Harald gaped. “Slay Thracos? The man is a Silver-ranked raider!”

Vorakhar canted his head to one side. And?

Harald raked his fingers through his hair. “You already agreed to this?”

The demon’s silence was answer enough.

“And in one month?” The cavern seemed to press in on Harald, so that he leaped from the chair to begin to pace. “I’m already dueling Yeoric in a month. Now I have to fight Thracos as well?”

You sound displeased, said Vorakhar. I thought you wished to be free of House Thornvale’s machinations.

Harald glared at the smirking demon. “Not if freedom meant my death.”

And you’re guaranteed to die?

“I just reached Level 3.” Harald felt at once as if he were speaking with a child and a jailor. “Thracos is, what? Level…?”

7.

“Seven!” Harald stared at the demon, waiting for understanding to bloom in his black eyes, but it never came. “Wait. Are you planning to give me some Artifact, or…?”

I am forbidden from assisting you in any manner from now till the duel’s conclusion. Per the terms of agreement, which also, may I add, bind Silenthros.

“So then…? I’m to fight a Level 7 Silver-ranked raider with a Demon Seed of his own in a month?”

Silenthros has perversely allowed that you and Thracos determine the hour.

“Oh, that’s fine then. I’ll simply schedule it for twenty years from now.”

Vorakhar’s eyes grew heavy-lidded. He added the proviso that if the duel is not timely, then he take a more direct hand.

Harald tried to process this. “Do you not mind my dying?”

I’m wagering that you will win.

“It’s a poor wager, then, if you think I can—oh. The Goldchops?”

They’ll no doubt come in useful. Though Thracos no doubt has toys of his own. And if he learns of your Artifact, he may move to neutralize it.

“How could he learn - oh. Wait. The Shuddering.” Harald had used the Goldchops before a large crowd in his effort to stem the tide. The guards employed by the Mining Consortium had no doubt taken note. “Damn it.”

They remained thus in silence for a moment, Harald pinching the bridge of his nose, Vorakhar complacent.

“You obviously think this will goad me to greater heights.”

The demon lay a forefinger along the seam of his lips, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Fuck. Level 7. Can you tell me anything about Thracos? His Artifacts, his Abilities…?”

Pay attention, Harald. I cannot assist you further till the duel is concluded.

“Fine. I’m sure someone knows.” Harald fought to remain calm, but only his outrageous Ego allowed him to weather the storm of emotions buffeting at his mind. His heart was racing, sweat prickling across his brow, his gut clenched as if in anticipation of a blow. It took effort to keep his breath regular, and though his body was clearly clenched by extreme anxiety, his mind remained detached, calm, clear.

Level 7, and with a Demon Seed of his own.

Vorakhar had to have confidence in his ability to win through. He’d not throw away a promising asset idly. Or was it that he had no choice against his elder sibling? Should Harald appeal to Eclavistra for aid? Almost he went to taunt Vorakhar, to throw her name in his face as someone he could turn to, but at the last he bit back the urge.

No. Best he kept that a secret for now.

You are distressed, said Vorakhar. Your life is threatened, and you feel your mortality keenly. You do not wish to die. So there remains only one option to you.

“To get strong,” whispered Harald.

Just so. You have perhaps a month or two’s worth of days and nights in which to pursue power in the dungeon. Your companions can assist you, but if they hold you back, you shall die. You must cast off your shackles, Harald. You must embrace the Demon Seed, or you will surely perish.

“That’s your plan. That was your plan all along.” Now it was Harald’s turn to smile bitterly. “To force me to lean on the Seed even more.”

Vorakhar spread his hands and smiled disarmingly. You impugn my good nature, Harald. Is it so hard to believe that I’m simply doing my best by you?

Harald snorted. “Fine. So I need to negotiate with Thracos. Which Level?”

That will be revealed at the start of the duel.

“So I can’t even prepare for it. Artifacts and Servitors are allowed?”

Vorakhar inclined his head.

“And if I kill Thracos, House Thornvale won’t seek revenge?”

Not over Thracos’ death, nor will they now seek to recruit you. This does not mean they shall be rendered toothless, however; any fresh grievance may spark their animosity anew.

“A problem for the Harald that survives this duel. Fine.” Harald met Vorakhar’s stare. The demon’s smugness was galling. “Fine. I’ll kill Thracos.” Almost he went to protest, to declare that he’d do it on his own terms, in his own, humane way. That he wouldn’t lean on the Seed and its need for savagery, for bloodshed. But even before he spoke them his words sounded childish, so instead he buried that resolve and inclined his head mockingly. “You have my thanks, Vorakhar. I guess I should get back to training.”

