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

The Phasorax controlling the twisted clone loomed over Angar, that menacing gaze boring into his soul. He checked its claim, turning his awareness inward.

He sensed his core. It was distant and hazy, as if it didn't belong in this bizarre realm, his channels nearly imperceptible. He assumed this was the reason for his nausea earlier, when trying to activate Ground Current.

Other than that, he didn't notice anything wrong. He felt nothing different or missing, no poison, or twisted faith.

Unless it was only his core being distant and hazy, blocking his Abilities, which he doubted from what the Abyssal Tyrant had told him, his faith was immune to the poisoning it spoke of.

Trinitarianism preached that the Lord cherished all, His loving warmth infinite, His mercy boundless, a doctrine reinforced by the gentle and tender gospels of Mother Mi.

It preached that every faithful soul held a personal relationship with God, directly interacting with Him constantly, granting protection and succor to all begging Him for such.

Angar believed very differently.

His relationship with the Lord was much simpler, as none existed, no more than a relationship could be had between an ant and a sun.

He never wondered if the Lord loved him. As the sun bathed the ant in its light, the ant was oblivious, ignorant of the sun and its glory, incapable of understanding what was actually happening, or why, unnoticed and irrelevant to the sun's cosmic purpose.

It was no different for Angar, but the disparity between him and the Lord was far greater than that of an ant and the sun.

Except the Lord had made His desire known to His children.

He thirsted.

The Phasorax believed Angar's faith would break him, as it had the others, twisting devotion into sickness and weakness.

But Angar's faith was no soft prayer, yearning for the Lord's love, pleading for intercedence. It was forged in blood and battle, a tribute to an unknowable, unloving, wrathful Lord who craved war.

Angar felt no different in this realm. He felt the same as he always did. And how he always felt was ready for battle.

He had only one arm and no real weapon beyond the claws of his monstrous hand, but his oath offered no clauses for duty only when whole, well-armed, and armored, in a fair fight.

Doubt burned away, and a great lust for blood coursed through his veins.

He lifted his gaze to his clone. "Feet bound or not, I'll fight."

The clone grinned as a feral glint showed in its fiery eyes. "Your feet will be released," it rumbled. "There's no going back once they are. Choosing to fight will earn my respect. Along with my condolences. You won't last long."

"Understood," Angar answered. "You know my name, but before we begin, know I am the son of Baraga, last king of Mecia, and Laka, the Weirding Witch, descendant of Elaxada the Mighty, Mahtma the Conqueror, and the great Kondunean Emperor Xon Gheir the First. Now, release my feet."

The Phasorax's grin widened, showing more gleaming fangs dripping acrid smoke.

Whatever bound Angar's feet dissolved. Sensation flooded back, sending pins and needles prickling through his calves.

He flexed his knees, testing his footing on the slick, mist-shrouded ground, his single arm tensing, his monstrous hand curling into a blackened fist, the claws glinting like shiny steel in the strange light.

The Phasorax launched forward with the force of a battering ram, its bat-like wings snapping wide to propel it faster.

Angar barely had time to pivot before the creature's bulk slammed into him like a wall, the impact sending him flying back.

He landed in a roll, sending the mist swirling around him, stopping on his knees.

The clone was nearly on top of him again, charging again. He braced for impact.

Instead of battering into him, its crystalline-studded fist with violet-sharded knuckles swung for his skull.

Angar bobbed his head aside. Air whistled by as the blow nicked his ear, and he drove his clawed hand upward in a savage rake.

His blackened talons scored across the Phasorax's abdomen, tearing through its molten-scarred flesh. Dark blood sprayed, turning to steam as it hit the mist-covered ground, but the beast didn't flinch.

It roared a sound like a landslide laced with madness and lashed out with its barbed tail. The stinger whipped toward Angar's chest, fast as lightning. He barely twisted aside in time, the barb sliding along his ribs instead of sticking him, slicing a shallow gash that burned like acid.

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Pain flared, but he swallowed it. He lunged, slamming his shoulder into the Phasorax's midsection, aiming to topple its towering frame.

It staggered back a step, the wings flapping to steady itself, while swinging its arm in a backhand, catching Angar across the jaw.

The impact sent him sprawling, and his head ringing like a struck bell. He hit the ground hard, sending mist swirling around him, and rolled just as the Phasorax's clawed foot stomped down where his head had been.

The earth trembled. Cracks spiderwebbed through what ground he could see before mist shrouded the area again.

Angar sprang up, spitting blood, and charged. He feinted with a kick to the creature's knee, then slashed his claws across its thigh, slicing deep into the thick muscle.

The Phasorax snarled as its leg buckled slightly, throwing a flurry of punches with those massive fists striking down like twin hammers.

Angar weaved through the onslaught, ducking and sidestepping, his lone arm a blur as he parried with his thickened forearm.

One blow landed on his shoulder, sending a jolt of agony through his frame, but he gritted his teeth and pressed forward.

He hooked his talons into the Phasorax's forearm, yanking it off-balance, and drove his forehead into its fanged maw.

