Divinity is received, not taken.

So had Harald been taught by Seraphite Japhina at a young age. He’d been entranced by her wrinkled visage, her humble piety, struck more by her quiet sincerity than her words.

But now that dictum returned to him as he sank into his own spiritual depths, which opened before him like the cloths of heaven.

Divinity is received, not taken. Within each of us burns a cosmos granted by the Fallen Angel, and this is her gift to all of us, to Flutic, to all living beings. She Fell so that we might receive her divinity, she sacrificed herself so that we might be elevated. Within you, Harald, is a portion of the cosmos, and it is your responsibility to kindle it to fire.

Harald dove into that darkness, that eternity that lay within his spirit. His soul was but a speck of light, and the farther he descended the greater the sense of scale became, till at last he felt himself a seed swept out by the wind over an endless ocean of night.

And there, glimmering softly, appeared the silhouette of the Fallen Angel, a vast constellation of scales that glittered with chromatic brightness, the glorious armature of her being and all that remained of her deep in the earth. The scales were minute, a billion pinpricks of light whose brightness depended on their rarity, but the composite whole was breathtaking, outlining the form of the angel as she must once have been in life, in flight, in the cosmos.

The beauty transfixed Harald with a sense of the sublime. Her great wings were golden with Copper Moons, while Silver Starbursts formed the plate of her abdomen; Golden Dawns encircled her waist and covered her thighs like armor, while Zenith Tides swirled around her shoulders and upper arms. Horizon’s Whispers ran along the outer edge of her wings, and her sublime beauty was hinted at by the molding of Twilight Infinitums upon her visage. The remaining three scales, the rarest of all, were pinpricks of brilliant light scattered throughout, from the crown on her head to her eyelids to a pattern over her heart.

A great ghost, a buried goddess, the font of Flutic’s power and fame.

Yet the beauty of the Fallen Angel never failed to stir pity in Harald’s heart; for all that her scales represented power, for all that her death had ennobled mankind as the Seraphites claimed, her hollow form, the scaled shell, appeared little more than an aching testament to loss.

To a being whose magnificence he could never even guess at, and upon whose corpse they all now feasted.

Harald put that melancholy away, and focused upon the first Throne that had appeared, transparent and beyond him, when he’d first Awoken his Cosmos.

The first step in any raider’s journey to power was to Awaken their Cosmos by absorbing 1,000 Copper Moons, a luxurious price beyond the capacity of most to pay. Upon Awakening your Cosmos, you acquired your Window, which revealed your Soul Nature and the rest; it made it possible for one to acquire a Class, to bind Servitors and wield Artifacts. It made it possible to Ascend your first Throne, which was the second step on one’s journey to becoming a legend.

The first Throne, the Throne of Harmony, dwelt simultaneously in both palms of the angel. This first Throne symbolized creation, balance, and the mediation of constructive and destructive forces. They glimmered as if made of glass, insubstantial and barely visible in the Angel’s palms.

But now he brought with him a wealth of newfound power. A Zenith Tide filled him with glory, and this he channeled into his personal Fallen Angel; shimmering deep blue light flowed from his spirit like the aurora borealis across the sky, filtering down into the armature, the replica of the true Fallen Angel, and there suffused its glittering constellations with power from the original.

A billion scales took on a new refulgence and glowed with glory. The sight was indescribably beautiful, the darkness around her filled with floating motes of gold, and his Fallen Angel stirred, flaring her wings, raising her hands as if in search for the sky, and then stilled, hung her head, and was still once more.

The power that flowed through her form coalesced in her palms, and the twin Thrones—though he’d been told many times they were but the one which was simultaneously located in two places—brightened to form twin gardens of ordered beauty from which strains of celestial music arose into the void.

These twin gardens, each large enough somehow to be a city-sized park yet still be cupped in the palms of her hands, brightened till their details were lost, and then the brightness flared once and flowed to reveal the second Throne, the Throne of Shadows, which were lost and hidden within the great scaled feathers of her wings.

There was insufficient power to Ascend the second Throne, however; the Throne of Harmony dimmed somewhat, the excess of power bled off, and the Throne of Shadows remained translucent, Awoken but not Ascended.

But he’d done it.

He could now draw on his Throne of Harmony for power.

For awhile Harald simply hovered in darkness, drinking in the sight of his Fallen Angel simulacra. It was incredible to think that in each raider, each person who’d consumed 1,000 Copper Moons, hung a duplicate of this miracle, this resplendent magnificence.

But in some corner of his mind he knew that Sam awaited him on the 4th Level of the dungeon.

So with great reluctance he willed his ascent, out of his Cosmos, away from the angelic armature, and watched with regret as it dimmed, the billions of potential scales fading, until at last only the Throne of Harmony burned bright, and then that, too, faded and was gone.

Harald opened his eyes.

Above him was the vaulted ceiling of the warren, draped with torn webbing and a single great rusted chain.

“There you are.” Sam smiled down at him. “Take your time. Nothing’s bothered us yet.”

