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Chapter Text

Exam.

It was held every few dorey whenever there was talk of recruiting new Star Guardians. A necessary event for selecting elite Guardians under the direct supervision of Deus Machina itself... The Guardia were always dragged to the exam as invited spectators. Their seats were always on high platforms with a view of all participants.

He usually found it simply boring to watch. This was his third time attending the exam as a spectator. His third time in the last five dorey. His third time sitting on this cursed platform, high above the arena, arms crossed, gazing down with little interest.

The Guardsman didn't even try to hide his boredom. His posture spoke volumes: back slightly hunched, chin resting on his fist, gaze glassy as if he'd mentally transported himself far away. Perhaps to the barracks, where he could sleep peacefully. Even the training rooms weren't this dull.

Someone cuffed the junior on the back of the head again. He had to straighten his back and look down once more...

Below, recruits scurried about—young, fiery, full of foolish hopes. They rushed into battle, demonstrated techniques, shouted something pompous, trying to impress the examiners. Wildeguard had seen it all a hundred times before. The same moves, the same mistakes, the same rehearsed lines.

"Again with that jumping strike," he muttered, watching one candidate dramatically soar into the air, spinning his sword. "He'll fall." And so it happened. The recruit miscalculated his trajectory, landed awkwardly, and nearly dropped his weapon. The junior yawned; the other Guardsmen were more objective.

"Look how fast he is!" exclaimed one Guardsman.
"Yeah," Wildeguard replied dryly. "Just like all the others before him."

He already knew how it would end. Half of these "heroes" would fail. A quarter would wash out in the first few weeks. Only a handful would become anything. But even they... even they were unlikely to be anything special.

"Failed," the examiner repeated like a stuck record, releasing a cloud of black smoke from his pipe. Golden optics blinked. Wilde leaned his helmet against his servo-drive, lazily swinging his leg back and forth.

"Candidate 436!" announced the mechanical voice of a Star Guardian, calling another Cardbot onto the training ground. The next participant.

This one, however, caught his attention more than the others... A Cardbot stepped onto the field, built similarly to Wilde himself—not very tall, appearing slightly older... by a few stellar cycles. Someone in the Guardia snorted—too small, looked scrawny, and with such a bizarre color scheme... white and blue, a protective visor on his head, and only two pistols for weapons.

Wilde hummed sympathetically. Maybe this guy really could do something, but so young... He wasn't taken seriously in the Guardia, let alone among the Star Guardians. Besides, what could you really do with ordinary pistols?

But the Cardbot on the field seemed serious. His optics' display didn't flicker; he held himself confidently, didn't twitch or tremble. Maybe something would come of it.

The exam itself took place in a vast space simulating a city, populated by enemy dummies and wounded civilian dummies.

A signal blared, heralding the start of the simulation. The dummies snapped into combat positions, ready to strike.

The signal rang out sharp as a gunshot. The enemy dummies sprang to life, mechanical joints creaking, optical sensors glowing red.

The candidate stood silently in place. He stood at the center of the field, pistols still in their protective holsters.

"Well?" one Guardsman snorted. "Too scared to even move?"
Wilde narrowed his optics. Something wasn't right.

The first combat dummy lunged forward, its blade flashing under the arena's artificial light.
And the candidate... He simply... moved. Sharply, almost soundlessly, sidestepping just enough so the blade whistled past his shoulder, missing by a centimeter.
"Huh?" Wilde raised an eyebrow.
And then it began.

The bot didn't use his own weapons. He simply threw one dummy into another, knocked out a third with a servo-arm. He didn't even need weapons... Dummies attacked—he slipped away. Swords, shots, shields—all flew past as if he already knew where they would strike. Azure optics intently tracked every movement, finding the precise rhythm to parry.
"What the—" one Guardsman rose slightly from his seat.
He fought preemptively, disabling another dummy, even switching to alt-mode mid-moment. Honestly, no one used it, as it wasn't very practical on the battlefield, but his compact size let him slip through... He managed to trip an opponent, get onto a roof, jump down, and finally use his pistols. He didn't even need weapons. He was serious, maybe a bit abrupt, but he fought on. He fought bare-handed... Characteristic scratches were already visible on his black metal. This time, Wilde watched much more closely.

Dummies fell one after another—not from shots, but from precise strikes, throws, and sweeps. The candidate moved like water: fluidly but relentlessly, filling the gaps in the enemies' defense.
"He... Is he not going to shoot?" someone murmured from the Guardsmen.
Wilde was no longer yawning. His posture changed—his back straightened, hands dropped to the armrests, fingers slightly clenched. He didn't even realize he was leaning forward, as if trying to make out the details.

The last combat dummy charged, its blade flashing through the air—the hardest part... when the buildings began to collapse. Just one dummy left! All enemies defeated!
But...
The candidate lunged in a completely different direction. A deafening crash sounded as a building collapsed, leaving a cloud of dust. Cardbots fussed about, trying to figure out how it ended...

The last enemy hadn't been defeated. It felt like a core hit. Failed.
Yet, strangely, the examiner was silent, looking off to the side... away from the enemy. Other spectators turned their heads the same way. There stood the candidate, nervously clutching a civilian dummy in his servos, shielding it protectively. It always fell and broke at the end of the exam. This time, it was intact.

