Harald rubbed at his face, glanced around one more time to ensure he wasn’t about to be ambushed, then moved to crouch with his back to the wall so that he couldn’t be surprised. Blade resting across his knees, Goldchops and Shadow Mastiff watching over him, he focused on the new message and drank in their gifts:

Abyssal Initiate 3

Active Ability Unlocked: Demonic Edge

Unleash the unholy fury of your blade; let your strikes extend beyond the steel. Each slash carries the essence of darkness, rending space with your weapon’s almighty force.

Passive Ability Unlocked: Umbral Aegis

Cloak yourself in the shadows of the abyss. This malefic armor, woven from the darkest energies, grows with your command over the Thrones, guarding you against the ravages of both blade and sorcery.

“Damn,” whispered Harald. The Demon Seed didn’t stir again, no doubt indicating that it was content with these iterations of his new Abilities. Or, given the baldly stated Demonic Edge, perhaps its influence was becoming so overt that it was now wresting full control of the Abilities from the original Abyssal Class.

Let your strikes extend beyond the steel. What did that mean? Harald considered the Dawnblade, then grimaced and stood.

Time to find out.

He adopted the Tower guard, the original stance that Vic had taught him and Sam what felt like a lifetime ago. Hilt to his shoulder, blade vertical, back upright, shoulders down, chest puffed.

It felt natural now. He simply stepped into the right posture, as if his body knew what to do. He considered the thick trunk of a dead tree across from him, its canopy hidden by the brown mist that thickened above them.

It was about ten yards away.

Harald intuitively summoned the Abyssal Attunement, so that the Dawnblade ran back, then reached for Demonic Edge.

It wasn’t a Passive, nor even a passive Active, like Abyssal Attunement; once activated, Attunement simply maintained itself, feeding Harald with pulses of energy and delivering grievous wounds upon his foes.

But Demonic Edge was entirely distinct. It was a singular and purposeful Ability, one that he deployed in much the manner that one swung a blade. He could sense its potential around in, a haze of energy generated by the Demon Seed, perhaps, or simply fueled by his Thrones.

It felt different from Abyssal energy. More violent, more… cruel. The abyss was a domain of depth and cold, of darkness and aching power. There was a stillness to it, a profundity, that made it at once terrifying and worthy of respect.

This Demonic Edge, however, was definitely linked to his Demon Seed. It reminded him of Vorakhar, of Eclavistra. Felt saturated in that kind of purposeful evil, its elegance a disguise over its barbarous inhumanity.

Harald gulped. This was indeed something else. It felt… dangerous, even to himself. Like picking up a bottle in whose neck a burning rag had been stuffed. It was a weapon, assuredly, but there was no telling when it might explode.

Beyond that, it felt like… an acceptance, on his part. Thus far he’d been able to use his powers by thinking of them as ‘abyssal’, a not entirely comforting notion, but one divorced from demons. But to deploy the Demonic Edge felt like embracing what Vorakhar was gifting him, stepping farther down the path toward damnation.

The Goldchops abruptly flew away to the left, disappearing into the fog. There was a cry of horror, then a wet, explosive sound, and then the hatchets returned to hover serenely by his shoulders.

Harald grimaced. He couldn’t afford to be squeamish. How was the Demonic Edge different from the Goldchops? It was just a weapon like any other. What mattered was what he did with it, assuredly? Was it demonic to kill goblins? No.

Thus, it was but a new aspect of his arsenal. He’d be a fool to disdain any weapon gifted to him by his class, no matter its origin.

Harald exhaled and steadied himself. Stared at the distant tree, and tightened his grip on the Dawnblade’s hilt.

Cut, he heard Vic bark, and stepped forward to slash at the trunk even as he activated the Edge, infusing his blade with its fell power.

Harald felt a surge of raw, dark energy course through his body, originating deep from within his core and extending out through his arms. It felt exhilarating, unnerving, like a torrent of cold fire rushing through his veins.

