Chapter 6

  Abyssal Imperium burned the world around Harald. It blended Abyssal Attunement, Tenebral Surge, Black Halo, and Demonic Edge into a widening radius of dark destruction. By focusing his Thrones into empowering this vortex of ruinous might, he could manifest its destructive powers ever more clearly around him.

  Harald did so.

  Black Halo had created a mass of orbiting blades that had surrounded him with a death zone. Now it caused Abyssal Imperium to birth translucent blades of shadow where his attention focused: the smooth cave wall before him.

  The blades flung themselves at the rock. The air filled with the churning crash of Abyssally Attuned attacks hacking at stone. Flecks and chunks of rock flew free as cracks and chinks appeared in a great pattern across the rock wall. The blades were endless, a perfect storm that materialized a yard before hitting the wall and disappeared a yard after bouncing off it.

  All around Harald the darkness writhed with the power of The Crown of the Abyssal Tyrant. The air throbbed, shadowed and empurpled, and Harald, growing impatient, slashed at the air with Chyron’s Scourge.

  The gleaming black blade unleashed a wave of demonic energy, a coruscating crescent that bit deep into the wall, which already betrayed a concave curve where it was being rapidly eroded away.

  Again, Harald swung, and then, fierce anger rising within him, he stepped forth and clove at the rock face directly.

  The Scourge, fueled by Harald’s immense strength, cut deep, the power of the abyss turning the rock freezing cold and brittle. Greater chunks fell away, the thousands of shadow blades not ceasing their assault.

  Again, and again Harald swung, until at last a crack tore itself open, allowing golden light from beyond to pour through.

  With a grim smile of satisfaction, Harald smashed the heel of his foot into the cross-hatched wall and shattered the entirety of it so that a mass of deeply gauged chunks fell into the great hallway beyond.

  But the drain on his four Thrones was too much. Not only that, but it was also unnecessary; fueling his form composite powers at once was a grandiose gesture without cause. There were no foes here, and he’d broken free. So, with reluctance, he allowed his powers to fade, his Thrones to rest, and Scourge still in hand, stalked forth, intent on gaining answers.

  The hallways twisted. Harald realized quickly that he was being guided. Over the past two weeks or so he’d memorized the path between Sam’s chamber and Brauxis’ cavern, and now, he couldn’t find his way. Corners opened to new hallways that hadn’t been there before. Arches revealed new caverns he’d never seen.

  And all were deserted.

  He was being guided. Manipulated. Drawn ever closer to—what?

  Harald flared his fingers about the Scourge’s hilt and strode faster. He’d not find out by dallying.

  He emerged at last into the great throne room. The waterfalls fell from the circular skylights rimmed in gold, the lake shimmered down the center of the hall and caused reflected light to undulate across the white walls and hanging ivy.

  Lord Alabenthos sat upon his golden throne, upright and stiff, as if the very concept of slouching was alien to his angelic mind.

  Harald smiled darkly and approached along the arcade, drawing ever closer to the ziggurat of steps on which the throne was raised.

  “You boxed me in,” he said at last as he reached the end of the lake and moved to stand before the steps. “Why?”

  Such was Brauxis’ decision. He is Steward. He saw what you were becoming and grew afraid.

  “Afraid?” Harald let loose a bark of laughter. “The Steward is the equivalent of Level 14. Does he think me grown so powerful?”

  He did not fear for his existence, but rather that you were becoming too powerful a tool. Too dangerous. Alabenthos leaned forward to stare down at him. He bid me rethink my stratagem, and weigh whether you can be trusted.

  “I’ve already proved myself.”

  That was you before. The Harald that stands before me is other.

  “I’m still myself. I still wanted to aid you.”

  Wanted?

  “Trust must work both ways. If I think you’ll destroy me out of hand the moment I make you nervous, well. That’s not a partnership I want to work with.”

  Do not fool yourself. This is no partnership. You are and can never be my partner. I am your superior in all things, but most importantly, I am sacred and good where as you are an evil blade that may be turned to worthy deeds.

  “Doesn’t feel too sacred and good to be locked up just because I took Brauxis’s lessons to heart.” And it stung, to realize the hearty Emanation had come to fear him so.

  If I had wished for you to remain prisoner, you would be hacking still at an infinite wall. You are here at my behest.

  “So that you can evaluate me again?”

  Precisely. Your consolidations have unlocked synergies and powers that are… surprisingly potent. Tell me of them.

  “How about I show you?” Harald felt reckless, his anger making him want to provoke the self-righteous angel. “This one is called The Crown of the Abyssal Tyrant.” And he awoke his four Thrones once more, so that the cruel circlet of bleak platinum appeared about his brow. The light from above shimmered as it entered his expanding aura, even as the soft whisper of the waterfalls dulled. Shadows gathered about Harald’s form, and his will reached up to contest the angel lord, manifesting fear, awe, and might. Harald felt his authority grow manifest and willed for the angel to shudder and lean back.

