises followed while in formation again, such as push-ups and sit-ups.

Though he pushed himself, even with his injured body, he didn't find much challenge in any of it. Exercise was done in unison, only the run allowing him to go at his own pace and push himself.

An obstacle course of spiked walls, pits, barriers, and razor wire outside on Harrow Field came after. The others stumbled, cursing, bloodied by its brutality.

Angar, ignoring his injuries, flowed through the course easily, scaling ropes, walls, nets, and cliffs, advancing through strange barriers and hurdles, and vaulting chasms with grim precision, his breath steady even at its finish, and ran it again, and a third time.

Next, dinner in the cafeteria was a repeat of lunch with silence, stares, and whispers behind hands. He ate alone, enjoying the delicious food. He heard many students groan and say the meal was awful, and he wondered what they considered good if it wasn't this.

Then came combat training. It was unfair for him to fight with other students. He stood and watched as the boys fought one another.

In the armory, a new sister coached him on the basics of firearms. He was handed an auto-blaster and a lancer to try out.

Targets flickered and he squeezed the trigger, sending strange energy bolts spitting from the auto-blaster in a rhythmic roar, most shots missing his intended target.

Switching to the lancer, he did a little better, and picked off some distant marks, the weapon's recoil digging into his shoulder with every powerful blast.

Afterward, students were dismissed for their free time, but for him, he was sent for his punishment of extra physical training.

He returned to the Gymnasium. It was filled with many boys on one side, a few girls on the other, all these students ages spanning a wide range.

Three sisters observed with whistles in their mouths, blowing it and yelling at any student not exercising hard enough.

First, he ran up and down the bleachers until his legs burned.

As he was free to choose his own exercises, he moved to a corner lined with weights, shadowing another student's routine, mimicking each lift once the boy was done, but stacking on heavier loads. He pressed and pulled until his arms and legs quaked under the strain.

Then a sister blew a whistle and told everyone to get to their beds.

He trudged to his dormitory, a squat and giant box of gray stone. Inside, hundreds of bunks lined the walls with many more rows down the center of the bay, and the air was filled with the stink of unwashed bodies. The closer students hushed as he entered, staring at him.

He found his bunk. The frame creaked under his weight as he sat on his bed, looking around, staring down anyone who looked at him, welcoming all adversity.

This was his path, and it would be forged in blood, tempered by wrath, and blessed by the Lord.

As his gaze swept the dormitory, it caught on three figures out of place. Grown men, middle-aged, their armor dented, and well-used, strange clubs gripped tight in their gauntlets.

Near them, sprawled on a bunk, sat Leopold, a bandage plastered across his nose, eyes blackened, lips swollen, flanked by a knot of students, all staring at Angar.

Angar stared back, his eyes locking onto Leopold's. The boy's gaze burned with hate, unyielding, refusing to flinch. They held the standoff with tension coiling until a harsh buzzer sounded. The lights snapped off, plunging the cavernous dorm into shadow, making it much more like Vefol.

His bunkmate climbed up to his bed as Angar squeezed into his own. Even if he had rested in the Reptiloid ship as their strange machine worked on him, either exhaustion or injuries demanded he sleep, something he didn't want to do with enemies surrounding him.

He tried staying awake. He thought sleep would elude him, being in such a strange and new environment, but it found him quickly, forcing itself on him like it never had before.

He had no idea how long he slept when a jolt seared up his leg with a sharp bite and the crackle of electricity, snapped him awake. Two more shocks stabbed his torso, burning hot, and he rolled off the bunk, hitting the cold floor with a grunt.

His eyes looked up, easily seeing in the dim darkness of the room. The three men loomed near his bunk, their batons alive with sparking tips flickering light off their dented armor, confusion etched on their faces.