For so much of the past few days Harald been acting on instinct. He’d acquired a number of new powers, powers he’d been forced to harness without conscious thought, reaching for whatever was at hand so that he could survive another moment, another exchange, another battle.

  But here, now, facing Brauxis with Alabenthos presiding, he found himself calm. Composed. Calculating.

  It felt… odd.

  Slowly he paced around the great Emanation, who turned every so often to keep Harald before him.

  Very well. He’d be methodical. He’d take Brauxis apart piece by piece, and demonstrate to Alabenthos both his self-control and the mastery he’d gained.

  Harald tapped his four Thrones. The power surged within him. Four Thrones. Harmony. Shadows. War. And now, Knowledge.

  Such power. With a casual twist of his will, he activated Aura of the Aching Depths. Had it only been a few months since he’d gained the Ability? What a paltry thing it had been then. Now it flooded the sun-saturated air with a gelid tint, as if they were underwater in a cool, green-saturated pond. He felt his Thrones empower the Passive, felt his will fall upon Brauxis, who didn’t flinch or respond.

  He activated his 8th Level Passive, Dread Wellspring. His Aura grew more fearsome, and inevitably now his stats would receive a +1 as the fight continued, right up till they hit +4 and augmented his next attack with the void. Dark Vigor added another +2 to each of his physical stats, so that he felt even more lithe, wicked, and potent.

  Still Brauxis waited. The shadowed air seemed not to touch nor bleach his war plate of its slate blue hues.

  Was he immune?

  No matter. Harald was still warming up. Thronebound Mantle filled the arena with his dark will. It washed against Brauxis like dark waves, heightening Harad’s mastery. Over this he laid Sovereign Silence, so Brauxis was now beset by the full might of the abyss, his thoughts no doubt slowed, his fears augmented, his awe of Harald reaching a burning pitch.

  The very arena had now become a dark nexus of Harald’s might. Currents of shadow undulated through the air, and Harald’s breath puffed forth in clouds of condensation, so cold had it become. He felt his will close about Brauxis like a fist, and he clenched his jaw as he sought to compel the Emanation to react, to respond, to show some element of fear.

  “Ho! Thou art powerful indeed, Harald!” Brauxis sounded jovial. “I am pleased, for I feared this combat would fail to interest me. But witness. I was created to meet creatures of darkness on equal footing, and nothing banishes the abyss so much as pure illumination.”

  And the partial halo that hovered above his head swelled in brightness, giving forth a searing radiance that scorched Harald’s darkness. So bright did it become that Harald had to squint to gaze upon the Emanation, even as his own dark aura began to falter and lighten.

  Two powers were at play. Harald could dimly sense their overlap, but the Emanation’s resistance to his auras and will was clearly bolstered by an Active and a Passive both.

  Harald slashed in Brauxis’ direction with Chyron’s Scourge, and unleashed an experimental Demonic Edge. An arc of sizzling black fire flashed toward the angel only to weaken and fade as it entered the halo’s radiance, so that it splashed against the blue armor and did no discernible damage.

  Damn.

  Enough. Harald felt a snarl arise from his very core, anger at his powers being so neatly mitigated, and snapped.

  This was meant to be a fight, was it not? With a cry he hurled himself forward, cloaking himself in shadows with Umbral Aegis so that his form became clad in shadow plates and activating Abyssal Attunement so that the Scourge flooded with the black power of the abyss.

  Right at Brauxis he ran, and the angel raised his burning white blade to parry the first strike which sent a great wash of black and white flames into the air as Scourge met heavenly sword. But Harald kept moving, leaping at the last so that he somersaulted over the raised blade and unleashed a Tenebral Surge as he did so.

  A radial burst of abyssal force exploded out from him, flooding down over Brauxis who brought a wing about to shield himself from the detonation. Harald landed on the far side, dropped into a crouch and spun, Scourge scything around in an attempt to take off a leg, but the sheer brilliance of the halo made him misjudge the distance.

