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

Angar moved back away from the transforming monster. He was weaponless, but his claws flexed instinctively, reminding him he never was.

The soldier's arms twisted backward with a series of sickening pops. His fingers elongated, sharpening into blackened talons that oozed a tar-like substance.

His jaw unhinged, stretching wide enough to swallow a man's head, and from the gaping maw erupted a choking gurgle that warped into a high-pitched keening. His eyes melted into his skull, replaced by twin pits of swirling light leaking an acrid mist.

The transformation accelerated. His legs fused and thickened, splitting at the knees into a tripod of sinewy tendrils, each tipped with a claw that gouged the stone floor. His torso ballooned, splitting open down the middle to reveal a cavernous hollow lined with jagged, tooth-like spines.

From that unholy abyss, a slurping, sucking sound erupted, and the thing shuddered as something began to claw its way out.

Even as blaster and pistol fore tore into it, seven monstrosities quickly birthed themselves from the soldier's ruined form, each more horrific than the last.

The first that slithered free was a serpentine thing with a human-like face stretched taut over a skull too wide. Its mouth was a lipless slash brimming with needle-teeth. Its body glistened, slick with a viscous slime that hissed as it dripped onto the floor, eating through stone.

The second emerged on six spindly legs, its flesh a patchwork of oozing sores, each weeping a cloudy fluid that birthed tiny, skittering parasites. Its head was a bulbous sac, eyeless, but it turned toward Angar as if it could smell his blood.

The third crawled out, a hulking mass of muscle and exposed veins, its arms ending in massive pincers that snapped with bone-crushing force. A cluster of fleshy tendrils sprouted from its back, each tipped with a blinking, lidless eye that wept pus.

The fourth was a skeletal horror, its frame wrapped in taut and translucent skin that revealed organs pulsing beneath, shifting and rearranged as it moved, accompanied by a wet sloshing sound. Its clawed hands dragged a trail of entrails that twitched independently, seeking prey.

The fifth unfurled like a grotesque flower, its body a pulsating orb of flesh studded with bony spines. From its center extended a dozen whip-like tongues, each lined with barbs that dripped a venomous green ichor.

The sixth was a shambling heap of disjointed limbs, a chaotic tangle of arms and legs stolen from countless victims, stitched together by threads of black sinew. Its many hands clawed at the air, some still wearing the shredded gloves and battered gauntlets of the fallen.

The seventh and final horror to claw forth was a towering, emaciated figure with a face split into three vertical maws, each lined with rows of rotating teeth that ground against one another, spitting sparks and flecks of gore.

The transformed soldier, now a sick mound of monstrous flesh, collapsed into a shuddering heap, its purpose fulfilled as the seven abominations spread out, their movements jerky and unnatural.

The office filled with a stench of rot and brimstone, and the air thickened with their rasping breaths and chittering cries.

Sir Emunah activated Holy Fortification as he reloaded his blaster, cursing under his breath, and May and Kenson ran behind it. Their weapons spit fire at the nearest beasts, and Kenson cackled as she held down the triggers of her auto-pistols.

Squaring his shoulders, ready, Angar prepared to meet this new nightmare.

Angar skidded to a halt on the cracked stone floor in the shadowy depths of the Scholarium's empty halls.

He had tried to fight with the others in the office, but it hadn't worked out well. It was far too crowded, he had almost been shot far too often, and he couldn't use his Abilities without harming his allies.

To split up the monsters and fight without worry or impediment, he had run out the office and down the hall.

Only three of the creatures followed him. He hoped that was enough.

He thought it could be, as he heard a lot more weapons firing, and assumed more and more backup arrived.

Dust hung thick in the air, stirred by the fading burst of Glory Thunders. The vast hallway stretched out before him, the wooden frames and doors lining it warped and splintered.

Faint illumination bled through the shattered windows of doors, casting shards of light across the hall. His chest heaved as blood from new and old wounds mingled together on his skin, his sweatsuit practically torn to near ribbons.

It had been a brutal, long battle so far. These foes didn't fall easily. Tempest and Glory Thunders had just torn through the fifth abomination, the orb of flesh with barbed tongues, its hooked whips now limp, its pulpy remains smeared across the corridor.

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The lightning had charred it to a twitching husk before Glory Thunders finished it off. That had been the second monster to fall by Angar's hands. But the fight wasn't over.

Before him, the third monster, the hulking mass of muscle and pulsing veins, had survived the second round of these attacks, and lurched forward with its massive pincers snapping with a sound like breaking bones.

Its exposed veins throbbed, leaking dark blood from where Angar had gouged its flesh, and one of its tendrils hung limp, the eye at its tip burst and oozing.

It was injured, but still a deadly nightmare, its remaining tendrils whipping through the air, their blinking eyes tracking his every move.

Angar growled. He hated tendrils with a white-hot passion. He flexed his claws, preparing as the beast charged, its bulk shaking the floor, pincers slashing down in a scissor-like arc.

He dove aside and the claws raked the stone where he'd stood, sending up a spray of sparks and dust.

Rolling to his feet, he lunged, slashing at its side. His claws sank into its meaty flank, tearing through muscles and ripping a vein wide open.

Thick black ichor sprayed, sizzling as it hit the ground, but the monster barely faltered. It swung a pincer backhand, catching Angar's shoulder and hurling him into the wall.

