Chapter 2

  Alabenthos contextualized Brauxis like nobody’s business.

  Where the Steward Angel had been potent, broad, and intimidating, Alabenthos, his master, was other. The angel was huge. Easily three yards tall and almost as broad, it was terrifyingly intimidating and utterly awe-inspiring. His bulky alabaster and ivory full plate looked like a sacred relic, and was adorned and edged with flourishes of platinum and gold. Huge wings of dove gray and robin’s egg blue bulked up behind his powerful shoulders, and his helm was blank. A broad halo that hovered in the air above his brow. No neat circlet of metal, this halo was alive and ever revolving, platinum and whole where Brauxis’ had been partial.

  Alabenthos.

  So powerful, so revered, that he actually spoke with Nenya of the Depths, one of the Archon Angels from whose company the Fallen Angel was said to have once belonged.

  Sam stepped out from behind Harald, chin raised, and though the angel said nothing, his displeasure was evident in the same way heat from a roaring oven was felt; Harald resisted the urge to squint as he gazed upon the angel, to raise a forearm to shield his face.

  “Alabenthos,” said Sam, not quite able to hide the quaver in her voice. “We’re back. I used your Artifact to return. And brought my friends.”

  You have brought two Demon Seeds into my domain. The voice shook the air. For centuries I have fought with every ounce of my being to prevent this very eventuality.

  “They aren’t evil.” Sam took a step forward, hand outstretched to forestall Harald. “You know this. You evaluated them on the 28th Level. You gave Harald a Mote of Humility. They’re different.”

  I allowed them to persist. I did not invite them into my home.

  Vic and Nessa appeared in the archway, expressions alarmed, only to stagger to a stop.

  “I apologize if I’ve upset you.” Now Sam’s voice did grow strong. “But they are my friends, my allies, my companions. I couldn’t leave them behind.”

  “I’m sorry if my presence offends,” said Harald, moving forward and dropping to one knee. It was easy to kneel before this being. “But my heart remains true. I want to help the angels in the Celestial War. I want to defeat Vorakhar, the demons.”

  You have bestowed the Mote upon Samantha. The angel considered, then angled his faceless helm to Vic. You yet retain yours.

  Vic smiled uneasily. “What can I say? I’ve been burnt in love. My heart has grown hesitant.”

  “Vic,” hissed Nessa, and elbowed him.

  What brings you hither? demanded the angel.

  “We fled Flutic.” Sam took another step forward, claiming the focus. “We tried to upend the social order. Change the nobility for the better. We… failed. They cared only for their own power and priveleges. We had to fight our way free, and with Gold-ranked raiders after us, I used my Alabaster Disc to escape.”

  Your naivete amuses me, said the angel. For centuries mankind has refused the Fallen Angel’s call. Humanity’s nature is self-centered, short-sighted, and self-serving. They are incapable of collective altruism, even if, ultimately, it is in their own interest.

  Sam clenched her jaw for a moment, then stiffly bowed her head. “So it would seem. But we’ve come to aid in the War, as Harald said. If we can’t change Flutic, maybe we can make a difference down here.”

  Your presence is always welcome, Samantha Tuppins. As is Evernessa Ermarine’s. The dwarf is beholden to his thark?n, and thus will not fight without him. The Demon-kin, however, must leave. That is the extent of the mercy I am willing to extend.

  Desperation seized Harald by the throat and he rose to his feet. “No.”

  The angel considered him. No?

  “I won’t run. There has to be a way to convince you of my quality. You are wise beyond all measure. You must know of a way to sound my heart.”

  Why should I take the risk?

  “Because you are losing this war.” Harald ignored Sam’s hiss. “For how long have you fought? Centuries? Taking an angel-kin here, an angel-kin there, but what’s the end result? The demons hold five Thrones. I’m well aware of my own ignorance in this matter, but the facts speak for themselves. The demons take greater risks, and it’s paid off. They have the momentum. How long till they claim the Sixth Throne? I’ve learned enough of what’s going on to know that Silenthros has the other demons on the run, and soon he’ll claim the whole of the Dungeon. Then what? What happens when all seven Thrones are lost?”

  You presume much, demon-kin.

  “Sure. But I’m not wrong. Am I?” Harald stepped up alongside Sam. “You recognize my potential. You know whose son I am. You’ve already stared into my heart. You know my intent. So test me. Use me. Let me turn the tide of this war. Let me make a difference. And if I ever disappoint?” Harald grinnned. “I’m sure it won’t cost you much to snuff me out like a candle.”

