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Throne Hunters Book 2, Chapter 28
🕑 Added 2024-07-18 04:18:05 +0000 UTCThe Dungeon Plaza was a mess. Terror bird corpses were being scraped off the cobblestones from where Lady Hammerfell had smashed them to paste, while those who’d survived in a more bodily fashion were being piled up like cordwood. House Drakenhart raiders were in evidence, working alongside the city guard, and numerous city officials stood about in small groups, clearly discussing the situation even at this late hour.
Harald moved to lean against the closest building and study the situation. The Dungeon Portal hovered as always in place, revolving and blurring as if nothing untoward had happened that morning. The platforms before it had been left mostly undamaged, and the scale lanterns showed guards in evidence.
Where they open, though?
Harald smiled bitterly. That would be funny. His confronting Nessa in such manner only to slink home a bell later due to the gates being closed.
The Humble Petitioner’s line was completely empty. Not too surprising. Nor was anybody lined up before the Copper Gate.
Which meant either people thought it in poor taste to go delving so soon after a Shuddering, were superstitious about the dungeon being exceptionally dangerous right now, or… the gates were closed.
One way to find out.
Harald pushed off the wall and made his way through the sparse crowd, avoiding the knots of activity and blocking out the coppery tang of so much spilled blood.
Though he drew some curious glances, nobody called out to him.
Soon enough he stepped up to the Copper Gate. Susie the guard stood talking darkly with another guard, her arms crossed over her iron cuirass. At Harald’s approach, she glanced his way dismissively, then realized who it was and turned to face him.
“You serious?” Her expression was one of disbelief. “Tonight?”
“No moment like the present.”
She was all but glowering. “The Shuddering wasn’t enough for you today?”
“For me? Don’t get me wrong. It was plenty. Right up till Lady Hammerfell arrived and did all the work.”
Susie studied him, her expression softening. “All the work.”
“I just want in. No fuss, no bother. That possible?”
Susie sighed, glanced at her companion who shrugged, then nodded. “Nobody’s told us to close it down. So I suppose. Though, Harald.”
And here she seemed to hesitate, glancing back at the taxation counter.
He raised his chin. “I’ll take my chances.”
“It’s not that. Step aside with me for a moment.”
Her guard companion frowned but made no complaint as Susie walked aside and pitched her voice low. “I don’t know nothing about you, raider. Don’t need to know, either, but you seem a good sort, and I’m the ornery type that doesn’t like being talked down to. So I reckon you should know: we’ve been paid by various Houses to report back on your activities and numbers, specific-like.”
Harald smiled mirthlessly. “I’d started to get the feeling.”
Susie studied him. “You need to be more careful. Earlier, flashing those golden axes of yours, with that black wolf Servitor. You’re drawing attention. And the folks who’re paying, they’re going to understand just how much you like night raiding by yourself.”
“Hmm.” Harald grimaced. “You saying I shouldn’t have done all I could to help with the Shuddering?”
Susie laughed hollowly. “No. Not saying that. Just that you wouldn’t be the first talented young raider ol’ Susie’s seen rise fast and then disappear one day when they upset the wrong people. Watch yourself down there.”
“Thanks.” He wanted to protest, to curse, to laugh, but instead he met Susie’s stern gaze and nodded. “Really. I know I’m fucked. That’s why I need more power.”
“No power’s enough when you’re dealing with the Houses,” said Susie. “Go on then. Do what you must.”
Harald proceeded to the accounting desk, made his declarations, then climbed to the platform and gazed up at the portal.
Never had it seemed so alien, so dangerous, as it did tonight. Had he begun to grow complacent as to its nature, its function? Seeing it disgorge so many monsters that afternoon had dispelled all familiarity.
This wasn’t a fixture, a piece of furniture, or merely a reliable means of travel. This was part of the Fallen Angel in some bizarre and incalculable manner. And perhaps, one day, the agent of Flutic’s destruction.
