Chapter 3 #2
The huge angel’s shoulders heaved as he rose to one knee, then struggled up to his feet.
His armor had changed. Mutated. Become twice as thick, his helm now boasting twin backswept horns whose tips almost touched and formed a permanent halo of ivory.
His blade was gone. His armor was scratched and dented, but nowhere perforated.
“Well done!” The Emanation turned to face him full on. “A mighty blow. But this, Harald, is my Sanctified Form. I can now withstand any assault you level at me. I shall heal and then shall be renewed. Whereas you, I see, are almost expended.”
Harald bit his lower lip, glared at the angel, and swung his Chyron’s Scourge in a flourish. “So you say. But this is an Epic-ranked blade. It swings through multiple dimensions. Your armor can only block it in this one. With it, I can cleave you in two.”
Brauxis lowered his chin.
“And I see your halo is gone.” Harald moved forward, his massive stone scimitar light in his grip. “Your defensive form is potent, but it won’t be enough.”
“Hmm!” Brauxis placed his gauntlets on his hips. “What you say might be true. There is but one way to find out. Will you swing?”
Harald gazed up at the smooth faceplate of the helm.
The Demon Seed within him was singing a song of destruction.
This Emanation had thought himself superior?
Had laughed? Well, this was his chance to show his mastery.
Battle was always, always a mortal affair, and it thought it could play with him, taunt him, belittle his achievements, well, hadn’t Thracos learned the hard way?
Thracos and everyone else who’d dared to set themselves against him, dared to think him—
Harald lowered the Scourge. “No. I think not.”
“No?” Brauxis almost sounded disappointed. “But why not? I am your foe.”
“You’re not my foe.” Harald felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him.
He dismissed the Scourge, the Aureate Master.
Felt his stats plummet. Allowed his powers to fade.
Dark Vigor left him, the heady sense of Thronebound Mantle and Sovereign Silence.
“I say our battle is finished.” And with this he looked up to where Alabenthos hovered high above. “I’ll let the angel decide who won.”
“Ho!” Brauxis’ laughter boomed within the arena, and his hugely armored form diminished, returning to his natural titanic self. “You are a human after my own heart, Harald Darrowdelve. I, too, shall submit my performance to my master, and accept his verdict.”
Alabenthos descended slowly through the air, and the last vestiges of Harald’s aura powers burned away like morning mist before the rising sun.
I am surprised, said the angel. You have passed my test. I deem myself satisfied.
“Because I refused to strike him?” asked Harald, resisting the urge to drop into a crouch. Why was he so exhausted? He’d fought longer and harder before in House Celestara. But now he felt absolutely drained.
Because you did not summon your Shadow Mastiff Servitor, said Alabenthos.
“What?” Harald caught himself. “I mean, excuse me?”
You utilized every resource at your disposal except for your hound. Even when overwhelmed, you did not reach out for him. I am pleased that you did not strike at Brauxis while he was in his Sanctified Form, but I had already made up my mind. I deem you worthy of your first trial.
“Go, Harald!” cried out Nessa from the stands, and Kársek stood and began to applaud. A wave of relief passed through Harald, and now he did stagger back a step, his vision blurring.
“You must rest,” said Brauxis. “My Corona of Judgment is a potent defense against demonic creatures. I admit, your ability to fight on while within its light surprised me greatly!”
Harald forced himself to focus on Alabenthos. “Thank you. But you said something about a… trial?”
We shall speak of this when you are rested. Even now your Thrones are being depleted by the aftereffects of Steward Brauxis’ Ability. Rest.
“But I just rested…” Harald staggered to one side, only for Sam to slip in under his arm. “Got you. Come on. No arguing.”
The exhaustion was spreading. With each passing moment, Harald felt more stupefied. “No arguments.”
Nessa and Kársek followed the pair of them out of the arena. Harald was dimly aware of Rovarik moving to speak with Seraphina, who stood close by, but he couldn’t focus. His vision began to blur, and his last memory was slumping as Kársek moved to catch him.
* * *
Harald awoke in his chamber. A massive, armored form sat incongruously by his bedside upon a stool, huge wings furled, a small metallic toy in his gauntlets which he was in the process of twisting, bands of bronze gleaming between his fingers.
“Ah!” Brauxis lowered his hands and turned to face him. The Emanation loomed over him like a small hill of slate blue armor. “You are awake. Very good.”
“Brauxis?” Harald sat up against the headboard. “What are you…?”
“I felt some modicum of concern for your wellbeing. Sentimental, perhaps, but I am a sentimental being. Though I didn’t doubt you would awaken hale and hearty, I wished to witness such with my own senses.”
“Ah.” Harald passed his hand over his eyes. In truth, he felt immeasurably better. No aches, no fatigue. He blinked away the last of the sleep. “What happened to me? I’ve never heard of something like it.”
“No wonder. Hitherto you have been too weak to experience Throne fatigue. I am an Emanation of the Fourth Rank, and thus your spirit, doughty as it might be, was greatly strained in contesting my will.”
“So the stronger you get, the easier it is to strain your Thrones?”
“Only when there is a great disparity between the combatants. I am much more powerful than you, Harald. Yet you sought to break my Binding Chains of Covenant with your will alone. Which you did! Marvelously done. Improbable in the extreme. I was myself surprised! But you did so at great cost to yourself. I have powers that are tailored to overwhelm demon-kin. My Radiant Rebuke repulses darkness-aligned Abilities, damaging my assailants in proportion to the life or essence they seek to steal or damage. When you burst my Chains, you opened yourself to my Rebuke, which was able to assail you at your core, draining your Thrones rapidly over time. It is a potent defense, and one that has saved me many a time in the past.”
“I see.” Harald wasn’t sure that he did. “So, I let you in past my guard…?”
“Indeed. Though you were shielded by several of your own powers. Were you higher in level, I might have found myself in an awkward situation!”
“Is there a way to defend against that kind of… imbalance?”
“Yes,” said Brauxis, tone grave. “But of course! There are practices, meditations, Artifacts, and regimens that help protect your Thrones and essence against such attacks. You would be wise to learn them, lest you face an opponent less scrupulous than I am!”
Harald studied the huge Emanation. “That wasn’t a close fight at all, was it?”
“You outdid yourself. Surprised me twice. And earned my gratitude a thousand times over when you chose not to summon Shadowpaw.”
“At the end there, when you were in your… Sanctified Form? You weren’t defenseless.”