The abyssal Dawnblade, already a wickedly dangerous weapon, suddenly felt at once heavier and even more perfectly balanced, as if it had become an extension of Harald’s will, a conduit for this greater, darker force. The blade slashed through the air with unnatural ease, as if slicing through the fabric of reality itself.

An arc of visible, dark energy rippled outward, casting eerie shadows as it fled across the clearing, distorting the air and leaving a shimmering trail of afterimages. A deep and resonant growl filled the air, almost a hum, as if the darkness itself had come alive, and in a flash the arc of dark energy slammed into the tree, warping it briefly as if a sinister heat haze had slammed into the bark.

Harald had half hoped that the massive tree might topple over entirely, but though it shivered it remained standing. He jogged over, wide-eyed, and studied the oblique slash that had cut deeply into the wood. It was a massive cut, and, curious, he slid the tip of the Dawnblade into it.

Some five inches deep.

And the edges of the gash were darkening, as if burning from within, growing charred and cracked.

“Damn,” he whispered, and glanced back at where he’d stood by the tunnel entrance. Did it grow weaker the farther it went, or did it have a hard range beyond which it simply vanished abruptly?

Trusting in the Goldchops to watch his back as he experimented, Harald backed some fifteen yards from the tree to where a massive column of ancient bricks rose into the mist, and again steadied himself.

Summoning the Demonic Edge was a big swing—it took a bite out of his Thrones, making it so that it was a consequential use of his reserves. Again Harald raised his blade, again he settled himself, and again he slashed, evoking the Demonic Edge and feeling that cold fire race up from his core, passing into his weapon, and unleashing an arc of coruscating darkness.

It flashed toward the tree and slammed home again, causing it to shiver anew. Harald ran back and examined the new cut, probing its depth. Some three inches? Clearly the attack lost power the farther it traveled.

Good to know. He’d not be picking off distant foes with it from across the battlefield. Or perhaps he would once he could feed more power into the attack. For now, it would allow him mastery of his immediate environs, delivering awesome and terrifying attacks within fifteen or so yards.

Harald grinned. It’d be interesting to see how Yeoric’s Shrug It Off handled this strike.

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Elated, Harald decided to worry about the potential peril to his soul later, and instead turned to his new Passive.

Umbral Aegis.

He reread the description: Cloak yourself in the shadows of the abyss. This malefic armor, woven from the darkest energies, grows with your command over the Thrones, guarding you against the ravages of both blade and sorcery.

Abyss themed once more. Clearly the original class wasn’t giving up the fight with the Demon Seed that easily. Still, fascinating, and better yet, it clearly stated that this Ability would grow as his own mastery of the Thrones developed.

Too eager to ponder it further, Harald closed his eyes and reached for the Ability. Just like the others, it was simply there, the knowledge of how to channel the power from this twin Thrones into its manifestation.

Harald willed the Aegis to manifest, and the darkness heeded his call.

It flowed toward him, a sentient cascade drawn from the very abyss itself. Armored plates sculpted from obsidian-like hardened shadows formed around him, their surface rippling with an almost liquid motion, reflecting none of the cancerous brown light that touched it.

The Aegis cloaked him from heel to crown, a shadow haze forming before his face as if he’d activated the Aching Depths, and when he reached up he felt a smooth helm about his head, its face utterly smooth and angled like a knife blade down the centerline, descending to a sharp point just below his chin. The brow swept upward to form a crown of jagged spikes. There were no perforations, no eyeholes, nothing, but while the helm felt as hard as steel to the touch, the shadowy faceplate was almost indistinct, giving Harald his complete field of vision and even allowing him to smell the air as if it weren’t there.

Harald then examined his hands. Gauntlets had formed over them, the fingers extending into sharp, talon-like claws from whose tips thin threads of darkness endlessly unspooled. Awed, he passed his hand before his face, and saw that it left the faintest of trails of darkness behind; there seemed to be no tangible benefit to this effect, but perhaps it hinted at some future development?