Stone cracked under his weight. Pain flared hot and sharp, but he pushed away from the wall, ducking as a tendril lashed out. The eye-tipped whip grazed his cheek, leaving a stinging welt, and he roared, snatching the tendril from the air before it could retreat.

His claws shredded through it, popping the eye in a burst of foul jelly, and he yanked hard, pulling the beast off-balance. It stumbled, then its massive frame crashed into another warped door, toppling it with a thunderous crack.

The monster righted itself, bellowing a rancid, gurgling sound that rattled through the air. Its pincers snapped wildly, and Angar circled, dodging a flurry of strikes that gouged the floor and walls.

Then he darted in, slashing at its legs, aiming to cripple it. His claws carved deep, severing a tendon, and the beast sagged as one of its legs buckled.

As he dodged away, a pincer clamped around Angar's forearm. Bone creaked under the pressure, but didn't snap. Blood welled as the jagged edges bit into the monstrous flesh, causing far less pain than it would have.

He sidestepped a cord, then did so again, and with a growl, he drove his free claw into the pincer's joint, wrenching until it cracked open, releasing him.

Staggering back, Angar sucked in a ragged breath as his new injury dripped more blood on the floor.

The monster lumbered forward, slower now, its injured leg dragging along, but its remaining tendrils lashed out, forcing him to weave and duck as Ground Current ticked off cooldown.

Then he was near the beast, stunning it as lightning struck, and his claws took advantage, raking deeply into its flesh, getting in what damage he could, while he could.

A moment later, all the tendrils lashed at Angar, driving him back. One caught his thigh, and the eye burst against his skin in a splash of acid that burned through the sweatsuit. He gritted his teeth against the agony and closed the distance.

He leapt, his claws slashing upward, aiming for the beast's chest. The strike landed true, ripping through its pulsating core, and the monster roared and slammed both pincers down.

Angar twisted mid-air, and the blow hit his shoulder instead of crushing his skull. He hit the ground hard, rolling to his knees as pain stabbed through his arm.

The beast loomed over him as its veins pulsed faster and its thick and black ichor pooled beneath it, but its strength still hadn't waned yet.

Angar surged up, feinting left, then drove his hand into its underbelly. His claws parted flesh, and his hand sunk deep. He tore upward with all his might.

The monster shrieked, a sound that shook the hallway's stones, as its innards spilled out ropy, steaming coils of black and red.

Its pincers flailed wildly and unpredictably, one clipping Angar's head sending blood splattering, but he still pressed forward, unrelenting, and sunk claws deep in it again.

This time, his claws found its heart, or the throbbing, tumorous mass he assumed was one, and he crushed it, squeezing until it burst in a gush of rancid fluid.

The beast convulsed, sending its tendrils thrashing, and its pincers snapping at nothing.

Angar yanked his arm free and stepping back as it toppled, its massive bulk crashing to the floor with a slurping thud.

Dust billowed, and the air filled with a stronger stench of decay. He stood over it, his chest heaving, his claws dripping with its lifeblood, his own wounds screaming. Right then, Tempest ticked off cooldown, as if mocking him.

The hallway sank into an eerie stillness, broken only by the soft drip of gore from Angar's claws and the rasp of his heavy breaths. For a fleeting second, peace reigned. Then rapid blaster-fire shattered the silence, echoing through the Scholarium.

Angar bolted down the hallway, and his boots pounded hard on the stone as he pushed his speed, running back to the rectoria's office.

His heart thudded, not from exhaustion, but from a gnawing hope that Venerable Sisters May and Kenson, both caught in the crossfire of his war, still lived.

He pressed on, ready to fight again, but the blaster fire cut off abruptly just before he turned down the hallway leading to the rectoria's office.

As he neared the room, he received some Glorious Achievements totaling 7 points, one for each of these strange beasts, all shared kills. He stepped through the doorway into a relatively calm scene.

The soldier-turned-abomination lay in a shredded heap, its spawned horrors all felled, the room reeking of burnt meat, rotted flesh, and brimstone.

The office's high windows were shattered. Four other Knights of the Eyes of Providence were in the room, their armor sprayed with gore too.

A handful of soldiers flanked them inside, while more poked in through the window, their weapons sweeping for more threats.

Venerable Sister May lay dead, her corpse shattered beyond hope.

Kenson slumped against the desk, her robes soaked crimson from grievous wounds, but her breaths came shallow but steady. She'd live, and he was extremely glad for that, though the cost was etched in her pale face.

Kenson wiped her face with a sleeve, and her dulled but still slate-hard eyes met Angar's. "The Heretics won't stop. They'll keep coming for you. You're staying with me now, in the guest room of my rectory, away from the dorms. You're still a minor, not a man in the law's eyes, so it's not improper."

She paused, and Angar half-expected her to tack on something about her advanced age ensuring their bond stayed chaste, but she didn't.

Angar nodded. Guilt gnawed at his gut, giving victory a bitter taste. May's death was on his hands.

Even so, a grim satisfaction bloomed in his chest. He was glad to have made enemies this relentless and this powerful.

He'd been certain life at a Cloisteranage would be boring, a peaceful slog, but, so far, he'd enjoyed it a great deal.

He performed the sign of the trey, offering a silent prayer to the Lord, giving thanks for all his battles since coming to this planet. He just hoped no one else like May got caught up in them. She didn't seem like much of a fighter.

Even so, he hoped the attacks never ceased, and that the tributes of blood flowed unendingly.

He was Mecian. War was his purpose, and he'd carve his path to Heaven one corpse at a time.