Throne Hunters Book Four, Chapter 39

Harald remained crouched, one hand planted in the torn up grass, the other holding the Scourge over one shoulder. His body was still brutalized, leaking blood from countless barely healed holes. He knew he should collect his fallen enemy’s scale pouches, their Artifacts, to keep moving as an even stronger opponent had now been loosed into the garden.

But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the hanging text.

The abyss approves of your glorious defiance.

Your purpose illuminates the void.

By the decree of the Fallen Angel, you are granted the next echelon of your destiny:

Abyssal Master 7

Active Ability Unlocked: Black Halo

Unleash a slowly orbiting cordon of void-forged blades that counter incoming attacks and enemies. Servitors are empowered while within the Halo. The Halo can be expended so as to augment Tenebral Surge.

Passive Ability Unlocked: Sovereign Silence

The abyss responds to you not as a petitioner but as its master. Sound, light, and even time begin to bend subtly in your presence, causing enemies’ actions and thoughts to slow even as their fears arise. Shadow and demon-based effects are boosted within the Sovereign Silence.

Harald couldn’t repress a shiver of awe from causing his shoulders to jitter. He licked his dry lower lip. Level 7. The Black Halo. Sovereign Silence. What was he becoming? Something more than a mere Level 7 raider. He was fighting and defeating those against whom he shouldn’t survive. The Demon Seed, yes, but what had Vorakhar said?

The words returned to him as if whispered in his ear:

You are your best self. If everything in your life had gone optimally, if every encounter, every word, every experience had reinforced your greatness instead of crushing it, this is whom you would have naturally been. I cannot create whole cloth. Instead, I simply reached into your soul and pulled forth that lost potential. In you hid a golden richness that few are fortunate to possess, a rare combination of idealism, desire, ambition, hunger, and strength. A richness that was lost when I found you, dying on the 1st Level. A richness that I have restored.

Harald shivered again, but his impossible Ego refused to let him remain still, a waiting target. Rising smoothly to his feet, his body indefatigable despite the wounds that even now would have killed another, he moved to the dead woman’s side and quickly searched her corpse.

A pouch of scales, into which he thrust his hand and set to absorbing, only to discover to his chagrin that she only carried five Golden Dawns. His body regained some vitality, his wounds closed over and began to heal, but it was too little. With disgust he tossed the pouch aside and examined her for Artifacts.

She had three. He touched each in quick succession, checking to see if they were worth substituting for any of his own. A Woundgate Sigil, a Cloak of the Thorned Eclipse, and a Thirsting Blade of Hollow Victory. The first two were Masterwork: the Sigil allowed one to phase-step once per each bleeding target, while the Cloak made one invisible the moment you landed a near-mortal blow. The Blade empowered you for every enemy you defeated in combat; for every three kills, you gained a special attack.

Harald turned the sword about, considering its lethal beauty, then tossed it aside. It would be formidable against crowds, but against solitary foes.

He rose with and moved to the dead man, whose scale pouch contained eleven Golden Dawns. Harald absorbed a few more, and finally found himself fully restored. Only then did he realize how much he’d come to depend on Sam’s healing. On Sam, really. Crouching here in the dark beside the corpse, he found himself wishing for her presence, her Beacon of Hope, her warm smile.

But such thoughts were weakness. He gave his head a shake and turned to the man’s Artifacts.

The first was the most impressive: the Aetherlight Circlet was Epic ranked and bestowed immunity to one ranged attack every five seconds, along with bestowing +3’s to Dexterity and Strength. Impressive. Harald bounced the Artifact in his palm then turned to the others. The man’s lightning sword was the Blade of the Thrice-Oathed, and grew stronger with every irrevocable pledge made during a combat. After the third oath, it allowed the user to unleash a lightning storm upon the battlefield.

Huh.

The downside was that the Artifact would shatter if you broke one of your oaths.

Tempting, but Harald decided to remain with the Scourge.

Sir Gale’s last Artifact was the Shacklebrand Signet, merely Rare, and which reflected an attack back once per day. Useful, but very limited. It could save his life under the right conditions, but was it more powerful than the Solace, which would heal him back from anything?

Harald didn’t think so.

He pocketed the Signet, collected the other Artifacts, and with them all bulging in his arms, right lightly through the darkness back toward the guest lodge. There was no way he’d allow the Houses to retrieve these treasures. Each was a significant investment on the part of their lords, and he be damned if he gave them the satisfaction of recouping their losses.

But as Harald drew close to the lodge he slowed and then stopped. The building was dark and still, but he knew his friends were within. In a moment he could be amongst them, sharing the treasures, hearing their voices, taking strength from their company.

And drawing the most powerful raider yet toward them.

But that wasn’t even the real reason he stopped.

Because Sam and the others would insist on fighting alongside him. Would demand to stand by his side.