“All right,” called the guard. “You got a level chosen?”
He’d thought about this all evening while relaxing in his room. The first eleven floors were out. There was no appeal nor profit in killing Crypt Keepers or Gloomies. He’d toyed with returning to the 27th where he’d make the most profit, stalking scarecrows over the course of the night.
But in the end, his dark mood had convinced him that only one option would truly prove cathartic.
“Twelfth,” he said, raising a handful of scales.
“You know the drill,” was all the guard said as he stepped back.
Harald thumbed his scale lantern to life and watched as the polyhedron rotated around to present him with the twelfth pentagon, the golden notches gleaming in the light. The face hollowed out, and without hesitation Harald stepped up and rose into the air, striding into that carnivorous maw.
A moment later he passed through the void and emerged onto the 12th Level. The huge chalky white tunnel extended before him, illuminated as before by sources of pale light hidden just out of view.
Harald extended his hand and summoned the Dawnblade. It manifested smoothly, its weight now familiar in his palm.
He set off at a jog. For a while he’d toyed with testing the 12th. Seeing how far he could penetrate, how many golems he could kill. But that had felt like an anemic challenge, an academic exercise in determining how far his own skills could take him.
Another night.
He stayed close to the portal, taking every left turn as it presented itself. A single golem shuffled into view, four feet tall and leaning most of its weight on its mighty arms. It raised its face as Harald ran at it, mouth opening to yell its warning, but Harald clove its head clear off with one brutal swing.
The golem collapsed into rubble, and he snatched the handful of Copper Crescents from the air.
Another two turns and he found his goal: a well rising from the center of a high-ceilinged room, innocuous and still.
“There we go,” whispered Harald, striding up to its stony rim. He unshouldered the new kite shield he’d taken from the house, checked the leather harness, then took a deep breath, swung his legs over the swirling black void, and dropped.
The diffuse brightness of the 12th was replaced by the cancerous brown haze of the 13th Level.
Harald lowered into a crouch, shield at the ready. He’d appeared in a large square of uneven flagstones, a ragged hole in its center dropping to the swirling mists below. A hangman’s tree loomed up to one side, black boughed and leafless. Columns. The cobbled bridges extending from square to square, plaza to plaza. The way that the level seemed to extend out to infinity in all directions, a wasteland of ruination circumscribed by the dismal miasma.
Harald remained still.
In the periphery, he could sense movement.
Goblins rousing themselves from whatever stupor they existed in between visitors. They oriented on him, eyes narrowing in surprise and then widening in pleasure.
Only a handful were in view, mostly hidden behind retaining walls or standing behind columns, but Harald felt their delight at seeing a lost little lamb wander into their midst all alone.
A deep and dark pleasure suffused him. A murderous, smoldering joy.
The complexities of the world above, the politics and backstabbing, the expectations and hurt feelings, the money matters and feudal loyalties - none of that mattered down here.
Here, all was simple.
Here, you killed or were killed.
Harald remained crouched, shield raised before him, practically sensing the javelins being drawn back, the goblins glancing at each other as they coordinated their strike.
In the stillness he could hear chirped cries from below, other goblins alerting their fellows that there was good sport to be had above.
Harald smiled, and could restrain himself no longer.
He summoned the Goldchops.
The Masterwork hatchets appeared beside him and he sent them forth as he threw himself into a dive.
Hard cobbles slammed into his shoulder as he rolled then came up into a crouch, javelins flying in behind him. With a flexion of his will he summoned Aching Depths, bringing the glory of the abyss into the 13th Level. The light dimmed, the temperature dropped, and the pressure of Aching Depths fell upon the goblins even as they realized how badly they’d fucked up.
Harald didn’t stop moving. He came up into a run, knowing the Goldchops would keep pace, and summoned the Shadow Mastiff.
It appeared off to one side, black mist boiling off its hide, massive and hirsute, its form too lethal for this level, its predatory intent vicious, near palpable.
The Mastiff glanced questioningly at Harald.