  Not only that, but a white blade parried the blow and then a huge boot pounded into Harald’s chest, cracking the Umbral Aegis and knocking him back, so that Harald was forced to arch, reach over and down to plant a hand on the weathered stone and flip and fall into a sliding crouch even as he saw Brauxis come flying toward him like an avalanche of feathers and armor and blade.

  Had the Tenebral Surge done nothing?

  Dread Wellspring Bestows +1

  Harald threw himself aside, came up running, went out wide, and hurled Demonic Edge after Demonic Edge at the angel as he came in around tight, and now his ire was roused, he felt personally affronted, and cast all caution to the wind.

  Harald reached deep. He summoned the might of his four Thrones and brought the abyss into this plane. He felt it bloom into existence, felt the very fabric of reality warp and split, and then Maw of the Starless Deep yawned open beneath Brauxis’ feet.

  The air took on brusied hues as a demonic aurora arose from the Maw to ripple and shimmer. The abyss sang within him and he wanted to laugh for joy as Brauxis leaped into the air, wings beating powerfully as he fought the Maw’s pull.

  But Harald wasn’t done yet.

  Thrones straining, he summoned Black Halo, so that a great corona of glittering black blades appeared around him, scintillating and whipping around in a circle of death. Turning toward the straining angel, he went to close and unleash another Tenebral Surge when he felt himself jerk to a stop, so abruptly that he slammed down to one knee and nearly fell over.

  Golden chains as thick as his arm had ensnared his legs, their links burning bright, and they drank of his darkness, sucked at his power, so that even as he struggled to rise he felt his connection to the Maw grow thin and then snap.

  The Maw closed.

  Harald roared in fury and bent his will to break the golden chains. They bit into his Aegis, caused the shadows to warp and grind.

  “You fight well!” Brauxis’ tone was exhuberant. “But darkness is merely an absence of light! Your powers cannot withstand illumination!”

  “Illuminate this,” growled Harald, and felt through the chains the Emanation’s will. They were an extension of the angel just as his own Abysal Grasp was an extension of his. It was pure Ego against Ego, and his own was an utterly 33.

  Dread Wellspring Bestows +2

  Make that 35.

  Harald felt his vision go red as he strained. The chains were mighty, massive, and weighed as much as a mountain, but he didn’t so much fight their substance as their source. He reached through the burning length to the Emanation’s own essence and grappled with it, shoved his fists deep into the burning brightness of the angel’s mind and fought for dominion.

  Inch by inch he rose, the metal of the links distending, and then with a cry he tore himself free.

  The chains shattered, fell apart around him, and he raced toward Brauxis who let loose a cry of joy and dove down to meet him.

  But the Maw opened again beneath the angel, yanking him down. With a yawp the angel raised his burning white blade and loosed a flash of white fire at Harald, the move so quick Harald barely had time to widen his eyes.

  “Aurelian Lance!” laughed Bruaxis.

  The Aetherlight Circlet activated upon Harald’s brow and the blast of white fire was knocked aside, but so potent was the attack that the Circlet itself flew from Harald’s brow.

  The pair closed. Huge wingbeats sending storm blasts through the dark and frozen abyssal air. Harald released Umbral Aegis, its drain on his Thrones overmuch, and instead, at the last moment, he activated Abyssal Grasp and Shadow Dominion.

  The darkness beneath the flying Emanation came to life.

  Thick tentacles of living darkness writhed and reared like massive snakes just ahead of the angel’s flight path and lunged forward to clasp its wings.

  Brauxis spun, white sword flashing out, and lopped off chunks of the tentacles which withered and turned a bleached gray in the bright light of his halo, disrupting Harald's attack completely.

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  But between their distraction and the Maw’s endless hunger, it was enough.

  Harald surrounded himself with the Black Halo once more, a thousand shards of abyss made manifest spinning and roaring through the air, and then unleashed them all into an augmented Tenebral Surge.

  A torrent of black blades and fragments blasted out with unholy might, melding with the fury of black shadow to impact the angel who flew headlong and with little control right into the explosion.

  Brauxis’ halo went nova. Harald cried out, flung up an arm, turned away as the entire arena went searing white.

