They found Lord Alabenthos awaiting them in a grand hall. A great emerald lagoon covered most of the floor, edged in tile and gold, and fed by a waterfall that fell from circular skylights some hundred yards above. The cascading water dispersed into mist just before reaching the green waters. Fluted columns lined an arcade that allowed them to approach his great throne, which was set atop a small ziggurat of white marble steps against the back wall. Green vines and ivy drenched the walls, and the white light filtering down from above caused the falling water to light up where it passed through the slanting beams.

  “Impressive,” murmured Nessa as they approached the seated angel. “Have to wonder who the architect was.”

  “No architect,” answered Kársek. “I examined the stonework. This was not built.”

  “Like a dream, then.” Sam’s tone was wistful as she passed her hand over the green leaves that covered the wall. “Imagined by the Fallen Angel.”

  Harald kept his gaze locked on the Lord. A host of white silhouettes were clustered about the base of the step-ziggurat, but they were amorphous and without features. Ghosts?

  Welcome, said Alabenthos. You are committed still to aiding us in our war against the demons?

  Their group came to a stop at the first step. Harald glanced at his friends for confirmation; Kársek’s expression was calm, almost placid, while Sam gazed up at Alabenthos with fierce determination. Only Nessa remained ambivalent, a single vertical line between her dark brows, but she was here, was she not?

  “Yes,” said Harald. “That’s our intent. It’s why we came back to the Dungeon.”

  Very well. Your offer is accepted. There is much potential in your group to effect change, but you are still young, inexperienced, and weak.

  Harald tried not to bridle at these words.

  Therefore, it is incumbent upon me to wield you wisely. How I deploy you shall be as important as the goal itself; there is no sense in sending you forth if you cannot even reach your foe. I have thus settled upon a worthy target of your first trial: a demonic enclave on the 41st Level beholden to that wretch, Eclavistra.

  “A demonic enclave?” Harald tried to swallow that down. “Sounds… great.”

  Alabenthos laughed, and the sound was not reassuring. Fear not. While your party is currently unsuited to the task, I do not mean to send you to your death. You shall first train here in my domain until I deem you ready to proceed. Then you shall descend, level by level, to the 41st. If you can overcome the perils of the seven floors between us and your objective, you shall be well suited for that battle.

  “Training?” asked Sam, and she couldn’t keep an edge of excitement from her voice. “You will train us, my lord?”

  Not I. But there are various individuals under my command who shall lend you their guidance. Once they have given me their vote of confidence in your progress, you shall sally forth.

  Harald nodded to himself. This was good. His battle with Brauxis had revealed just how much he still needed to learn. “Thank you, Lord Alabenthos. What else can you tell us about this enclave?”

  The details shall be revealed once—or should I say, if—you are able to pass your training. Your spirit is willing, but your flesh is weak. If you cannot master the lessons you are to be taught, then you shall be of no use to me. Return now to your quarters. You shall be summoned by your teachers forthwith.

  Harald forced a half-bow, and after sharing a glance with his companions, retreated along the arcade, leaving the angel on his throne.

  Once they were quit of the huge cavern, Sam all but clapped her hands. “Training! And under Lord Alabenthos’ direction! This is fantastic.”

  “I want to disagree,” said Nessa. “But I fear you’re right. Note the threat buried in his words: if we don’t learn swiftly enough, he’ll cast us out.”

  “We’ll learn,” said Harald confidently. “We’ve nothing if not endless potential.”

  “Says the man with a Divine Soul Rank.” Nessa tossed her mane of ebon hair behind one shoulder. “To Sam who has an equally impossible Soul Rank. Whereas mine is but ‘Rare’. I believe my potential is definitively capped.”

  Harald went to protest, but both the sudden bitterness in Nessa’s voice and the truth of her words stopped him.

  “You’re a Level 7 Bladeweaver,” said Sam at last. “You’ve gained how many levels in the past few months? I’d say you’re doing all right.”

  “Doing all right.” Nessa flashed Sam a cutting smile. “More generous words were never—” She cut herself off and took a deep breath. “Sorry. Just a moment of self-pity, there. Ignore it. I am delighted to receive angelic training.”

  “Whereas I shall practice on my own,” said Kársek. “I doubt that Lord Alabenthos has anyone in his retinue capable of refining my mastery of Earthblood.”

