“What the hell was that, Harald?” Nessa spun to glare at him, and in that moment none of her vulnerabilities or weaknesses were visible. The woman who wrestled with glory, the laconic and wry companion, all were gone. In their place stood their Delve Captain, a Bladeweaver 4 of pure, seething fury.
Harald balked, having just closed the door to their newly rented room. He glanced at the other two for support and found none. Vic had retreated immediately to the window seat, while Sam stood to one side, arms crossed over her armor.
“I… I don’t know. I got carried away by my new Abilities, I guess. The Throne of Shadows made everything…” He shook his head. “And did you see what my Goldchops did?”
Nessa stepped forward and chopped her hand as if cutting through his words. “You were a liability, straight up and nothing else.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far, did you see how many—”
“You left the dais!” Nessa’s tone rose higher in sheer disbelief. “In strict disobedience to my commands! Then you actually left the fucking main chamber and pushed on, alone, into the oncoming horde, so that we lost sight of you altogether. Harald!” She pressed her fingertips to her temples in distress and anger. “Did you suddenly become deaf that you couldn’t hear our shouts? What the hell came over you?”
Harald hunched his shoulders and again darted glances at the other two, but they listened impassively, obviously in full agreement with Nessa.
“Look.” He forced himself to exhale. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I got carried away—”
“No, Harald.” Another step and she was almost in his face now. “You can’t just apologize your way out of this. You disobeyed me several times below. You forced Vic and Sam to go after you, abandoning their posts so they could extract you while I had to hold three fronts by myself.”
Her eyes flashed as she glared at him. “Thank the Fallen Angel this was only the 10th Level, because any lower? Someone would have died, Harald. They’d be dead right now because of your idiocy.”
Harald closed his eyes and fought for restraint. The memory of his savage joy at wading in amongst his foes was still fresh in his mind. He wanted to protest, to argue, to explain how right it had felt, how everything had turned out OK in the end, and she was overreacting. How he’d learned his lesson—
But he wouldn’t have, would he, if used that protest to silence her?
“Fuck,” he muttered, and hung his head, hands on his hips. “You’re right. I messed up. The power got to me. The Goldchop made me feel invincible. I screwed up. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Nessa clearly wanted to continue berating him, but finally she threw up her arms and strode away.
“Darling. Champ. Can I call you ‘champ’, Harry-boy?”
“You can call me whatever the fuck you want, Vic,” said Harald in a leaden tone.
“Careful. But listen. I’ve seen it a thousand times before. Bad boys with their bad toys. The Goldchop’s a mighty piece of work. It’s actually our fault we didn’t foresee your going crazy down there. It’s like that time we brought that newly defrocked Seraphite to the Kitty Kat Club, remember Nessa? How he dove in like a professional swimmer, never to resurface?”
Sam clutched at her head. “I—what? Vic, what are you even talking about?”
Vic turned to her, earnest. “This Seraphite, what was his name…?”
“Pastoric,” said Nessa as if against her will.
Vic snapped his fingers. “Pastoric! Tall, handsome, with a full head of hair. The whores went crazy for him. I swear, they adopted him without reservation, gave him room and board so that he could shrive them of their sins at dawn then help them commit every single one again at dusk.”
Sam looked pained. “What the hell does that have to do with Harald?”
“Hmm?” Vic looked confused. “What about Harald?”
“Look.” Harald raised his voice. “I… something came over me while I was down there. I noticed it when I first used the Aura of the Aching Depths. It was far more intense than before, but not just because of my second Throne. It’s as if I could see it spreading out around me, and there was a second layer of darkness running through it. I felt the Demon Seed… it felt like it was singing, exerting itself, corrupting my Ability.”
Nessa crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. “The Demon Seed corrupted the abyss?”
“That’s what it felt like. I… it felt like I became drunk on the killing. And the more I killed, the more the Seed exulted. And that became all I could hear or think on.” Harald rubbed at his jaw, trying to untangle the jumble of emotions in his memory. “It called me in, and it felt so damn good to obey.”
“Uh oh,” said Vic. “Time to call on ol’ Pastoric and see if he can do a midday shriving.”
“No, this is serious,” snapped Sam. She stepped up alongside Harald and touched his elbow. “You’re saying you fell under the Seed’s influence?”
“I mean, I was myself, but… I didn’t even realize it, yes.” Harald met Sam’s alarmed stare. “It was me. Just… a very singularly focused me.”
“What are you saying, Harald?” Nessa’s tone remained sharp. “You’re not reliable in the dungeon? That’s going to be a problem.”
“No, I…” He trailed off, trying to figure himself out. “It took me by surprise. All the sudden power, the Goldchop… I wasn’t ready for it. But now I am. It’s a danger only if I’m not ready for it. I won’t let it happen again.”