  “For the record,” said Vic, “I’m both not insulting you nor insisting that I know better than you do. I’m quite, quite happy to exit stage left and wander for a while in the wilderness.”

  You speak as if you were 16th Level, but are only 8th. Your presumption is staggering. But such bravado demands to be tested. Very well. I shall place before you a small trial. If you can win through, I will deem you sufficiently worthy to continue proving yourself.

  Harald rolled his shoulders back and grinned. “Sounds good. What’s the test?”

  You shall face my Steward, Brauxis, in battle. If you slay him, I shall know your true worth. Lose, and I shall know you a braggart.

  Harald’s grin slipped away. “You want me to kill your Steward?”

  Sleep. When you awaken, I shall send for you, and you shall be brought to the arena.

  And with that, the angel disappeared in a pulse of white light.

  “Wait. What?” Vic ran his hand through his hair. “He wants you to kill that big angel guy?”

  “It’s a trap,” said Sam, sounding stunned. “You can’t defeat Brauxis. He’s too strong.”

  Nessa moved to the setee and lowered herself slowly upon the cushions. “He’s giving you enough rope to hang yourself. Sam’s right. It’s a trap.”

  “Which means we’re gone,” said Vic. “Grab whatever valuables you can carry, and let’s head out into the Dungeon. There are lots of more entertaining ways to commit suicide than fighting that huge angel-kin.”

  “He’s not an angel-kin,” said Sam numbly. “He’s an Emanation.”

  “Whatever,” said Vic. “Darlings. Everyone. Focus. For some reason Mr. Alabenthos has taken our being demon-kin the wrong way. Out of respect for Sam here, he’s not just smooshing us immediately, but giving us a chance to be smooshed if we refuse to leave. So let’s leave! Honestly, it’s a lesson easily learned: if a tart or strumpet refuses your advances, go find another floozie to bamboozle. Let’s just go.”

  “No,” said Harald. “I… I’m not going to just run.”

  Vic threw up his hands. “Why? Why not? Harald, for the love of every big-hipped whore, why?”

  “Because…” Harald blew out his cheeks and tried to summon the right words. “I’m… he’s right. Alabenthos. I’m walking a narrow path here. The Seed’s only growing more powerful. If we just head out into the Dungeon without a purpose, I’m liable to lose myself to it. I mean, my dad’s out there, right? And he came back to get revenge for my mother. If even he couldn’t hold true to vengeance, then what hope do I have?”

  “You won’t fall,” said Sam sternly.

  “No. Because I won’t put myself out there. I’m going to fight for the light, for the angels, no matter what. Alabenthos has set this trial before me. I won’t run from it.”

  “You heard her, darling,” drawled Nessa, trying to sound mocking but failing to hide her own fear. “This Brauxis is too powerful. We’re on the 33rd Level. This is far deeper than anything we’ve ever faced. And Brauxis will no doubt be only too pleased to crush you for his master.”

  Harald thought of the massive angel. How he had crowed in delight as Shadowpaw had leaped upon him. How he hadn’t budged an inch.

  “Harald.” Sam’s voice was pitched low. “I… we can go. I’ll leave with you. We’ll stay together. There are other angels. Maybe if we accomplish something great in the Dungeon, maybe if we come back with some kind of trophy, Alabenthos will think differently.”

  Kársek stepped out of the shadows of the hall beyond the archway. “Whatever you decide, you know I shall remain by your side. But perhaps I can make a point. We dwarves are punctilious and precise. The nature of oaths are bound by the words used to utter them, and contracts are scrupulously made. Thus, it may be worthwhile to examine what the angel said, and question our assumptions.”

  “Oh, save me from legalese,” moaned Vic. “We heard him, Kársek. He said kill the Steward or be branded a braggart.”

  “His words,” persisted the dwarf calmly, “were that he would know Harald’s true worth if he slew the Steward.”

  “And?” demanded Vic.

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  “He did not say that was the requirement to pass his test. He merely said it would reveal Harald’s true nature. Slaying his noble Emanation might lead the angel to consider Harald a monster.”

  Harald stared at the dwarf. “You’re saying it’s a trick?”