  “I wish Vic had stayed.” Harald couldn’t tell if it was anger or loss that affected him most. “Where did he say he was going? How are we supposed to meet up with him again?”

  They passed into a broad corridor that would take them most of the way back to their quarters.

  “To be fair, I don’t think he’d have passed Alabenthos’ test,” said Nessa. “It was one of character, wasn’t it? Vic is many things, but honorable and fair… well. Not his best attributes.”

  “He told me he’d look out for us,” said Sam quietly. “When I followed him to the portal Brauxis summoned for him. I… I managed to get past his dark humor and really speak to him, for a moment, at least, and he… well.” Sam blew out her cheeks. “He was terrified but determined. Said Eclavistra would safeguard him in the Dungeon, and that he’d figure things out as he went.”

  “Now that’s a pretty conflict of interest,” said Nessa. “We’re to destroy an Eclavistra encampment, are we not?”

  “Great,” said Harald, and looked for a pebble or something to kick. There was only gleaming marble, however. “Well, we’re all agreed that we’re not fighting Vic, right?”

  “Absolutely,” said Sam right away.

  “Nessa?” prompted Harald after a moment.

  Who shrugged. “He’s got her Demon Seed, doesn’t he? Already it’s warped him. What he did to Anna, his murder of Melisende Celestis, his…” Nessa’s voice trailed off. “He always hated the injustices of the world, but he was never a crusading… what would you even call him? A revolutionary?”

  “He’s still Vic,” said Harald stubbornly.

  Nessa laughed. “Mostly, yes. Let’s see how much of him remains the next time we meet.”

  “I’m not fighting him,” said Sam stoutly.

  Nessa smiled sadly and walked on.

  * * *

  A meal had been conjured for them in Sam’s chambers, and their teachers arrived after they were finished. Harald and his companions were engaged in idle musings when a stern knock sounded on the double golden doors, but Shadowpaw’s presence, dimly sensed just beyond, gave away the knocker’s identity.

  “Come in,” called Sam.

  Brauxis pushed the doors open with both hands, and marched inside, Shadowpaw trotting gamely by his side, looking exhausted and happy. But two more figures followed in after: Rovarik and Seraphina.

  “Ho there! I trust you enjoyed your repast! Lord Alabenthos is famed throughout the Dungeon for the quality of his viands!”

  “No, he’s not,” said Rovarik with quiet amusement. “I have never once heard anyone mention the food from the 33rd.”

  “Sam,” said Seraphina, her voice betraying warmth even as her expression remained cool. She wore white as always, her twin wings furled behind her back, her black hair freshly washed and curling about her jawline. Her stare, when she met his own, was as fierce as ever.

  “Seraphina!” Sam rose to her feet with a smile. “Are you to be my teacher?”

  “How did you guess?” Seraphina rested her hands on the twin pommels of her Eclipse Edges, each buckled at her hip. “Lord Alabenthos has charged me with improving your odds of reaching the 41st. I won’t go easy on you.”

  “Of course not,” said Sam hurriedly, her smile immediately replaced by a stern nod.

  “And I shall be your master,” said Rovarik with an easy smile. “Nessa, is it not? No Demon Seed that I should know about?”

  “My instructor, perhaps.” Nessa leaned back in her chair and studied the handsome young man. “Though even that remains to be seen.”

  Rovarik smiled in surprise. “Oh? You think you’re my match? Well, this will be more than I’d hoped.”

  To which Nessa only smiled.

  “And you, Young Darrowdelve!” Brauxis’ voice boomed. “We shall forge your soul into an adamantine whole! I have much to instruct you, and I trust that you shall prosper greatly from my lessons!”

  Shadowpaw gave a sharp bark and then sat, tongue lolling out the side of his huge jaw.

  “Tell me you didn’t claim me as your student so as to get more time with my dog,” grinned Harald.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Perish the thought!” Brauxis leaned down to scratch behind Shadowpaw’s triangular ear and then chuckled as the mastiff snatched at his hand and clamped his jaws shut about his armored fingers. “Though I will admit it is a silver lining.”

  “Ouch,” said Sam, wincing as Shadowpaw growled and tugged and worried at the Emanation’s gauntlet.

  “Now?” asked Nessa.

