Throne Hunters Book 3, Chapter 28

Harald’s breath caught in his throat.

It was her.

The same woman he’d espied on the 4th. Her sleeves were rucked up just below her elbows, and a great bronze belt wrapped around her abdomen. Her elegant wings arched into view just over each shoulder and tapered down to her heels, and her gaze was somber and wise and cruel and cold.

Wirmas let out a low hiss.

“Wait,” said Harald. “Wait! Don’t loose!”

He watched as the angel made her way down the steps and out onto the bridge. She moved with purpose, with utter confidence, her gleaming blades held low before her, each point just shy of raking the ground. They were beautiful weapons, Harald saw - their blades were broad and chased with gold inlay, the crossguards minimal, their lengths silvered so purely they seemed drawn from the heart of a fire.

The angel’s eyes were dark blue, her stare hard, and from the severe line of her lips Harald knew she’d not come to welcome them to her home.

“Your actions are in violation of the spirit of this place,” she called, her voice fierce and commanding. “I will countenance them no longer.”

“Who are you?” Harald’s own voice sounded weak in comparison.

“Your equalizer,” she replied, and came on, blades still held low.

“Loose!” barked Wirmas.

Twenty shafts flew at her lambent form. Faster than thought, they punched through the air, but the angel merely pointed her blade at Harald and a sharp-edged wedge of ghostly light appeared before her, parting the arrows so they flew past her harmlessly.

“Form up!” cried Wirmas, his terror obvious. “Shields! Keep loosing those arrows!”

The reavers didn’t flinch at the angel’s steady approach. More and more arrows flew at the angel, but it was useless. Even those aimed dead at her center were guided aside by the impossibly fine edge of the wedge, to slide away and disappear into the gloom behind her.

Harald’s heart was thudding. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the approaching woman. By the angels - the very expression mocked him, preventing him from completing his thought.

She descended toward them. Soon she’d be hidden by their own front rank, preventing the archers from loosing.

And Harald had no delusions as to how this fight was going to go.

Could he fight her? Unleash his demonic Abilities upon her white purity?

No.

And with that realization, he relaxed and put a hand on Kársek’s war hammer, pushing it down.

“Wirmas, stand down! Lower weapons! Everyone, stop!”

Wirmas snarled, glared at Harald with one burning blue eye, then forced his head to dip in acknowledgement. “Cease! Weapons down! Everyone, stop!”

The reavers glanced back in confusion but did as they were bid. Shields lowered, weapons were sheathed.

Harald, still in the front rank, stepped out to confront the angel. He felt wild, unmoored, mesmerized by her beauty and her fell purpose. “We won’t fight you. We won’t.”

And to his enormous relief she stopped. Only five yards separated them. She studied him through narrowed eyes, and Harald realized that she wasn’t an abstracted angel, some heavenly manifestation, but a person, real, her knuckles white on the hilts of her swords, her eyelids darkened subtly by mascara, her fine features beautiful, yes, but not impossibly so.

“You are upsetting the harmony of the 16th Level,” she said, tone imperious. “You despoil what the Fallen Angel freely gives. This will not continue.”

Kársek stepped up alongside Harald, war hammer propped over one shoulder, expression speculative.

“I’m sorry,” said Harald, and he realized that he was. For all the butchery, the slaughter. “But I have need of the scales and couldn’t think of another way to acquire them.”

Her gaze was piercing, her expression unyielding. “I care not. You reek of corruption. You are a plaything of the demons. You are the enemy. I will cleanse the dungeon of your presence.”

“Not good,” said Kársek quietly, and dropped his war hammer into his other fist.

“Wait!” Harald raised both hands. “I can explain! I’m not in league with Vorakhar, he’s trying to corrupt me, I’m fighting against him -”

She clearly didn’t care. Brow thunderous, she strode toward him, both blades gleaming.

“Give the word, Praetor!” called Wirmas.

“Please!” Harald’s thoughts spun. How could he convince her? But there was no time, she was almost upon them -

“Khazadrok.”

Kársek’s Rune of Destruction flew forth.

The angel’s eyes widened for a split second before she crossed her blades before her and ducked her head.

The Rune passed through her, ghostly and immaterial, and released a huge concussive roar as it did so.

“Charge!” screamed Wirmas, and the reavers roared.

The angel was driven back by the Rune a dozen feet, her white leather boots sliding on the dark stone, her whole frame shuddering and barely visible under the hurricane force of the Rune. Her cry was nearly lost in the roar, and at the very last she spun about on one leg, losing her balance, and her left arm flew out wide, its blade flying free to fall, gleaming and glittering, into the chasm below.