“Kill,” Harald whispered, and the Mastiff threw back its head to bay its horrific howl, its joy at such a clear directive almost beautiful.
The Mastiff ran to the closest edge of the plaza, shadows writhing and wreathing its form as it leaped, and a moment later it dropped out of sight into the mists below.
The goblin screams of horror and panic began almost at once.
Harald grinned and ran, fleet of foot, ducking as a javelin thwipped just over his head. The Goldchops were speeding around his periphery, never still, never content, always seeking out their next victim. The goblins who sought cover between them and Harald were helpless against the spinning hatchets that came at them from the side. Their shrieks and cries filled the air as the Goldchops slammed through their heads, ruptured their chests, severed limbs, and painted an ongoing orgy of blood around Harald as he ran.
Dark Vigor.
Black fire burst across his frame as the abyss blessed him with even greater physical puissance. His body immediately felt lighter, more lethal in every way.
But there was no gain in chasing goblins up here on the walkways and plazas. No profit in chasing them endlessly across the ruins.
So Harald veered to the side, leaped over the stone edging of his bridge, and dropped into the mists.
The drop might once have broken his legs.
But now he simply fell into a deep crouch, one knee touching the earthen floor, shield raised, Dawnblade stretched out behind him as he gazed into the thick mists.
The Mastiff bayed again off to one side, the power of its roar causing the mist to shudder.
The Goldchops obliged their master by dropping with him into the miasma of the ground floor and continuing their bloody work.
Harald had to keep moving. No matter how invincible he felt, if he became a stationary target, he’d invite catastrophe.
All it would take was one javelin to the face and he was done for.
So he ran. He didn’t care in which direction. This ground floor was an endless forest of pillars and giant stone foundations for the raised ruins above. It was infested with goblins, and he came at them so quickly that they barely had time to recover from their shock.
Harald’s Dawnblade trailed behind him in a version of the Tail Stance as he ran, and each time he came upon a goblin he swept the sword up and around, hewing the wiry bodies apart. He didn’t stop to engage or check if he’d dealt his foe a mortal wound, but simply kept on running, his energy boundless, his exhilaration without terminus, a fleet shadow amidst the columns that hunted down his prey.
And there was much to kill.
The goblins were clearly thrown off their game by having the hunt brought down to their level. They screeched in fury and dismay as he fell upon them, rounding corners and crashing into small groups that had gathered to hastily confer, or simply running right into a group sprinting his way, bowling them to all sides as he cleaved through their number.
The cold fury of Aching Depths permeated the air, stilling the mist, darkening the lower realm, and Shadowy Fortitude seemed to derive sustenance from this dusk-like state. With each blow of his blade, Harald felt Abyssal Attunement derive sustenance from his victims, small pulses of energy that were akin to spitting mouthfuls of oil onto a bonfire.
He raged.
Leaped over rubble, resisted the urge to throw aside his shield and hack his blade with both hands.
The Shadow Mastiff was his constant companion, sensed more than seen, its stealth powers finally coming into their own as it became a roving shadow, endlessly crushing goblins in its huge maw. The Goldchops threshed the enemy without surcease, spinning and trailing blood through the air, butchering and butchering and butchering -
Harald took a javelin in the side. It hit him like a solid punch, the head driving home and causing him to gasp. With a grunt he dismissed the Dawnblade and tore the javelin free. Its head was black with his blood. Dark Vigor and Shadowy Fortitude made it so that he could barely feel any weakness, while the pain was nonexistent.
But the sight of his life’s blood upon the weapon was… invigorating.
He’d begun to feel detached from the peril of his situation. The blow brought it crashing home how he was still just a Abyssal Initiate Level 2.
A wise man would take what he’d accomplished down here and head home. Call it a day, a massacre well executed.
A wise man would know when enough was enough.
Harald dropped the javelin and stuck his hand in his scale pouch to heal.
Reflexes caused Harald to duck under another hurled javelin, and then sidestep a second.