  Kársek shrugged. “At no point did Alabenthos state what the winning condition was. Slaying the Emanation will reveal who you are, failing to do so will condemn you. You asked to be tested, did you not? Perhaps the test is other than he was leading you to believe.”

  “That’s true,” said Nessa with dawning admiration. “Kársek, well done. But that still leaves us in a quandary: what must Harald do to pass the test?”

  The dwarf shrugged. “Perhaps he need only fend off the Emanation, or defeat him honorably but refuse to slay him. Perhaps the angel will judge Harald on how he comports himself in combat.”

  Harald bit his lower lip, considered, then gave a sharp nod. “All right, that’s clear enough, then. He wants to know what manner of man I am. If I’m a slave to the Demon Seed. Perhaps it’s restraint he’s looking for. Or nobility. Or—”

  “How quickly you’re turned to gleaming red goo?” Vic rose to his feet. “You’re all mad. Sam’s already made it clear: you can’t defeat ol’ Brauxis. So what’s there to debate? It’s so painfully simple: Alabenthos is at war with the demons. He’s not killed us yet out of respect for Sam. But if we insist on staying, he’ll have his Steward kill us, who, don’t forget, is just yearning for a good fight. So we go!” He looked around plaintively. “Right? Please tell me you’re not all collectively insane.”

  “I go where Harald goes,” said Kársek calmly.

  “As do I,” said Sam. “But I’m in agreement with Vic on this one.”

  Nessa shrugged. “The smart money is on leaving. But this isn’t about being smart, is it, Harald?” Her gaze was probing. “You need this.”

  “Yes.” Harald took a deep breath. “I do. And I think Kársek is right. This really is a test. Alabenthos isn’t Melisende Celestis. He’s an angel. He wouldn’t give me a test I couldn’t pass.”

  “You poor, stupid fool,” said Vic, voice grown harsh. “Honestly, your need for a paternal figure’s approval is too much. Well! If you’re intent on throwing your life away, I won’t stop you. But I won’t help, either.”

  Harald smiled sadly at his friend. “Didn’t think you would.”

  Vic narrowed his eyes. “There are no heroes. Every legend is a lie we fabricate to make this world bearable. Alabenthos, Vorakhar—they’re just different sides of the same coin.”

  “Careful,” said Sam, tone low.

  Harald turned to face his friend full on. “So if you don’t respect the angels, and won’t serve the demons, what’s left, huh, Vic? You going to set yourself above everyone else?”

  Vic sneered. “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed Vic is king. You know what the true definition of maturity is? No longer needing authority figures to tell you what to do.” He bowed. “Well, I shall excuse myself. I wish you the best in your quixotic quest to make your new father figure proud.”

  They all watched him saunter into the hall.

  “He’s not wrong,” said Nessa. “But strangely enough, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s right, either. You sure about this, Harald?”

  Harald reached out to Shadowpaw. Again he caught faint flickers of joy and savage predatory instincts from the hound. Shadowpaw was having a grand time with Brauxis. And that knowledge settled his fears. “I am.”

  “Then so be it.” Nessa leaned back and closed her eyes. “You’ve got a few hours to rest before the biggest fight of your life. I’d urge you to use them wisely. Oh.” She sat back up, and summoned a small golden sphere into her palm which she tossed over to him. “Here. You should probably use this in the fight.”

  The Solace of Aurelum, taken from Sabina, one of House Celestis Silver-ranked raiders.

  “Thanks.” Harald absorbed it into his Cosmos, relinquishing the Rootheart Sigil he’d taken from Thracos, which he tossed over to her in turn. That done, he rubbed his face vigorously. The battles at House Celestara estate felt like only a moment ago - his body ached, and suddenly he could barely keep his eyes open. “Sleep. Good idea.”

  Sam went to say something, changed her mind. She touched his shoulder instead, and remained behind, watching, as he stumbled into the hallway to find a room.

  * * *

  A deep and dreamless sleep. The bed was incredible. The darkness absolute. When Harald awoke he felt ravenous and restored. Instinct caused him to reach out: Shadowpaw was restored to his Cosmos.

  Very well.

  Harald rose, and a soft light bloomed in the room from no discernible source. By its light he washed his face, donned the clean clothing Sam had given him, and emerged back into the central chamber.