And he wanted to kill the next bastard by himself.

So instead he ditched the Artifacts in a gardener’s barrel that was half-full of clippings, and rubbed his palms on his hips. All right. The next foe had to be hunting for him.

Harald raised his gaze to take in the distant Manor. Were they in there right now, sipping on wine and making bets?

Anger curdled in Harald’s gut, monstrous and fierce.

Vic had been right. Vic had been right all along. How were you supposed to work with men and women capable of something like this?

Harald rippled his fingers along the Scourge’s hilt. His four Thrones were at a low ebb, smoldering with potential, just waiting to be tapped. He felt like a dormant volcano, ready to erupt.

Now he just needed a target.

And there she was.

A woman was marching down the center of the main lawn and making no attempt to hide herself. It was clear why: her armor was bulky, monstrously thick, and its seamed glowed with molten light as if her inner core was roiling magma. More impressively, her chest plate bore a rune or Artifact or something that glowed so brightly with effulgent orange light that the lawn before her was lit in hellish hues. A huge hammer was held lightly in one hand, her fist wrapped around the haft just below its head, and in her wake she was leaving burning footprints that traced her path back to the Manor.

“Shit,” whispered Harald. It was fucking Kessa Blaze. Doran had sent his daughter to hunt him down, the rising star of House Emberfell. Harald moved surreptitiously behind the closest tree, activating Veil of Shadows as he went. Kessa was Silver-ranked, but barely. Sam had gushed about her a few weeks ago during a carriage ride down to the Dungeon Plaza. She had to be, what, Level 8? Maybe 9?

Harald lowered himself into a crouch and considered. Could he take her? Thracos had been Level 7, but he’d possessed a Demon Seed. There was no way Kessa was so endowed.

But still. What had Sam said about her? She possessed the Infernal Forgeheart, or Hellheart, or something. The burning light in her chest plate. It was… damn it, why hadn’t he paid more attention? It could erupt like a volcano…?

The smarted play, the wisest, was to collect his friends. Together they could ring her, ambush her, bring her down.

But no.

His refusal to do so was blunt, immediate, angry. Kessa was liable to hurt his friends badly, perhaps kill one or two.

He couldn’t countenance that.

Harald closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His high Ego refused to let him lie to himself. Yes, he wanted to spare his friends. But more than that he wanted to kill Kessa himself. Wanted to test the Black Halo and Sovereign Silence against her might.

Wanted to kill every hunter the Houses sent his way so that come Ninth Bell he could emerge, victorious, scornful, to face the assembled lords and ladies and defy their villainy.

He inhaled deeply. Kessa would be a mauler. Her huge armor would deflect almost every attack. No doubt she was incredibly durable and strong. Speed would be her greatest weakness. Which played perfectly into Sovereign Silence. He could hit her with Abyssal Grasp and Thronebound Mantle. The Rootheart Sigil would be useless against her fire-based powers. Best if he swapped it out for another Artifact. Which?

Harald bit his lower lip as he considered.

Decision made, he rose and ghosted back to the barrel, where he plucked forth his desired Artifact. He relinquished his bond to the Rootheart Sigil, though he left it hanging inert around his neck, and bonded with the new Artifact.

Artifact: Aetherlight Circlet

Quality: Masterwork

Special Ability: Windglass Parry
Activation: Every five seconds the circlet projects a shimmering arc of force in response to any ranged attack. This arc bends trajectories, scattering arrows and deflecting bolts as though swatted by an unseen hand.

+3 to Dexterity while worn
+3 to Constitution while worn

Limitation: The circlet only deflects ranged attacks that target the wearer directly. Area-of-effect magic, indirect volleys, or blindfire cannot be parried.

The Aureate Master immediately doubled the Artifact’s bonuses. His Constitution rose even higher. With its new base of 16, it rose to 20 with the Scourge, 28 with the Solace, and 34 with the Aetherlight Circlet. Harald then activated Dark Vigor and watches as the number in his Window rose to 36.

His Strength and Dexterity were in the 20’s. His Constitution and Ego in the 30’s. Only his Presence lagged far behind, but what did he need that for in a fight?

Harald took a deep breath.

Kessa was going to be tough.

He checked in with his Servitors.

Shadowpaw had yet to sufficiently heal to be summoned anew.

All right.

Time to see how he stacked up against House Emberfell’s prodigy.

The burning young woman was still marching down the center of the lawn. Drawing him out. It wouldn’t be her style to poke around in the bushes after all. She was unhurried, huge maul clasped in one fist, her head hidden within a strange helm, its sides adorned with metallic feathers, its front glinting as if made of a glass visor.

