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

Venerable Sister Kenson oversaw Zanaya's Erim Sector, a sprawling network with many Cloisteranages under her leadership, but she primarily resided at the oldest and most prestigious, Saint Krakus.

Her duties demanded frequent travel, leaving her rectory of arched windows and ivy-choked walls all to Angar.

Now the place felt more like a fortress than a home, its space once a quiet refuge from the chaos of students beyond, now the center of a far deadlier type of chaos.

The bearded, one-armed veteran, Simo, hadn't been offered his job of cleaning and maintaining the residence through the Church.

Kenson believed labor purified the soul. She had always cleaned and maintained her own quarters and grounds herself, but had taken pity on Simo's plight, paying him from her own stipend meant for rectory upkeep.

The Church had strict standards barring most cripples like Simo from employment as servants, deeming them unfit to perform their duties.

Angar remembered Kenson telling the veteran the Church valued warriors like him, crippled in sacred service to the Holy Empire, and would always provide work for such.

That was a lie. Lying was a sin Kenson preached against. She excused it as a kindness, preserving Simo's pride while promoting the Church's generosity.

Angar saw a lie as a lie. If she wanted her lie to be truth, she should've forced the Church to employ those crippled fighting in the Holy War it so rigorously promoted. Or even better, heal them with its vast resources so these warriors could fight again.

How things currently stood made no sense to him.

The venerable sister tasked Angar with maintaining the rectory and its grounds as rent for living there. She kept Simo employed, assigning him as Angar's servant.

The work was simple, such as sweeping and mopping floors, wiping down furniture, and trimming hedges and ivy.

Angar didn't mind doing it at all, especially as Simo helped, and told him stories as they worked.

His days followed a rigid schedule. Mornings brought Mass, physical drills, combat training, followed by breakfast and classes until lunch. Then, hypno-indoctrination, physical drills, exercises, and the obstacle course, dinner, and more combat and arms training, the day ending with a few hours free time.

But that routine hadn't lasted long, as something dark always waited, and Heretics struck while his class was in the hypno-pods, slaughtering many students.

Kenson had to ban him from learning along with others after that, knowing his presence drew danger, and the Heretics didn't care if other students were harmed or killed.

Now, solitary clergywomen taught him in the rectory after lunch, imparting lessons the other students received in classes, while also trying to catch him up to where those his age stood academically.

While students filled classrooms, he used indoctrination pods, the gym, and other empty facilities, also honing his body and mind with personal training and trainers.

And as Angar adjusted to his life as a student, the galaxy bled.

About a month after arrival at Saint Krakus, the Holy Empire quelled the upgraded gateways that had plagued and pressed it sorely.

The biggest worry was that the Old Guard, Abyssal Sons, United Front, Libertas, and other unholy factions would exploit the situation, and plunge the Holy Empire into the next galactic war.

A new war didn't kick off, but two more imperial worlds in the fringe were lost.

The breaches had strained the Empire's defenses, but with the upgraded gateways sealed, most normalcy returned, and the Demon Lady Raga became the focus.

Nearly a hundred Seraph, the title of those in the third Realm, level 200 and on, joined thousands of Saints and countless others in sacred martyrdom sending Raga back to the infernal abyss, and she was one of the least powerful of her kind.

And that grim toll didn't even count the billions who died from or fighting the upgraded portals.

Despite all the losses, this wasn't close to one of the many times the Holy Empire teetered on the edge of oblivion, the most recent being the Eighth Galactic War a century prior.

With the crisis over, activated reserves and militias stood down, their banners furled, and the city of Erim swelled once more with bustling life, minus all those slaughtered, its streets choked again.

Angar never saw it. He'd hoped to roam Erim's maze of spires and markets, to learn its pulse, but he wasn't allowed to leave the campus grounds.

Simo fetched all his meals. Over trays of food Angar found ridiculously appetizing, though everyone else claimed were terrible, the veteran taught him as much as any tutor, sharing his own take on the Holy Empire's workings.

A lot about it baffled Angar, but he needed to learn as much as he could, from all sources he could, and Simo's perspective was very different from the approved doctrine the clergywoman taught.

The rectory's stone floor shone under the dim glow of sconces, but a stubborn streak of grime from the last abyssal attack clung to spots.

Simo hunched over his mop, his single arm working the handle with practiced grit, as Angar scrubbed beside him, learning.