  A man awaited him there, a stranger. Stern of face, square-shouldered, narrow hips, his physique athletic and trim. He wore a black body suit over which was draped an ivory cloak. His arms were clad in armor, his hands protected by fearsome guantlets, one of which rested on the pommel of a drawn blade. Its guard was an abstract swirl of platinum and gold, and its blade began broad and tapered quick to a long and wicked point.

  An Artifact, Harald had no doubt.

  The man had been deep in thought, lips pursed, staring fiercely down and away at nothing, but at Harald’s entrance he looked up. He was young, Harald’s age perhaps, his hair a thick shock of chestnut, handsome and with a gravitas beyond his apparent age.

  “Harald Darrowdelve.” The blade disappeared. “My name is Rovarik Tane. Angel-kin in service to Alabenthos, and a Level 10 Luminarch Templar. I’m here to escort you to your duel.”

  “Well met,” said Harald. “My friends?”

  “Awaiting you there. Except for your companion, Vic. He chose to quit the level, and was given permission to depart.”

  Harald grimaced. “Vic. Damn it. Very well. Lead on.”

  Rovarik led him through the double golden doors and down a flight of shallow steps into a broad atrium carved out of the living rock. A waterfall cascaded in the near distance down one rough wall, sunlight pouring into the cavern from above its frothing waters.

  “I asked to escort you,” volunteered Rovarik, looking sidelong at Harald as they walked. “You’re an Abyssal Master, are you not?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yet you wish to fight for my lord?”

  “Alabenthos? Yes. Him and all the angels.”

  “Fascinating.” Rovarik scrutinized him. “You’re aware of course that no mortal has ever resisted a Demon Seed forever? Everybody succumbs.”

  “There’s always a first.”

  Rovarik smirked. “True enough. If you could have yours removed, would you agree?”

  Harald thought of Father Pastoric and his ritual. “I did, once. But events grew dire. I needed my powers to save my friends.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m not sure I’d be of much use to your Lord without it.”

  “Pragmatic.”

  The man continued to watch him as they strode into a long hall whose vaulted ceiling rose high abvoe them, a placid river running down its length between boulders crowned in pink flowers.

  Harald frowned. “What?”

  “I’ve slain three demon-kin. I’m just wondering if I’ll have to kill you, one day.”

  Now it was Harald’s turn to smirk. “I see. Came to learn about your eventual foe?”

  Rovarik’s smile was roguish, unabashed. “Can you fault me? You’re Darrowdelve’s son. I’m sure you’ll prove formidable.”

  “Well you have my apologies. I don’t intend to give you cause.”

  Rovarik inclined his head. “Time will tell.”

  Alabenthos’ domain was beautiful. Light tended to pour down from high windows, and running water was everywhere. The rock was marble, and columns were in evidence against the unworked walls. Broad staircases, worked stone, inlayds of gold and silver. It felt like traversing a continuous cathedral that had frozen in the midst of emerging from the raw caverns.

  Finally they reached their destination. A massive chamber, a domed ceiling rising high, high above, stadium seating rising halfway up the walls, greatly weathered and worn. Arches climbed the rest of the way to the dome, each boasting a window in its depth, and from these poured golden light.

  His companions awaited him on the lowest seats, clustered together, and when he entered through a grand archway they rose to their feet.

  But Harald’s gaze was locked on the great winged figure standing in the center of a large ceremonial circle in the center of the chamber, its perimeter marked by a broad gold band.

  Brauxis. Massive, immobile, his huge wings outstretched, his slate-blue armor worn, a tattered tabard baring a symbol of a golden fist.

  And high above, hovering a good thirty yards above the floor? Alabenthos, his wings clearly ornamental for he didn’t beat them to maintain his place.

  A smattering of strangers had gathered to watch the duel. Most were armored in a similar if plainer fashion to Brauxis, while here and there a slender youth or young woman sat, their gazes locked on him.

  Rovarik clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck. You’ll need it.” And the young man moved to the stands.

  Despite knowing him gone, Harald still searched for Vic’s face in the sparse crowd.

  Nothing.

  You have chosen to undertake my trial. Alabenthos’ voice filled the great chamber. I shall witness this combat, and have instructed Steward Brauxis to fight to his utmost. Let this combat be a referendum on your soul, Harald Darrowdelve.

  Harald inclined his head to the distant figure, and stepped down to the great circle.

