The Twilight Sepulcher (Delve Grade C)

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Before he'd had a chance to react to Artorious' first blast of [Angel Arm] in the Festering Den, Ethan had felt his whole body fly through the fetid air, crash right through the Delve exit portal, and end up flying right into the Twilight Sepulcher.

He rose with a start, realizing that he'd just crushed an entire section of gravestones outside the grand mansion that housed the Undead Crypts.

Regeneration, Ethan immediately thought, looking at how much HP that single attack had just taken off him.

[Skein of Typhos] immediately started working, but he didn't have a moment to think of another plan.

Artorious came charging through the portal, resplendent in the shimmering armor his God had renewed, one flaming longsword in each hand.

Ethan expected some righteous quip – something that would allow him to think on his feet and come up with a quick ploy, or a ruse, that could force the angel to heel.

But he wasn't afforded that luxury. As a spear of violet lightning cleaved through the dead sky of the Delve, Artorious launched himself right at him.

[Repulsor Shield] flared immediately – blocking the damage from the initial impact as the angel shouldered into him. In response, he activated [Skitter], enhancing his speed and sending an electrical current through the recharged limbs of the angel in an attempt to stun him while [Prophet's Pacification] recharged. But this time, Arty was wise to his tricks. The angel spun away from the electrical impulse, and with a roar of rage he sent one blade flying right at Ethan's form as he sped away.

Ethan rolled out of the way of the hit, expecting to dodge the blade easily, but found that the longsword simply turned in the air and began tracking him.

Blade Magnetism, he scoffed as his eyes looked into the pyrophoric steel of the sharpened blade. He's got all the old Greycloak skills, too…

He didn't have time to react, so [Winterbreath] reacted for him. A cone of cold vapors hissed from Baphomett's jaws and froze the seeking blade in mid-flight, leaving it to tumble uselessly down to the barren ground.

And that gave Ethan just enough time to activate [Blade Barrier] and block the damage from the [Angel-Arm] strike that Artorious had just sent his way.

He watched as each spectral blade sliced into the killing beam of light like knives cutting through butter, but didn't stop to make sure the 1000 pts of Spirit Damage was completely repulsed. He knew what Arty was really up to, here.

As he'd activated his best defensive measure, the angel was up in the sky, bringin his blade up with both hands and summoning all his strength behind it. With a single roar of defiance he swept down with the tip aimed right at Ethan.

And Ethan, with hearing that was available only to his honed Archon senses, registered movement to his left. Artorious was commanding his frozen blade to rise and sweep towards him, too in a deadly pincer move. Right now, Ethan was caught between the angel, his killing beam, and his sentient blade.

If any of those attacks connected, it'd all be over.

Luckily for him, it seemed that he wasn't the only one who never learned when to quit.

[Ethereal Form]

[Hide]

Before the eyes of the angel he vanished from plain sight, and Artorious' blade sliced through nothing but dead air. The angel stopped mid-flight, caught his sword and reignited it, and then scanned the realm of the dead.

"You think you can hide from me, Archon?" he hissed. "No. Not this time. Never again."

He activated his [Eyes of Raziel] skill, instantly becoming aware of all signs of life within the barren landscape of this delve. Beneath the ground, he saw hundreds – maybe thousands – of creatures. Undead waiting for the moment to attack an unwilling party that wandered into their lair. However, right now, they were staying put. Evidently they knew better than to rise while two cosmic beings were fighting.

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However, the angel knew what the Archon's gambit was this time. He'd sunk into the earth using [Ethereal Form] and his invisibility, hoping that the mass of undead would effectively cloak him from Artorious' angel eyes. The Lightborn had to laugh. Even now, the fool believed – genuinely believed – that he could win this duel.

But this was no duel. It was natural hygiene. It was a cleansing of the cancer that ate at all of Argwyll.

And he – Artorious – was the world's instrument.

He breathed deep the musky air of the decrepit realm and channeled his divine energy, feeling every vein on his silver arms brim with sheer, raw power. The power to make, and to unmake.

[Angel-Arm] (Left)

[Angel-Arm] (Right)

He felt the power of his Lord flow through him, and, letting it pool at the tip of his blades, he let it fly.

The ground of the twilight realm was ripped apart as the beams of light connected. They tore up the earth, revealed the zombies and ghouls hidden beneath, and instantly vaporized their flesh. The creatures barely got the chance to let out a wail of agony as they died – their every pore and atom melted by the purifying light of Kaedmon.

"So shall He punish the wicked and the evil," Artorious intoned. "So shall those who walk in the dusk be dragged, humbled, into the light."

As the hordes of shambling corpses burned, he watched for the signs of a larger form down there. He kept up his assault, flying closer to the ground so that his eviscerating light could pierce through the graveyards to the tombs beneath – to the great mausoleums which ran under this place. Even down to the tomb of Valgraiva himself, where the inert body of Rachneros now dwelled in the place of the Delve Boss.

And then, finally, he saw it: something large, slowly beginning to rise from the crypts beneath the ground.

Found you.

The angel raised both his blades in anticipation of the Archon's pitiful attempt at a counter-attack.

But as the life sign slowly began to resolve itself from the cloudy blob he's first seen, Artorious realized that he had a new problem here.

A big one.

[Enemy Identified: Shambling Corpse Mound Broodlord]

LVL: 95

HP: 1750/1750

From beneath the ashen earth, a worm the size of the undead mansion itself broke through the dirt and opened its gaping maw, comprised of hundreds of thousands of skeletal corpses.

And it raced right towards Artorious.

The Angel activated his divine shielding, stopping the beast from doing damage, but not from swallowing him whole and gulping him right down its gargantuan esophageal tract. It emitted a liberal belch of satisfaction before its insides began to shudder and grumble.

Within the next second, Artorious blew a hole through the creature's side and emerged in the dark world of the dead again, slapping away the shambling limbs of the corpses that had tried to drag him deeper inside the beast's great bowels.

If he had been perceptive enough to see through the mad haze of his anger, he might have spotted the small spike blue embedded in the beast's side – evidence of an ability that he'd never seen the Archon use before.

But Ethan, who was currently watching this battle in the tomb the giant worm had emerged from, knew just how versatile this ability was.

Remote Possession (Grade B)Allows possession of any ONE creature at or below the user's current level from up to 500 yards away.Warning: Hostile minds resist more strongly, may cause mental backlash. Current secondary Host stability: 85%.

Ethan smirked in spite of the odds stacked against him. He hadn't expected to find such a massive Shambler down here, waiting for its moment to rise and defend its home from an invader. But just like the spiders of The Festering Den, it recognized one of its own. It had acknowledged the Spirit Core of Valgraiva, Lord of the Dead, as soon as Ethan had blundered his way into its lair.

And now it opened its skeletal maw and let out a roar of defiance to match the angel's own. Artorious, meanwhile, flew to cut it apart.

And he'll cut it apart, Ethan thought. Of that, there's no doubt. He's never going to let up ever again. He'll endure all pain. All fear. He'll deal with everything I throw at him. Because that's what he's convinced himself that he was made for: to be little more than a punching bag.

…sounds familiar.

Ethan watched as the angel and the worm faced off, the former's speed allowing him to make precision swiped at the beast's massive hide while the latter's sheer bulk made maneuvering tricky. It was a lopsided battle, true, but the great beast wasn't alone.

For the roar it had just emitted had been more than just a rage-fueled scream. It had been a call for aid.

And if the vibrations rumbling through the tombs were any indication, such aid was coming. Fast.

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