  “Now,” agreed Rovarik. “Unless you have a full tummy and need to lie down?”

  “Oh, this will be fun,” agreed Nessa, and her smile could have cut glass. “Lead the way, angel-boy.”

  “Angel-boy.” Rovarik chuckled. “From anyone else, I’d be offended.” Then his tone changed, becoming sharp. “Follow.”

  And he turned on his heel to depart.

  Nessa licked her lower lip, eyes half-lidded, and simply stared.

  “Go easy on him,” said Harald. “He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with.”

  “He’ll soon find out.” Nessa vaulted over the table and strode from the room with a purpose.

  “I… I think that’s going to work,” said Sam after Nessa was gone. “Maybe that’s just what she needed.”

  “Time for us to get to work.” Seraphina moved to the golden doorways but then glanced back at Harald as if to speak. For a moment she simply stared at him, frowning, but then she changed her mind and was gone.

  “Good luck,” said Sam, leaning down to kiss Harald’s cheek, and then she hurried off around the table, blushing as she went.

  “Master Kársek!” Brauxis finally pulled his fingers free of Shadowpaw’s maw. “Lord Alabenthos bids you follow us to where we shall train, as he believes you shall profit in doing so.”

  “Very well,” agreed the dwarf.

  “What’s our training to look like?” asked Harald, following the huge angel out the door. “You mentioned my needing to protect my Thrones?”

  “You have hit the nail upon the head,” rumbled Brauxis. “But more than that. You stand upon the cusp of real power. Without proper instruction, you shall grow henceforth in a clumsy and awkward manner, and in time become your own foe. I shall provide instruction to simplify and smooth the path ahead of you.”

  “Become my own foe? You mean my Demon Seed?”

  “Not at all! Though that provides its own soul-quenching trials. You shall see. Come.”

  They followed Brauxis out into the hall, down a side corridor, and through several hallways and caverns until they emerged at last into a small circular cave. It was lit by a skylight above, but the walls were craggy white with ferns growing from deep cracks in their sides. The floor was rough but smoothed as if by centuries of passage, but there were no other exits.

  “Ah,” breathed Kársek as he came to a stop, hands rising as if to palpate the air. “This is wondrous indeed. Such rare and refined Earthblood. Here I can prosper.”

  “Precisely as Lord Alabenthos surmised,” boomed the armor-plated angel. “Make yourself comfortable, Master Kársek, and pay us no mind.”

  The dwarf bowed deeply and hurried to a niche in the wall that formed a natural alcove, where he sat cross-legged, summoned his rune hammer across his knees, and closed his eyes.

  “Very well!” Brauxis moved across to the far wall, where he turned, extended his wings, and rose to hover a yard above the ground to cross his legs just like Kársek so that his tattered tabard hung down over his sabatons. “Make yourself comfortable, Young Darrowdelve, and attend.”

  Harald couldn’t help but feel a frisson of excitement. Lacking the ability to do anything but sit on the ground, he did so, and leaned forward, Shadowpaw flopping down by his side.

  “Let us begin at the beginning.” Brauxis rested his gauntlets on each knee. “You are an 8th Level Abyssal Master and have acquired sufficient Angelic Essence to empower your first four Thrones. A worthy accomplishment for a young human! Take a moment to congratulate yourself.”

  “Ah, all right,” said Harald, and scritched the thick ruff on Shadowpaw’s neck. “Congratulations, Harald.”

  “Good. Yet your growth has been unstructured and purely organic, warped by the Demon Seed and forged by mortal battle. You are in possession of eight Active powers, and eight Passives, are you not?”

  “Right?” Harald tried not to respond with a question but failed.

  “Clumsy!” Brauxis sounded delighted. “Overwrought and needlessly complex! In battle, especially as you progress, you shall soon grow overtaxed by decisions and the need to juggle so many abilities. I sensed during our little tussle that you were layering your auras, for example, and then empowering certain attacks with others. Foolish!”

  Harald frowned but made no comment.

  “Your Cosmos-granted abilities are like a garden, Harald. Beautiful at first, with tender shoots rising longingly toward the sun, but in time, if left untended?” Brauxis paused dramatically. “It shall grow into a veritable jungle!”

  “Right…” Harald tried to guess where this was going. “But I don’t get to pick my powers?”