  “Ho there, Master Darrowdelve!” Brauxis raised one gauntlet in greeting. “You have my thanks for allowing Shadowpaw to sport with me. He is a formidable hound, brave and bold. Would that I had such a companion myself. My time here would be greatly enriched. But despite my gratitude, I shall fight you with all of my skill. And I warn you, I possess no small amout of puissance!”

  “Puissance?” asked Harald.

  Brauxis chuckled. A massive blade of living white light coalesced in his fist, its edge undulating and spitting as if alive. “No matter. Actions speak louder than words, and it is a paltry fellow who boasts before a bout. Take your time preparing yourself. I am ready.”

  Harald paced slowly around the circle, gaining a measure of the floor, noting the buckled edges of its paving stones. His heart was pounding. If Brauxis was nervous, he betrayed no such fear.

  He glanced over at his friends. Seraphina sat beside Sam, her expression akin to a closed fist. Not his biggest supporter, it would seem.

  But Kársek raised a fist, and Nessa inclined her head graciously. Sam mouthed something which could have been good luck, but he wasn’t sure.

  Harald took a deep breath and turned to face the Emanation. The time had come. The distant sound of a waterfall came clearly through the still air.

  He extended his hand, and Chyron’s Scourge manifested in his fist. The Epic-ranked scimitar looked nothing so much as a frozen wave of oil in whose depths glimmered effulgent green eddies, ripples buried deep in the black rock. He glanced briefly at its description:

  Artifact: Chyron’s Scourge

  Quality: Epic

  Special Ability: Soulglass Edge

  Activation: The blade shifts between realities, phasing into a toxic dreamscape. Strikes damage the soul and leave psychic scars.

  +4 to Strength while wielded

  +3 to Ego while wielded

  +2 to Constitution while wielded

  Next he summoned the Solace of Aurelum, which he placed inside his shirt.

  Artifact: Solace of Aurelum

  Quality: Masterwork

  Special Ability: Dawn’s Embrace

  Activation: Once per day, when the Solace’s bearer stands upon the threshold of death, the Solace will flare with golden light and fully restore the bearer’s health.

  +4 to Constitution

  His third Artifact was the Aetherlight Circlet, which he called to his brow. He felt it manifest about his head, light and perfectly fitted.

  Artifact: Aetherlance Circlet

  Quality: Masterwork

  Special Ability – Windglass Parry

  Activation: Once every ten seconds, the circlet projects a shimmering arc of force in response to any ranged attack. This arc bends trajectories, scattering arrows and deflecting bolts as though swatted by an unseen hand. The wearer is immune to a single ranged attack during that time, regardless of origin, so long as they are aware of the attacker.

  +3 Dexterity

  +3 Constitution

  He checked his window:

  Name: Harald Darrowdelve

  Soul Nature: Insatiable Void

  Soul Rank: Divine

  Soul Ability: Condemnation of Success

  Class: Abyssal Master 8

  Class Actives: Abyssal Attunement, Dark Vigor, Demonic Edge, Abyssal Grasp, Shadow Dominion, Tenebral Surge, Black Halo, Maw of the Starless Deep

  Class Passives: Aura of the Aching Depths, Shadow Fortitude, Umbral Aegis, Veil of Shadows, Thronebound Mantle, Grave Concordat, Sovereign Silence, Dread Wellspring.

  Endowments: Demon Seed, Mote of Humility

  Strength: 17/21

  Dexterity: 17/20

  Constitution: 17/26

  Ego: 26/29

  Presence: 13/13

  Thrones: 4/7

  Scales: 1,435,333/10,000,000

  Artifacts: Chyron’s Scourge, Aetherlight Circlet, Solace of Aurelum, Aureate Master

  Servitors: Shadow Mastiff (Uncommon)

  Harald’s breathing slowed. His pulse settled. Last, but definitely not least, he summoned the Aureate Master. It appeared around his arm, a heavy band of solid gold, and with its manifestation all his bonuses doubled. His muscles swelled, he felt impossibly light upon his feet, and his raw stamina, his ability to take insane amounts of punishment and simply power through went through the roof.

  Strength: 17/24

  Dexterity: 17/23

  Constitution: 17/35

  Ego: 26/32

  Presence: 13/13

  “There we go,” he said, and his voice felt shivery with power. Slowly, deliberately, he raised Chryon’s Scourge and pointed its rough tip at the waiting Steward. “Now. We may begin.”