An Artifact, without a doubt. It contrasted too sharply with her massive armor, its inches-thick plates, its brutal beauty. The maul was probably an Artifact, too. The Hellheart or Forgeheart in her chest plate the third. Did she have a fourth? Would Doran have gifted his daughter with ten million scales?

Anything was possible.

Harald watched her from a distance, trying to formulate a plan. His best bet was to attack from a distance. Send in his Shadow Knights, slow her down with Sovereign Silence, and depend on the Aetherlight Circlet to protect him as he hit her with Demonic Edge after Demonic Edge.

The range on that was just over fifteen yards. He’d not be able to hang too far back.

Better than getting hit by that maul.

Another deep breath, and Harald realized he was wasting time. So, before weakness could urge him to reconsider his plan, he pulled Veil of Shadows about himself, and with the Scourge in hand, ran out low and quick to come in behind her.

The sight of the burning footprints reaching all the way back to the manor was chilling.

He slowed as he drew new, crouched low, watching Kessa’s huge plated back until he judged the distance about right.

Then he summoned both Knights and activated Sovereign Silence for the first time.

The world around him grew strange. Not uncomfortably so. The air grew tinted as if see through subtly purple glass, and the lines and edges of objects—the trees, bushes, Kessa herself—grew subtly askew. It was his own version of Sam’s Starfire Bastion, he realized, forming a great dome whose far edge encompassed Kessa about fifteen or so yards away.

The Knights formed as far ahead of him as he could project them, about ten yards, and immediately flowed forward in their miasma-forms.

Aura of the Aching Depths layered over the Sovereign Silence, which augments the Aura’s chill, but this only caused Kessa’s armor to glow brighter as she turned, hammer sliding through her fist till she snagged the hilt with both hands.

Even with Sovereign Silence she was fast, her reactions near instantaneous. Her armor abruptly shimmered as if growing superheated, veins of fire flaring into visibility along the curved plates, the interstices burning so brightly that they went from orange to near-white. Even from fifteen yards away Harald could feel the pulse of her heat, and that despite the augmented Aura.

Harald wasted no time. He swung the Scourge and unleashed his first Demonic Edge.

At the same time both Knights coalesced on either side of Kessa, just as she slammed her maul mightily into the ground.

The effect was awesome.

The ground jellied, rippled, the earth and grass looking as if they’d become liquid, causing the Knights to stumble, but then burning debris erupted from around her out to a radius of some ten yards, banishing the darkness with molten glory as the lawn blew up.

The Knights staggered, fell back, collapsed. Harald was forced to shield his eyes from the abrupt coruscation of burning red light, the heat tremendous, the sound an overwhelming roar. Even at his distance the ground heaved and shook, and his Demonic Edge was lost within the chaos.

Clods of burning earth and liquid rock fell down upon the ground, surrounding Kessa in a great circle of ruinous crimson light and slag.

“Fuck,” hissed Harald as jets of steam blasted out from vents in Kessa’s back. She straightened, moving easily within her huge suit of armor, and considered the fallen Knights.

One blow to the left finished the larger one, caving in its head and chest. Just as quickly she tore her maul free and finished the one on the right.

Harald felt both Servitors flee into his Cosmos.

Was she moving more slowly than she otherwise would? That was terrifying. How fast would she be without the hampering effects of Sovereign Silence? The answer: too fast.

But he wasn’t out of the game yet. Harald activated Thronebound Mantle, layering it with the Aura and Sovereign Silence, and now the purple-tinted darkness grew stronger, dimming the burning slag on the ground, causing Kessa’s armor to appear cooler, its burning cracks less intense. The sheer weight of his will fell upon her, and Kessa raised her maul defensively and took a step back.

“Harald,” she called, voice muffled by her helm. “Let’s have a good fight. Good luck.”

Damn, she had the presence of mind to wish him well while laboring under his most powerful mental assaults?

It was time to ruin her good mood.

Harald ran out wide, Scourge trailing behind him, curving in closer till he judged the distance right, and then he summoned Black Halo.

Oh glory.

How fucking righteous power.

The abyss flowered within him, rose from nothingness, was birthed from the very gaps between all matter to flow outward in the form of glittering shards of black glass, some as small as his thumbnail, others as large as a short sword. He felt more than heard the rushing roar of his four Thrones as they truly opened up and fed their power into his new Active, and the blades pushed out, swirling around him, a riot of glittering scintillating impossible lethality, a storm of edges so dense there wasn’t a gap between them, spinning about him like a personal glass tornado, a raging flux of hell spawned madness.

With four Thrones empowering the Halo, it spread out and kept spreading. He’d have killed hundreds if they’d been pressed in close about him, but as it was only Kessa was there to take the full brunt of his ire.

The outer edge of the Black Halo washed over her armored form.

Kessa crossed both forearms before her, hunched her mountainous shoulders, and met with the void.