  “Correct. But proper guidance is needed to prevent your growing smothered by redundancies and the sheer number of options at your disposal. You noticed, perchance, my halo during our fight?”

  “I—” Harald winced. “I may have noticed it, yes.”

  “My Corona of Judgment is a composite power forged from three sub-auras that I manifested during my advancement. When I was but a First Ranked Emanation, I possessed the Nimbus of Condemnation, which hindered my foes when they sought to strike at me. When I was elevated to Second Rank, I manifested the Warding Blaze, which caused burning light to lash out against incoming ranged and magical attacks. Well did I enjoy its protection! And when I reached Third, I manifested Radiant Gravitas. This allowed me to create a punishing sense of unbearable weight on my foes. All were useful, but controlling all three grew cumbersome!”

  “You folded them all into your Corona of Judgment?” asked Harald, eyes widening. “You can do that?”

  “Anyone can, if their powers possess sufficient synergy!” Brauxis sounded delighted and clapped one knee. “Auras are a prime example and the first to be compounded by most. When I reached Fourth Rank, I manifested Halo of Resplendent Fury, but was I content? No! I yearned for simplicity. Simplicity, Harald, is a warrior’s greatest friend. Thus, under Lord Alabenthos’ kind tutelage, I blended all four auras into my Corona of Judgment.”

  “Right, right…” Harald leaned back, working through the implications. “That’s fantastic.”

  “And there are other, greater benefits.” The angel leaned forward. “Compounded powers consume less energy overall, as well as producing an augmented singular power that is greater than its component parts. Even then, one may choose which aspects of one’s power to manifest or muffle, depending on necessity. For example, I chose to affect you with but a modicum of my Corona.”

  Harald blanched. “You did? Oh. That’s…” He shook his head sharply. “That was very kind of you.”

  “I know! Now. Tell me of your aura powers that you wish to combine.”

  Harald did so, listing out Aura of the Aching Depths, Thronebound Mantle, and Sovereign Silence. “I suppose Veil of Shadows could be blended in as well,” he added. “It causes me to blend into the darkness, gives me powers of stealth.”

  “I would restrain yourself to pure auras. Three is sufficient for now. Most excellent, and to be expected at Level 8. The technique to combine them is to trace their powers to their source: your Class, its essence, and to find their commonality. This is achieved through deep meditation as you ponder the nature of your auras and find their root aspect. Once you have identified this, you must seek to manifest that root aura, and in time, the other four shall retract into it as a new power is birthed.”

  “I… see.” Harald wasn’t sure he did. “So, I meditate on them?”

  “Correct. Activate all four and then allow your senses to wander amongst them. Let your mind be akin to a feather floating on their combined breeze. At first you need not direct it; allow your instincts and affinity to your Class essence to do the work for you.”

  Harald settled himself more comfortably, placed one hand inside the other in his lap, and closed his eyes. “Very well. Here goes.”

  First, the Aura of the Aching Depths.

  The power of the abyss flowed through Harald. It felt akin to stepping into an icy waterfall, his body becoming a conduit for something greater, something alien, something of endless hunger to consume. The sounds around him dampened, a subtle effect that stole the edge from Shadowpaw’s deep breaths, the pounding of his own pulse. He felt his presence push out around him, the power of the abyss leaching into the very air itself.

  Then, Thronebound Mantle.

  Harald sensed the crown of twilight fire that appeared above his head, a twisted reflection of Brauxis’ own angelic halo. Felt his presence grow magnified and exalted. Felt his will flow forth in search of a target, and only at the last did he draw it back instead of focusing on the Emanation. The aura filled the chamber with his dread authority, and blended with the Aching Depths, synergizing and growing more potent for it.

  Of course. He’d felt that mutual empowerment before. Had intuited that they augmented each other. Now he understood why.

  Finally, he activated Sovereign Silence.

  He opened his eyes as the cave around him grew strange. The air grew tinted as if seen through purple glass, and the lines and contours of objects—Brauxis’ plate armor, the cracks in the walls, the circular skylight above—grew subtly askew. He’d formed a great dome that easily encompassed the entirety of the cave, and all within it now lay within his domain.

  Brauxis did not seem perturbed, though Kársek cracked open an eye to look at him.

  It was the same combination now of auras he’d used to such deadly affect against Kessa Dorn only a day or so ago, slowing her down, muting her powers, bringing her phenomenal power to a register he could handle.