His two Thrones were about to give out.
Thinking quickly, Harald ducked into a deep alcove in the base of a large plaza foundation, and willed the Goldchops to guard the entrance.
Just in time. The flood of power from his Thrones thinned out and then died. The Dawnblade turned green, and his Abilities died away.
Which meant all the aches and pains came roaring to the fore. Harald grimaced as he became aware of numerous nicks and gashes, but it was manageable.
For a while, he simply hunkered down, catching his breath, allowing his Thrones to restore. And then, when he felt ready, he rose and felt Shadowy Fortitude return to him, banishing his pain.
Harald emerged, blade in hand, and saw movement all around.
The brown fog was burning away to reveal chaotic ranks of goblins closing in on him from all sides.
Harald grinned.
“Got your shit together while I was resting?”
Here and there he saw a goblin boss looming massive amongst the ranks.
Looks like they’d finally rounded up enough troops to bring the battle to him.
Harald hurled the javelin into the ranks, summoned his Dawnblade, and laughed.
Fifty, sixty, maybe more goblins were closing in around him like a hangman’s noose.
“You want to play?” He felt unhinged, murderous, elated. “Well, I brought my toys!”
And the Goldchops came crunching into view, plowing through the bodies like scythes through wheat, even as the Shadow Mastiff bayed and caused the gathered goblins to shudder and draw back.
Harald absorbed a Golden Dawn, simply thrusting his finger into the pouch, then raced forward at the closest goblins, shield raised high, the power of Aching Depths robbing his foes of all confidence and desire to oppose him.
The ranks before him broke and parted.
Harald laughed and raced through, deeper into their midst. A goblin boss stepped into view, huge club raised. Aching Depths washed over the giant brute, his striking visage distended into a howl of hatred that Harald couldn’t hear.
A Goldchop came spinning in from the left. The boss sensed the incoming death and swung his club at the hatchet, twisting with impressive speed.
His club exploded into splinters as he deflected the weapon, but then Harald was there, thrusting his blade into the boss’ paunch. Who screamed in pain, the black corruption of the abyss spreading across his belly as a pulse of strength flooded into Harald. The boss went to backhand Harald across the face, but missed as Harald ducked, tore his blade free, and cleaved his arm off at the elbow.
Goblins on all sides. Only Aching Depths and the Shadow Mastiff’s occasional howl of horror kept them from swamping him and winning the day. Harald swung his blade out wide, causing the goblins to fall back, then brought the sword up and around as he’d drilled a thousand times to cleave the boss’ other arm off at the other elbow.
The boss fell back in dismay, blood fountaining from his arms, but the wound in his gut was his true undoing; even as he stepped back behind his goblins, Harald saw him topple.
But Harald had already turned to new prey. He rushed at the goblins to the left, who screamed and shoved at each other, seeking to get away, but Harald cut them down. A Goldchop spun through their ranks, unstoppable, bursting bodies and causing gore to fountain as Harald slashed and cut.
But the bosses weren’t to be underestimated. A hail of javelins fell down upon Harald, several missing by inches and hitting the ground at a near vertical dive, but some four slammed into his back, one into the back of his knee.
This is why people don’t hunt the 13th alone, a voice that sounded just like Sam spoke at the back of his mind, but Harald ignored it even as he staggered forward and wheeled about.
No pain.
Just weakness, his left leg giving out.
He swept his blade over one shoulder and across his back, knocking several javelins loose. Dark Vigor roared through him, but it couldn’t compensate for such terrible wounds. Harald raised his shield high as he backed out of the brawl, dismissing his Dawnblade and thrusting his fist into his scale pouch.
He was almost out.
He absorbed everything he had left, strength and vigor flowing into him, and then realized he’d been ignoring a huge resource that hovered glittering right before him.
Endless Silver Starbursts floating above the corpses.
With a grin, Harald took off at a hobbled run, his left leg still weak, and began following a path that led through the greatest concentrations of scales.
