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 gouged 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 four 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 whereas 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’ 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 around 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?
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.