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

"You have an incoming message, Navarchus Archduke," stated the comms specialist with a sharp and clipped voice, cutting through the bridge's clamor.

"Thank you. I'll take it in the wardroom," replied Teth Malevon. He turned to the ship's commanding officer. "I'll be back shortly, Tribunus."

"Aye, Navarchus," the Tribunus replied, standing at attention.

As Teth Malevon strode toward the exit with boots thudding on the polished deck, the Tribunus called out, "The bridge is yours! Navarchus is leaving the bridge!"

All personnel stood at attention, rendering a salute as he left, the temporary transfer of command a courtesy to a visiting admiral, lasting only until he stepped foot off the bridge, where the Tribunus would resume command of the mighty Warspite, a super-class dreadnought.

The Tribunus yelled, "Carry on!" as the Teth exited, the door hissing shut behind him.

In wardroom three, the steward, a Servant, had long ago set up a secure console under the direction of the XO, a Herald. Teth Malevon entered the empty wardroom, save for the steward, and ordered, "Guard the door."

Alone, he let his mask slip, relishing the rare solitude. He served Sar-Teth Neuretha, may her secret and unholy reign of terror never cease.

Unlike Teth Horridus, Teth Malevon kept his identity veiled, ruling his Hellworld, Dreadthorn, through a student and proxy.

Molokhar the Ember King, the Unquenchable, was another disciple of the Sar-Teth, but as he was of Hell, the relationship wasn't the same.

He activated the comms booth, decoded the message, and logged into the secure console hidden behind a panel.

Fury surged as he read. The natural Crusader still lived. He nearly ordered an orbital bombardment to finally get this done and over.

Nox Morgathra's continued failure infuriated him. Her competence and efficiency had never faltered so badly.

Raging at her would be pointless, though. He knew his students. She'd be more furious with her failures than he was.

But that she had failed so badly despite using nearly all their resources on Zanaya was unacceptable. She'd have to be punished severely. The boy was still of the first Tier. This was ridiculous. Such a simple task. He should be long dead by now.

The Harmongulan story was clearly a lie, and each incident Teth Malevon looked into at Saint Krakus showed the Eyes of Providence saving the day, not an absurdly strong child Crusader.

Recruits from among the Ecclesiastic were common, but at the second Realm, Hierarch, level 100, most were forced into a combat sect, placed under great scrutiny, purified, exorcised, and either redeemed or executed. That's why there was a huge level gap in the in the Ordo Sacra Custodia.

Nox Morgathra was one of the few Seraphs they had embedded in the Ecclesiastic. Her hidden identity was far too useful to expose, the same as his own.

But there were limits to this excuse, and all this failure couldn't be pinned on it.

He reviewed the assets she still had in play and found them lacking.

A new request of hers jolted him. It was for an Abyssal Tyrant, unleashed to crush the boy before the Grim Ordeals began.

A bold idea, and expensive, but it promised finality where her other efforts had failed.

He took a few moments to think it through, weighing the action.

If he were to approve this, the Abyssal Tyrant he had in mind would completely nullify the protection of the Eyes of Providence. But he'd need to risk an asset in the Imperial Navy, something he'd rather not do.

He mentally reviewed what he had available. There was a Servant commanding a medium-class destroyer large enough to transport the Tyrant. The loss would be tolerable.

He didn't want his mistress' wrath aimed at him, so this had to get done, and soon.

He approved the request, set it in motion, and sent Nox Morgathra further instructions.

Then he took a moment to feel the loving embrace of the profane and unholy through his dark pact, reveling in Hell's fell power, before standing and settling himself.

Composure restored, Teth Malevon exited the wardroom, slipping fully back into his role of a Navarchus and Archduke.

A Glorious Achievement!

Behold, the radiant gaze of Theosis, the Holy System, the Divine shepherd of the glorious Empire of the Holy Trinity, falls upon you.

By the Three's unyielding will, you have emerged from the hallowed halls of the Saint Krakus Cloisteranage. For most, graduation marks the first laurel of glory bestowed by Theosis, a tender spark to kindle their path. Yet not for you, anointed blade of Divine retribution, for you already walk the Glorious Path, your soul ablaze with the fires of Holy War.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Cast your mind back, Holy Knight, to a time one year and four months past, when the shadow of temptation whispered in your ear. Had you succumbed to the sin of deceit, claiming sixteen years when you were but fourteen, you could have faced the Grim Ordeals of Sanctified Knighthood then.

But you forsook the dark lure of sin and falsehood, choosing instead the righteous toil of patience, enduring the rigors of the Cloisteranage with a steadfast heart and unbowed spirit. In this, you have honored the sacred tenets of Trinitarianism, shunning sin and the Heretic's guile.

Theosis, the coming and arrival, in Its infinite calculus, lauds your fidelity, your refusal to profane the Divine estate with vile lies.

This victory, though humble beside your blood-soaked triumphs over Hellspawn and Dreadfiend, is no less a testament to your worth. For in the quiet valor of truth, you have proven yourself a vessel of the Holy Trinity's will, unyielding even in the face of time's slow grind.

Let the Enlightened Scribes murmur your name in reverence, for this deed, though small in the shadow of your greater glories, shines as a beacon of purity amid the gloom.

Glory Points bestowed: 1

For God and Empire!

Angar ended the message. He hadn't known the consequences of telling Captain Vernost his age, so its contents weren't exactly true.

He had 86 Glory Points after the attack in the Rectoria's office when he was a new student, and that had crawled up to 133 with all the attacks over the last year and four months, this point bringing his total to 134.

