Harald turned the Dawnblade to and fro. The Abyssal Attunement was gone, so that its stone length glimmered wetly as always, muted green and eerily sharp. How to activate the special power?

It had to be intuitive. All Artifact powers were.

So he pointed its tip at the slain scarecrow, and simply willed the sword to activate.

The scarecrow lurched up backwards to its feet, spasmed, then rushed back to the doorway its head split asunder beneath the falling Goldchop.

In rapid order it retraced its steps in reverse.

But not the scarecrow proper; the corpse yet lay on the ground, its black treacly blood leaking out.

A ghost, barely translucent, and moving at twice the original’s speed.

The fight replayed itself, and then abruptly the scarecrow appeared in its crouch before the flagstone by the armchair, where it became still.

After a few moments of watching the monster’s obsessive interest, Harald willed events to play back faster.

The scarecrow blurred as its every minute movement and adjustment overlapped to cause it to appear indistinct. Then it leaped to its feet and backed toward a tunnel, disappearing into its gloom.

Harald lit his scale-lantern at its lowest glow and hurried after. He willed the ghost to slow, not want to rush pell-mell through the level in pursuit, and sought to find a balance between caution and efficiency.

It was eerie in the extreme to follow the scarecrow’s ghost, for it faced him always, walking backward along the tunnel, its manner jerky, pausing occasionally to scratch at the wall or simply crane its head and twist it from side to side, as if listening.

Harald followed it through intersections, down a flight of narrow stairs that curled tightly upon itself, and into the smallest hub chamber yet, a high-roofed chapel with a tunnel opening in each of its four square walls. There the scarecrow paused and danced.

There was no other way to describe it.

Round and round it went, always in reverse, arms raised as it cavorted in a circle, shaking itself and giving little leaps.

Harald stared, disquieted, as the scarecrow performed this bizarre ceremony for some time. Again he willed the pace to accelerate till the monster revolved so rapidly it blurred, only to abruptly reverse out of the room and down another tunnel.

Harald slowed the rate and rushed after.

More tunnels, and then it entered a nondescript stone chamber. It backed up to a bare wall and stepped gingerly into stone.

Harald blinked.

Its head remained extended, beaked mask peering from side to side in the tiny chamber, then it retracted and was gone.

“What the hell?”

Harald stepped up to the wall and ran his fingers over the rock. It looked as weathered and ancient as any other span of rock down here.

Then he recalled the Dawnblade and its tomb. The scarecrow had emerged from a secret tunnel. Which meant there had to be a catch, a means to open it. Unfortunately, the ghost had triggered it from the other side; watching its reflection gave him no clues.

Long moments passed as Harald pressed and prodded, and then he took a breath and stepped back, collecting himself and raising the lantern.

Nothing obvious.

So instead he moved to the side of the wall and moved the lantern up and down, in and out, trying to get the moving shadows that shifted across the rough wall to give something away.

There.

A slight depression, too regular to be natural.

Harald pressed the small segment and was rewarded by a click, a grinding sound, and then a sliver of rock slid aside to reveal a dark passage.

Grinning, Harald listened intently.

Nothing.

So he stepped inside, clipping the lantern to his belt, blade drawn. The ghost had fled into the distance, so Harald bid it slow to a crawl till he caught up with it.

The secret passage was so narrow his shoulders brushed against the rock on either side, and it smelled musty, the air stale. Its passage was kinked, turning abruptly from side to side, and then terminated in another blank wall.

No hole to peer out through.

Harald frowned and pressed his ear to the rock.

Silence.

The scarecrow had evinced wariness upon emerging from the tunnel. What was it worried about?

“Fuck it,” muttered Harald, turning his lantern off and searching for a similar rectangle of stone. For a long while he pressed and prodded, then by luck found another button that clicked and caused the wall to slide aside.

Harald only had a moment to take in what lay beyond.

It was a small room. Ornate columns framed a covered aisle that ran around its perimeter. In the center stood an armature of sticks and iron bars, all lashed together by thick ropes. Upon this scores of scales were affixed, glittering and refulgent.