That you should. Know that I’ll continue to watch over your advancement in the dungeon with interest, but shall not respond to your summons on any matter pertaining to this challenge or your direct advancement. Grow quickly, Harald. There is nothing else for you but the hunger for power.

“You took care of that,” said Harald, and turned as a new portal appeared by his side. “This goes back to the 14th?”

Vorakhar inclined his head.

Harald strode through without another word, not wanting to do the demon the courtesy of a goodbye, and the darkness took him.

A moment later he stepped out onto the 14th Level, right beside the Dungeon Portal back to Flutic. He was at the first cavern he’d entered with its sunken center, the goblin and hobgoblin corpses where they’d fallen.

Harald looked about, feeling grim, then gave the dungeon a curt nod and stepped into the portal home.

*

“Harald?”

Sam’s voice, concerned, hesitant, outside his bedroom door. Harald jerked up to sitting, unclear for a moment how he’d gotten home. He remembered speaking with Vorakhar, the Dungeon Portal, making his way numbly past the guards, the long walk home.

Darrowdelve Manor, the house dark, his bedroom, dropping his gear, then simply falling into bed, more weary than he could imagine despite Shadow Fortitude’s attempts to prop him up.

An exhaustion, he realized, that had come from the overwhelming and numbing emotional load he’d been carrying.

“Harald? You in there?”

“Here. I’m here.”

The door cracked open and Sam peered in. “Breakfast is ready.”

She sounded tense, like she was saying something else. He thought on calling her out on it, on asking why breakfast was so urgent, but that would be his just playing stupid. So he nodded his head, and she retracted her head and closed the door.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

He was still clad in his gear. He undressed, Shadow Fortitude having eased any pains or aches he might have accumulated during his dungeon run, and stepped into an empty bath to dump a bucket of water over his head. Rinsed, lathered, washed, dressed in clean clothing, then stopped at his bedroom door to consider.

Should he have come home?

On the face of it that was a ridiculous question. Where else would he go?

But he knew how the conversation below was going to go. The demands, the arguments, the insistence that he be responsible, that he not risk his life so heedlessly.

Worse than that, he could see what he was dragging them into. This demonic war. Vorakhar was a step ahead of him. He’d signed Harald up for this deathmatch with Thracos as a proxy for his battle with Silenthros without caring for Harald’s thought on the matter.

And why should he?

Harald bore his Demon Seed.

Harald was his plaything, his latest investment.

He closed his eyes and pressed his brow to the door. Thought on how his father had been. Thought of his warnings in his letter. Surround yourself with good people? What if doing so would only hurt them? Didn’t that only make him more evil?

“Fuck,” he hissed, and pulled open the door to descend.

They were gathered as always in the kitchen. Kársek looked alarmed, ready to bolt, while Sam stood to one side, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Nessa and Vic were seated at the large table, but Vic’s expression was closed, his brow furrowed, while Nessa was unconvincingly expressionless.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” said Harald heavily from the doorway. “I went to the dungeon last night. Again. I fought my way down to the 14th, and reached Level 3. Vorakhar summoned me to discuss House Thornvale. The solution he reached with his brother is to pit me against Thracos in less than a month’s time in a deathmatch on some undisclosed dungeon level. It’s fucked, I know it’s fucked, and I…” Emotion swelled his throat shut. Sam went to speak but he raised a hand, cutting her off. “No, please. Let me finish. What’s happening to me. It’s pulling me deeper into Vorakhar’s games. I know now that I’m really changing, and not… not into something good.”

His eyes prickled with a surfeit of emotion as he gazed at his friends. “I think… no, I know this isn’t going anywhere good, and I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

Dark emotion arose within him, bleak and horrified. He knew what he was going to say, what he’d been building up to, what felt, now, inevitable. “Which is why I think I’d best face this month alone to protect you from all of this.”

Kársek bolted to his feet, brow thunderous. “I need no protection, Master Darrowdelve. My service is a paltry thing, but it’s yours. You know this.”

“And please,” drawled Vic. “I cannot abide melodrama when hungover. The really inconsiderate aspect of all this is to be holding this talk after the night I just had, but honestly, I’m a big boy, so I’ll survive.”