Harald passed his hand over his eyes as the euphoria receded, to be replaced by the drab reality of the world. Everything seemed dull and without life in comparison to that glittering miracle, but for a few precious minutes more the wonder and splendor remained within him, that sense of transcendent awe.

And then that, too, faded away, and he was left himself.

Taking a deep breath, Harald sat up and summoned his window to take in all the changes.

Name: Harald Darrowdelve

Soul Nature: Insatiable Void

Soul Rank: Divine

Soul Ability: Condemnation of Success

Class: Abyssal Initiate 1

Class Actives: Abyssal Attunement

Class Passives: Aura of the Aching Depths

Endowments: Demon Seed

Strength: 11

Dexterity: 9

Constitution: 12

Ego: 23

Presence: 9

Thrones: 1/7 (Throne of Harmony)

Scales: 11,034/100,000

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Artifacts: None

Servitors: None

What a change in just a handful of weeks. His gaze wandered over the new terms, the new abilities, his supercharged stats.

Sure, by most raiders’ windows he wasn’t notable. Yeoric still had higher Strength and Dexterity, though Harald now topped his Constitution by one point.

But that Ego of 23.

He shook his head, bewildered by the absurdity of it. It was a literally inhuman level, reserved for the very greatest heroes, for demonic beings, great fiends, and angelic envoys. He just couldn’t square it being his.

“There it is,” he whispered. “I’ve Ascended to my first Throne.”

“How does it feel?” asked Sam, squatting beside him. Her proximity only heightened the warmth of her presence, lightened him, made him feel at once more confident and relaxed.

He beamed at her. “Your aura? Pretty great.”

“Not that,” she scowled, giving him a playful shove. “Your Ascended Throne.”

“It feels…” He narrowed his eyes, searching within him, and there. He found it. Energy swirled in his palms, feeling like twin vortices, and from them flooded a sense of not strength nor resilience but spiritual reserves. As if he could draw on the Throne of Harmony forever, though he knew that wasn’t true.

“It feels amazing,” he said, studying his palms. “If this is one Ascended Throne, I can’t imagine two, much less five.”

Sam smiled lopsidedly. “Let’s take it a step at a time. Though it’ll be pricy to brute force your next Ascension.”

“No kidding,” he said. “It’ll take an entire Horizon’s Whisper to progress to the next Throne. And we both know I’m not going to be getting one of those any time soon.”

“Not if Countess Sonora has anything to say about it.” She considered him then smirked. “So? Shall we try out our new abilities? As we make our way back to the portal?”

He grinned and climbed to his feet. “Absolutely.”

Sam straightened and considered her armor sadly. “This is a mess. Still, better than nothing. You’re little better. We’d best take this carefully, try to find a lone ashen walker or two first.”

“Sure.” But he couldn’t restrain his excitement. Within him now burned the eternal font of energy from an Ascended Throne, and he could sense the abyss all around him, waiting for him to tap its endless and yet non-existent potential.

One ashen walker?

He wanted a hundred.

The feeling of warmth and inspiration faded from Sam as they approached the arch. Harald glanced at her in curiosity, then realized: she hadn’t Ascended her Throne. Her Passive was going to flicker on and off by itself, possibly even beyond her control.

No sense in mentioning it, though. That’d just highlight her lack of development, and make him look like an ass.

They stepped warily back out into the hallway, blades by their shoulders. Their scale lanterns could be clipped to their belts, though they were large enough to be ungainly. At least that allowed them to keep both hands on their swords.

The bright blue light yet shone to the left, its frigid clarity reducing that section of hallway to blacks, glacial blues, and whites.

They stood still, listening, but it was hard to hear much over the pounding of his pulse and his own breathing.

“Damn,” he laughed under his breath. “All that and I’m still nervous.”

“Good,” said Sam, expression solemn. “We’ve had about a week or so of sword training, and only came to the 4th because Nessa and Vic promised to watch over us.” She stared at him. “Even with out new classes we’re out of our depth here. You hear me, Harald? Our armor is near ruined, our blades are warped, and we barely know how to fight. Please don’t do anything stupid?”

“I’m vaguely insulted,” said Harald, moving past her to begin passing through the bright light. “But only vaguely.”

The temperature dropped rapidly as the haunt began to manifest, curls and coils of mist looping into a vaguely shadowed shape, but they both hurried out the far side of the pool of light before it could form.

“All right. So. The portal was one floor below,” said Sam. “We find the steps, head back down.”

“Sure,” said Harald, and to his surprise their entry into this level felt vague, almost hard to piece together. “How often do people get lost on these raids?”

“To be honest?” Sam was peering ahead as she went, moving her head from side to side as if that would allow her to pierce the darkness better. “Surprisingly often. Some of the deeper levels shift around, obviously, defying any map, and each instance is often a unique layout, making any previous maps of limited use.”

“You’re such a scholar,” said Harald, half-mocking, half-admiring. “If only I’d known you were up reading all those nights while I wasted my life trying to impress Nessa. I’d have thrown away my fancy clothing and come joined you.”