"Long ago," said Simo, "all citizens ascended equally, offered the same Classes and power, their effort and bravery dictating how far they climbed."

Angar looked up. He hadn't heard about that.

Simo continued. "But Divine Theosis, and the power it can bestow, has limits. To better grant that power effectively, after the Holy Empire was almost defeated, Theosis reshaped society and ascension with the estates. Crusaders receive the most power, their strength unmatched."

"Those in the combat sects of the Ecclesiastic and Laity, Imperial Military, nobles, and some others can attain decent might. The weakest though, and I mean most imperial citizens, get scraps."

Stolen novel; please report.

Simo chuckled. "And they want scraps. Take my wife, Veerta. Wanting to avoid militia drills, activations, and deployments, she picked a weak buffer Class, Citharista. Most citizens do the same, desiring peaceful lives free of war."

Simo went on, explaining the Attribute and Stat points his wife received were less effective than his, and his less than Angar's.

Even if Veerta were to miraculously reach Paragon, the title granted to those of the Laity upon achieving the second Realm, level 100, she'd pale beside Simo with his Milites and Heros Classes.

Everyone gained experience for the tasks Crusaders did such as slaying Hellspawn and most Heretics, but the bottom dwellers reaped the biggest rewards per kill.

Weaker Classes tended to climb the levels faster, as experience granted by Theosis was also tied to estate and Order work, but they only climbed faster to a point, as Tiers had requirements.

Those lacking certain battle experience were barred from ascending Tiers. The second Realm, which granted new powerful benefits and a greatly extended lifespan, had extensive combat requirements.

Simo eyed him. "When I was in the army, in the Filii Belli Lay Order, the Children of War, I only got XP for killing. Some training too, but not a lot. Now I'm in the Liberi Humiles, the Humble Children. Serfs, they call us.

"But now I get XP for this…," he sloshed the mop for emphasis, "mopping. Menial tasks. A decent amount too. And for killing Hellspawn and heretics still, of course. More than I used to get as a soldier."

Talk of power meant little compared to wielding it, and Simo now fought often, as did Angar. A few times against thugs and guards they suspected Leopold was behind, but far, far more often against assaults by the infernal abyss.

Angar relished it. He'd sworn his life to this Holy War, and the enemy obliged, bringing battle to his doorstep regularly.

He nearly died countless times, saved only by the intervention of the Eyes of Providence. They were always nearby, always watching him with their spy drones, a team on hand and ready to intercede.

But it wasn't just the Eyes keeping tabs on him. Three times he had been questioned by a Knightly Chapter named the Arm of the Divine, a small force dedicated to enforcing Theosis' will.

They grilled him on what he knew of the strange tasks Holy Theosis gave out on Vefol and during Angar's arrival on Zanaya. He told them only what he could.

He faced many abyssal attacks, each sharpening his knowledge, making him stronger. They also swelled his coffers, and he split the credits from loot with Simo.

He kept the sanctified maul his father had gifted him. He'd always cherish it, and it had served him well, but he needed better.

He bought a new weapon, a power hammer, much larger and heavier than his old maul, its haft etched with runes, its head a brutal slab of metal veined with glowing conduits.

It wasn't just a large metal maul. It bore a Graviton Pulse Amplifier, a marvel of imperial tech.

Unlike standard hammers relying on mass and swing, this one tapped Angar's internal energy through its runed haft, as Angar lacked the neural links and nodes of the Neurvux implant.

Each strike of the weapon could be imbued with 2 energy points, which was double the cost of a linked weapon, powering a miniature graviton generator in the head.

On impact, it unleashed a localized gravitational pulse, a micro-well that multiplied the force exponentially. For this very basic and cheap hammer, four times his force, though better hammers had much higher multiples.

The hammer's size dwarfed his old maul. Its dark steel head shimmered with faint distortions when primed, showing the warping of gravity.

A single blow imbued with energy could collapse armor, shatter bones, or ripple through soft tissue, liquifying internal organs.

Even the normal, unempowered swings from this weapon were far more devastating than the blows of his maul, though his old weapon did some sanctified damage, effective against Hellspawn.

He had bought a cheap and basic one because, after the Grim Ordeals, he'd receive a Neurvux implant, its nodes allowing him better power weapons, meaning any fueled by its user's internal energy, the same as power armor.

This hammer would become obsolete then, so he hadn't splurged, and neither had he spent his slowly growing Glory Points on sanctifying it.

