“Run! Now!”

Antarus stood there, unmoved by the automaton’s shot, and looked at the level of his shield indicator within his helmet and saw that it had been drained to two-thirds capacity.

I have never seen projectile-based weapons take such a toll on shields as that.

His shields could reliably withstand one or perhaps two blows of such a magnitude, but if they failed, it would only take one shot to cripple or kill him. And he could not use the sanctifier within his staff, not if he wished to capture the thing intact. He would have to keep this engagement in close quarters, smother the automaton in a flurry of blows, and never give it a chance to attack him from range.

“Ershumni”.

Having ensured that his opponent had heard him invoke the blessing of challenge, Antarus surged forward, parting the cloud of ash. He thrust the bladed end of his staff towards the shoulder joint of her cannon arm. The machine was too slow to dodge it completely but was able to block it with its shoulder plating. Antarus felt the staff quake from the impact through his gauntlets.

The automaton forward beneath his arm and attempted to slam its shield beneath the upper knee of his left leg. Before the blow could land, he spun and brought the end of his staff down against its faceplate. Once again, the staff bounced off with a clang.

The automaton jumped backward, creating a divide from which it could fire its cannon more safely. Antarus rolled to his right behind one of the columns lining the hall, narrowly evading the wasted shot. The wall behind where he had been previously standing erupted in a shower of red-hot pebbles.

Wretched machine.

Antarus stormed across the gap between them and slashed at its legs, only to be met by its metal shield. He kept up at the assault, varying his attacks between head and leg level. It was fast, to be sure, but its reflexes left much to be desired. Every fourth strike or so, it would be just a millisecond too slow, and the staff would land upon the machine’s chassis. He might not yet be able to land a hit on a joint, but if he was patient, he would inevitably begin to be able to predict the machine’s actions.

Several of the frailer races he had helped cleanse had clung to automatons such as this to defend them. Many were basic in build and in programming, built to overwhelm an enemy in numbers. A lazy tactic. This had been the case with the Ydemni. Their drones had swarmed through land and space with no other objective than simply to kill the invaders who threatened their masters. Antarus must have destroyed several hundred before he had finally wetted his blade with the blood of his first actual Ydemni. The wretches had fortified themselves in their tower cities while their machines did the fighting. Fortunately, the Purificant that Antarus had served under had judged them unworthy of ascension or preservation and had declared that it was the will of the Fallen that the rodents would be wiped out to the last. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the particle lances piercing through the skies and striking their capital city. By the next morning, the colossal structure had been melted and reformed into a sarcophagus of melted steel and glass, its inhabitants forever entombed within.

The automaton landed a blow with its shield across his elbow. His undersuit cushioned him from most of the force brought by the blow, but it was hard enough that he knew it would bruise. He growled and backhanded the machine across its faceplate, knocking it back several feet. Their duel had taken them into one of the hallways, branching off from the main hallway.

It wants to lure me into a narrower space to constrict my movement.

He could see a narrow, arched passage twenty paces or so behind the automaton. It was just large enough for him to hunch through. Doubtlessly, this was where it intended to lure him. Small enough to inhibit him but large enough to continue the chase away from its human pets.

This thing is capable of such a strategy?

The earpiece within his helmet beeped. Beraxes was hailing him. He looked directly into the activation light within his visor and blinked to open the transmission line.

“I am engaged with the interloper, Beraxes. Be hasteful.”

“We have funneled the humans and korokti towards their rail line, Purificant. So far, they have been unable to reactivate any of the trains.”

Antarus kicked the machine’s chest plate, launching into the wall to leave a sizeable crater. “Do you believe any of the maintenance staff were able to escape?”

“All of the staff that we had marked for death have been eliminated. It is possible that others were cross-trained for their duties, but-“

The machine’s shield slammed the chin of his helmet. “If there are, then they will be too inept to repair them without our noticing. Leave a sentry to watch the station from afar, but bring the rest of our warriors to my position. The interloper must be our priority.”

“Your word is writ, Holy One. We shall assist you.” Antarus could almost hear him sneer at the word “assist.” He would humble his Deacon later. Antarus cut the transmission.

Once again, the automaton darted backward up a spiral staircase and fired its cannon once again. This time, it fired several weaker shots rather than a single, large one. The projectiles were caught by his shield and harmlessly slowed down before even coming close to his armor. The machine continued to back up the steps, firing as it went, every shot aimed directly at his head.

