Harald instantly summoned the Goldchops. They materialized by his shoulders, and he felt the surge in vitality and strength that came with wielding them. His body felt sheathed in newfound power, his muscles growing dense and heavy yet limber at the same time, while his reserves of stamina felt suddenly bottomless.
The +2 stat bonuses the Masterwork Artifact granted him were fantastic in and of themselves.
Nessa carefully stepped back till she was against the wall and set her lantern upon a protruding shelf of rock. Its Golden Dawn-infused radiance cast a pure glow that filled their third of the hall; beyond, the arches faded to darkness and shapes moved, shuffling toward them.
“They don’t tend to leap more than twenty yards,” said Nessa, tone calm. “Golden lamps are usually sufficient to locate them.”
“Unless they’re truly gargantuan,” said Vic, summoning the Point.
“Spread out.” Nessa pointed at Harald and Sam to take the flanks, Vic to remain beside her in the center. “When they leap, dodge. They’ll probably hit the wall and stun themselves. Then close and butcher.”
Harald peered into the distant darkness. The intensity of his stare made it swarm. He could hear them, however, the rasp of their bulk being dragged across the floor, heavy, wet breathing, like that of a near-drowning victim struggling to cling to life.
Then—there. Three shapes emerged from the darkness. One was huge, as big as a cow, while the other two were slightly smaller, mule-sized, perhaps.
“The angels wept,” said Sam in disgust.
Harald empathized.
Nothing Vic or Nessa had said had prepared him for how disgusting the Gloomies were.
They were oval in shape, tapering toward the back, their skin oil-black and glistening under a layer of slime. Stubby vertebrae protruded down the length of their backs, and their eyes were tiny motes of burning crimson under raised eyebrow ridges. They shuffled forward on four puny legs, their sheer bulk forcing them to adopt a side-to-side wriggle as they advanced like tadpoles squirming through a muddy puddle.
But it was their maws that nauseated. Their mouths took up the entire front of their bodies, lipless, rimmed with glassy-white teeth the length of daggers, with gums like raw meat, putrid and slavering. The dark depths of their gullets housed lascivious tongues that lolled and lapped over their fangs without care, and ropes of slobber hung glistening to splatter and leave a trail behind them.
You could have rolled a barrel into the lead Gloomy’s maw without it noticing. The entire front half was all cavernous mouth.
“They still before they leap,” called Nessa. “The biggest one will go first, the other two right after. Don’t lose track of them.”
As if on cue, the huge leader stopped advancing. It wriggled back as if burrowing its ass into the ground, its great oval body shivering.
Harald raised the Dawnblade into the Plow, hilt at his hip, and flexed his knees, ready to dive aside.
The lead Gloomy exploded forward, its two huge hind legs propelling it through the air as if shot from a catapult. Right down the center of the hall it came, right at Nessa, who neatly glided aside.
But the other two were doing the same now, and Harald stared, wide-eyed, at the monster that had locked its beady little eyes on him. It wriggled once, twice, then surged into the air, coming right at him.
So fast.
So damn fast.
Harald leaped aside, but the Goldchops didn’t care to wait.
They flew forward to meet the incoming Gloomy, spinning so fast they blurred, and hurled themselves straight into its cavernous maw.
“Oh damn,” said Harald, catching sight of both hatchets bursting out the Gloomy’s back even as it died midair. Its whole mass slammed into the wall where Harald had been with an awful squelching burst, and it collapsed to the ground, legs giving out, teeth raking the blocks to sag over on its side, entrails and effluvia pouring out the holes in its back.
Harald gaped. The Goldchops, slicked in black blood, spun back into place around him, gore flying off their golden blades till they were clean once more.
Sam had deflected her own assailant with her kite shield, then rammed it in the flank with the Thornguard, such that huge, wickedly thorned vines had grappled the Gloomy and tied it down as she stabbed it again and again in the flank.
Nessa and Vic had made similarly short work of the huge leader, puncturing its hide a half-dozen times each before it could turn and assail them.
And just like that it was over.
Harald glanced at his Goldchops in wonder. Was that a sense of contentment that came from them?
Seven Copper Moons appeared beside his gutted foe. He cupped them out of the air and walked around the dead monsters to the others.
“All right, Harry?” asked Vic, allowing the Point to disappear.
“Pretty good, Vic.”
“Sam?” Nessa looked to where the Netherwarden Knight was still stabbing her foe, its whole bulk quivering and shaking until at last a blow between the eyes killed it.
Sam blew a lock of golden hair out of her face, flustered, and flashed a smile. “All good.”