He’d been limiting himself to needing to touch. The quickest way to absorb scales was to absorb them directly through your skin. But he’d absorbed his first Zenith through his armor into his heart, Ascending to his first Throne as he’d lain on the floor of the 4th.
He could do so again, now, with every Silver he ran through. Will it into his being with a hunger for health, a desire driven by his very Soul Nature.
The howling hunger that yearns to consume the world.
Each took precious moments of focus and concentration to absorb a scale through armor or clothing.
But as he ran through the Silvers, he simply drank them right in.
Wonder and delight suffused him. Small pulses of health began to restore him, closing his wounds further, invigorating him.
He’d never heard of anyone else being able to do this, but then again, his Soul Rank was Divine, and focused almost exclusively on consumption.
Harald laughed as he felt the wounds close, his energy return. The Silver Starbursts made for slow healing, but the swirling mist was littered with them, the corpses of scores of goblins littered all around him.
More javelins rained down on him, but Harald dodged and ducked and cut down the few that he saw coming from the front.
The goblin army had broken, he realized. They hadn’t been able to stand up to the Goldchops and Shadow Mastiff. Their numbers were streaming away into the mist.
Going… where?
Harald decided to find out.
He searched and saw a goblin boss racing away into the gloom, turning a corner around a massive column.
Harald took off after him.
The goblins no longer sought to give battle. They melted away, fleeing Harald and his Goldchops. No javelins rained down on him now. Harald would have lost the boss in the thick fog if his Mastiff hadn’t appeared beside him, tongue lolling happily out the side of its gore-slicked muzzle, and picked up the scent.
Together they ran through the ruins, until they reached a tunnel entrance in the side of a giant block of shaped stone. Harald paused. The wall of rock rose up to the upper level, no doubt the side of a plaza or the like. The tunnel descended into the earth at a steep level, its depths lost to darkness.
Harald licked his dry lips, glanced behind him as the Goldchops came flying up to resume their posts by each of his shoulders, gleaming and clean of all blood.
“You sure the boss went down there?” he asked the Mastiff.
Who lowered his nose to the ground, sniffed audibly as he roved back and forth, and fetched up against the tunnel mouth again. He looked back to Harald and gave a low chuffing woof.
Harald tongued the inside of his cheek. While a tunnel downward didn’t necessarily mean a way to the 14th Level, it was… likely.
Which was fascinating. Did that mean certain dungeon denizens could move from floor to floor? Perhaps only the elites, like the bosses? Or perhaps they could only descend because their power level qualified them for the 14th?
Harald didn’t know.
He examined himself. He was spattered in blood, his arms drenched to the elbows as if he’d dipped them in vats of pig blood.
It was madness to go below.
And yet.
Harald glanced at his Goldchops.
Glanced at the Shadow Mastiff, who perked up as it panted happily.
He thought of the terror birds overwhelming him so easily, how impotent he’d felt.
Frowning, he turned the Dawnblade over, examining its gleaming, perfect ebon length.
The 14th Level.
More goblins, but also where hobgoblins first started to make an appearance.
Harald tightened his grip on the blade, anger pounding in his head.
Slaughtering goblins on the 13th wasn’t going to take him anywhere.
He needed a bigger challenge.
“Let’s see what we find below,” he whispered, and began walking toward the tunnel.
Only for a message to appear in his vision, stark and strange for appearing by itself:
The Demon Seed Has Stirred
A moment later, it was replaced by the beginning of a new set of messages, appearing as if prompted by the first:
The abyss approves of your dedication.
Your boldness has resonated through the depths.
By the decree of the Fallen Angel, you are granted the next echelon of your destiny:
Abyssal Initiate 3
Comments
Fleetpanda
Hope Herald can find a way to balance out the demon seed! Maybe something from the angel he saw?
Paul Johnson
Congrats on the move Phil 😀
Lorenz
Thank you Phil!
Dual.
Tftc