  Harald’s four Thrones thrummed as they empowered his auras, and he felt ennobled, made fell, his will tangible and clamping down on all around him. The abyss was right there, just beyond his grasp. Its void and depths promised to consume all that opposed him. Within the limits of his aura all was reduced, silenced, muffled, and constrained. His will was made supreme, his authority extended. While a supreme foe like Brauxis might be able to shrug off its effects, Harald knew that those of his own stature or below would be rendered terrified and diminished, their reactions slowed, their thoughts mired in cold mud, their attacks clumsy, their fear spiking into terror.

  “Very good, very scary,” rumbled Brauxis. “Now. These are the blossoms of the same plant. Trace their stems to the root. Find their commonality. All manifest from your essence: thus, you must dive deep into its core and simplify.”

  Harald lowered his chin and closed his eyes once more. He could sense the crown of twilight fire that burned about his brow. The abyss. It was an entity of darkness and subtraction. His was a dark, imperial might. He dealt in dread, in obfuscation, in frigid death and total dominion.

  Down Harald sank, toward his Cosmos. But the answer wouldn’t lie there, would it? He’d never seen any sign of his powers made manifest in that starry space. Instead, he reached out for his auras, tried to sense how they emerged from his core, from his Thrones, where the abyss intersected with his essence.

  At first it was an exercise in frustration, like trying to grapple ink spilt into a pond. His auras were diffuse and washed about his clumsy attempts to define and understand them.

  But still his Thrones roared on, and still Harald persevered. Sweat prickled his brow. Shadows, cold, authority, and numbness. Fear, might, dominion, and dread. His auras revolved around these concepts, augmented each other, forged a greater whole.

  Time lost meaning.

  Shadowpaw returned to his Cosmos.

  Eventually his Thrones failed him, and he gasped. Opened his eyes. Saw Brauxis yet placidly levitating, Kársek gone.

  “You progress. Go rest. We continue when you are ready.”

  Harald stumbled back to his chamber. Slept. Ate. His schedule hadn’t aligned with the others; when he awoke, he was alone. He ate again, returned to the cavern, found Brauxis awaiting him.

  He resumed meditating.

  Day after day. His mind became strange to him, his thoughts fey. When he met with Nessa and Sam, they, too, were preoccupied, so that by common agreement they gave each other space.

  More days passed. Harald began to feel himself a creature of the void. Life and his waking hours revolved around meditation and his auras, while his dreams were dark and terrifying.

  The Demon Seed was a throbbing, demanding presence deep in his Cosmos. It approved of the path he was treading.

  Harald put its desires out of mind.

  His breakthrough occurred one day when, by instinct almost random, he decided to open the Maw of the Starless Deep while seeking to trace the roots of his auras. Did the Maw not make manifest the abyss itself? Was it not a tangible connection to the void? He didn’t overthink the impulse, but with eyes still closed, summoned the great rift, and felt it tear open the very side of the cavern.

  “Ho!” cried out Brauxis, more surprised than alarmed.

  Harald ignored him. Focused, instead, on how his auras reacted to the Maw.

  He could sense the abyss, right there, gaping beside him. Its essence laid bare. Its nature revealed. And with it acting like a baleful lantern, he saw at last what he had long theorized and sought: the way his four auras arose from his Cosmos. They condensed into being just above the Fallen Angel’s sanctum in his depths, rising from a singular spout like a fountain of darkness, to spiral and split into three essences that blossomed in the waking world as his auras.

  The Aching Depths. Sovereign Silence. Thronebound Mantle.

  Each distinct but merely emphasizing a different aspect of his base power.

  Harald reached down, down toward that singular source, and grasped it.

  Retracted his auras while elevating the core.

  His soul struggled. His Cosmos rippled. His Thrones roared.

  The essence fought him, much as a deeply embedded root might refuse to be torn free, but Harald sought to embody the abyss in his mind, made himself lordly and cold and demanding, and finally the heart of his power rose and became manifest.

  Passive Ability Awakened: Crown of the Quiet Tyrant

  Your scattered dominions of shadow, silence, and authority have collapsed into a single sovereign presence. The abyss no longer answers your will—it radiates from it. Where you stand, fear settles, perception falters, and lesser powers bow or break.