Nessa held his gaze from across the room.
He met it, raised his chin, and tried to convey just how deeply he meant it.
Finally she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Damn it. Our first mission, the very first time I lead as the Delve Captain, and it almost goes to hell. That’s not encouraging, Harald.”
“I know. It won’t happen again.”
“The real question,” drawled Vic, “is why Daddy Vorakhar didn’t show up.”
“We’re not calling him that,” said Sam, tone flat.
“Why would he?” Nessa’s tone grew scornful. “He just had to sit back and admire how his Seed did all the work for him.”
“We need to go back.” Harald punched one hand into the other palm. “Not the 10th Level. Some place we can be more strategic, have more time. I understand your thinking the intensity of the 10th would draw his notice, but perhaps we can ease it up just a little so that I can focus on calling to him.”
“Hmm.” Nessa glanced at Vic. “What do you think?”
“I’m all for it.” The Point materialized in his hand. “This thing is delightful. I’m not sure I even drew my rapier.” He turned it about, smiling widely. “We’re going to need to hit the deeper levels soon, or I’m liable to become criminally lazy.”
Nessa glanced over. “Sam?”
“I’m fine.” Sam gave a brisk nod. “It was pretty intense there for a bit, but between the Thornguard and my own Shield of Valor the enemy could barely get to me.”
“So you’ve changed your mind on the Thornguard?” asked Harald.
Sam hesitated. “It’s pretty incredible. I could count on anyone who struck it being neutralized for a good five or six seconds as they fought clear of the vines. It allowed me to create my own bottleneck, as long as my extreme flanks were secure.”
“Sorry,” said Harald, and to his surprise Sam merely nodded instead of protesting that she understood. She clearly was changing.
“Fine.” Nessa swept her curly black hair back. “I’ll need another thong with which to tie back my hair. Braid came apart when one of the Keeper’s almost scalped me. But… perhaps the 6th?”
“Not the 6th,” protested Vic immediately. “I hate getting my feet wet.”
Nessa rolled her eyes. “The 7th?”
Vic considered. “A little claustrophobic, don’t you think?”
Sam perked up. “The 7th’s called the Veinways, isn’t it? We’d have to fight single file.”
“The 8th, then. Because we’re definitely not doing the 9th while Harald’s getting a grip on himself.”
“The 8th.” Vic sighed. “I’m self-aware enough to realize that none of the levels below the 5th are very pleasant. Either you get your feet wet or your head bitten off. The 8th Level being an example of just that.”
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“The 8th,” said Harald. “That’s… isn’t that the one called the Carnivorous Labyrinth?”
“No,” said Sam. “That’s the 18th. The 8th is infamous for its sole monster type, known as Gloom Maws.” She glanced nervously at Nessa, who nodded for her to continue. “They’re basically the size of cows, but their entire front half is all fanged mouth. They either move slowly on their small front four legs or spring like fleas with their back ones.”
Vic sighed dolorously.
“But!” Sam spoke quickly before Harald could complain. “Their hides are pretty soft, they’re predictable, and they never move in groups larger than three. The bigger they are, the more solitary they tend to be.”
“Well done, Samantha Tuppins,” said Nessa, and Sam flushed. “You’re right. Gloom Maws can bite a grown woman in half, but that’s only if they hit you when they leap. Once you learn the signal, it’s pretty easy to jump aside. They’re as liable to bash themselves brainless against the walls as they are anything else, so the trick is to simply remain alert and on your toes.”
“To be clear,” said Vic, “they are customarily only found in groups of three or less. But I have it on good account that they can sometimes be found in packs of six or seven, which sounds like an absolute disaster.”
“The danger lies in being caught in a narrow tunnel,” said Nessa. “If you fight them in one of the main caverns, you’ve got room to maneuver, but those caverns are connected by lengthy tunnels that wind about so that you never can see very far ahead. If you turn a corner and run into a pack, they can leap at you without your having much room to dodge.”
“What do you do then?” asked Harald.
Nessa’s eyes glittered coldly. “Why, you cut them down, Harald. That’s what you do.”
“I thought you said they were the size of cows.” Harald glanced at Sam. “We’re meant to cut leaping cows in half mid-air?”
Sam shrugged.
“Oh, relax.” Vic stood. “The trick lies in not charging down the tunnels in one massed group while belting out the latest tavern ditty. If you’re cautious and smart the Gloomies—”
“Gloomies?” asked Sam.
“—pose very little danger. Especially as I can now simply skewer them in mid-air.” Vic smiled. “The 8th it is!”
“As long as we find a moment for me to call Vorakhar,” said Harald.
“But of course.” Vic smiled benignly. “And, better yet, your average Gloomy renders a good eight or nine Coppers per kill. Not bad! And if you find a Gloomy nest, you can sometimes even find a cache of Silver Starbursts. Why, I remember when I was young—”
“Let’s get going then,” said Nessa. “Harald? You’re going to listen this time?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I swear it.”