The examiner walked closer, pushing his pipe aside.
"Why didn't you attack?"
"Forgot it was a simulation..." Candidate 436 said guiltily, bowing his head, likely realizing he'd failed everything. His voice was shy, a little quiet...
"And your first instinct was to rush and save another Cardbot, huh..." Gray Fight chuckled nervously, looking at the scene. "You pass the exam."

The words were a shock to everyone. The stands erupted in loud cheers, stunned by the spectacle. Candidate 436 seemed just as surprised. The examiner offered a hand to help him up. The candidate had to place the dummy on the ground.
"Name."
"Blue Cop."
"Excellent. Maybe this stellar cycle isn't so hopeless after all."

The stands roared. Guardsmen murmured; some laughed, others shook their heads in disbelief. But Wilde... Wilde couldn't tear his gaze away. His optical sensors narrowed, recording Blue Cop's every move. This... this little Cardbot had just rewritten the whole exam. He didn't just pass—he outplayed it.
"Slag..." Wilde whispered, not a trace of his usual boredom in his voice.

He had seen how Blue Cop moved. He didn't just fight; he calculated. Without wasted effort, without pomp, without stupid shouts. Just calculation, just composure. And that moment at the end...
He dropped everything to save a dummy.
Wilde knew what that meant. In the simulation, it was just code, but in reality... in reality, it was a choice. The choice real Guardians made.
"That... That was... Incredible!" Wilde burst out, his voice cutting through the din of the stands.
One Guardsman turned around, grinning:
"Wow, Wilde's alive! Has our bored savage found himself an idol?"
"Shut up," Wilde snapped back, but there was no anger in his tone. He still didn't look away.

Blue Cop stood below, slightly embarrassed but composed. His white-and-blue chassis gleamed under the arena lights, his visor casting a shadow over his optics, hiding his expression. Was he happy?
"He didn't even shoot..." Wilde muttered, and his voice held something like... admiration.
He usually despised these showy exams. But today... this was clearly something different.
And for the first time in many cycles, Wild felt it—something had changed.
He'd seen many Guardians, but one like this...
For the first time.

Chapter Text

— You've learned too much. — The voice echoed, faltering and dissolving into barely distinguishable white noise. The colors before his optic sensors slowly blurred, splitting into three distinct color spectra, ultimately merging into something completely indistinguishable. The protective goggles softened the bullet's impact, but even they stood no chance against such a weapon.

Why? Was this meant to happen? More precisely, why did it end up this way? Could his mistake truly warrant such a price?

A minute passed, yet it felt like an eternity. He saw the corpse of another bot, utterly disfigured, its mask torn away, bright turquoise fluid slowly oozing out. He tried to move his arm, but his body wouldn't obey. All he could do was watch.

He was useless.

They truly thought so.

Naive.

Perhaps?

The one who naively believed in the nonexistent.

How sad it was to realize there was never any justice to begin with. He had seen, he had seen everything, yet he sincerely hoped he was mistaken. It was easier to close his eyes and forget.

He simply doesn't understand. This is necessary.

Do what you're told.

Write what you're told...

A higher purpose follows.

Words could say much, but the truth lay far beyond them. And he had seen, he had felt, yet he naively believed...

And now, he probably wouldn't be able to see anymore.

Or even hear.

He owed apologies to those he failed to help when he should have...

Useless...

They're right.

He had almost stopped moving.

This was probably deserved. How pitiful that now, all he could do was regret, to the echo of receding footsteps. The hum frozen in his audio receptors, the last sound he would remember.

"I'm so sorry..." flashed his last coherent thought before the white noise returned.

Chapter Text

Deus Machine — originally the core program that eons ago spawned the Cardbot race, sacrificing other planets for its own survival. Deus is an ever-evolving algorithm, following a strict pattern, but over time the program couldn't maintain its original form. By that point, sentient races were slowly but surely emerging on other planets. Unable to sustain itself alone, Deus chose a permanent bearer – one who had long heard and communed with the algorithm, seeking guidance. None of the Cardbots from that era exist now, but the first Deus bearer could very well be alive. Just not in the form you imagine.

Over time, even this first bearer began to wither. The algorithm frantically searched for a means of survival. Thus emerged the second bearer, merging with the first, then the third...

Personas became confused, and bodies hopelessly decayed. That's when the first artifact of metallic breath was created – a giant skeletal framework made of metal alloys, which ultimately stabilized the bearers' personas.

Each new cycle repeated the last: the bearer willingly sacrificed their own planet, which over time became coated in machinarium, destroying all life except that created by the Deus Machine.

Things were simpler in the past. But when the planet's inhabitants started to resist... Some Cardbots deemed this unfair. How could they occupy another's territory for their own sake? Why couldn't they take planets that wouldn't be inhabited? Then the first rebellion erupted.

The first uprising was quelled by an elite unit, later dubbed the Star Guardians. It was then that the core computer realized its creations were better off not knowing how their planet was truly reborn... or that it was far from the first to exist.

And so, over the entire history of these cycles, there have been only 44 bearers. Different kinds of beings, vastly diverse, but none existing now in their original form. The Machine Planet resurrected itself like a Phoenix from the ashes, over and over, time after time...

Now, Deus is no mere algorithm. It is a vast collective consciousness array, operating by its own rules. Every Deus decision is always collective; they cannot give a definitive answer unless all personas agree.

Over time, the metallic breath acquired a new form – a very small artifact, easily concealed. Its own divine creation coveted this relic, intending to seize its power.