“Sit,” said Nessa, tone severe.

“Didn’t you all just hear what I said?”

“We did,” said Vic, massaging his brow. “It was very moving. Go on, Harry-boy. Take a load off. We, and by ‘we’ I mean Sam and Nessa, have their own dramatic speech to give.”

Harald hesitated.

Nobody seemed intent on leaving.

So he finally spun a chair around and sat, its back against his chest.

“Harald.” It was Sam that began. She spoke slowly, with precision, as if picking a path through a field of rusted blades. “I’m not even trying to understand everything that happened to you last night, because it’s all a bit too much, but—to be honest? It’s just more of the same.”

“The same?” Harald couldn’t believe it.

“The same,” agreed Nessa. “More of your flinging yourself headlong into impossible gains without thinking what it all means.”

“We care about you.” Sam said this as if laying down a legal argument. “We’re your friends.”

“All of us are equally fervent,” agreed Vic dolorously.

Sam ignored him. “We’re not going to be ushered out the door when you need us most. I certainly won’t.”

“Nor I,” said Kársek stoutly. “Though I’ll own I know the least about what’s going on here.”

Sam persevered despite the interruptions. “We need to step back and take a look at what’s going on here. Up to this point it’s been all about marveling over your gains and focusing on defeating Yeoric. But it’s seriously time we started considering the implications and doing our due diligence.”

“We’re not going to try and stop you from going into the dungeon,” said Nessa. “We’re not going to lecture you. Instead, we’re willing to push ourselves harder so as to remain your equals in the dungeon, and one of us will go with you each night into the dungeon proper to keep an eye out for you. In return, you’ll come with us to speak to a specialist in demons.”

Vic raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to speak to Pastoric?”

“We’re going to try,” allowed Nessa. “If he’ll speak with us. You’re not invited.”

“Oh, thank the angels,” sighed Vic in relief.

“But you need to hear this loud and clear,” said Sam, stalking forward to glare down at him. “You need to think about what you’re doing, and why. You need to accept help, but also help yourself. We can’t stop you. We won’t stop you. But if you’ll allow us, we’ll remain a crew, and do our best to face this problem together.”

“Wait,” said Vic. “Did Harry say he’s been enrolled into deathmatch with Thracos?!”

“Yes,” said Harald. “I did. And I am. But…” He stared angrily at the table. “I appreciate all you’re saying, what you’re offering. All of your. But you don’t know what you’re getting involved in.”

“Oh, I have some idea,” said Sam.

“We all do,” agreed Nessa. “Even if we don’t know the details, we recognize that something important is happening here. Your father’s letter made that clear, but I, at least, failed to really appreciate it in the moment. You have a chance of becoming something… spectacular. If you don’t perish in the attempt.”

“What they’re all trying to say, darling, is that we’re intent on helping you master this Seed of yours as we ride your coattails to the top,” said Vic.

Sam glared at him. “That’s not what we’re saying.”

“It’s what I’m saying,” said Vic dubiously.

Harald fought down his anger. Fought down his urge to leap up and leave the room. To just go right back to the dungeon and vent his frustration on whatever he found on the next level down. “Look. I’m going to say it one last time -”

Sam crouched before him and took his hand. He fought the urge to meet her gaze, but eventually did so, and found her expression pleading, raw, vulnerable.

“Harald. I’m a Netherwarden Knight.”

“I know,” he said stiffly.

“No, listen to me. I’ve been thinking about it all night since Nessa came to visit me. We were awarded our classes at the same time. Why? Why was I made a Netherwarden Knight? Why was my Soul Rank raised to Divine? That happened to you when Vorakhar placed the Demon Seed within you, but Eclavistra did no such thing.”

Harald frowned. “You deserved it.”

“Divine?” Sam laughed. “Hardly. But think. Your Demon Seed twisted your class to Abyssal Initiate, and your powers have only grown more dark and perilous since. And my class description?”

Harald frowned. “What of it?”

“Sworn defenders against entities that emerge from beyond, Netherwarden Knights wield the power of light and darkness in equal measure. Their solemn oath to protect reality from the encroaching nether forces grants them abilities that are both awe-inspiring and fearsome. Don’t you see? Something chose to make me perfectly suited to fight demons. Vorakhar, Eclavistra, Silenthros. Obviously I’m nowhere close, but why that class?”

Harald’s frown deepened.