Delighted, Harald looked over his shoulder, then half-turned as he sought to catch sight of his cloak. It flowed from his shoulders, as dense and lightless as his armor, but it was through this cloak that he sensed the Aegis’ power coming, as if the cloak itself, which trailed behind him like smoke, its edges frayed and constantly shifting, were a tether to the abyss.

“Damn,” whispered Harald, extending his arms before him then gazing down his length. The armor was weightless as shadow, and fitted over his clothing and piecemeal leather armor without a problem, like mist settling over the dips and rises of a countryside. He felt emboldened, dangerous, lethal.

But he could sense the strain this new Passive put on his twin Thrones. Curious, reluctant, Harald activated the Aching Depths, and then Dark Vigor.

Flames shimmered over his shadow armor, and with his Dawnblade Attuned to the abyss, he felt the draw on his Thrones become near overwhelming.

To cap it off, he raised his ebon sword and unleashed a third attack upon the tree. The dark arc flew forth to slam into the corrugated bark, but the drain was terrible.

The entire combination of Abilities lasted a few moments longer, but then his connection to his twin Thrones faded away, and with it went the Umbral Aegis. The Dawnblade turned green once more, and the flames of Dark Vigor died down.

Harald frowned. He’d have to be tactical with his Abilities. As much as he’d like to just rush around with all his powers burning bright, he’d need to deploy them only as necessary. Which meant saving the Umbral Aegis and Demonic Edge for critical moments.

This limitation grated, but it only fired his determination to Ascend to his third Throne all the more.

Curious, impatient, Harald summoned his window and checked his scale count:

Scales: 494,677/1,000,000

“Damn it.” That was little more than what he’d had when he’d emerged from the 27th Level. Most of his increase had come from the two Aurora Veils Sam had paid him earlier that day for his role in the dungeon delve to the 12th. The rest was the Coppers and Silvers he’d collected himself, with a couple of Golds from his healing.

Not good enough.

If only he’d not given his father’s Twilight Infinitum to his friends. He could have absorbed it himself, immediately Ascended to his third Throne…

Harald grimaced. And not formed the crew. And not forged bonds with his friends that followed his father’s advice.

By the Fallen Angel, the temptation to throw all caution and friendships to the wind was so strong.

Harald rubbed at his jaw. Was the right move to head down to the 14th and continue collecting Silver Starbursts, or should he really push it and try the 27th again? But getting to the 27th would involve taking the Dungeon Portal to the 25th and descending two levels.

Not an easy proposition, given that he was uniquely suited to kill scarecrows, but not what might await him on the other two levels.

Harald considered the tunnel down.

He was here, and he had new Abilities to test.

Might as well make the most of it.

“Ready?” he asked the Mastiff, who came padding up and thrust its shoulder against him. So big was the hound that it made Harald stagger to the side. He reached down to grab the dire beast by the head and rough up its hide, scritching it behind the ears and grinning as the terrifying dog closed its eyes and raised its head for more.

“Shameless,” laughed Harald. “And to think I once thought you were terrifying.”

The Mastiff panted happily as it studied him with its jet black eyes, jowls open to reveal its black tongue.

“I really need to give you a good name.” Harald crouched before his Servitor. “Hmm. Gloom…Gloomfang? No. Doomhowler?”

The Mastiff just stared at him, clearly unimpressed.

“Sir Shadowsnarl the Dark? Um… Baron Creepwoof?”

The Mastiff sat on his haunches, eyes narrowing.

“Shady. Dusky. Black Dog. Sooty. Shadowpaw?”

Shadowpaw raised an eyebrow.

“Shadowpaw!” Harald grinned. “I like it. Can you live with it?”

Shadowpaw sighed dolorously, as if he were the most long-suffering hound in all of the Fallen Angel’s dungeon.

“I’m glad you love it.” Harald dared to reach out and scritch Shadowpaw’s head one more time. “Ready to descend to the 14th?”