A scarecrow was tending this sculpture, and it whirled around, tattered cloak flaring, crimson eyes virulently bright.

A wave of fury, of hatred lashed out at Harald as it battered at his mind.

Outrage.

He shouldn’t be here.

Harald cried out as he ran through the agony, knowing it wouldn’t stop him, Dawnblade drawn.

During his previous encounters he’d weathered the attack while the Goldchops drove the scarecrow to flee.

This time he ran through the pain, and in doing so surprised the scarecrow. It backed away, clawed hands raised aggressively, but its shock was such that it didn’t blink away immediately.

Eyes glassy with tears from the pain, Harald fell instinctively into the Dungeon Square. Abyssal Attunement sheathed his blade as he swung in an oblique slash even as the Aching Depths enfolded them both in its chill embrace, causing the twinkling lights of the scales to dim, the temperature to drop, the scarecrow’s hesitation to mount.

The black Dawnblade slashed down the front of the scarecrow, cutting open its robe and scoring a deep gash across its bony chest. The corruption of the abyss flowed into the monster’s body, blackening its flesh and causing curlicues of darkness to spill forth even as a pulse of energy flowed into Harald.

Now the scarecrow did squawk and it blinked away.

But this room was small, the smallest yet. Knowing how they operated, Harald turned to the farthest corner and charged toward it even as the scarecrow pressed one large hand to its chest and renewed its assault on Harald’s mind.

“Gah!” cried Harald, knees momentarily going weak as he charged past the column to swing the reverse cut at the scarecrow. It raised a sinewy arm, its sleeve sliding down to reveal bones and rods, and the Dawnblade bit into its forearm.

The Aching Depths were all around them, leaching the monster of purpose, of vitality. Harald pressed his advantage, reversing his cut and coming at his foe from another angle, but before his blade could hit it blinked away again.

It appeared beside the entrance to the secret tunnel.

There were no other doors or exits.

For a second Harald thought it was going to flee, but then it looked at the scale sculpture and instead blinked away again.

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Harald spun around, abyssal blade singing, and hewed clear through its wrist as its claws swung down to tear open his back.

It blasted him with another mental assault as it reeled away, but this one was greatly weakened; it staggered back, and Harald followed up, abandoning the Square for a straight skewer. He slammed the Dawnblade straight into its wounded chest, and again met that rocky resistance once its tip was driven an inch into its body.

But this time Harald kept powering forward, driving the scarecrow before him, three large strides and he slammed it into a column. The resistance proved the anvil to his blade’s hammer; the Dawnblade crunched home, piercing the scarecrow all the way through.

It hissed and swiped at him with its one good hand.

Harald half-turned, presenting his shoulder, reluctant to lose his sword, and took a deep slashing blow across his arm and shoulder.

The pain was shocking, but he shoved that aside, tore free the Dawnblade, and with its edge enhanced by Abyssal Attunement her reversed a clumsy slash across the scarecrow’s masked visage.

Wood split, one eye ruptured, and its head was knocked to the side as the blade clove right through before cracking against the side of the column.

Harald, gasping for breath, went to boot the scarecrow in the chest, but it blinked away.

The secret passage.

Harald reeled around, saw the monster appear by the tunnel, hunched over, good hand grabbing at the wall for support.

It staggered into the tunnel.

Harald let out a cry of defiance, of fury, and rushed after. He crossed the intervening gap and drove the Dawnblade between the monster’s shoulder blades. They both crashed to the ground.

For a moment they thrashed in the dark. Its robe was dusty, musty, and stank of preserved flesh, of old grease. Harald gasped and wrenched at his blade, willing it to die. It cracked its elbow into his temple as it sought to turn around, and for a moment everything went white as Harald sagged to the side.

It shuffled out from under him, tried to rise, fell. It blinked away but appeared only a yard further down the hallway. It clicked harshly, but then slumped.

Harald reared up, eyesight bleary, and realized he’d dropped his sword. He picked it up, head pounding, and it took all his focus to chop it down on the monster’s cowl.

Again and again he hacked, until at last he was sure it was dead.

Gasping, he slumped over, sat.

He dug with clumsy fingers into his scale pouch and absorbed a handful of random scales.