An increase of 48 points wasn't a great amount, but it was when considering it all came from very small awards for sharing in the killing of some new creature of Hell one and ten times.

He wasn't allowed to attend his graduation today, a triviality he dismissed with cold indifference. He had the only goodbye that mattered as Venerable Sister Kenson held him tightly and wept.

He still had no idea what the strange finals or that wink was all about. Maybe her way of saying goodbye, and giving him a special sendoff, as he wouldn't be able to celebrate with the other students. That or old age was eating at her mind.

No assaults had marred Monday's end, nor struck on Tuesday.

Wednesday remained quiet. For him, though not the Eyes of Providence.

With time off, Angar had turned to legacy, honoring a promise. Documents, notarized and sealed, declared Simo his sole heir with title, lands, and all possessions passing to him upon Angar's death, or to Simo's eldest son should fate claim them together.

Meanwhile, Simo worked with the Eyes to fortify the Sanctuary of Sacred Aspiration, where the Grim Ordeals awaited.

The Eyes had hoped to bill Saint Krakus for this, but Kenson shut it down, reminding them of their chapter's purpose, and how Angar practically delivered Heretics up to them on a golden platter.

Still, they knew the ironclad and invasive security measures they needed to employ would win them no favor. They were already unloved, and this certainly wouldn't help.

Zanaya's days and years stretched longer than Terra's, but in the Holy Empire, only the Imperial Standard measurement system mattered.

Twelve times a year, once each Imperial Standard month, over eight hundred boys and girls emerged from the Saint Krakus Cloisteranage as graduates, about ten thousand souls annually, forged in faith and duty.

Many of these graduates had been sent to Scholarium just before turning twelve, and their families usually attended this ceremony. Some of these graduates were still aspirants, some the progeny of powerful nobles.

For February's aspirants, no families would be permitted within the Sanctuary of Sacred Aspiration.

No one was happy about this, some having traveled from other systems to see their children be honored and possibly ascend to Knighthood.

And it got worse. For the three weeks the Grim Ordeals lasted, all members of the Eyes of Providence assigned this duty, from new Lay soldier to senior Knight, would not be relieved.

The Sanctuary's staff faced the same restriction. Once in the building, no one would be allowed out, and once the trials began, no one else allowed in.

Resentment festered among the Eyes assigned this duty, as well as the staff, aspirants, and their families, and the Eyes bore the brunt of this anger.

Earlier that day, during the graduation ceremony taking place in the Saint Krakus Cathedral, the Eyes secured the Sanctuary, scouring it from top to bottom. Every crevice, every soul within, had been subjected to their harsh scrutiny.

They found plenty. There were Heretics among the staff, caches of Abyssal Catalysts and Infernal Artifacts hidden within, as well as some innocent dupes, commonly known as the Deceived.

Angar couldn't fault the Eyes' methods and diligence, but he had pity for the aspirants and their kin, their joy stolen for his safety.

As eight Knights of the Eyes and nearly twenty Lay soldiers escorted him to the Sanctuary, he felt weak, like a pampered lordling shielded by true warriors.

Since the Sanctuary was secured, instead of guarding Kenson's rectory overnight, they marched him there now, a day ahead of the other aspirants.

The path to the Sanctuary was nearly deserted under the fading light of Zanaya's sun. All was peaceful until the Ordinatum, a squat stone structure to their left, silently erupted.

A muted flash preceded a shockwave that hurled Angar and his escort to the ground, then the air roared with a deafening boom. Dust and jagged debris rained over them, biting into exposed skin.

Angar scrambled up, his heart pounding, as the Knights surged to their feet unharmed, protected by their armor. The soldiers lagged, some groaning, others lay still, some with blood seeping from shattered helms.

"Orbital strike!" Madame Lieutenant Commander Tianmi's voice cut through the chaos. "Circle! Holy and Defensive Fortification now! Then down and cover!"

Those still standing formed a ragged ring. Light-blocks flared to life in front of them. Angar dropped again, his arms shielding his head beside the Knights and soldiers.

A tense minute passed, and no second blast came. Tianmi barked, "Drag the wounded in! Aid them!"

Angar rose to help, but Tianmi's voice pinned him. "Back, Angar! Stay down!"

He obeyed, crouching low, when the debris of the Ordinatum's wreckage shuddered. A growling bellow came first, then a towering monstrosity emerged, shaking off the shattered remains of some metal shell.

It stood four or five times a man's height, with skin like a patchwork of molten scars and blackened flesh, as if forged in some infernal kiln.

Jagged spines jutted from its shoulders and back, shining like sapphires. Its arms were thick as tree trunks, ending in fists studded with crystalline shards pulsing with a strange violet glow.

Eyes like twin pyres burned in a face half-hidden by a mane of coarse and ash-streaked hair, and its roar shook the earth with a sound of primal wrath and madness.

Strangely, this monstrous Hell creature didn't fill Angar's mind with the expected dark whispers.

"The Three preserve us!" Tianmi's voice cracked with dread. "That's the Phasorax, an Abyssal Tyrant! Fall back to the Sanctuary, now! Run!"

The Knights and soldiers grabbed the injured before abandoning their light-blocks. They ran as the beast lumbered forward, each of its steps crunching through the rubble beneath it.

Angar carried an unconscious soldier on his shoulder, his free hand gripped his power hammer, its hilt warm with anticipation.

He steeled himself as he ran along with the others. The Sanctuary was near the edge of campus and farther away from all the student dorms. He assumed they'd give battle there.

He hadn't learned much about Abyssal Tyrants. He had no idea what this Phasorax was, but his heart still beat with excitement.

The Grim Ordeals had come early. And they wore a tyrant's face.