Nessa considered him, then gave a grudging nod. “Fair warning, though. We’re now an official crew. Disobedience has penalties spelt out in the charter. I know you’re familiar with them.”
“I am. Speaking of which, our venture below to the 10th netted you four Aurora Veils. So, not all bad.”
“No,” she smiled. “Not all bad. Let’s get going.”
Harald opened the door and stepped back with mock courtesy so everyone could file out past him. When he was left alone in the room, he allowed himself to exhale in relief. That had gone far better than it might have.
*
They had to line up to reach the Copper Gate this time round, as several parties were being processed before them. Two belonged to House Drakenhart, though Lady Hammerfell wasn’t amongst them, while the third wore the forest green and black of Thornvale.
It was a blessed respite that Thracos wasn’t in their group, either.
That didn’t stop Harald from glaring at the party, projecting his annoyance and frustration onto their crew. Three men and two women wore the Thornvale colors, and they were clearly as fresh to raiding as he was; they jested and teased each other but failed to hide the undercurrent of tension riding high amongst their number.
“Hey,” said Sam, bumping his shoulder with her own. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” The response had been reflexive, so he paused to actually consider. “Actually, yes. I think so. You?”
“Still a little in awe of what you did down on the 10th, to be honest.”
“Oh yeah?” Harald gazed at her in surprise. “I thought I just got everyone mad at me.”
“Well, that too.” Sam smiled. “But there’s no denying how amazing you looked when you charged into the Crypt Keepers with those Goldchops flying. Those hatchets are lethal. I’m so jealous!”
“They’re amazing.” Harald couldn’t help but beam. “Masterwork is amazing. They made me feel almost invulnerable.”
“Almost being the operable word. Makes one wonder what an Epic Artifact can do.”
“Forget Epic. Imagine a Mythic one?”
“You could coast right down into the Diamond Levels with a Mythic weapon,” sighed Sam. “Too bad they’re not just lying around.”
“You all right, though?” Harald studied her. “You’ve been going through a lot.”
Sam forced a bright and unconvincing smile. “Me? Of course! Free, my own space, an official crew, the world’s mine for the taking.”
“Uh huh,” said Harald, but she winked at him in what was clearly a forced attempt at jocularity and looked ahead. “Hey, we’re up.”
“Welcome to the Copper Gate. The great city of Flutic salutes her—oh. Back so soon?” The lead guard at the Copper Gate appraised them as they stepped up. Old, cadaverous, and taller than even Harald by a whole foot, he could have been a ringleader for the Crypt Keepers given his desiccated and wizened appearance.
Nessa clicked her tongue in amusement and simply held out their writ, which the guard waved aside. “Don’t overdo it, now.”
They were processed quickly once more, though none of the formalities were skipped. Declarations were made, windows were projected, and then they passed through the Copper Gate proper to the wooden deck beyond which spun and vibrated the huge polyhedron.
It still unnerved Harald to gaze up at its multifaceted form. As large as a house, it spun and twisted without rhyme or reason, sometimes pausing, then abruptly blurring again as it rotated violently in all directions.
“Hello again,” said the platform guard. “What level this time?”
“8th,” said Nessa, drawing her scale-lantern. She popped out its drawer, removed the Copper Crescent, and fed a Golden Dawn in its place.
“Gonna feed the Gloom Maws, are ya?” The guard grinned, but Nessa ignored him to turn around and gaze at the rest of them.
“Lanterns out, blades at the ready. The 8th isn’t famous for having a soft landing, and the Gloom Maws are always moving. Ready?”
They all nodded as they prepared.
Nessa drew out eight Copper Crescents and raised her palm to the huge portal.
It keyed in on her, or the Crescents, at any rate, and spun about to freeze with a pentagon facing them, eight gold notches marked along one side.
“Nice and easy,” Nessa called, striding forward and then up into the air. “Here we go.”
They proceeded in the same order as before. Vic, then Harald.
Up he strode, into that great carnivorous portal, and for the second time that day he climbed straight up and was wrenched through the abyss to be transported deep underground.
Harald stepped out into a dripping hall whose length was ribbed by receding arches. These descended on both sides to meld with brutal columns beyond which ran side aisles. The air was damp, the smell rich and pungent, and the floor of the central hall glimmered wetly, reflecting the light of their scale-lamps in liquid smears.
“Oh, how I’ve missed this place,” muttered Vic, raising a handkerchief to his nose. “How I’m supposed to fight with one hand I’ve no idea.”
“The same way you conduct your solitary love-life, darling,” said Nessa absently as she turned in a slow circle. Her scale-lantern cast a far stronger light now, fueled as it was by the Golden Dawn, its radiance extending some twenty yards around them. “With bleak desperation.”