Clearly, it is trying to drain the shield levels, but then why does it aim for my head?

It couldn’t deal a killing shot until the shield was drained, so why not aim for the larger target of his torso first? Surely, that would shorten the amount of time it needed to aim, thus quickening the rate at which his shields depleted. There had to be some reasoning within the thing’s programming to motivate it to make such an odd tactical decision as that.

The space and incline made it nearly impossible to dodge the shots, so Antarus continued his advance upward, thrusting his staff at the thing’s ankles. Each time, the machine jumped either to the side or up to the next step. Antarus watched its feet, expecting to notice some sort of pattern to where it chose to land. But there wasn’t. Every so often, the machine’s foot would land too close to the edge, causing it to slip or back and up a step too far.

Why would its programming not be able to identify the surest foothold? Even a simple combat drone’s programming should have that as a background subroutine.

The most advanced combat drones that Antarus had ever encountered had been during the Sarian Conquest, during the first century after the Ecclesium’s emergence. Due to a genetic defect developed some centuries before, the Sarians had possessed a tragically low fertility rate, forcing them to rely on more advanced automatons to fill in the gaps in their military and economy. Their machines were formidable, particularly their starfighters, who were wholly comprised of automated drones. The craftsmanship of the Sarians had earned them a place among the Preserved, but if one was patient enough, one could always notice patterns in the machine’s behavior. For the Sarians’’ drones, it had been a tendency for their starfighters to perform elaborate maneuvers that no organic pilot could hope to replicate, no matter the situation. An admirable strategy on the part of the machine smiths who had crafted them, but once the pattern was found, that strength became a vulnerability.

Reaching the top of the spiral staircase, the automaton took aim and fired upon the stone archway above Antarus. It fired two more shots at the arch’s weak points, bringing a cascade of brick and dust upon his head.

The only consistency of this damnable machine is its ability to irritate.

The stairwell became veiled in a blizzard of dust. Antarus altered his visor’s setting to look for the machine’s heat signature. Whatever powered the thing would act as a beacon for his ascension up the rockpile. Looking ahead, he only saw two circles of blazing, crimson heat bearing down at him.

Its eyes? Why would its sensor system be generating so much heat?

He vaulted over the rubble, using the force of his leap to bring down a savage strike on the automaton’s head, using the two crimson orbs as his target. His strike was parried by its shield as it used his chest as a springboard to launch itself back and upward into the air, clearly trying to create another gap for it to fire across. The first two shots were halted by his shield, but the third maintained enough to actually strike his armor plating, leaving a small dent. The metal vibrated like a bell.

His irritation blossomed into boundless fury as he tackled the automaton, grabbing its arms and trying to find some sort of purchase on its cold, metal plating. Just as he had locked its shield arm to the ground, he felt a sharp strike in the gap in his armor on his lower right side as the automaton prodded him with its cannon, bending the barrel further and further out of shape with each blow. It was just enough for it to wriggle out of his grip and towards an alcove behind it. His prey was finally cornered.

As he brought himself to his feet, he returned his visor to its normal setting and tracked the blue orbs of the automaton’s eyes as they flicked toward something behind him. The clamor of armored footsteps pounded behind him as he saw Beraxes position himself to his right and another warrior to his left. Judging from the noise, the rest of Beraxes reinforcements were forming a second line staggered behind them.

Antarus wished that the automaton, or whatever it was, could see his sneer. “Preserve the head of this abomination. Dispose of the rest.”

The automaton panned its eyes across the unbroken line of warriors slowly advancing upon it. It brought its gauntleted finger up to its faceplate and tapped it three times before bringing it to its chest plate, where it tapped again.

In the name of the Fallen, what is this new devilry?

The machined continued tapping at random points across its faceplate and chest plate, cycling through the different points twice more before finally readying itself into a new defensive posture. Antarus froze, and his warriors followed suit. He had spent his entire life as a devotee of the Ecclesium and the Fallen, so there was not a doubt in his mind that he had just witnessed a ritual of some form of fashion.

As much as it was to please the Fallen, rituals were as much for the worshippers’ benefit as they were for the worshiped. They steeled the soul and brought focus to a fearful, uncertain mind. So why was he watching a soulless hunk of metal performing one right in front of him?

This thing is no mere machine.

Under the shadow of sin, Antarus felt something he had not felt since he had first arrived in this galaxy. Fear.