  Alabenthos did not react.

  “This is called the Form of the Black Throne.” Darkness saturated his flesh, rendering him unnaturally resilient, self-sustaining, and elusive. His very form became indistinct in the gathering shadows, and he could feel the potential for shadowed plates of unyielding armor to coalesce around his body at the slightest hint of threat from the angel.

  “Abyssal Imperium.” Again, the air filled with the thrum of unseen blades as Chyron’s Scourge slicked black and a corona of destruction surrounded Harald where he stood. Abyssal energy flooded into the air, and the potential for violence, for destruction, deepened immeasurably.

  “And finally, my Well of Starless Dominion.” The eye of the abyss opened within Harald’s soul, a font without end, a depth that led into the heart of the void. But Harald didn’t summon the tendrils that could reach out to enervate and control, dominate and destroy.

  His four Thrones were a thundering crescendo in his depths, their power flooding forth to sustain all four consolidated powers. Harald gazed up defiantly at the observing angel, his darkness rippling and flooding forth to contest Alabenthos’ pure light, making Harald feel invincible, unstoppable, and without parallel.

  If only for a moment. Already he felt his Thrones straining, fighting to fuel his many powers.

  Impressive indeed. I understand Brauxis’ desire for caution. But enough.

  Harald’s grasp on his powers was severed. His Thrones ceased to fuel his darkness, and the abyss disappeared as if a clean wall of perfect glass had risen between Harald and his Cosmos.

  In an instant, all his powers cut off, leaving him to stagger and gasp, momentarily stunned by the absolute nature of Alabenthos’ might.

  Understand me, Harald. Your will is akin to a small ape crouched atop the maddened bull of your burgeoning power. That it yet seeks to direct its mount is admirable. By your stage of advancement, most demon-kin are wholly given over to their lust for power. But your will is eroding. Your power grows too swiftly. I have never seen such potential for destruction in a demon-kin. You are limited still by your Thrones, level, and experience, but in time… in time you may truly become a threat to all that is holy.

  “A threat to the demons,” snapped Harald impatiently. “How many times do I have to spell this out? Unless you’re trying to drive me to Vorakhar? There’s only so many times I can try to convince you before I give up.”

  With a snap of my fingers I could snuff out your life. Here. Now. Alabenthos raised one gauntlet, thumb and forefinger pressed together. Wisdom bids me do so. Why risk a second, greater Darrowdelve taking the field one day against me?

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  Harald bit down on his fiery response. Took a moment, his fury dulling into impatience and weary frustration. “Yeah. It would be the safe play. Snuff me out and go back to your war. Refuse to gamble. Keep up the same cautious approach that has served you and the other angels so well thus far.” Harald raised his chin. “You’re losing. You’re going to lose. The Fallen Angel is all but in demonic hands. You’re still talking to me because you know this. If you really thought I was a liability? You’d have killed me the moment I broke out of the cave. Maybe even before. But here we are. Talking. Wasting time. You’re hoping I can convince you. Prove it’s wise to use me against your foes. You’re doubting. Unsure. And you don’t like that, do you?” Harald placed his foot on the first step. “You like feeling in control. Even if deep down you know you’re not. You prefer calm and order and eventual defeat to uncertainty and fear and a big possible win.”

  Alabenthos lowered his chin to his chest, the slit in his helm hiding his features, but his entire frame radiated frosty displeasure.

  Harald smirked. “But beggars can’t be choosers. You’re no fool. You’ve seen the pattern. The demons take risks, and maybe they lose some hands, but overall, they’re winning. Five Thrones to your sides’ two. And the very fact that I’m still standing here, mouthing off to you, betrays your intent. You do intend to use me. You’re just trying to figure out how much of a leash you need, how many minders, maybe, how you can ensure my destruction if I bite the hand that feeds me. Isn’t that so?”

  It is amusing. Alabenthos made a show of sitting back and relaxing. It has been decades since anyone has spoken to me thus that was not already clapped in chains. It is… refreshing. You burn bright, Harald Darrowdelve, despite your propensity for darkness. And you are no fool. I have decided that I must use you. Your very potential for destruction is what demands I seek to turn you against my foes. If I can but find a way to direct you, control you, then you shall in time prove a mighty asset indeed. But the question lies in how pliable you are liable to remain once you grow in power. Even now you are barely under my control.

  “Then treat me fairly,” snapped Harald, “show me some respect. If I am to be your ally, then afford me the same goodwill you would any other. Wall me in, threaten me with the lash, and you all but guarantee that I’ll bite. Not because I’m some corrupt monster, but because any faithful servant or ally would do so if they were treated so poorly.”