And then the reavers were shouldering past Harald, their great swords raised, to charge the angel who raised her battered visage to glare at them all, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of her mouth and one nostril.

“Damn,” whispered Harald.

That very same blast had knocked Lady Yseult Khan through a wall.

The reavers fell upon the angel, massive and lethal. They were augmented by Wirmas’ power, their strength obscene, their speed unnatural.

But the angel wasn’t deterred.

She screamed and flew forth, meeting the charge headlong, and cut a bloody swath through their ranks, her sole burning blade cleaving through armor as if it were butter. Limbs and torsos fell apart even as their own strikes were repelled by a shimmering force field of white glowing light.

Even battered and with her left arm hanging by her side, it was clear the reavers didn’t have a chance.

“Harald!” Kársek grabbed his arm. “We must run! Let Wirmas cover our retreat.”

Harald nodded, awed by the sheer virtuosity with which the angel was slaughtering the reavers. “Come on -”

The angel abruptly leaped and her wings snapped out wide. A halo of burning white fire formed about her head, and her eyes glowed absolute white. “Judgment,” she intoned, and pointed her blade at the massed reavers who quailed before her.

A bolt of white fire fell from the heavens, searing the green miasma and causing it to funnel around the strike like a vortex. It hit the base of the bridge, right where the reavers were massed, and the world went white.

Reavers were sent flying like toys kicked by an irate toddler. Kársek’s grip on Harald’s arm broke free as they were both knocked away. Harald crashed down on the edge of the bridge, rolled over the side and nearly fell into the darkness, staving off his fall with a desperate grab at the bridge’s edge.

Not Kársek.

With a hoarse cry he fell into the green fog and was gone.

Screams and roars came from above. The reavers were being massacred. Then Shadowpaw was there, his huge head bending down to clamp his jaws around Harald’s wrist, teeth sinking into flesh as he hauled Harald back up and onto the stone.

Gasping, horrified, Harald summoned the Goldchops and activated Dark Vigor. Power infused him, but he had only one thought: to get away.

Half the reavers were already down. The base of the bridge was littered with corpses. The angel was back on the ground, dancing amidst her foes who seemed lumbering in comparison.

But she knew where Harald was. Even as he tried to decide how he could go after Kársek, she glanced his way, through the crowd, and loosed a bolt of searing white light at him.

Harald snapped Umbral Aegis into existence just before the bolt hit, and had no doubt that decision saved his life. His shadow armor shattered, and Harald was again lifted off his feet, driven back and this time knocked clean off the bridge to fall, arms windmilling, into the void.

Shadowpaw dove right after him.

Together they plunged into the green miasma. The bridge was immediately lost from sight. The huge mastiff reached for him with its massive paws, talons snagging Harald’s clothing, and batted him up and around.

“What -?!” The wind shrieked in his ears, his stomach was pressed up against his lungs, his eyes watered, but before he could react the green mist parted to reveal hard stone floor and they slammed into it and all went dark.

A moment later Harald groaned and pressed his hand to his brow. He was alive. Somehow. But…?

He shoved his hand into his scale pouch and set to absorbing. The Fallen Angel’s power sluiced into his soul, and he felt bones and flesh reknit. There had been no pain, but his sense of self, his vitality came rushing back, and with a groan he sat up.

Shadowpaw was gone.

The mastiff had cushioned his fall with his own body.

Harald rose to his feet, swayed, then blinked away the last of the stupor and came back to himself. The Goldchops sailed serenely down into view and began hovering around him once more. Dark Vigor returned, and this time Harald activated Veil of Shadows.

Kársek.

Harald cast around. He’d fallen into the depths of a stone gulley, the sides geometric, as if someone had begun the process of laying out the foundations of a curtain wall but given up. Slabs of black stone arose around him on both sides, forming the edges of a chasm. From the far distance up above came the last sounds of battle. But it was clearly nearly over. Harald concentrated and confirmed his suspicion: both Wirmas and Shadowpaw were returned to his Cosmos.

Kársek had to be close.

Harald hugged the chasm wall and set off at a hunched jog, listening intently and restraining the urge to call out his friend’s name. The chasm ran for a short while before devolving into a mess of huge blocks, as if he’d entered an abandoned quarry. He crept around these, the green fog thick about him, and wished he could summon Shadowpaw.

His hound would sniff out Kársek in no time.

Instinct bid him drop into a crouch and go still. Slowly, the nape of his neck prickling, he looked up.

The angel was descending toward him.

Even through the thick green fog her eyes and wings blazed with white light. She glided down, growing ever larger, head turning from side to side as she studied the environs.

She didn’t know where he was.

Should he hide? Would movement give him away? How strong was Veil of Shadows, especially when complemented by this mist?