Harald dismissed the Goldchops. “I barely did anything. My Artifact killed the monster mid-flight.”
“There’s a danger to that,” said Nessa, wiping her blade clean even as Vic collected Copper Moons. “You won’t level nearly as quickly if your Artifact does all the work.”
“We won’t?” Sam stepped up, eyes wide. “But then…? Should we not use them?”
“It’s always a trade-off,” said Nessa, reaching for her blazing lantern. “Safety and scales versus class advancement.”
“Seraphine—yes, I know I’m a little obsessed—is said to have only used a plain steel blade for her first twenty-six or so levels.” Vic shook his head in admiration. “It’s said that’s why she advanced so quickly. No companions, no Artifacts, no Servitors. Just guts and beauty.”
“Don’t mention guts,” said Sam, wrinkling her nose at the stench coming off the dead Gloomies.
“Let’s relocate,” agreed Nessa, leading them back down the hall. “Harald, you’re in a particularly tricky spot. A Masterwork Artifact will stop your class advancement cold. You should leave your Goldchop unsummoned unless your life is on the line.”
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“Hard to tell until it’s too late,” he complained. “They take a few seconds to materialize. If I wait, I could be screwed.”
“Such is the life of a raider.” Nessa cast around, peering into the side tunnels as they returned to the Portal. “So what did your demon say?”
“He was pretty terse. Told me to wait, that he was coming.”
“Did he say how long?” asked Vic. “This fetid air is terrible for my hair.”
“Why did you take up raiding again?” asked Sam.
“It drives the whores out of their minds to know I could die at any moment,” said Vic with a smile. “There’s something tragic and romantic about a raider that no other occupation can compare.”
Sam leveled a flat stare at him. “All this to impress the women at the Kitty Kat Club.”
“Don’t disparage the KKC,” said Vic, raising a finger. “Not at least till you’ve been there yourself. There’s no finer den of iniquity and rarefied sin in all of Flutic. None that I can afford, at any rate.”
Nessa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Vic?”
“She impugned the honor of my home away from home,” he sniffed. “You can’t expect me to remain silent.”
“You’re right. Now or any other time. So. Harald.” Nessa considered him. “Shall we wait for Vorakhar here, or go hunting?”
“Hunting,” said Sam. “Seeing as we’re in the dungeon, we might as well make the most of it, right?”
“Sure,” agreed Harald. “And I want to get some work done without the Goldchops.”
“Hunting it is,” said Nessa. “The tunnels are narrow. Bunching up only works in the Gloom Maws—”
“Gloomies,” muttered Vic.
“—favor. So I’ll go first. The rest of you follow at a distance of some ten yards. If I’m jumped, I’ll evade, and you all kill the first attacker while I deal with the rest.”
Sam hunched her shoulders. “You sure? Raiding wisdom is to never split the party.”
“There’s an exception to every rule.” Nessa clipped her lantern to her belt. “Ready? Then follow me.”
She picked the closest tunnel. It was circular, the floor puddled with filth, the ceiling barely above their heads. Vic paused as Nessa passed in, and after she’d gone a distance he nodded and led Harald and Sam inside.
It was immediately claustrophobic, in large part because it was too easy to imagine a Gloomy bowling into their midst without their having room to dodge. Their footsteps echoed and plashed, the dismal clank of chains alternated with the loud sound of distinct water drops, and the tunnel itself wound back and forth as if its designers had changed their mind every thirty seconds about where to go.
Harald crept along, Dawnblade at the ready, watching for glimpses of Nessa whenever the tunnel straightened sufficiently. Half the time they followed her radiance, the curvature of the tunnel keeping her from view.
Vic walked along as if in the park, swishing the Point through the air like a conductor’s baton, whistling under his breath. He glanced back abruptly. “Sam, may I ask you an extremely personal and possibly vulgar question?”
“No,” said Sam immediately.
“Hmm.” Vic frowned, shrugged, and kept walking. “How about an innocuous and deceptively polite one?”
Sam sighed. “What is it, Vic?”
“If an invitation were to be extended to your person, say, by a friend who has been rendered disconsolate by your apparent utter lack of culture and adventure, would you be interested, or at the very least, intrigued, by the possibility of visiting the venerable and stately establishment known as the Kitty Kat Club?”
“No,” said Sam flatly.
“But what even are you saying ‘no’ to?” Vic dropped back to walk alongside her. “You’re rejecting the phantasms that in your ignorance you’ve conjured to populate a place you think to be even worse than this dungeon. Did you know that the KKC serves the best ginger tea outside the Jade Empire.”
