AN: A new chapter is out! I still have a cold, but it's manageable now. Anyways, hope you enjoy the chapter. Gimme stones on the way out okay. Thank you :)
...
4E 202, Shor's Stone, Near the Ebony Palace
Savos Aren
An explosion rocked the streets.
White light carved through the air in a beam only to scatter against Savos' raised ward.
The barrier in his hands shimmered like polished glass, fracturing the beam from the Staff of Magnus into a thousand scattered rays. Each fragment struck stone and earth with devastating force, melting cobbles into slag and tearing through already-ruined walls.
Savos held firm, boots grinding against the ground as the pressure pushed against him.
Then it stopped.
Serana surged in from the flank, her hands crackling with white lightning. Bolts lashed outward in rapid succession.
Morokei merely leaned his head back, an effortless thing as the lightning skimmed past his mask by inches.
His free hand rose in response, conjuring a torrent of flame that roared toward Serana, The heat alone was so intense that the moisture in the air instantly dried.
Serana did not falter one bit, the bodice covering her body lighting as it protected her against the heat. Instead, she answered with frost. Both her and Mirabelle whose combined magic formed a crashing wave of ice that met the inferno head-on. Fire and frost collided and turned into hissing mist at the point of impact.
Savos was not one to stay idle, and moved his hands together in a sharp clap, magicka surging through him as a massive spear of ice formed between his hands. Without hesitation, he hurled it forward, the projectile screaming through the air toward Morokei.
A white spherical ward shimmered into existence, bubbling around the spear and froze it in place. A heartbeat later, the spell unravelled and was gone, the magicka building it absorbed.
Savos grimaced.
This was going poorly. Not disastrously yet, but poorly enough.
Morokei was contained, yes. Between himself, Serana, and Mirabelle, they had forced the Dragon Priest into a defensive rhythm. But containment was not victory.
And the battlefield around them told a far worse story.
Serana's earlier efforts had borne fruit, for the sealed portals meant that the tide of undead no longer continued, but it changed nothing about the thousands already present. They poured through the streets like a living flood, pressing against every defensive line.
While one street was defended by Sorine Jurard and Dawnguard, that still left three streets open for the undead to pour through. The only warriors they had here were Serana's sworn shield and half-a-dozen Shor's Guard. Nowhere near enough to hold the tide.
That was until reinforcements came from the most unlikely of places. The bell above the Ebony Palace toiled, and Savos turned his head just in time to see the gates of the palace burst open.
Dozens at first, then scores, then over a hundred soldiers clad in steel surged into the district, weapons raised, voices united in a thunderous cry.
"For Skyrim!"
At their head rode two Jarls.
Dengeir of Stuhn, Jarl of Falkreath, followed in his wake by his Housecarl Helvard. Beside him, Jarl Korir of Winterhold led his men straight into the heart of the undead tide.
They were the reserve forces, one hundred and fifty strong, the ones tasked to defend the bunkers that held every non-fighting civilian in the city. And yet they were here now.
Korir glanced toward Savos amidst the clash. "Make sure you handle that priest, Archmage! We'll take care of the undead!"
Savos acknowledged with a tilt of his head before turning back. Morokei hovered still, staff in hand, mask unreadable.
The reinforcements certainly helped alleviate his burden, however slightly. Because in the end, the draugr was nothing more than a distraction. The true threat here was Morokei, that much was true.
Serana had done wonderfully well in distracting Morokei. She has certainly grown leaps and bounds with her magic since the day he and Gerron joined the College. Savos noted it even now, amidst the chaos. There was something different about her spellcasting. Something… deeper.
Savos was interested, and he would ask her more about it after all of this. Proving they all survive of course.
Morokei raised his hand, gathering magicka once more, Savos acted instantly.
He slammed his palms together, and a wall of storms erupted around the Dragon Priest. Lightning arced in a violent sphere, tearing at the forming spell and disrupting it entirely.
To retaliate, Morokei raised the Staff of Magnus high. The air itself seemed to bend toward it, magicka drawn in like a vortex. The wall of storms dissipated, the crown of the staff glowing brighter and brighter.
Then it came down, and a wave surged outward.
Savos reacted on instinct, his crystalline barrier snapping into place around himself, Serana, and Mirabelle.
The wave passed. But when the ward dropped, they saw that every soul in their surroundings had stopped in place.
Ranessa. The Jarls. The soldiers. Even the draugr. Each one was frozen in place, locked and paralyzed.
Savos' jaw tightened. So that was the staff's true danger.
It not only enhanced the wielder's magicka, but also allowed them to weave magic with ease, allowing faster casting times. Mass Paralysis was a Master-Level alteration spell, and Morokei just did it with ease.
That wasn't even mentioning its trait to devour magicka, and the ability to return it in larger force. Yet it was different from what the Atronach Stone, which boasted a similar capability, could do.