Shadowpaw let out a basso profundo woof.

Harald moved to the tunnel entrance and hesitated.

He’d been avoiding acknowledging what had actually happened. Despite fighting with the Goldchops and Shadowpaw, he’d gained a level. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. He was supposed to acquire scales and progress toward his third Throne.

Instead, the Demon Seed had stirred and… what? Forced the delivery of his new level? It had never stirred before the delivery of a stat bonus or level.

What had he been thinking just before it triggered? Harald frowned, trying to recollect exactly. He’d desired a bigger challenge. Had given in to his desire for more blood, more violence, greater rewards, and more difficult battles.

That resolve had caused the Demon Seed to stir like never before.

Not only that, but for the first time one of his Abilities was blatantly demonic in nature. Was he feeding the Seed by pursuing this solitary path? Obviously he was. But was that… wrong?

Harald rubbed the base of his palm into his eye. Thought on the Terror Birds as they’d overwhelmed him in the Dungeon Plaza. How else was he meant to acquire power? Hold himself back to Nessa’s cautious pace? He’d not only fight Yeoric soon, but was in a race against the Dungeon itself and the next Shuddering.

Shadowpaw made a questioning, chuffing sound as he stepped up to the tunnel and glanced back at Harald.

The Demon Seed is given to very few, his father had written. Very fucking few. It’ll set you on the path to real power if you can handle it. It got to be too much for me. I stopped my training. But if you handle it right from the beginning, then you have a chance.

Harald felt a spike of irritation. How much easier would it be to just go below and slaughter more goblins? This hesitation felt like weakness.

Look son, here’s how you handle the Seed. It felt as if his father were reading the letter to him, voice inexorable, mocking, cruel. It feeds off bloody-minded acts of willpower. It’s not enough to train hard. You’ve got to not only leave nothing on the table, you’ve got to knock the table over. It gets harder to impress with time, so enjoy the rush of rewards while they’re coming. But if you go it alone like I did, you’ll lose yourself like I did after your mother died.

That’s what had happened. He’d resolved to go below against all wisdom, and the Seed had been impressed by his resolve.

But did that mean he was losing himself?

Harald closed his eyes and exhaled. How did he feel? Excited, nervous, eager. He wanted to test the Umbral Aegis and Demonic Edge. He wanted… damn it, he wanted that same raw exhilaration that had come from terrorizing the goblins. To feel like an engine of destruction, unstoppable, dripping in the blood of his enemies, reveling in their fear and death.

It was a dark pull.

Intoxicating.

Addicting.

I only want power to help others, he’d told Nessa. We are not the same.

What would happen though if he refused to descend to the 14th? If he changed his mind and returned to Darrowdelve Manor? Would the Demon Seed rage at its gift being squandered? Would Vorakhar sense his lack of faith in the Seed’s bloody creed?

“What do I do, boy?” whispered Harald, glancing at Shadowpaw.

The Mastiff sniffed at the portal, took three steps forward, then glanced back at Harald again to whine.

“You want to go below, don’t you?”

Shadowpaw’s eyes glimmered with an oily black hunger for violence.

“I do, too. And…” Harald felt his desire for violence within him like a river of fire. The yearning to explore his new powers, to acquire more scales, to grow more proficient in battle, to defeat that which opposed him, to become… more. “And I’ll never be able to protect the innocents if I don’t push myself past all reason.”

The words tasted sour in his mouth, though he knew they were true. He knew they were the real reason he was going below.

The thrill, the visceral pleasure in acquiring more and slaughtering his foes?

That was just the icing on the cake.

And after all, he had to learn what his new powers could do against real foes.

Didn’t he?

“Lead on, boy,” said Harald, squaring his shoulders as he pushed his doubts aside. “Let’s go hunt.”

Shadowpaw let out an excited bark and coursed ahead, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel.

Harald grinned, and feeling like a consummate predator, followed the Mastiff into the depths.