Chapter 18 #2
“And Vorakhar is definitely more powerful than Eclavistra. Huh.”
“Here.” Exeros tossed the Crown into Harald’s lap. “Try it.”
“Try it?” Harald took up the Artifact gingerly. “You want me to…?”
The Seraph smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “You are so close to the edge. A little more demonic influence is all it should take to have you cross my red line, and then I can destroy you and be done with this charade.”
“Oh!” Harald grinned back at the Seraph. “I see. Got it. So you won’t stop me. That was my last concern.”
Exeros raised a pale brow. “You will Invest Without Court?”
“I…” Harald considered the Crown again. Thought of his being forced to kneel before Sythryxa.
She’d found purchase over his demonic essence because he’d been suffused in power stolen from the Handmaidens.
Once he burned that off, he’d be free of Eclavistra’s direct influence.
Then again, the demon queen might not need it if he carried her Throne within his soul.
Harald closed his eyes.
Sam wouldn’t want him to absorb the Crown. Sam wanted him to remain whole, healthy, himself. Whereas he wanted to win the Celestial War.
Why?
For a moment, he couldn’t think of the answer. He felt the cold wind whip about him, and it felt like he’d asked the question of the abyss itself.
He needed power. He needed to help the angels. He had to defend the Fallen Angel and Flutic from the demons.
Because…
Then a memory returned to him.
Young Harald, arm in a cast, reading about Gustav the Just. His wan mother sitting next to him on the swing bench in Darrowdelve Manor’s garden. Her fond, amused look, and how bright and fierce he’d felt, how righteous and brave as she teased him about wanting to be great.
His words came back to him, and for some reason they brought tears to his eyes.
I want to be stronger than Gustav. Stronger even than the Queencutter.
I want to be so strong that one day, if the world needs it, I’ll be there, ready to save it.
I’ll… I’ll say, ‘It’s all right. Don’t worry.
I’m here.’ And then I’ll… I’ll do whatever I need to do to protect everyone.
“Whatever I need to do,” he whispered. The memory of his mother, long dead, brought an old, dull pain back into his heart, and he felt his throat close up.
He bowed his head, old grief fighting through his hardened soul like spring shoots through hoarfrost, and felt again the rightness of his creed, his mission, the course of his life.
Harald inhaled deeply. “I—”
But when he looked up, Exeros was gone, reverted to his burning mote that had floated away as if disinterested.
No matter.
Harald considered the Crown.
It could be his damnation.
But then again, he was already damned.
It could be the source of far greater power. A whole new Throne. A means to weaken Eclavistra. A means that harmonized with his own inherent nature, with his Class: Insatiable Void.
Bemused, he summoned its description once more.
Insatiable Void: You are the aching heart of ambition, the howling hunger that yearns to consume the world. A child of darkness, you will always seek the light, but will destroy all that you pursue.
Harald smiled. “Too apt.” And it was. The Crown was potential.
And he needed all the power in the Fallen Angel if he were to contest the demons on their own turf.
As it was, he’d already proved himself a mortal prodigy.
He’d bested Thracos, had fought Sythryxa and torn off her head.
Alabenthos thought him worthy of being wielded as a tool.
But.
It wasn’t enough. He was walking the same path countless demon and angel-kin had before him. Talented, bright, focused people who’d sought to make a difference.
And had the Celestial War changed because of their efforts, their sacrifices? No. Even his father, the infamous Darius Darrowdelve, had apparently bent knee to Vorakhar and become just another tool in the war.
A war that the angels were losing.
Harald could see it now. He’d continue to rise in levels, continue to gather Artifacts and Servitors, and become a—what? Lieutenant to the angels? Another Seraphina in their war?
It wasn’t enough.
He needed to be more.
He needed to be of consequence.
He needed to change the very nature of the war’s calculus.
He could never be content with just rising a few more levels. The depths of power he’d glimpsed were staggering.
And time was running out.
Harald ran his fingers over the Crown. What use were his sacrifices if he remained an unremarkable prodigy in a line of invested humans who used their blood and sweat to lubricate the wheels of war? Would anyone even remember his contributions in a dozen years?
No.
If he wanted to make a categorical difference, then he needed to take risks nobody else would countenance. He needed to give himself the chance of breaking through all the limits.
Harald pursed his lips and gazed wistfully out over the city. His fate wasn’t to be at peace and to live like others. Not if he wanted to be their bulwark against the dark. And he didn’t need anyone else to understand. Sam, Nessa, Kársek—he didn’t need them to understand him.
They just needed to accept that he made these decisions for them.
Harald sighed.
How ironic, that after reaching the latest pinnacle of power—the Demoniac Body—he felt his weakest?
After all, hadn’t his father gained the very same power some fifteen, twenty years ago? And how had that changed anything?
No.
This peak was false. There were always greater heights to reach, but he was doomed to always be struggling in the foothills while the demons and angels fought upon the peaks.
If he wanted to make a difference, then he could no longer climb toward the heights on foot.
He had to fly.
Harald blew out his cheeks. “All right, Eclavistra. If this is your ploy, I’m in. Let’s see who comes out on top.”
Harald released his connection to the Aetherlight Circlet and absorbed the Crown of the Eternal Court.