Sam laughed under her breath.
Harald clipped his lantern to his belt and raised the Dawnblade. The sound of waterdrops falling was loud and echoey, while the hanging chains motif from the 4th Level was repeated between each archway. The stone walls were mapped by rot and lichen, and everything felt dismal and grotesque.
The Portal stood still and dead in the center of this great hall. Harald resisted the urge to pat it, and instead glanced at Nessa. “Which way?”
“Let’s make sure this area is clear of Gloomies,” she replied tersely. “You never want to retreat back into an enemy you overlooked by accident.”
“I knew you’d take to my sophisticated street slang,” gloated Vic. “And you dared mock me.”
“Gloom Maws,” sighed Nessa. “Let’s search and clear, then move on.”
Nessa and Vic took the lead, while Sam and Harald warily came behind. The large, lengthy hall was devoid of its own light source, so that it felt as if they moved within an island of pale gold, endless huge columns and archways sliding into view then disappearing behind them into the dark.
But the large hall proved empty. Only the occasional rising cloud of steam disturbed the stillness.
“All right,” said Nessa. “Harald? Want to petition your patron?”
“Right.” Harald shook out his shoulders, rested the Dawnblade upon his shoulders, and turned to gaze out into the dark. “Vorakhar? Can you hear me? I request your presence. One of your siblings is interfering with me up top.”
“Up top,” quoted Vic. “How delightfully colloquial.”
Harald listened intently, watched for the rising tide of darkness that presaged Vorakhar’s arrival.
Nothing.
“Perhaps you have to focus on the Demon Seed?” asked Sam. “Use it to reach him?”
“Sure,” allowed Harald, though he had no idea what that meant. “I’ll, ah, focus on the Seed, and… see what happens.”
He closed his eyes. The Seed had been pushed into his brow, but he felt no presence in his mind. Instead, whenever the Seed rewarded his efforts, he’d felt that vibration, that excitement, somewhere distant yet all around him, as if in his Cosmos.
Hmm.
He’d not seen it below the last couple of times he’d dived down into his core, but maybe that was because his personal Fallen Angel had taken all his attention?
Settling his shoulders, he frowned and willed his mind to dive into his own spiritual depths. The sense of the 8th Level hallway receded, the company of his friends, and slowly he felt the glory of the Fallen Angel rise up to meet him.
It was harder to accomplish while standing and distracted by thoughts of demons, but soon he manifested that great divine armature and its constellation of scales. He gazed in wonder upon its whole, then tore his gaze away to study the firmament that surrounded it, seeking something awry.
At the far periphery he saw the Dawnblade hovering, splendid and beautiful, a representation whose size he had trouble gauging. Beside it, somehow more resplendent and potent, floated the Goldchop.
The sight of both Artifacts gave Harald immense satisfaction. But they weren’t what he’d come to find.
For a while he saw nothing but shifting colors, pinpricks of beautiful starlight, the depths of the aether amongst which the surviving four Angels swam.
But finally he noticed a section not for the presence of something, but for the absence of light. A cleft of darkness hung in the depths of the starfields, and when he focused his attention upon it, a shape revealed itself, as if it had awaited this moment to step forward through a parting in the curtains.
It looked nothing so much as a great bloody pit from the heart of a rotten peach. Its black surface was whorled and swirled with endless grooves in whose depths pulsed faint crimson flickers. It radiated such malevolence and force that Harald immediately recoiled, felt himself surge up and away from his Cosmos, clawing for wakefulness as a drowning swimmer might the surface.
But he had an Ego of 23.
He mastered himself swiftly, brought his fear to heel, and sank back down to gaze upon the Demon Seed.
Already it had retreated into its shadowed alcove. But there was no denying its presence, nor how its energy washed out over his Cosmos.
Harald felt his heart shudder, but he forced himself to draw closer.
Vorakhar? Can you hear me?
He pulsed his thoughts at the Demon Seed, not even remotely confident that this would work.
Nothing.
Vorakhar? One of your siblings meddles in our affairs.
The Demon Seed pulsed, sending out a shockwave of shadowed energy like his own Aura of the Aching Depths, and the arch-demon’s voice echoed in his mind: Have patience and await my coming. I shall ascend to you when I have resolved a trifling matter.
The contact, the demon’s voice in his mind, all of it caused Harald to shudder anew. But with an answer given, he freed himself from the Seed’s horrific pull and rose swiftly back to waking, his eyelids fluttering, the dank and echoing hall of the 8th Level revealing itself once more.
“And?” prompted Nessa sharply.
“He’s coming. He—”
Nessa cut him off, raising her blade as she focused on the darkness beyond the nimbus of her empowered lantern light. “Good. He’d better hurry it up. We’ve got company.”