The sound was tremendous. Glass shards shattered like a waterfall upon her left side, slashing at her hip, legs, huge shoulder, the side of her helm, her arm. But for every shard that detonated on impact a dozen more were born from the abyss, an unending centrifuge of destruction that sent Kessa staggering to the side, the pressure on her unending and terrible.

She screamed.

Her armor blazed, and despite Sovereign Silence and The Aura of the Aching Depths and his Thronebound Mantle her armor blazed supernova bright, growing incandescent as the air around it began to shimmer with a terrific haze, growing liquid, the purple light smearing about her lambent form.

Her armor was being torn apart, slashed and gauged with a thousand cross-cuts, but somehow the effect was slowing, the initial onslaught of damage easing as if either the armor had a tougher inner core or she was growing resistant by the moment.

Harald roared and poured more of his power into the Halo, which swelled in size so that Kessa grew obscured within its deluge, an eruption of fragments and dust exploding where she stood,

Her scream became a cry of supreme defiance and her Forgeheart went white, overwhelming the purple tinted night, washing color away from everything, causing the Halo’s fragments to vaporize.

Harald was lifted off his feet and hurled sidelong through the air, the entire left side of his body immolated.

He tumbled, hit the ground hard enough to bounce and lifted off again, spun, hit the ground on his chest, face furrowing the earth, rolled over, ragdolling around and around till he fetched up against a low ornamental wall and lay still, panting.

His vision was ruined, or should have been. Constitution 36 caused it to return in moments, and with a grunt he sat up, the reflex mechanical. Somehow he’d held onto the Scourge.

Kessa stood, shoulders heaving, at the bottom of a crater twenty yards across. Raw earth had been heated to glass, so that the curvature of the crater gleamed. Her armor was sun-bright, but visibly cooling by the moment, the Halo gone, the entirety of her left side so scored with gashes and cuts that the armor there was almost mangled to uselessness.

But only then did Harald process the sound he was hearing.

Laughter.

Kessa’s shoulders were heaving with laughter.

“The angels wept, Harald!” She sounded overjoyed. “Tell me that wasn’t your best. Tell me you’ve more to give. Tell me you’ll keep my interest now that you’ve piqued it!”

Harald grunted and rose to his feet. His left side was well-grilled steak. His clothing was tattered and gone. His skin split, clear liquid oozing from the numerous cracks in his cindered flesh.

That had to hurt.

Not for the last time he praised Shadow Fortitude.

“I’m glad to entertain,” he rasped, and shoved his claw of a charcoal hand into the scale pouch. But the pouch was gone. Burnt away.

Close by he saw a Golden Dawn. A few yards beyond it another.

Fuck.

“Good.” Kessa began striding out of the crater. “You won’t sympathize, but it’s a strange position I’m in. Lavished with gifts by my father, then held back from using them out of fear of my getting hurt. You must understand the frustration. But here I am, and now at last I get to see what I can do against a dangerous foe.”

Harald scooped up the Dawn, absorbed it.

Nothing.

He scrabbled forward, absorbed the second.

Was that some relief?

He couldn’t tell.

His Ego 32 calmed his mind. He was overwhelmed and panicked. Even though he felt calm, he could tell his thoughts were scrambled. He wasn’t using his full arsenal.

Time to rectify that.

Abyssal Grasp manifested around Kessa, ropes of shadow coiling around her huge legs. For a moment they took, and Harald felt the immense reserves of power bubbling in her Cosmos, but Kessa was simply too strong; she strode through the Grasp as if the ropes were weeds, her armored legs tearing her way free as she kept coming.

 Shadow Dominion. He’d neglected this power for too long, as its prime utility was against massed weaker foes. But he had to use every tool available to him now, so he felt the dark power seek out into the night and find the corpses of the two dead raiders who’d come against him first.

Both twitched and abruptly rose to their feet.

Umbral Aegis clothed in him in dark majesty, the immense void cloak extending out behind him to melt into he night.

Thronebound Mantle. Aching Depths. Sovereign Silence.

Kessa’s advance slowed dramatically as if she were suddenly wading through mud. She was halfway up the slope toward him, but now she hunched her huge shoulders as if working her way into a vicious headwind.

Veil of Shadows. Dark Vigor again. Abyssal Attunement on the Scourge.

His Thrones were terrific bellows, breathing what felt like endless power into his Abilities.

All of it made possible by Shadow Fortitude. A power that allowed him to ignore the devastating damage done to his body, a wound so grievous that even Constitution 36 might have been insufficient.

“All right,” he whispered. “You want to play?”

Harald hefted the Chyron’s Scourge so that its liquid black length, abyssally attuned, hummed as it dipped into toxic alternate dimensions. The air whined as if wounded by the Epic grade sword. Harald moved up to the edge of the crater and stared down at the slowly advancing raider.

“Let’s play.”