Sam flashed him a sad smile. “Not true, but nice of you to say.”

Sooner than he expected they reached the T-junction. They both paused, frowning at the broad corridor that disappeared into the darkness straight ahead. To the right lay the stairwell.

“We should go right,” said Sam.

“That’s where the dead patrol is,” said Harald. “Then the stairs, and they lead out right next to the portal.”

“Which is a good thing.”

“I thought we were going to test our abilities.”

Sam frowned. “Well, yes. But perhaps we should save them for the 1st Level. We’re not ready for the 4th.”

Harald watched her.

Sam bit her lower lip, considered, then scowled at him. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“But you were clearly thinking it, which made me think it, which corrupted my thoughts. And now I’m thinking of going ahead a little to see what we find.”

“How about just till the next junction? That way we can easily turn around without getting lost.”

Sam grimaced then nodded. “Till the next junction.”

“Excellent.” Harald paced ahead, listening intently as he went. Not that the ashen walkers made any sound, but he couldn’t help but strain for any clue of what lay ahead. Neither of them spoke, and they both occasionally would glance behind to make sure nothing was creeping up on them.

Nothing ever was.

Chains overhead. The hallway large and bleak and fetid. It ran straight for an unnervingly long distance, the occasional empty alcove or particularly dense weaving of chains they had to gingerly brush past the only changes.

Harald could sense Sam’s imminent protest, which was why he was glad to see a large portal up ahead. A dim blue radiance came from what felt like far below, and their light only illuminated a brief stretch of landing before ending at a great expanse of darkness.

Still outside the archway, Harald raised his eyebrow at Sam. “I’ll just take a peek.”

“Be careful.”

He edged forward, staying close to the massive archway’s side, and saw that his initial impression was correct; there were perhaps three yards of rough flagstoned landing beyond the arch, and then the space opened into a massive sunken hall. A handful of buckled steps hard on the right led down to a second landing, which ran along the wall briefly before more steps at a right angle led down to the first half of the hall below. It was narrow, almost a slot canyon of a hallway, with hoary stone alcoves below whose depths his light didn’t pierce.

At the hall’s halfway mark there was another set of steps that cut it in two, perhaps a dozen all told, which descended to the far second half of the great room, and it was there that the azure haunt light hung affixed to the wall, washing everything with its ghostly light.

Four ashen walkers stood at the base of the dividing steps, halfway down the narrow hallway and far below them.

Harald gestured and Sam crept up to join him. Together they passed through the archway and crouched at the edge of the first small landing, perhaps some twenty feet above the ashen walkers and some thirty away.

Sam frowned as she took in the various flights of stairs, craned her head to peer into the three blocky alcoves that lined the left wall, then gestured to a fourth alcove beyond the haunt light that was almost lost in the darkness.

“No way of telling what’s in them,” she whispered. “Could be more walkers.”

“True.” Harald rubbed at his jawline. “Though nothing says we have to descend to them. We can throw rocks from here, draw them to us.”

Sam nodded, considered the path the walkers would take. Up the halfway steps, down the hall toward them, then up the again to the second landing that ran along the wall, then a hard turn to their little entrance landing.

“Two could come at us at once.”

“Tight fit. But if they do, there’s no railing. One shove and the outermost drops fifteen feet to the hall below.”

“You’ve no shield to shove them, and they come fast.”

“Kicking worked well last time. And you’ve a shield now. Can you push with it?”

She eyed him sidelong. “Haven’t had the chance to experiment yet.”

“Now’s a good time, don’t you think.”

“Hmm.” She considered again. “Four means they’ll be relatively smart. Smart enough to not just rush us, you think?”

“Vic never mentioned their running for reinforcements. But if they do, we retreat, run back to our own portal.”

“Fair.” Sam nodded slowly. “We draw their attention. They make their way up either single file or double. I’ll take the outer edge, see if I can’t use my shield to shove one down. You use your abilities. We kill them.”

Excitement coursed through Harald. The ashen walkers stood silently just outside the pale blue nimbus of the haunt light below. Eerie, swaying slightly, cadaverous, alien.

“Sounds like a plan. You ready?”

“Lanterns down by the arch. Let’s find some rocks.”

“Look at you,” grinned Harald. “You’re as excited as a child going to a Seraphic fair.”

Sam snorted askance and shook her head. “I’m the only stone cold professional here.”

“Sure, sure.”

They set their lanterns down together by the archway, sheathed their blades, then rustled up a handful of palm-sized rocks from along the walls.

A moment later they were crouched back on the landing.

The hallway was unnaturally still. The faint radiance of the haunt light made the great walls appear to be made of black obsidian. The chains looped overhead hung still, their links massive and rusty.

“Count of three,” he whispered, and rose to standing. “One.” They both drew their best rocks back. “Two.” He adjusted his stance. “Three!”

And together they whipped their arms forward and hurled the stones down at their prey.