Down she came, surveying as she flew, but then her gaze locked on him, and her trajectory changed as she angled down to where he crouched.

Damn it!

Harald bolted like a startled hare. He raced between the massive blocks, darting and turning, but there wasn’t much by way of options. Down the black stone canyon he ran, casting wild glances over his shoulder, but she was gaining on him, flying swiftly, effortlessly, with her burning wings.

It couldn’t end like this.

Not like this, hunted down like a rat.

A side passage opened in the wall, and Harald took it. Narrow, sheer walled, he sprinted down its length until it came to an abrupt end.

Harald slammed into the smooth rock, palms outstretched and glanced about desperately. He leaped, sought a handhold, found one, but couldn’t find a second. Horrified, he dropped, turned, and there she was.

Wings furled.

Moving toward him with her one burning blade.

“Try to die with dignity, demon spawn.”

“I swear to you, on the Fallen Angel herself, that I’m no creature of Vorakhar’s.”

Why, Harald. You wound me.

The angel spun about to face Vorakhar, who emerging smoothly from a pool of liquid shadows.

Harald felt a surge of emotions. Relief. Horror. Dismay. Gratitude.

You’ve picked the wrong demon plaything to toy with, my dear, said Vorakhar, checking his cuffs with sublime confidence. Alas for you. But verily, I am heartened. At long last I’ll get to crush you under my heel.

The angel cast a furious glance back over her shoulder at Harald, a glare that promised future retribution, and then let out a cry and went nova.

White light consumed the world. It penetrated the depths of Harald’s skull, bleached his thoughts, drove him back like a tidal wave. He fell against the wall, arms outflung, but realized he was unhurt. It took a moment for him to blink away the afterimages, but finally the green hue returned to the world, and before him, smiling fondly, Vorakhar.

That would have gone very poorly for you.

Harald pushed off the wall. Kársek. He still had to find his friend before it was too late. “Only because of your corruption. She’d not hunt me if it weren’t for the Demon Seed.”

True. Vorakhar considered. But without it, you’d be dead.

Harald snarled. “I have to find my friend.”

The dwarf? A mighty ally. He lives, by the way. Head in that direction if you wish to find him. And Vorakhar pointed off to one side. See? I offer my aid even after all the hurtful things you said.

“Thank you,” Harald ground out, and skirted past the demon warily.

No need to thank me, said the demon, stepping back into the shadows. It simply annoys me to no end when the angels’ playthings interfere in my affairs.

And then the demon was gone.

Harald ran down the canyon, found an offshoot in the direction the demon had pointed, and took it. The canyon widened, became the bottom of a rounded gulley, its walls formed by hexagonal plinths that seemed to have grown upright together at different heights.

“Kársek?” Harald’s shout was muffled by the fog. “You there?”

Nothing.

But he was alive.

Vorakhar wouldn’t have lied, would he?

Harald set to climbing the hexagonal-plinthed wall, moving in the direction the demon had indicated, and quickly reached a ledge. This hugged the cliff for a ways, then opened into a small courtyard surrounded on all sides by hexagonal towers.

And there, crouched with his head hanging low, hands between his knees, was his friend.

“Kársek!” Harald ran up, knelt before him. “Thank the angels.”

The dwarf raised his doughty face and managed a pained grin. He’d survived his fall, but barely. Blood had sheeted down one side of his face from a scalp wound, while his left eye on the same side was swollen shut. His arm was clearly broken; he’d been in the process of trying to rig a splint of some kind.

“How did you survive?” Harald studied his friend, unable to truly believe he’d escaped the fall without broken bones or greater injuries still. “I thought…”

Kársek’s smile was grim. “We dwarves are tougher than we look.”

“I don’t know, you already look pretty tough to me.”

“Well then. I was fortunate to hit a steep slope and rolled most of the way down. Banged into some rocks, dropped the last ten yards. Still.” Kársek rubbed the heel of one palm into his no longer swollen eye, trying to get the sticky blood off. “That was close. The angel?”

“Gone.” And Harald related what had happened.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. It’s a mighty big ask, hoping an angel will overlook the Demon Seed.”

“She wasn’t an angel. Vorakhar called her the angels’ plaything. And your blast wounded her. I doubt you’d be able to hurt a real angel, right?”

“True enough,” mused Kársek. “At least, not yet.”

“Well.” Harald sighed and sat down on the cold floor. “So much for this run. Wirmas is slain, the reavers gone. At this rate our stratagem’s not going to amount to much.”

“This wasn’t a total failure.” Kársek grinned again. “Look what I found.” And he drew forth a long object he’d bundled in his cloak.