Gerron would certainly know more, his unique insights had proven to be more than capable in discerning the true nature of artifacts within a single glance. It was an ability that Savos was truly envious about. To break apart the intricacies of an enchantment, learning the potential uses and history of magical artifacts. A more than appropriate power to be given to the bearer of the Forge Eternal.
Savos won't lie. The thought of fighting Morokei once again fills him with dread. There was a certain pressure that was on his shoulders as being the one person capable of matching the Dragon Priest, spell for spell.
But Savos had prepared for this. The many weeks of preparation for this day had borne fruit. He knew that Morokei was his destined enemy, similar to how Kiera was to Alduin.
He had pored over all the books in the Arcaneum that had the slightest mention of Morokei and the Dragon Priests, spell tomes were read by the dozens to improve himself. But all of that preparation paled in comparison to the power he now wielded with the Eye of Magnus.
With a single incantation, Savos lifted over a ton of weight from the rubble of a nearby building and shoved it towards Morokei.
A non-magical attack, that was the key to defeating Morokei. The magic within them could so easily be absorbed by the staff, but the momentum and speed given to objects by the Telekinesis spell wasn't so easily rebuffed.
From the other side, Serana conjured a bound bow, releasing arrows that shone with Meridia's white light.
Of course, defeating the most powerful Dragon Priest was not as simple as that, as the rubble exploded mid-flight, shattered by a counterblast from the staff. The arrows were deflected by a ward. But they served as enough of a distraction for Mirabelle to cast one of her signature spells, Mass Dispel.
The paralysis shattered and all their allies surged back to life. All,except the draugr. To utilize Morokei's own spell to their advantage filled Savos with a sense of satisfaction as Korir roared.
"Forward!"
Mirabelle followed up with 'Rally', an illusion spell that acted as a pick-me-up for allies, filling their minds with feelings of victory and vigor.
Savos felt it instantly, feeling invigorated.
The tide began to turn. And Morokei noticed.
A mage of his calibre would have a degree of pride, and it seems he's had enough of Mirabelle's interference. The Staff of Magnus was once again raised in her direction, a beam ready to swallow her whole.
Not if he could help it.
He appeared right in front of Mirabelle, a ward shimmering into view, the necklace that bore the Eye of Magnus burned against his chest, azure light seeping through his robes, as Savos finally understood.
The reason why the strength of men had waned in centuries past. The reason why the world was locked in a stream of stagnation.
It was all because of this. The Eye.
Gerron was right in that regard. When the Eye of Magnus had been active. The magic from this artifact had suffused with the land itself. It was how warriors like Ysgramor, Olaf One-Eye, and others existed. It was all in the food they ate, the water they drank. Every part of their life was filled with copious amounts of magic given to them by the Eye of Magnus.
Yet when Saarthal fell and was thus sealed, the magic waned. The land began to lose its lustre, and slowly but surely, the world had weakened.
But no more. He knew then what to do. When all this is over, the Eye would be returned to its rightful place where it can suffuse itself into the land once again and the constant decline of the world shall end. But to do that, he must survive. And survive he shall.
The beam of white light was swallowed by Savos' own azure light, and it vanished. Consumed and unmade in its entirety. Savos' breath steadied.
"So that's how it is…" Savos muttered.
He could see it now. The structure of spells, the weaving of magicka, the fragile threads that held them together. They were the very building blocks to their creation. With that sight, he could break them.
For the first time, Morokei looked surprised.
He lowered his staff slightly, tilting his head as the mask dipped downwards. "To learn the true power of the eye…You are truly a worthy opponent, Aren."
"Then should we finish this, finally?" Savos' gaze hardened. "The staff and the eye. You and me. Let us see as proper, who the superior mage truly is."
The hand that held the staff shook with something, was that excitement? Savos saw how the two azure flames behind Morokei's mask shone with anticipation.
"Let us."
They began to rise, both of them. Magicka surged beneath their feet as they lifted into the air, robes and armor fluttering in the storm of power gathering around them.
"Savos!" Mirabelle called, alarm breaking through her composure. "What are you—"
"I shall end this once for all," Savos said calmly. He glanced back to Mirabelle, Serana, and at the battlefield below. " I shall keep Morokei busy. In the meanwhile, you must finish the battle here. Two mages of your calibre are more than enough to tip the scales in our favor. Durnehviir and Alduin still live."
"But you–"
"Do not worry." His gaze softened as the worry from the woman who remained by his side all these years. "I won't die."
Then he turned. Morokei was already moving.
The air split as they shot forward, two streaks of white and azure light tearing away from Shor's Stone at impossible speed.
Further, away from the city, away from everything.
For what followed would be a battle that would change Skyrim itself.
…
4E 202, Northern district of the city
Aela the Huntress
Wrestling an undead dragon was nothing like hunting elk in the plains. Every sign of existence that he possessed all marked that her current quarry had transcended into a state in between life and death.
He was neither alive or dead, but more like death made flesh.
