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

Two Glorious Achievements!

Behold, the unyielding gaze of Theosis, the Holy System, pierces the veil of mortal strife to witness your triumph, Holy Knight.

In an unwitnessed clash, yet one that still shall echo through the annals of sacred history, you felled the Phasorax, an Abyssal Tyrant, ruler of the Chiron Refuge, a Heretical Enclave beyond the Holy Empire's blessed borders. This vile creature, slayer of too many mighty Knights, including the famed Saint Kragor the Hellcleaver, whose whispered name evokes zealous fervor to this day.

By the Three's unyielding will, you, a lone Crusader, still of the first Tier of power, with faith as your shield and fury as your blade, faced this towering abomination and emerged victorious, your flesh a canvas of righteous scars.

This deed, a testament to your unbreakable spirit, marks a victory that resounds across the stars, a beacon of hope amid the gloom, a clarion call to all who would stand against the infernal tide.

But your wrath reaped a harvest far greater still. With the Phasorax's fall, a cataclysmic ripple tore through the unholy ranks bound to its will. Thousands of Crimson Harbingers, powerful Hellspawn long thought to be mere servants of the Abyssal Tyrant, were revealed as extensions of its profane essence. Their annihilation, a glorious slaughter wrought by your hand, has shattered a legion that had made the Chiron Refuge untouchable, marking their deaths as a sacred offering to the Holy Trinity.

Theosis, the Divine voice of God in this temporal domain, in Its infinite calculus, decrees this a triumph of great magnitude.

For the slaying of the Phasorax, a foe whose name struck dread into the hearts of even the mightiest Knightly Chapters, 50 Glory Points are bestowed upon you.

For the destruction of the Crimson Harbingers, a reaping so vast it exceeds the bounds of mortal reckoning, Theosis grants the maximum award of 75 Glory Points, for to tally each fallen foe would be a sum of glory impossible to bestow.

Let the Enlightened Scribes sing your praises, and let your name be entered into the Litany of Heroes, etched in luminous gold. March forth, Holy Knight, for the blood-soaked Glorious Path stretches ever onward to righteous Holy War.

Glory Points bestowed: 125

For God and Empire!

Angar spat a glob of blood onto the cracked stone. All he could taste was copper. He ran a tongue against broken teeth, assuming they'd grow back in the Penitent's Sacrarium of Sanctified Transfiguration along with his arm.

His clothes were back on him, as were his cybernetic arm and ring, along with all his new injuries too, dyeing his sweatsuit red.

The Phasorax's corpse lay fallen. It was a mountain of molten flesh and shattered spines infusing the air with its death-stink.

Ships hummed overhead. Crusaders muttered as they stood. And Angar groaned as he did the same, trying not to aggravate his wounds further.

Angar could tell Commander Wallace of the Eyes of Providence doubted his tale, as did others.

Understandable, given the Phasorax, an Abyssal Tyrant that slew mighty and famous Saints like Kragor the Hellcleaver, should have crushed a Tier 1 not even tested by the Grim Ordeals.

The clone story, a version of Angar empowered by the Phasorax's own strange realm as well as Hell, had to seem more plausible than other possibilities. But he didn't care what anyone thought. The Abyssal Tyrant's corpse was proof enough of his grand victory. He had done what others couldn't, regardless.

They tried forcing him to have his wounds treated at the Aedificium Medicum. He refused. There was plenty of time, but he wasn't sure he'd be where he needed to be in the morning.

It seemed to Angar Commander Wallace and a few others were looking for an excuse to delay his Grim Ordeals.

He wouldn't wait. And he couldn't risk any delay.

Treated with only medkits, he was escorted to the Sanctuary of Sacred Aspiration, still locked down by the Eyes. He'd let his regeneration handle the rest.

The Sanctuary staff were being questioned about the Phasorax despite they Eyes knowing the monster was dropped by an imperial ship in orbit.

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Inside, he only needed to wait for the other aspirants to arrive at dawn. He hoped everyone showed up, as the whole campus had been evacuated, and he didn't want that to be used as an excuse to delay the Grim Ordeals.

He sank to the floor in the shadowed hall of the Sanctuary's foyer, taking in the place built to house the Grim Ordeals' brutal rites, looking at the beautiful carvings on the ancient stone walls.

Free of the Phasorax's unholy realm, his channels were no longer blocked.

Ignoring the ache in his body, he cycled his core. The thick and oily dark energy from the Phasorax's realm lingered, twisting his gut with every cycle, though far, far less than it had there.

Still enough to sicken him. He pushed through the nausea, purging it slowly and steadily.

Footsteps echoed off the foyer's vaulted ceiling. Madame Lieutenant Commander Tianmi approached, helm off, her sharp face unreadable in the dim light filtering through stained glass etched with Treys, Saints, and scenes of sacred battles.

She held out four objects, each gleaming faintly. "God and Empire, brother. The Phasorax's physiology isn't the same as we're used to seeing, so no idea if we can hock any of it. It dropped all this. Commander Wallace wants the crystal and spine checked out. I told him they're yours, and I'd ask."