  For a moment he was blinded, and he leaped to the side, panicked, sure that he would be cloven in two at any second. He reeled, ducked, staggered back, and blinked away the sunspots.

  Brauxis lay before him. He’d carved a furrow in the stone with one shoulder, and fetched up against a mound of buckled pavers. Slowly he beat one wing as he planted a hand on the ground and dislodged himself from the hole he’d made.

  The time was now.

  Dread Wellspring Bestows +3

  Harald flared his fingers over the Chyron’s Scourge hilt. A dash forward, a mighty blow. He could cleave the Emanation apart. Now. This moment that he’d purchased by summoning all of his powers at once.

  Eyes wide, his blood rushing in his ears, the last of his Thrones’ power roaring in his ears, he lurched forward only to stagger to a stop.

  Brauxis was laughing.

  The huge angel’s shoulders heaved as he rose to one knee, then struggled up to his feet. His armor had changed. Mutated. Become twice as thick, his helm now boasting twin backswept horns whose tips almost touched and formed a permanent halo of ivory. His blade was gone. His armor was scratched and dented, but nowhere perforated.

  “Well done!” The Emanation turned to face him full on. “A mighty blow. But his, Harald, is my Sanctified Form. I can now withstand any assault you level at me. I shall heal, and then shall be renewed; whereas you, I see, are almost expended.”

  Harald bit his lower lip, glared at the angel, and swung his Chyron’s Blade in a flourish. “So you say. But this is an Epic-ranked blade. It swings through multiple dimensions. Your armor can only block it in this one. With it I can cleave you in two.”

  Brauxis lowered his chin.

  “And I see your halo is gone.” Harald moved forward, his massive stone scimitar light in his grip. “Your defensive form is potent, but it won’t be enough.”

  “Hmm!” Brauxis placed his gauntlets on his hips. “What you say might be true. There is but one way to find out. Will you swing?”

  Harald gazed up at the smooth faceplate of the helm. The Demon Seed within him was singing a song of destruction. This Emanation had thought himself superior? Had laughed? Well, this was his chance to show his mastery. Battle was always, always a mortal affair, and it it thought it could play with him, taunt him, belittle his achievements, well, hadn’t Thracos learned the hard way? Thracos and everyone else who’d dared set themselves against him, dared to think him -

  Harald lowered the Scourge. “No. I think not.”

  “No?” Brauxis almost sounded disappointed. “But why not? I am your foe.”

  “You’re not my foe.” Harald felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He dismissed the Scourge, the Aureate Master. Felt his stats plummet. Allowed his Powers to fade. Dark Vigor left him, the heady sense of Thronebound Mantle and Sovereign Silence. “I say our battle is finished.” And with this he looked up to where Alabenthos hovered high above. “I’ll let the angel decide who won.”

  “Ho!” Brauxis’ laughter boomed within the arena, and his hugely armored form diminished, returning to his natural titanic self. “You are a human after my own heart, Harald Darrowdelve. I, too, shall submit my performance to my master, and accept his verdict.”

  Alabenthos descended slowly through the air, and the last vestiges of Harald’s aura powers burned away like morning mist before the rising sun.

  I am surprised, said the angel. You have passed my test. I deem myself satisfied.

  “Because I refused to strike him?” asked Harald, resisting the urge to drop into a crouch. Why was he so exhausted? He’d fought longer and harder before in House Celestara. But now he felt absolutely drained.

  Because you did not summon your Shadow Hound Servitor, said Alabenthos.

  “What?” Harald caught himself. “I mean, excuse me?”

  You utilized every resource at your disposal except for your hound. Even when overwhelmed, you did not reach out for him. I am pleased that you did not strike at Brauxis while he was in his Sanctified Form, but I had already made up my mind. I deem you worthy of your first trial.

  “Go Harald!” cried out Nessa from the stands, and Kársek stood and began to applaud. A wave of relief passed through Harald, and now he did stagger back a step, his vision blurring.

  “You must rest,” said Brauxis. “My Corona of Judgment is a potent defense against demonic creatures. I admit, your ability to fight on while within its light surprised me greatly!”