“What…?”

Kársek reverently unwrapped it, taking his time, and at last the final fold fell away to reveal a sword. It glowed faintly in the murk, its light pearlescent, as though forged from celestial steel imbued with a divine radiance. Harald fancied he heard a distant choir sing a single note as Kársek held it out.

“It’s beautiful,” whispered Harald. And it was. The angelic blade was unnaturally broad, as wide across at the base as his palm, and tapered only slightly toward its diamond tip. Fine gold filigree was inlaid down the center, and the crossguard was of platinum. The hilt was bound in a dark, lustrous material. The sword appeared as much an instrument of judgment as a weapon, embodying a power both beautiful and terrifying.

Harald reached for the hilt then paused, checking with Kársek, who nodded.

Harald took up the sword.

Artifact: Eclipse Edge
Quality: Epic

Special Ability: Judgment’s Light

Activation: At will, the wielder can unleash a devastating arc of light, searing all enemies in its path while leaving allies unharmed. This attack bypasses mundane defenses, striking directly at the soul.

+4 to Dexterity while wielded
+4 to Strength while wielded

+4 to Constitution while wielded

+4 to Ego while wielded

+2 to Presence while wielded

Passive Ability: Celestial Gravitas

The sword radiates an aura of divine authority, imposing a crippling sense of dread upon foes within a 20-foot radius. Those of weaker Ego will find themselves unable to meet the wielder’s gaze and their movements slowed by fear.

Limitation: Those with impure intentions will find the blade grows unbearably heavy, while the worthy find it as light as a feather. The powers of the Eclipse Edge are doubled if wielded in tandem with its sister blade.

“Oh, brother,” whispered Harald, rereading the text that had appeared before him. “It’s Epic level!”

“It is indeed,” agreed Kársek as he settled down to sit and sling his pack into his lap. “A fine blade. The angel-kin will be weakened by its loss.” He pulled out a pipe and tabac pouch. “And no doubt further infuriated.”

Harald rose and held the blade before him with both hands. It was a hand-and-a-half blade, which meant its hilt wasn’t quite as long as the longswords he was used to. But it was heavy, the breadth of the blade clearly detracting from its versatility -

Oh.

Harald grimaced and tried for the Dungeon Square. The blade moved sluggishly. It felt like swinging the lead practice sword they used to develop strength. And with each slash, the blade seemed to move ever more turgidly through the air.

“Not for me, it seems,” said Harald, lowering the sword in dismay. “Though the stat bonuses are still incredible. +4 across the board on physical stats, and another +4 to Ego? Incredible!”

“Not for you,” agreed Kársek, tone equanimous.

Harald frowned down at its glowing length. “We should find a way to return it to her.”

“So that she can cut you down after thanking you?” Kársek exhaled a metallic blue puff and studied Harald through one eye. “A noble way to commit suicide.”

“Well.” Harald sat back down. “I didn’t feel too bad taking the Bonemelter from the Red Fist merc. But taking the Eclipse Edge from her? That feels… wrong.”

“Hmm.” Kársek puffed contentedly. “You could always leave it behind here on the 16th. She’ll surely come back to search for it.”

“The layout of the level will be scrambled when she returns. You know the Fallen Angel never leaves things the way they were. It might be lost forever.”

“So keep it. Or better yet, give it to Sam.”

“Sam?” Harald’s eyes widened. “Yes! Of course. That would be perfect. And if Sam ever comes across her, she can return the blade. Oh, damn. Sam’s going to love this.”

“Hmm. Knowing Sam, possessing the blade will be an endless source of conflict for her.”

“Which is why she’s the perfect person to wield it. Though… its being Epic means its worth…”

Kársek stared at him steadily once more. “A Nightshard.”

“Ten million scales.” Harald exhaled in wonder. “We could all Ascend to our third Throne together.”

“Or you to your fourth, once you finish with your business on the 16th. But is that what you wish to do? Sell the Eclipse Edge?”

Harald grimaced, torn. “No,” he finally said. “No. That would make me just what she thinks I am. A wretch. This is hers. She’s exactly whom I’d love to ally with, one day. I can’t just turn around and sell her sword.”

“Hmm,” said Kársek in obvious approval, and closed his eyes again to resume puffing.

Harald sighed. “Damn it. Still. Imagine Sam’s face when we present it to her!”

“And imagine how easily the terror birds will fall to this weapon. With her help, you’ll not need to reach a million scales before delving the 21st.”

“Wait, that’s right!” Harald leaped to his feet again, elated. “Come on! Enough smoking. We need to get this blade to Sam as quickly as possible.”

To which Kársek only smiled knowingly as he tapped his pipe out against his boot.