Immediate relief washed over him. The pain in his head eased, the deep, wet agony in his shoulder and arm receded, and in a matter of moments he felt completely refreshed.

“Damn,” he whispered. The Golden Dawns hadn’t been so effective last time. Curious, he summoned his window.

Scales: 477,624/1,000,000

Ah. He’d absorbed two Aurora Veils and three Golden Dawns in his urgency.

No wonder he felt much better.

As he sat there, blinking away the shock of the violence and pain, a new message appeared in the air before him, unbidden:

The abyss has marked your ascent.

Your valor has resonated through the depths.

By the decree of the Fallen Angel, you are granted the next echelon of your destiny:

Abyssal Initiate 2

Active Ability Unlocked: Dark Vigor

Infuse your mortal frame with fell energies not of this earth, but whispered of in the shadowed corners of nightmares.

+2 to Dexterity while activated

+2 to Strength while activated

+2 to Constitution while activated

Passive Ability Unlocked: Adamantine Fortitude

Your weak flesh shall become insensate to the clawing hands of agony.

And then beneath that, a second message appeared, appended as if by a private source:

The Demon Seed Has Stirred

Passive Ability Enhanced: Shadow Fortitude

Your weak flesh shall become insensate to the clawing hands of agony, even as the shadows reduce your need for rest and ennoble your endurance.

Harald gaped.

The text hung before him, bright and clear in the gloom of the tunnel. He was forced to reread it several times till its import truly sank home.

He’d reached Level 2. Which meant Vorakhar would make available a portal home.

But more than that.

The Demon Seed had modified his Passive Ability. Harald summoned his window, and sure enough, there was no mention of Adamantine Fortitude. Instead, Shadow Fortitude was listed after Aura of the Aching Depths.

What the…? How was that even possible?

Harald simply stared. So darkness would now restore him? That was incredible, but having his Abilities so visibly modified by the Demon Seed unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

Putting that aside, Harald looked at what else he’d gained.

Dark Vigor looked amazing.

Especially as he could combine it with the Goldchop’s bonuses and achieve Strength 15, Dexterity 14, and Constitution 14.

Those were… those were phenomenal stats. Fit for a raider double his level, if not triple. With Strength 15 he’d truly be pushing into inhuman levels of might, beyond what the strongest, fittest person in the world could achieve.

Dark Vigor.

He couldn’t restrain himself.

He activated the Ability.

Immediately the fell energies flowed through him, and he saw black fire flicker across his frame, his arms, his hands.

It was intoxicating, deliriously wonderful. Not only was all trace of the pain and aches of his raiding banished by his scale healing—and no doubt his Shadow Fortitude—but he now felt invigorated as if he’d quaffed a dozen cups of coffee after a full night’s sleep.

He breathed deeply, powerfully, as potent emotion swirled through him. This was more than just a mere enhancement of his physical stats. Yes, he felt faster, more resilient, stronger in every way.

But this was more. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, but it had something to do with the black flames that enveloped him, burning in ghost-like fashion and limning his body.

“What the hell,” he laughed, turning his hand back and forth. Using this power before others would raise eyebrows. Black flames were never considered holy. And yet. He felt his blood running hot, his vitality rising.

He couldn’t just sit there.

Harald bounded to his feet, snatched up the handful of Golden Dawns that had appeared over the slain scarecrow, and strode back into the small hidden chamber. The scale sculpture needed to be studied, but for now he was enraptured by his Dark Vigor.

On impulse he summoned the Goldchops.

+2 Strength, +2 Dexterity flowed into him as the hatchets appeared by his side.

It was too much! Harald laughed, giddy, as his muscles coiled beneath his skin, his shoulders seemed to swell beneath his ruined leather armor, and his thighs grew corded in might. His back broadened, and he felt as if he could crush stones in his palms.

How hard would he hit now?

And no wonder raiders adopted weapon Artifacts. No regular blade would last long when swung with such power.

Harald laughed, exuberant, and took three long strides to leap up at a pillar. He twisted, pushed off its length with the sole of his foot, and spun to land lightly upon the floor. He felt as if he could fight forever, could withstand any blow, could pierce a flying apple with a lunge from his Dawnblade.