Sam looked to Harald. “Make him stop. We’re supposed to be raiding.”
“It’s true,” insisted Vic. “Mai Ling performs this delightful tea ceremony with a dozen little cups and a beautiful porcelain teapot in a manner she claims is of the utmost fidelity to the royal ceremonies of the Jade Palace, though, between you and me, she’s second generation at best, and her mother—”
Sam summoned her Shield of Valor between them. “Keep it up, and I’ll hit you with the Thornguard next.”
“How rude!” Vic rose to his tiptoes to peer at Harald. “Once a Majordomo, always—”
“Vic.” Harald shook his head.
Vic sighed and sank back out of view. “Honestly. You’d think I’m the only hedonistic libertine in the group—”
“Incoming!” barked Nessa, her voice echoing sharply around the curve.
A giant Gloomie burst into view, hitting the tunnel’s curve and rolling along it, maw whipping around as its legs paddled the air to come crashing to the ground before them, still spinning and scrabbling for purchase.
Vic leveled the Point and extended its gleaming length between the Gloomy’s eyes, killing it neatly. The Gloomy collapsed in the process of rising and turning, its flank sagging under its own weight.
“There are benefits to an open mind,” continued Vic, skirting the dead monster as if nothing had happened. “Being human, being alive is a profoundly physical experience, so why should we deny ourselves the enjoyment of our bodies?”
A rasping roar from ahead caused the air to shudder, and then a second Gloomy barreled into view, smaller and rolling along the inside sweep of the tunnel like the first.
Vic raised the Point and caused it to extend rapidly three times before the monster hit the ground, puncturing its face and brow with each attack. The monster collapsed upon the floor and rolled up to fetch against the first dead Gloomy, where it shuddered and lay still.
“Personally, I blame the Seraphites,” continued Vic. “Their doctrine of Emulation, where we’re all supposed to pretend to be spiritual beings like the Fallen Angel is rank nonsense, if you ask me. I am all too solid flesh, darlings, and desire is not weakness, it’s proof that we’re alive.”
“Vic, please,” pleaded Sam. “Nessa’s fighting right now.”
“I know,” said Vic, expression confused. “I can hear her, too. She’s fine. I’m pretty sure. You think a Gloomy is going to inconvenience our Delve Captain?”
The sounds of roaring reverberated from just out of view.
“Oh, fuck this,” snapped Sam, and pushed past Vic to run around the corner.
“Yes!” Vic spread his arms. “Precisely! That’s what we should all be doing, as often as we can! Fucking this, that, anything and everything that catches our eye—”
Harald leaped over the smaller Gloomy and took off after Sam. The radiance of her lamp was muted due to its lying on its side in a puddle, causing the entire spillage of wastewater to light up like a purple portal to another realm.
Harald ran into Sam, who’d come to an abrupt top.
He could see why.
Nessa was backing away from the remaining Gloomy.
A Gloomy so vast it filled the entirety of the tunnel. It struggled to reach her, wrenching itself forward jerk by jerk, little forelegs scrabbling at the ground.
It was as if the tunnel itself had developed a raw, rotten mouth, teeth as big as short swords gleaming as it gnashed and chomped at the air, its black, serpentine tongue lashing out and flopping around like a half-drowned drunkard.
“Harald,” snapped Nessa. “Time for the Goldchops. I’ve already thrown my Phaseblades to no avail.”
“On it,” he said, and the twin golden hatchets appeared beside him. The problem facing Nessa was evident; to stab at anything vital, she’d have to lunge nearly into the monster’s mouth. Harald thought he could see her three Artifact daggers embedded in the depths of its gullet.
“Oh,” said Vic, rounding the curve. “Now that’s something you don’t see everyday.”
The Goldchops began to spin as if ramping themselves up, faster and faster, and then when Harald urged them on they flew into the huge Gloomy’s mouth. They punched clear out the back, disappearing, and then exploded back into its mouth, only to reverse course and fly up into the top, burrowing into its head and threshing its brains from within.
Great splatters of black blood flew out of the Gloomy’s mouth as it died, gnashing its huge maw and sagging down so that a foot of space appeared between it and the tunnel ceiling.
Vic did a slow clap.
“Urgh,” said Sam, looking down at where the tarry blood had splashed across her front. “Great.”
The Goldchops emerged a second later, spun all the blood free, then disappeared.
Two Silver Starbursts appeared in the air before the dead Gloomy, who exhaled noisily one last time, filling the tunnel with such a rank and disgusting stench that Harald felt his gorge rise.