Still, it transformed his fights, each imbued swing a thunderous terror, smashing through armor and flesh with devastating force. It bolstered his survival, giving him a much needed and brutal edge against the relentless attacks.

As he was a Hedge Knight, unbound to any Knightly Chapter, he was paid a monthly stipend in credits by Holy Theosis. He hoarded them, supplementing the sum with a Sunday job, his one free day, for extra coin.

A year and four months blurred past in a storm of tutors, hypno-indoctrination, grueling drills, and endless clashes with Heretics, Hellspawn, and abominations.

Often, he nearly died, but the gravest wound came more recently, a few months after the fingers and toes Mithas cut off had finally regrown.

A rift had torn open in the rectory's garden, pulsing like a bleeding wound of fire. He rushed toward it, his power hammer tight in his grip, expecting the usual spattering off Hellspawn, choking the air with an overwhelming stench of brimstone and rotten flesh.

A sole shadow burned through the rift, a monstrosity of claws and writhing darkness, its maw filled with rows of spinning fangs like some unholy tool meant to grind trees into mulch.

A foreboding feeling told Angar to be cautious, but he felt that often, and ignored it, or he'd never battle, or tithe his Lord.

The dark whispers were stronger than usual, and he wondered if Simo could handle them. He looked back to see the veteran perched out an open window.

Simo nodded, and his auto-blaster began spitting plasma.

Angar charged. The runed haft warmed in his hands and conduits glowed as his hammer's head warped with a graviton field after feeding two Energy Points into it.

The beast lunged with claws slashing and the air thickened with unholy whispers, but its claws found nothing but empty space.

Ground Current took Angar behind the spawn of Hell. A lightning bolt tore into the creature, followed by a blur of dark steel as he swung.

On impact, a gravitational pulse erupted. The beast's hide split, and burning black ichor splattered all over, but the monster didn't falter.

As he went to spin into Tempest, the beast didn't move or turn. Its shadowy form twitched, and too late, his danger sense flared, and Angar's left arm was suddenly in its maw. He yanked back, but spinning teeth like daggers sheared through muscle and bone, pulping his arm.

Pain blazed, blood fountained, and he was free from the infernal's grip, but down an arm. He roared, but battle was no time to mope. He cleared his mind, and instinct drove him onward.

Tempest needed two hands to work, so couldn't be employed. With his remaining hand, he swung again, his hammer crackling, and Simo's bolts rained down, searing the beast's shadowy flesh.

The maul slammed the creature's skull, caving the shadow inward with another spray of burning ichor. His danger sense flared again, telling him to get away quickly, or he'd be down two arms or worse. He listened, rolling backwards as the shadow shifted in the blink of an eye, chomping empty air.

Then Angar fought defensively, carefully, until the Eyes' shuttle roared overhead, Knights and soldiers unleashing blazing beams as they descended.

They'd won, but it had taken a long time and a great effort to kill that unholy creature. The cost was carved into both his flesh and pocket.

The injury forced him to drain nearly all his saved credits on a cybernetic prosthetic implant. It had to be done. Tempest required two hands, and the attacks never ceased.

Unlike gateways, rifts were small tears in reality, spilling only a small number of Hellspawn. When killed, the rift faded. Some opened slowly, strained wider by the creatures beyond, and could be sealed preemptively. Left unchecked though, all rifts eventually grew into gateways.

The year and four months blurred into a crucible of survival, forging him for what lay ahead. The rectory became his stronghold, Simo his weathered companion, and battle his lifeblood.

As the month Theosis claimed he was born during drew near, the Grim Ordeals beckoned with trials that would grant him more power.

If he survived it, once he had this power, he'd join a Knightly Chapter, receive mighty Crusader Armor and a better weapon, finally ascend to the second Tier, and continue waging Holy War, but on a much grander scale.

He had survived this far, but feared that instead of a glorious death in battle, he'd meet an inglorious end during the Ordeals. Not due to any of the events themselves, but a Heretical attack when he was incapacitated, such as during the Psygistrion trial.

The closest the Underworld ever came to killing him was during two attacks while he lay helpless in the hypno-indoctrination pods, an event lasting only two hours.

During the Psygistrion trial, he'd be vulnerable for two weeks, unconscious, unaware, unable to fight back.

He prayed they wouldn't strike then, but planned as if they would, and he'd soon be dead.