  Alabenthos rippled his fingers slowly on the throne’s armrest. You are… right. My suspicion does not serve our cause, no matter how well founded it may be. I must commit. If I am to enlist your aid, then I must treat you with the same respect I show to any other faithful follower.

  Harald hadn’t expected so ready an admission; he gave a sharp, disgruntled nod of his head, and stepped back from the ziggurat.

  But. I shall not pretend you are an angel-kin. That you serve my cause with the same selfless dedication as one of my Emanations. You are a demon-kin, and despite your contempt, I am no fool.

  These last words were spoken with hollow power that caused Harald to shiver.

  You say that if you are afforded the same respect and goodwill as I show any other of my followers, then you shall be stout-hearted and loyal.

  “That’s right.”

  And that I have nothing to fear: you will not betray me as long as you’re treated fairly, for your hatred of Vorakhar and his kind is your governing passion.

  Harald felt like he was walking into a trap, but he couldn’t see its jaws. “Yes.”

  And that you would prefer death before turning to the dark and willingly bend knee to Vorakhar?

  Harald studied the lord angel above him. “I’ll never serve that bastard.”

  Then, if such are your own principles, there can be no reason to refuse a gift from me that will ensure your destruction before you can indeed turn to the dark.

  “Ha,” said Harald, his amusement bitter. “So that’s what you’ve been driving at. Insurance.”

  Alabenthos said nothing.

  “What, the Mote of Humility is no longer enough?”

  Samantha Tuppins is a worthy soul, but she is irresolute when it comes to you.

  Harald snorted. “You don’t trust her to cut me down.”

  Alabenthos remained quiet.

  “So, what’s it to be? An Endowment that will slay me if I turn against your interests? Some sort of angelic curse?”

  No. There is an expression amongst your kind, is there not? To slay a demon with two stones?

  “Ah—” Harald hesitated, momentarily wrong-footed. “No?”

  Alabenthos’ mien turned frosty once more. No matter. Your problem presents a solution to another matter I’ve been charged with. Our kind is not capable of evil, but we are capable of failure. When the failure is of sufficient magnitude, we are punished. Even the greatest of our kind is not exempt from this rough justice. One such being has been stripped of his majesty, greatest powers, and authority. He has been placed in my care and I have been seeking a purpose for him. You shall be it.

  “Wait. An angel? You’re going to set one over me? Like—what? A gaoler?”

  Think of him rather as your conscience made manifest. He shall observe and judge the nature of your actions. Should he deem you to be straying from the path of righteousness, he shall destroy you.

  Harald opened his mouth to protest, but too many words came to him at once. So instead he grimaced, raised a finger, and tried to order his thoughts. “I’m to put my life in the hands of your greatest failure?”

  Alabenthos chuckled, his huge, armored shoulders rising and falling by a fraction of an inch. By our standards, yes. But he was once a seraph, and even in his Fallen state, far beyond your comprehension of morality and absolute goodness. In this I am willing to place my trust completely in his judgment.

  Harald bit back his immediate response once more and considered. “He’ll travel with us?”

  Of course. How else will he monitor your progress?

  “And he’ll be powerful enough to destroy me?”

  He will report back to me before you come close to exceeding his capacity to slay you.

  “I see. So… does that mean he’ll help? Fight alongside us?”

  Exeros has grown… temperamental since his demotion. Alabenthos was clearly picking his words carefully. I shall only bind him to monitor your status. What he does beyond that shall be his remit.

  “Great. So, he won’t help.”

  Alabenthos said nothing.

  “But if I accept his… monitoring me, then you’ll stop treating me like a cataclysm waiting to happen?”

  Your choice is Exeros or death. But yes. While under his regard, I shall not fret as to your allegiance.

  Harald sucked on his teeth as he turned away to stare over the emerald expanse of the lake. An angelic monitor. The very thought rankled, and he could imagine Vic immediately protesting. Actually -

  “Wait. Will he remain literally by my side during every hour of every day? As in -”

  I understand your concern. And no. He need not maintain a direct line of sight. You shall be afforded some basic privacy at times, when he deems it appropriate.

  “When he deems it appropriate.” Harald shook his head in anticipatory disgust. “But all right. An extra companion. And you’re making it sound like I don’t actually have a choice in the matter.

  You do.

  “Not a real choice, not if I want to stay alive.”

  That is your decision.

  Harald decided to stop arguing. “Then fine. Bring on Exeros.”

  Alabenthos snapped his fingers, the sound distinctly metallic, and a mote of tarnished ivory light appeared in the air beside his throne. It glimmered, akin to a light reflected on water, and then flew down to hover beside Harald, only to encircle him once rapidly and then move over to the side.