  Harald forced himself to focus on Alabenthos. “Thank you. But you said something about a… trial?”

  We shall speak of this when you are rested. Even now your Thrones are being depleted by the after effects of Steward Brauxis ability. Rest.

  “But I just rested…” Harald staggered to one side, only for Sam to slip in under his arm. “Got you. Come on. No arguing.”

  The exhaustion was spreading. With each passing moment Harald felt more stupefied. “No arguments.”

  Nessa and Kársek followed the pair of them out of the arena. Harald was dimly aware of Rovarik moving to speak with Seraphina, who stood close by, but he couldn’t focus. His vision began to blur, and his last memory was slumping as Kársek moved to catch him.

  * * *

  Harald awoke in his chamber. A massive armored form sat incongrously by his bedside upon a stool, huge wings furled, a small metallic toy in his gauntlets which he was in the process of twisting, bands of bronze gleaming between his fingers.

  “Ah!” Brauxis lowered his hands and turned to face him. The Emanation loomed over him like a small hill of blue-slate armor. “You are awake. Very good.”

  “Brauxis?” Harald sat up against the headboard. “What are you…?”

  “I felt some modicum of concern for your wellbeing. Sentimental, perhaps, but I am a sentimental being. Though I didn’t doubt you would awaken hale and hearty, I wished to witness such with my own senses.”

  “Ah.” Harald passed his hand over his eyes. In truth he felt immeasurably better. No aches, no fatigue. He blinked away the last of the sleep. “What happened to me? I’ve never heard of something like it.”

  “No wonder. Hitherto you have been too weak to experience Throne fatigue. I am an Emanation of the Fourth Rank, and thus your spirit, doughty as it might be, was greatly strained in contesting my will.”

  “So the stronger you get, the easier it is to strain your Thrones?”

  “Only when there is a great disparity between the combatants. I am much more powerful than you, Harald. Yet you sought to break my Binding Chains of Covenant with your will alone. Which you did! Marvelously done. Improbable in the extreme. I was myself surprised! But you did so at great cost to yourself. I have powers that are tailored to overwhelming demon-kin. My Radiant Rebuke repulses darkness-aligned abilities, damaging my assailants in proprotion to the life or essence they seek to steal or damage. When you burst my Chains, you opened yourself to my Rebuke, which was able to assail you at your core, draining your Thrones rapidly over time. It is a potent defense, and one that has saved me many a time in the past.”

  “I see.” Harald wasn’t sure that he did. “So I let you in past my guard…?”

  “Indeed. Though you were shielded by several of your own Powers. Were you higher in Level, I might have found myself in an awkward situation!”

  “Is there a way to defend against that kind of… inbalance?”

  “Yes,” said Brauxis, tone grave. “But of course! There are practices, meditations, Artifacts, and regimens that help protect your Thrones and essence against such attacks. You would be wise to learn them, lest you face an opponent less scrupulous than myself!”

  Harald studied the huge Emanation. “That wasn’t a close fight at all, was it?”

  “You outdid yourself. Surprised me twice. And earned my gratitude a thousand times over when you chose not to summon Shadowpaw.”

  “At the end there, when you were in your… Sanctified Form? You weren’t defenseless.”

  “No,” said the Emanation, his tone sheepish. “A white lie. Lord Alabenthos wished to see if you knew aught of mercy, if you could keep your head while in the thick of peril. And that you did! Had you attacked me, well.” He tapped his bronze toy against the other palm. “I would have been most disappointed.”

  “Damn.” Harald chuckled and sat back. “And there I was, thinking I’d earned the upper hand.”

  “That you pushed me into my Sanctified Form is no mean feat for a squishy young human such as yourself! I had not anticipated needing such a recourse. I am being honest with you when I say I am impressed. As is Lord Alabenthos.”

  “What level equivalent would you be, if you were a raider?”

  “Equivalent?” Brauxis paused to think. “My prized claim of redoubtable deeds of arms is to have slain a potent Level 58 servant of Vorakhar.”

  Harald blanched. “Level 58!?”

