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

Over a month ago, the city of Erim, planet Zanaya

Nox Morgathra lurked in the shadows, her gaze locked on the departing Zephuros, a venomous smirk curling her lips.

The boy had been inducted into the Smallest Spark Knightly Chapter, and with that, her role in this tiresome charade was nearing its end.

And oh, how she savored the thought of sloughing it off like a serpent's skin.

Teth Malevon's approval was a formality. She could already taste the bitter delight of shoving this festering mess into Azgoth's eager, grasping hands. Let her ambitious, power-hungry student, itching to prove himself, choke on it now. He could go at the boy directly, something she couldn't do.

The damage was already done anyway. The boy had endured the Penitent's Sacrarium of Sanctified Transfiguration, what Sar-Teth Neuretha had wanted thwarted.

She had a history with Saint Hidetada. Long ago, when much newer to the dark power, she'd slithered into his service as a Free Agent, a role that had nearly ended in his crew's glorious ruin.

Hidetada was extremely sharp, his insight cutting through deception like a blade – except when it came to women.

She'd exploited that flaw like a vulture picking at carrion, sowing discord with surgical intent. Crew against crew, friend against friend, she'd orchestrated their collapse with a conductor's grace, all while he dismissed it in his stubborn chauvinism as feminine hysterics, jealousy, and lovers' spats gone sour.

The fool had banished her, rebuilt his precious band with men alone, never once sniffing out the Heretic in his midst, or the sabotage she'd sown.

All men save Saint Thryna, she mused, her lip curling again. Though that thing's barely human, gender's just a husk on its corpse.

Hidetada's shadow drew too close now, a risk she couldn't indulge. One misstep, one flicker of her mask, and that insufferable Saint might turn his gaze her way, unraveling the tapestry of lies she'd woven for so long. Her identity survived by staying out of certain orbits, and she'd not jeopardize that for some cursed whelp.

Unless Azgoth was careful, Hidetada would give him his comeuppance, and put the Fallen in his place.

Teth Malevon fancied Hidetada a potential ally after Morgathra sussed him as a secret Heretic, one not of dark power, but of forbidden machinery. She'd seen plenty of evidence in those old days, the Saint's unnatural bond with the Zephuros, threads of control pulsing through its steel and flesh.

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Hidetada was a hypocrite cloaked in piety. She'd have laughed if it weren't so pathetic.

And now the boy, that wretched, accursed child, stood in Hidetada's laughable Knightly Chapter.

From the moment that child had crossed her path, he'd been a splinter under her nail, a leech on her resources, her reputation, her patience.

It should have been effortless. A quick death in the Eyes of Providence headquarters, a footnote snuffed out.

But no. He'd clawed his way out, and with the Eyes baying for his blood, watching him so closely, she'd hurled her biggest resource on Zanaya at him. The Episcopus should've been a death sentence.

But she wasn't. He lived again. Then again, and again, he defied her, surviving, and every attempt that followed met the same fate.

In a fit of cold fury, she'd persuaded her master to unleash an Abyssal Tyrant, a colossus of annihilation that should have ground him to dust with absolute certainty.

Absolute certainty, she thought, her nails digging into her palms. Without a shadow of doubt. No chance of survival. Zero. None. No hope. Nothing.

Yet that insignificant speck from a nowhere pit not only survived, he killed the Phasorax, a beast that had felled Kragor Hellcleaver.

Morgathra's blood still boiled at the thought, a venomous heat that fueled her every step.

Now, with Hidetada in the picture, Teth Malevon would have no choice but to cut her loose from this fiasco.

Good. Morgathra had grander designs anyways, and all this failure had done nothing but hurt her standing.

Still, soon, she'd ascend as a Teth, bound to the glorious Sar-Teth Neuretha directly.

The Holy Empire teetered on oblivion's edge, and Hell's forces had almost maneuvered every necessary piece into place.

The final strike loomed, and she'd be one of its architects.

As the Zephuros faded into the horizon, Morgathra's smirk widened into something wicked. She turned, her mind already clawing at the next scheme, the next throat to slit.

First, if Zhaeryn Vexn was dead, which she doubted, he wouldn't be for long. She suspected it wouldn't take much to convert the Pleiadean and gain a new piece.

There was no sense in wasting such a resource, especially one with his identity intact, that could one day be a Nofelim. She'd assign him to Kygon, another of her students.

Triumph wasn't enough. She wanted ruin, and she'd have it, adding one piece to the board at a time.

Two weeks ago, the city of Crossroads, planet Dissent

Azgoth sneered as he reread the message. His so-called mistress, Morgathra, was pawning her incompetence off onto him as if he were some sniveling lackey.

The coward had no idea how gleefully he welcomed a gift wrapped in her own disgrace. He would twist this failure into a blade to carve his ascent.

True wolves like him didn't skulk in sheep's clothing like Morgathra and Malevon.

No, real wolves tore the throats from the flock and bathed in all the blood.

Once he exposed her weakness and proved his supremacy, he'd pledge his might to Horridus, Goron, or the Ember King, lords of death and ruin, not craven puppeteers cowering in shadows.

Morgathra's teachings and guidance had been a wellspring, but it was tapped dry. He'd wrung every drop of strength from this source he could.

Her message prattled on with suspected destinations. Unlike her, he understood the minds of warriors. He knew precisely where Hidetada would go after leaving the Sol System. Their path was as clear to him as a trail of gore through the forest.

Hidetada had been tipped off about a Heretical cult on Albion. It was clearly a trap, and since the Saint had a new Knight in his chapter to test, this would do.

And best of all, Azgoth could beat them there by at least a week.

He grinned viciously. "Ready my ship," he snarled out, his voice a growl that promised slaughter. "I depart within the day. Inform Gamosh. He longs to spill Hidetada's blood."