  “A mote of light,” said Harald, watching it go. “That could be useful. Can he glow brighter…?”

  The mote expanded rapidly into the form of a young boy, perhaps ten years old, his hair shorn close to the scalp and the same ivory white as his former radiance. He wore threadbare rags, the hems of his black pants torn and ending mid-shin, his shirt perhaps once having been green but now brownish grey. The skin of his arms, hands, and what was visible of his chest above his shirt’s neckline were mottled with old scars, and six small wings extended from between his shoulder blades, three to a side.

  But it was the weight of his regard that stilled Harald’s tongue. Though his face was that of a child, his eyes were lined and sunken like those of a man twelve years into a prison sentence, his irises black, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed.

  It was like being studied by a disapproving magister that had already decided your guilt the second they clapped eyes on you.

  A walking stick had appeared with him, and he rested both hands over its gnarled head.

  “Yes,” said Exeros, his tone withering and dry. “I can ‘glow brighter’. But I sincerely doubt I shall ever, ever be given cause to expend even a fraction of a fraction of my power on your behalf.”

  Harald stared at the scarred, sullen, and dirty child angel in shock.

  Ah, Exeros is in fine humor. Alabenthos’ voice at least betrayed his own amusement. Now. I shall bind you both so that Exeros may execute his function without undue difficulty. Resist my power, Harald Darrowdelve, at your peril.

  “I—what?” Harald tore his gaze free of the pale-haired child’s glare just in time to see twin sparks of light flash down and sink into his and Exeros’ chests.

  His Cosmos trembled, and a message appeared in his vision:

  Do you accept this Soul Bond with Exeros Val’Seraphel of the First Radiance, Former High Warden of the Celestial Thrones and Bearer of the Sevenfold Corona, Scourge of the Abyss, Shield of Creation, the Bright Ruin, and now known as the Shattered Seraph?

  Harald blinked and looked back to the filthy, scarred ten-year old child, who was frowning at an invisible message all of his own. The child’s gaze cut to Alabenthos. “You didn’t tell me he was Darrowdelve’s spawn.”

  Alabenthos made the slightest of shrugging gestures.

  “Fuck.” There was a world of heartfelt emotion in that single word, a yawning chasm that betrayed old anger, seething bitterness, stark, bitter amusement, curmudgeonly resignation, and blank, indiscriminate hatred. “Fucking hell. Fine. Fine! It is done.” His black eyes flitted over to Harald. “On my part, at least. Are you going stand there sucking your thumb like an illiterate black lamb from hell, or accept the bond?”

  “Uh.” Harald blinked, tore his gaze away again, and focused on the message. He reread the titles and was impressed despite himself. This child was the Shield of Creation? He couldn’t believe it.

  But what was he to do? Alabenthos, like all those who knew how to monopolize power, had given him a choice that was no choice at all.

  He accepted the Soul Bond, and the message disappeared.

  Immediately a new sense impinged upon his mind: he became aware of Exeros standing right there as if the Shattered Seraph had become an extension of his own body. Closing his eyes momentarily, he felt like he could almost sense a dull ivory light coming from where the angel stood, though when he opened them there was no unnatural illumination at all.

  It is done, said Alabenthos, clearly pleased. You are both bonded together until I will the bond to dissolve. Harald, you cannot escape Exeros. The bond shall inform him at all times where you are, and act as a natural conduit for him to travel to your side no matter how you may seek to remove yourself. Further, it shall grant him an intuitive understanding of the state of your soul. The moment he deems you insufficient, he has my full permission to destroy you.

  “I deem insufficient,” snapped Exeros. “There. So I shall—”

  The weight of Alabenthos’ regard grew so pointed and heavy that Harald sagged beneath it, his legs straining to keep himself upright.

  Exeros winced and raised two scarred palms. “A just, Lord Alabenthos. It was a fucking jest.”

  Good. That your humor is returning is a salutary sign. Now. This audience is finished. Return to your companions, Harald. Your training is finished and you all leave for the next Level today.

  Harald met Exeros’ dark, withering stare. “Welcome to the team.”

  The child angel snorted with sublime disgust and rose into a small mote of ivory light once more to float just over and behind Harald’s shoulder.

  Harald could sense it there, like a source of soft illumination. No, not soft; faint. Even now, in his mote-form, Exeros radiated contempt and disdain.

  “Thank you for your trust, Lord Alabenthos.” Harald inclined his head a fraction of an inch. “Now that I’m fully welcomed into the company of your loyal servants, I’ll take my leave.”

  Alabenthos said nothing.

  But Harald could still feel the weight of his regard right up till the moment he quit the vast hall.