He felt fantastic.

The black flames continued to rage over his skin. Again he stopped to marvel. It leached out of his armor as well, completely encasing him.

Then, curious, he activated Aura of the Aching Depths.

The air around him darkened, the temperature dropped, but more importantly, the flames that enveloped him faded away, absorbed or saturating the aura. Which felt more potent, not only due to his second Throne, but also now because of his Dark Vigor.

“Huh.” Harald turned his hand about. The flames were gone. This at the very least was a way to mask his new Ability, but also increase the Aching Depth’s potency.

He had to test it out.

He needed fresh foes to fight.

With great reluctance Harald dismissed the Goldchops, and felt his strength and speed subside; then he released the Depths and Dark Vigor, and it felt as if the world became monochrome, his vitality leaching away and leaving him leaden and cloddish.

How dull and heavy he felt in comparison! He swung his arm, threw a couple of shadowboxing punches, and marveled. How had he ever fought like this? In comparison, it felt as if he’d strapped weights to his wrist and ankles while donning a vest of heavy lead.

And that was with an array of 11,10, and 12.

How had he lived before with his puny Strength and Dexterity of 6 and Stamina of 5?

Harald frowned and tried to remember that life. Where jogging a couple of blocks gave him heart palpitations, where he could barely trudge up and down the stairs of his own home without feeling tired, that heavy, listless feeling that he bore day in, day out. His clumsy, oafish nature.

It had been like living life half-asleep.

No longer.

Harald took a deep, satisfied breath, and only now did he turn his attention upon the armature.

Huh.

The scarecrows had fashioned it in crude approximation of the Fallen Angel. There were rough wings fashioned from branches, here her torso forged from iron rods and crude sheets, and her head was a copper vase roped down upon her shoulders.

And over her form they’d affixed scales, mostly Silver Starbursts and Golden Dawns, but with an Aurora Veil here and there.

It looked to be worth a small fortune. Harald tried to estimate how many: perhaps ten Aurora Veils, three times that number of Golden Dawns, and almost a hundred Silver Starbursts.

A fortune indeed.

He set about collecting them all, plucking each scale free of the sticky tack that had been used to hold them in place, and rather than force them into his pouch, he simply absorbed them into his palm. Time and again he consumed the Fallen Angel’s power, and when he was done he checked his window to see his new score:

Scales: 491,284/1,000,000

A good thirteen thousand scales.

Harald smiled contentedly. He’d save what was already in his pouch in case of injury, but he’d be sure to absorb all that before leaving the dungeon.

But.

Harald groaned. That would mean he’d be ostensibly leaving the 8th Level with a gain of some 15,000 scales.

The fucking Gazette would have a field day.

Damn it.

For a while Harald just stood there, hands on his hips, frowning at nothing in particular. There wasn’t anything to be done. The Houses were already in a stir about him, and duplicating his feat—or exceeding it by 150%—would only confirm that he was worth pursuing. But it wouldn’t materially change anything.

Unless they found out he now had a Masterwork Artifact and an Uncommon Servitor.

Best keep all that under wraps.

Harald sighed, checked the armature one last time to ensure he’d not missed a scale, then returned to the mouth of the secret passage. There he paused and gathered himself.

This was still the 27th Level.

And despite now being Level 2 and having new powers, including the Goldchop and Shadow Mastiff, that didn’t mean he could be reckless.

Two scarecrows could still kill him. Could probably burst his mind if they focused their attacks at once.

So he took a moment to settle, to rein in his exhilaration, and remember his cautious approach. Dismissing the Dawnblade for when he’d need it, Harald padded into the passage, stepped carefully over the fallen scarecrow, and retraced his steps.

The portal back to the 8th was somewhere out there. Hopefully close. He’d return, collect his friends, then emerge from the dungeon to register his newfound power with the damned Mining Consortium’s accountants.

But first he had to get to the portal without dying.

In the darkness, Harald grinned.

He wouldn’t mind running into a scarecrow on which to test his new powers before he got out of here, though.