Angar wiped his blood-crusted hand on his torn sweatpants, stood, and took the items one by one, setting them on the stone bench near him.

First, a jagged crystal, violet-green and pulsing, warm against his palm. It thrummed like a trapped heartbeat, and for a split second, mist seemed to curl around his fingers.

Next, a blue spine, sharp as a blade, humming, softly vibrating in his monstrous hand.

Then, a black-alloy harness etched with runes, with purple conduits pulsing like veins across its straps.

Last, a crystalline, compact, jagged, violet node, filled with an eerie glow. It looked as if it was torn from the Phasorax's chest.

The last two were actual items, and not just creature parts. Whatever they did, he was excited, and couldn't wait to find out, but Tianmi's voice prevented that. "Those two items are Tier 3. They'll scale down to your Tier until you ascend to match them."

"Thank you, sister," Angar said, his shattered teeth making talking difficult. "I appreciate you bringing them. Let Commander Wallace check the crystal and spine. If you can sell them after, we'll split the credits even."

She nodded, turned to leave, hesitated, then met his gaze. "I saw that look you gave me when I ordered everyone to leave stragglers and keep moving. The Phasorax always targets the strongest in sight. I knew it'd ignore the Lay soldiers.

"I wasn't abandoning them, just making the best calls as I saw it in the moment. I turned back to…you know why I turned back. The same reason you did.

"Everyone hates us. They call us Inquisitors, not Knights. You've seen what we fight, how much we sacrifice, how many we save doing this thankless work. After a year and four months of the Eyes bleeding beside you, I'd hoped you'd see the truth. See us for what we are."

Guilt filled Angar's chest. Looking her in the eye, he said, "I have nothing but respect for the Eyes, Madame Lieutenant Commander. Our start was rough, but your chapter saved me more times than I can count.

"When you turned to face the Phasorax, pride swelled in me as I realized your intentions. I wouldn't let you sacrifice yourself for a beast hunting me. My humblest apology for the look I gave you before that. And my wrong assumption."

Tianmi had never once tried conversing with Angar before this moment. Not her, nor any of the four lieutenant commanders of the Eyes stationed in Erim.

But now, strangely, she lingered, making small talk with him. She probed gently into his future, asking what paths he might tread, which Knightly Chapters he held interest in once the Grim Ordeals were behind him.

Angar answered as best and as politely as he could.

Amid the idle chatter, one detail stood out to him, and that was the hundred or so Crusaders from around Erim would remain on campus throughout the Ordeals, bolstering the Eyes' efforts to secure and cordon off the Sanctuary.

Eventually, she withdrew, her footsteps fading into the hollow echo of the Sanctuary's vaulted foyer.

Angar exhaled, grateful for the solitude, giving him space to turn his attention to the spoils of his victory.

He equipped his new items. Or, at least, the one he could. The black-alloy harness settled across his torso with a soft hum. The jagged violet node would remain unused until he joined a chapter, granted Crusader Armor.

Phasorax Core, Hardware Armor Mod - Phase through 3 meters of solid matter once daily.

The description displayed in his System screen. This mod was unusual, unlike those he'd studied or been taught about.

He'd learned, though it wasn't reflected in the System screens, of rarity rankings, and suspected these items were exceptional and valuable. He now wished Tianmi returned, so he could ask her about this core.

He pulled up his System interface, the glowing text sending shadows splayed against the Sanctuary's stone.

His new acquisitions appeared alongside his old ring.

ITEMS

Primary Weapon: Modulux Striker Maul, Rune-Hafted, V1M0, Graviton X4 Power Hammer, Tier 1.

Mods: NA

Back: Vitalulum, Tier 3 –Auto-treats 9 worst injuries post-combat based on First Aid Skill, using items from a superior medkit, accruing 3 minutes of credit towards First Aid training per use; at 50 hours, substitutes a Skill Point for higher Tier First Aid System training (currently 3 injuries, 1 minute, and basic medkit. Will increase to stated values upon ascension to Tier 3 and equivalent Skill level).

Ring 1: Reliquary of Wrath, Tier 2 – Increases duration of channeled Abilities by 20% (currently 10%. Will increase to stated values upon ascension to Tier 2).

The Vitalulum harness felt alive against his skin, its warmth comforting, and a stark contrast to the chill of the bench beneath him. He admired its design, though its full power, like his ring, lay dormant until he ascended, and not once, but twice.

With the Sanctuary quiet and peaceful, Angar closed his eyes. He sank into meditation, purging the last traces of the Phasorax's dark taint from his core and channels. The oily sickness ebbed, slowly replaced by normal energy.

He knew sleep would be hard to come by that night, but he'd try. Dawn loomed, and with it, the first Grim Ordeal, the one that ended the hopes of most aspirants, though he had no fear at all for the event itself, only a Heretical attack during its two-week length.

It seemed the unholy minions of Hell really didn't want him to face the Grim Ordeals.