“Well, that’s it for me, I’m done,” said Vic, turning to run back the way they’d come, face buried in the crook of his elbow.
Nessa snatched up the two Silvers and gestured for everyone to retreat.
They jogged back till the stench lessened, and then slowed to a walk.
“I’m sorry,” began Sam, “but the Goldchop is just ridiculous. We should just send Harald down here to clean up the whole level and collect scales while we bathe and rest.”
“They’re Masterwork,” said Nessa. “That means they’re viable even as far down as the 60th Level. Here on the 8th?” She shrugged one shoulder. “Overkill.”
“Hey,” said Sam. “Do you think he’ll be allowed to use them against Yeoric?”
“Hardly,” smiled Nessa. “Duels usually forbid Artifacts and Servitors.”
“She’s right,” said Harald. “All the more reason for me to train without relying on the Goldchops.”
“Yeoric was what, Level 3?” Sam shook her head. “And had only Ascended to the Throne of Harmony? At this rate he’ll barely register as a challenge by the time you fight him.”
“When is that again?” asked Nessa.
Harald went to answer, but paused as he noted a new sensation. It came from the matter-of-fact camaraderie they were sharing, the shop talk, especially following their slaughter of that humungous Gloomy with a Masterwork Artifact.
This was it.
This was what he’d always dreamed of doing.
Raiding the dungeon with his own crew, armed with weapons of might and wonder, and fitting in, being a necessary part of it all.
He was doing it.
Raiding.
Restraining his smile, he focused on the question at hand. “Five weeks left, I believe.”
Nessa scoffed. “Poor Yeoric. I almost pity him.”
“He’s still ahead of me,” protested Harald. “Three Actives, two Passives, similar physical stats.”
“But you’ve got two Ascended Thrones,” replied Sam. “And at the rate you’re growing, you’ll have far outstripped him by the time of the duel.”
“Only if I keep training and fighting,” said Harald. “Which means not summoning the Goldchop unless my life depends on it.”
“Alas,” said Nessa.
“Alas,” agreed Harald. “Speaking of which, let’s find more monsters to kill.”
“Darlings?” Vic’s voice from up ahead had a note of fear to it, taut and tense.
“Fuck,” hissed Nessa, breaking into a run.
A moment later they burst into the main hall, where Vic had backed up to meet them.
Beside their own Portal, its archway dormant as ever, stood a second.
An oval of black swirling energy shot through with flashes of purple fire.
“Looks like your patron is finally sending for you,” said Vic. “Can’t say I blame him. How must it look to his siblings if he comes every time you crook your finger?”
“Damn it,” said Sam. “You can’t know where it goes. Or that it’s necessarily even his.”
“It looks the same,” said Harald, moving forward cautiously. “And I did just contact him. And it feels…” He extended a hand as if gauging the warmth of a fire. The black portal radiated a familiar energy, reminding him of the Aura of the Aching Depths, but not quite. It was the darkness that infused the Depths, he realized. The corruption of the Demon Seed. “It’s his.”
“What do we do?” Nessa clipped her lantern to her belt. “Do we all go in?”
Even her making the suggestion warmed Harald’s heart more than he could express. “No. The less you all are exposed to him the better.” He glanced at Sam, recalling how the demon had attacked her very being with such casual, cruel words. “I’ll go alone. When I’m done speaking with him, I’ll return.”
“You sound so confident, darling.” Vic licked his lower lip, clearly still unnerved. “Don’t get cocky, now.”
“What choice do I have?” Harald drew himself up, dismissing the Dawnblade as he did so. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. If you grow tired of waiting, leave… I don’t know, an unlit lantern by the base of our Portal. I’ll come right out if so.”
“We’ll wait,” said Nessa decisively, still staring at the black oval crackling with purple fire. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across her brow. “Don’t agree to anything stupid.”
“Yes,” said Sam. “Ask for time to think on whatever offer he makes you.”
“This isn’t Master Ling he’s treating with,” snapped Vic. “It’s an arch-demon. Just pray he returns in one piece.”
“I’ll be fine.” Harald stepped forward. His heart was pounding, his mouth dry, but part of him, a subtle, hidden aspect of his being, yearned to pass into whatever lay beyond. To see where it would take him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Sam stepped up alongside him, squeezed his arm, then leaned in to peck his cheek. “Good luck, Harald.”
He smiled at her. “Thanks.”
Then, before anyone else could say anything, he took a deep breath and strode into the demon’s portal.