  “Of the Dungeon. It was during an assault on his Throne of Shadow. I slew the demon Emanation by my lonesome, though at great cost. I would hazard… were I a human raider?” He chuckled. “It is hard to say, but perhaps… Level 14?”

  Harald’s head rocked back. “Level 14.” His voice was weak and seemed to come from very far away.

  “Indeed! Not as potent as many. Lord Alabenthos, as holy as he may be, is but the least of the Angel Lords fighting in the Celestial War, and I am but Fourth Ranked.”

  “You were playing with me.”

  “I was not!” Brauxis leaned forward. “I was taking your measure, and I declare myself impressed. Well done!” He stood. “Now. I shall alert the others as promised that you are awake. They have scarce been away from your side all the while you slept. Then, I am sure, Lord Alabenthos will call for you. He has deemed you worthy of a trial.”

  “Our duel wasn’t enough?”

  “Ho, you jest! Very amusing, very amusing indeed.” The huge Emanation stomped over to the door. “You will soon be leaving the 33rd Level. Before you go…?”

  A wistful tone had entered the angel’s voice.

  “Sure.” Harald cracked a smile. “I know he’d love to come out and play.” And with a flexion of his will, he summoned Shadowpaw back into the world.

  The huge hound manifested out of the whirling darkness, his ears already pricked, and it warmed Harald’s heart that he turned first to snuffle at his palm before his attention was lured away by Brauxis who had pulled another gigantic hydra steak from somewhere behind his back. With a delighted growl, the shadow mastiff leaped at the angel, who boomed out a laugh and retreated into the hallway.

  Harald couldn’t help but grin as he listened to the pair retreat down the hall, Shadowpaw snarling and barking as he no doubt sought to tear the steak free, Brauxis laughing and admonishing the hound on the virtues of patience.

  Then his smile slipped. The combat hadn’t been close. Damn. And he’d been feeling like a lethal predator there for a moment, Brauxis’ life in the palm of his hand. Perhaps even now the Emanation underestimated the power of Chyron’s Scourge… but probably not.

  Voices, footsteps, and then his friends appeared in his doorway.

  “Are you feeling better?” asked Sam, moving quickly to take his hand.

  “Much.” He forced a smile. “Kársek, you have my sincere thanks. Without your wisdom…”

  The dwarf moved to claim Brauxis’ stool, where he drew out his pipe. “My pleasure, Harald. My pleasure.”

  “It was inspiring to watch,” allowed Nessa, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. “From where we were sitting, you both looked evenly matched.”

  “That’s because Brauxis was…” Toying with me, he wanted to say. “Getting my measure. Per Alabenthos’ orders. But have you heard anything about this trial we’re to go on? Another test?”

  Sam’s expression grew conflicted, her smile tight, her eyes bright. “Yes. A little. You’ve earned us the right to strike a blow for Alabenthos in the Celestial War.”

  “He’s sending us into battle?”

  “Aye,” agreed Kársek, taking a contented puff from his pipe. “Though we’ve yet to hear the details.”

  Nessa shook her head. “Vic might have had the right of it. If we agree, it’ll be a glorious death.”

  Harald looked from one to the next. “Well? What is it?”

  “All we know,” said Sam softly, “is that it will involve journeying down through the levels of the Dungeon. Down to the 41st Level. There’s something there Alabenthos needs destroyed.”

  “The 41st? We’re on the 33rd. We’re to descend eight entire Levels?”

  Nessa’s expression had grown hard. “When we could barely survive the 28th.”

  “That was before,” said Sam. “We’ve all gained levels since then. And powerful Artifacts.”

  “Even so,” said Nessa.

  “But to destroy what?” asked Harald.

  “Something of the demons, for sure. But that’s what we’ll find out.” Sam squeezed his hand. “This is it. What we’ve been wanting. To fight for the forces of the light. How can we refuse?”

  “Quite easily,” said Nessa. “If we deem the request impossible.”

  Harald rose from the bed to stand tall. “Guess there’s only one way to find out. Shall we go seek that audience?”

  Kársek sighed, took one last puff from his pipe, then stood. “Let us be about our business.”

  And together, the friends strode into the hall.