Bone met bone with a sickening crunch, and he felt his own brow split. Blood welled, trickling down into his eyes, but the beast's head snapped back, some fangs cracking loose, others chipped.

The Phasorax roared, shaking the realm with its fury. Quick as lightning, almost too fast to see, one of its arms snaked out, seizing Angar by the throat with one massive hand.

Its claws dug into his flesh, drawing rivulets of blood as it hoisted him off the ground, squeezing, applying more and more pressure.

Angar's feet dangled, kicking impotently as he choked, his vision swimming as his throat was nearly crushed.

Desperately, he lashed out, scrapping his clawed hand across the Phasorax's forearm and wrist, digging in deep with wild rakes between crystalline spines. The blackened talons bit deep, and the grip finally faltered.

He dropped, landing in a crouch. Needing to act before the creature did, ignoring his neck and his lungs screaming for him to breathe now that he could, he sprang.

His claws slashed upward, ripping through the creature's chest. The Phasorax staggered back a step as dark blood poured from the wound.

Angar went in for a second attack, but the clone's wings beat once, launching it backward out of reach.

With some distance between them, Angar took the opportunity to breathe, and wipe blood from his face with the back of his hand.

The Phasorax flexed its torn arm, grinning through the pain, its green-flame eyes blazing.

"Not bad," it growled out. "You're doing surprisingly well. You're holding up better than most of your kind. Stripped of the war-gear you cowards cling to, you all fall quickly to your clones. I don't know why that claw of yours is so able to damage me, but it doesn't matter. The gap between us is vast, and I haven't even begun to try."

It charged again, lowering its horned head like a battering ram. Angar sidestepped, but the Phasorax anticipated it, swinging its tail in a wide arc. The barbed tip punctured his thigh, ripping through muscle, and he stumbled, biting back a yell.

The beast pressed in, sending its fists raining down in a relentless barrage. Angar blocked what he could with his arm, his claws clashing against crystalline shards, sending sparks flying with each impact, but he couldn't block them all.

A punch landed squarely on Angar's cheek, causing him to stagger and miss the other hand slamming into his ribs. Something cracked, and pain lanced through his side, stealing his breath.

Instead of stepping back and waiting for his lungs to work, defiance surged. He dove, tackling the Phasorax head-on.

His claws sank into its side, tearing at flesh. He pushed into the clone as he raked his claws, driving it back.

The creature's wings flapped wildly, buffeting him with gusts of strange air, but he held fast, twisting his talons deeper.

The Phasorax snarled and sank its fangs into his shoulder, piercing muscle down to bone. Angar bellowed as agony igniting every nerve. He slashed, but the clone grabbed his arm. Angar sent a brutal headbutt to the side of its face.

The beast bit deeper, and Angar headbutted again, and then again. On the fourth hit, the thing's maw loosened, and Angar wrenched free, stumbling back as blood gushed from the bite.

The Phasorax licked its lips, savoring the taste of Angar's blood. "Now, I start trying," it rumbled, and surged forward with a speed it hadn't shown before.

Its claws slashed in a vicious arcs of razor-sharp tips, aimed to gut him.

Angar barely had time to realize what was happening before those claws found their mark, and hot pain seared through his abdomen as talons tore through flesh, three shallow but jagged cuts running up his belly.

He grunted, glancing down for a split second. Loops of intestine glistened, poking out a little, bulging against the torn skin.

He knew better than to touch them or try to shove them back in, but that fleeting distraction cost him dearly.

With its new blazing speed, the Phasorax's crystalline fist crashed into his face. The blow shattered his nose with a wet crunch, splintering teeth.

The world spun in a haze of red and black as he staggered back with legs trembling beneath him. The mist-slick ground betrayed his footing, and he stumbled, but he refused to fall. Not now, not yet. He had given the Harmongulan a fight worthy of song, and he'd do no worse against this unholy monstrosity.

Angar reeled, fighting to anchor his mind as it threatened to slip away. He thrust his monstrous forearm up with claws splayed, desperate to shield himself from the danger his senses told him was coming.

Another punch hammered down, driving his own blackened forearm into his battered face with a terrible thud. His vision swam. He couldn't see.

Another fist landed, then another, and another, relentless. Each blow was a hammer smashing bone and will, sending new pain exploding, the impacts rocking his head, reverberating through his skull.

His world narrowed to just pain and a dying ember of stubbornness keeping him on his feet.

Another blow. Angar's knees buckled, and he dropped to them, the mist swirling cold around his shins.

Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision, whispering promises of oblivion.

He clung to consciousness, blind and battered, his clawed hand still raised in defiance, grasping at air in a futile attempt to ward off the inevitable.

But what came next was laughing. Just laughing.

While the world spun, Angar spat out broken teeth, then expelled a thick gob of blood and phlegm from his ruined nose.

As he tried to wipe his eyes clear with the crook of his elbow, his danger sense flared.

Another punch landed with an explosion of pain, this one knocking him flat to the ground. Unconsciousness tugged harder, beckoning, a black tide dragging at his mind.

The Phasorax loomed over him. "As all to defy me," it sneered, its grinding voice rumbling the through the realm, "now you feed my hunger." It raised its foot, preparing to crush its prey.