A different type of robot stood in the nearly dark medical bay, its humanoid frame gleaming white. Faint blue insignias pulsed on its chest as it rested atop a small platform.

  Angar limped closer, blood oozing from wounds crisscrossing his body. Machinery whirred to life around him, lights flashing on in the gloom.

  The robot stepped down, its head swiveling to fix him with an unblinking gaze.

  Spirit had assured him it wouldn’t attack, but Angar braced himself all the same, in case she was wrong.

  Its voice emerged, calm and startlingly human compared to the others. “Attention, Voyager –emergency evacuation protocols are active. Lethal radiation levels detected.”

  “Tell it to scan you,” Spirit urged.

  “Scan me, please,” said Angar.

  The robot’s near-human tone replied, “This unit operates on core programming, disconnected from directing systems and databases. Unknown Voyager’s medical records are inaccessible. Prime directive – provide medical assistance. Please follow, Voyager.”

  Angar trailed it to a machine. “Please enter and remain still, Voyager,” it instructed.

  He complied, stepping inside. As the chamber sealed, beams of light erupted from all directions, racing up and down his body.

  Heat swelled and hot air blasted against his skin. The glow shifted to a steady blue, and he stood there, rigid, for long moments, unsure if it had finished or if he should step out.

  The light shifted to a stark white as robotic arms descended from the ceiling, their tips probing and jabbing at Angar’s wounds.

  The bizarre ordeal stretched on until a sharp chime sounded and the chamber’s door slid open.

  He stepped out, unsteady, as the robot’s voice blared, “Warning! Lethal levels of zero-point-energy radiation detected. Multiple…”

  Spirit cut in, her voice rising over the machine, “Tell it to apply immediate trauma care only. We’ll return for radiation treatment after you survive the core and the engimachs. You’ll need patching up then too.”

  The robot persisted, still reciting Angar’s litany of injuries in its monotone drone. He cut it off. “Apply immediate trauma care only.”

  The treatment defied his expectations. Needles pierced his flesh, injecting a flurry of unfamiliar substances. Beams akin to the drones’ searing light cauterized his wounds with a sharp and burning sting.

  Smaller rays danced across his skin, lingering on his lightning-struck arm, while robotic arms slathered warm, viscous liquids over nearly every inch of his body.

  When it ended, he felt startlingly renewed. Pain had dulled to a whisper, though his skin prickled with a fierce itch, and a faint nausea coiled in his gut.

  His old pack had been shredded in battle long ago. He claimed a new one crafted from a thin material Spirit swore was tougher than it looked, and stuffed it with the medical supplies she pointed out.

  “Okay,” said Spirit. “Drive core next. Let’s go.”

  They bolted from the medical bay, racing down the corridor’s length, and boarded the same lift that had carried them down to this level.

  As Angar charged through the Steadfast’s corridors, Spirit yelled back. “Brace yourself for a brutal fight. The engimachs won’t fall easily. Their design proved very effective in battle when Hellspawn first invaded. Tread carefully.”

  “Understood.”

  “No matter what, don’t use an Ability near the engine room,” she warned. “You could obliterate your world instead of saving it. This energy, and especially its waste, is deadly serious. When refined, it fuels world-destroyers, weapons every galactic faction banned under the Ilarix Accords millennia ago.”

  Angar said, “Understood,” again, but he really didn’t. He understood the core point. No Abilities. He already knew that.

  After sprinting for what seemed like forever, they got on the final lift taking them down into the drive core of the engine bay, and since his enemies had no blood, he offered just battle to his Lord in prayer.

  He exited into the drive core chamber, dropping his pack to the ground of the lift. The air was thick with heat and a low, throbbing hum pulsed through his bones.

  The room was basked in a strange green with dark shadows constantly crawling around, its walls lined with towering cylinders, their surfaces pulsing with a faint and sickly light. Pipes snaked overhead, and the floor vibrated underfoot, alive with some power.

  In the center of the room was a massive, glowing sphere, something spinning inside it, each twirl sending a whooshing noise echoing around the room.

  Angar gripped his maul, his skin itching like mad, knowing the chamber felt wrong somehow.

  Three abnormal shadows shifted, changing the pattern crawling around the room, massive and unnatural ones.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Angar assumed these were the engimachs, the engineer-machines. They loomed large but that was deceptive. Their core was a metal spheres studded with glowing red lights that swiveled, locking onto him with eerie precision.

  Eight whip-like tentacles unfurled from each, their gleaming surfaces tapering to spear-sharp tips, amplifying their menacing bulk, making them seem much bigger than they were.

  They scuttled forward with startling speed, some tentacles serving as legs, clattering against the floor. Others lashed out at Angar, coiling and striking with lethal swiftness.

  Silent and merciless, they used no voice and gave no warning before the attack. They seemed like pure ruthless intent, their programming bent on eliminating the non-compliant intruder.

  At first, it was just dodging and staying alive, and a close thing facing all three at once. He dove down a space between the solid wall and the lift, and the machines followed, but only one engimach could fit in the space at a time.

  Angar stood. He roared as he charged, his maul raised high. Tentacles lashed out, two striking like lightning. He ducked one, but the second stabbed into his shoulder, parting flesh, and pain bloomed.

  These things are too quick, he thought.

  As the tentacle ripped free, blood splattered, pouring down his chest, but he swung his maul, smashing a tentacle. It broke and sparks flew, but the machine didn't falter. Another tentacle lashed forward, wrapping his leg, yanking him off balance.