“And think on my Soul Nature. Brightest Star. You are the beacon that cleaves through night’s veil, the unwavering luminescence that guides the lost and forlorn. Your strength is a promise to the world: a light that not only reveals, but elevates.”

Harald pulled his hand back. “What are you saying?”

“That something in the dungeon saw your potential, what you could become, and intervened. Something saw fit to use me as a tool.”

Vic leaned forward. “The lost and forlorn. Darling, no offense, but I can’t think of anyone who matches that description more than you.”

Harald shook his head and sneered. “You’re saying—what? That the Fallen Angel intervened so that you could help me?”

Sam’s gaze remained earnest. “Yes. I think so. If not the Fallen Angel herself, then something else in the dungeon. Some counterpart to the demons. Whatever they’re fighting in this celestial war.”

Harald wanted to reject it. He raised, strode to the door, then turned, clutching at his head. “But…”

Nessa’s voice was flinty. “Don’t insult us by insisting you’re not that important.”

Sam rose to her feet. “It can’t be a coincidence, Harald. That I was made a Netherwarden Knight and elevated to Brightest Star just as you were given your class? I think I’m meant to fight for you, to help you, to give you strength. I won’t leave your side.”

Harald began to laugh jaggedly, but broke off abruptly.

Vic rose smoothly, wrapped an arm around Harald’s shoulders, and guided him back to his chair. “Have a drink of water, catch your breath. Believe me, I understand. You should have seen my reaction when they ran this past me earlier. Harald Darrowdelve, the focus of the celestial war? Impossible, I cried. But these ladies can be quite persuasive. Plus, ask yourself this, Harry: in your heart of hearts, do you truly desire to be left alone?”

Harald stared at the table surface, stared right through it, then shook his head. He felt overwhelmed, numb, half-panicked. “No. Not really.”

“Well then.” Vic clapped him on the shoulder and sat back down as well. “It’s all resolved. Who’s serving breakfast?”

“We’re going to change out approach,” said Sam. “Yes, we’re going to continue to train and dungeon delve. You’re fighting Yeoric in a little over three weeks, and now… apparently… Thracos? Regardless, we need to prepare you for those certainties. But more than that, we need to start learning what this all means. What knowledge has been gleaned over the centuries about Demon Seeds, if there are others who’ve suffered as you have -”

“Thracos has one,” said Harald.

They all stilled.

“Vorakhar told me. He’s my counterpart in House Thornvale. Silenthros’ plaything.”

“Well now.” Vic looked to Sam and Nessa. “That’s something. Proof that Harald isn’t the first.”

“Which means there might be lore out there,” agreed Sam. “We speak with experts. The Seraphites, if necessary. I’ll focus on leveling, because if I’m to be of any help, I’ll need as much power as I can as well.”

“But the key here is that we’re going to approach this as a crew,” said Nessa. “You wanted one, you got one. I’m going to be more aggressive in our raids. Far more aggressive. We’re going to train harder, and spend what spare time we have learning whatever we can about this celestial war. We can’t be the first to have discovered it.”

Vic raised a finger. “But we can’t overlook the danger posed to us by more mundane sources. House Celestis is going to run out of patience very, very soon. The other Houses are no doubt implementing their own aggressive recruitment plans.”

“Vorakhar,” said Harald. “He told me that House Thornvale is no longer seeking to recruit me.”

“Now that’s good news,” said Vic brightly. “Are you still intent on approaching Countess Sonora?”

“Yes.” Harald considered, then frowned. “If my doing so doesn’t bring her more trouble due to my… entanglements.”

“Yes, well. We can’t approach her under false pretenses. I’ll… hmm.” Vic massaged his temples. “Why is it so hard to think when one’s head is pounding? I’ll think about this and suggest some possibilities.”

“Good,” said Nessa. “Then it’s decided? We’re in this together?”

Harald raised his gaze and met her own. Hers was more of a glare, defiant, angry, piercing. He recalled his words to her just the night before. He could have sworn she’d want nothing to do with him after how callously he’d rejected her aid.

But she simply stared at him now, daring him to ask something asinine.

“Very well,” he allowed at last. “Thank you. I don’t know if it’s wise, but… thank you.”

Sam immediately leaned in and hugged him tight.

For a moment they remained thus, and then Kársek stood and coughed gruffly into his fist. His brow was furrowed, his lips pursed under his mustache, and his manner firm. “I for one am glad to hear that our company shall remain as one. But now, with all due respect, I must insist: what by the Dead Forge is going on?”