  The tentacle whipped him up then smashed him into the floor, slamming his ribs, stealing his breath painfully. He needed a second to force his lungs to suck in air, but these machines didn’t give him a moment.

  The second machine tried climbing high on the wall to either side, but its limbs wouldn’t give it purchase.

  Instead, it climbed over the first engimach, pushed it back, and surged forward, its tentacles shooting towards its target.

  Angar rolled but a spear-tip grazed his back, tearing flesh. He scrambled up, his maul swinging, and caught a tentacle mid-strike, shattering its joint.

  The machine recoiled, but its remaining arms struck. He parried two and avoided the rest as best he could, but one pierced his thigh badly, blood spraying then gushing from the wound as it was retracted, and another wrapped around his waist.

  Angar roared in a pain-fueled rage, and smashed the maul into the sphere, denting the plating and making the red lights flicker. The tentacle released his waist, but another slashed his arm, cutting deep.

  The first machine forced itself under the second, lifting its brethren, its tentacles weaving a deadly dance. Angar tried to dodge, but the tendrils were too fast, too many.

  One smashed his chest, cracking a rib. Another coiled around his arm holding the maul and squeezed, metal trying to break bone. He roared, wrenched free, his skin tearing away, and swung blindly, crushing a tentacle.

  The stacked machines pressed closer. It seemed their spheres’ red lights glowed brighter, staring at him like unblinking eyes.

  Angar stumbled, blood pooling beneath him, his vision blurring. The top machine lashed out with its tentacles. He parried one, sending sparks flying, but another pierced his side, sending blood spurting.

  He fell to one knee. His grip loosened, and his maul slipped out of it, but the empty hand grabbed a broken tentacle, and hurled it like a spear.

  It struck the machine's core, piercing deeply. The red lights flickered, and sparks erupted. The machine faltered, its tentacles flailing about wildly, and Angar seized the chance.

  He grabbed up his hammer and lunged, swinging mightily. The head smashed into the sphere and metal crumpled, its red lights going out.

  The second machine struck, sending its tentacles whipping at Angar as it pushed itself up and its dead brethren off to clank down behind it.

  Angar did well avoiding the tentacles. He trapped one against the wall, but one coiled around his neck and squeezed, cutting his breath off.

  He clawed at it, and swung his maul one-handed, hitting its sphere, denting the plating. The tight grip around his neck loosened, and he gasped.

  Another tentacle bashed into his chest, cracking another rib, but he roared, smashing again, and again, as metal screeched, and its red lights faded.

  Then, it collapsed, all its tentacles now limp, the one around his neck sliding away.

  The third machine crawled over the two dead ones, some of its tentacles held up, ready to attack.

  Angar stepped back a pace. His maul felt heavy, his body was racked with pain, his shoulder was screaming with it, and every breath he took hurt. Every movement hurt.

  The engimach’s tentacles weaved through the air as it struck. Angar barely dodged backward, but his shoulder was still pierced, the same that had been pierced before, and struck by lightning not many days ago.

  He was too far down the space between the wall and the lift. The tentacle pinned him to the wall behind him, sending pain coursing through his already injured shoulder, trapping him in place.

  But this was what he signed up for. He was a Crusader. He remembered the oath he swore. Point me towards my enemies, and I shall make a glorious slaughter. Spirit and Theosis had pointed, and he needed to keep his end of the bargain.

  Angar roared as he wrenched the tendril free and himself forward, swinging his maul, missing as the machine skittered backwards. Its tentacles slashed out, but Angar hopped back, almost losing his footing in the blood slick beneath him.

  The machine surged forward on two tentacles, its others zipping through the air at Angar. He dove forward, battering some aside, and twisting around the others as they coiled around his weapon, and struck the sphere with his hand as hard as he could. Metal buckled in, but his hand throbbed with pain.

  As the engimach’s arms flailed around, he grabbed ahold of the sphere, yanked his hammer free, held it up high near the head, and beat on it until sparks rained. It shuddered, the red lights going out, then it fell, its tentacles splayed around it.

  Angar collapsed with his chest heaving, each breath causing pain, blood welling from wounds. The hum in this room seemed to grow louder, deafening, as the shadows cast by the twirling core crawled along the walls.

  He coughed, blood flecking his lips. He was fading, but he wasn’t done yet.

  He dragged himself up, maul in hand, its haft slick with blood.

  Now that the adrenaline of battle had ended, every beat of his heart made his shoulder pulse mightily with pain, that arm hanging nearly lifeless by his side.

  His injured leg refused to bear his full weight, broken ribs made every movement including just breathing hurt, his hand throbbed, and his whole body was racked with all sorts of pain from other injuries.

  Spirit appeared. “Get your pack and treat what injuries you can. More engimachs are coming. The one from the emergency generator room will be here in less than two minutes. The one from the upper-deck core-drive section will arrive soon after.”

  Angar looked up, something he hadn’t done before. There wasn’t a ceiling, just massive tubes stretching upward as far as he could see.

  “Understood,” he replied.

  He limped to the lift and his pack of medical supplies. After he patched himself up as best he could in the time allowed, he prepared for martyrdom or more glory.

  Though it was a close thing, glory prevailed, and along with it, the injuries to match.

  The wreckage of two more engimachs lay dead at his feet.

  Amid the wreckage and his pain, a fierce grin split his face. I love being a Crusader, he thought.