Aela's claws dug deep into Durnehviir's decaying scales as she forced the beast downward, her massive werewolf form straining with every ounce of strength she possessed. But the stench, gods, the stench, pierced her nostrils like blades. It was thick, suffocating, and wrong.
She had to stop herself from gagging. Even the taste was unbearable, she certainly regretted sinking her fangs into his flesh. It was like biting into a rabbit whose corpse was left out in the open for weeks on end.
The bile rising in her throat was telling, but she refused to falter. Because the scream of pain that Durnehviir let out was music to her ears.
And besides, she wasn't alone, for Isran's own efforts were helpful in bringing the damn beast down.
They crashed into the remains of a marketplace, splintering stalls and stone alike. Timber snapped beneath their combined weight, debris scattering in all directions.
Thankfully, the townsfolk had long since been evacuated, and this part of the city had not been filled with any one that Aela would have felt guilty in crushing.
"Champion of Hircine," Durnehviir merely rasped, as if falling hundreds of feet from the air was an everyday task. His massive tail lashed out, striking her square in the side.
Aela was thrown off him, skidding across broken stone. Isran leapt from her back at the last moment, landing hard but steady, his weapon already in motion.
"Is it not in your instincts," Durnehviir continued, rising with unnatural grace for something so massive, "for prey to cower before a predator?"
Aela rose, her lips curling back into a savage grin.
"Indeed," she growled, "which is why I cower before no one."
Durnehviir was larger than her by a decent amount, something she could utilize to her advantage. Isran was here, and he was the key to fighting Durnehviir. For only the light of Stendarr could beat back the power of undeath wielded by the Kruziik of the soul.
"Hmph. How preposterous." Durnehviir's wings flared, a shout on his lips. "GAAN LAH HAA—"
Aela recognized the telltale signs of a dragon's Thu'um and moved swiftly. She lunged upward, claws snapping onto his jaws—upper and lower—and wrenched them sideways with brutal force. The shout misfired, blasting through nearby ruins but doing nothing aside from the initial shockwave.
Aela grimaced, 'Must be a soul-based shout. Have to avoid getting hit by one of those.'
In the same beat, Isran striked.
His claymore, made entirely out of Stendarr's light, cut deep across Durnehviir's flank.
The dragon roared in pain and fury as claws lashed out.
Aela took the hit head-on, her body absorbing the impact. But even she staggered, gouges torn into her fur where bone-like talons pierced through.
Isran wasn't spared.
Durnehviir's tail whipped around, catching him across the chest and sending him crashing through what remained of a stone wall.
The dragon surged forward, and Aela forced herself to meet him midway.
The dragon loomed over her, larger, and older than anything she had ever faced.
A Kruziik. One of the greatest horrors to ever walk Nirn. And yet, she welcomed it. For her predatory instincts simply could not accept otherwise.
But it was easier said than done.
Teeth, claw, tail. Every part of Durnehviir was a weapon that carried devastating force. But Aela was faster, and she utilized that advantage to swerve and duck whenever she could. Grabbing the object strapped to her back, Aela lengthened the Spear of the Hunter to the size of a massive javelin, now sitting comfortably in the grip of her larger form.
This was the true strength of the Hircine's artifact, the weapon that could hunt even the gods themselves.
She timed her movement with Isran, who rose again, blood at his lips. But his hands glowed as golden light formed, reshaping into his favored weapon, the warhammer.
He charged, slamming the hammer into Durnehviir's side at the same time that Aela lunged the spear forward, catching the dragon right at the base of the neck.
For the very first time, the dragon recoiled. While Aela's strike was only a flesh wound and the poison doing nothing to an already undead foe, Stendarr's Light burned him brightly.
Aela saw it, and pressed harder. She had to give Isran the opening to do the killing blow.
She leapt again, lunging with her claws to rake across the wound she had already done.
But Durnehviir adapted. He had grown used to her speed. His wings beat once as a gust of force knocked Isran back. At the same time, his tail whipped sideways, harder this time, as Aela could feel the breath knocked from her lungs.
Then he inhaled deeply, Isran's eyes widened.
"Aela, move! That's—!"
"RII—"
She recognized those words, she knew what that was. Kiera had given them all a dossier to look out for in regards to the other Kruziik. The was the Soul Tear shout, Durnehviir's signature Thu'um one that could kill mortal beings instantly.
"VAAZ—"
He was aiming for her, and her eyes narrowed into only this moment. So she didn't hesitate.
"ZO–!"
Driven by instincts, she aimed the Spear and lengthened it, a divine aim gifted to her as the Champion of Hircine struck true as one of Durnehviir's eyes exploded in a viscera of black ichor
The shout broke as it was interrupted, but Durnehviir roared in fury. One wing swatted away the lengthened spear, breaking it free from her grip as it clattered onto the cobblestones.
Next, the ground rumbled continuously as he charged at her, quicker than she could react. A sharp pain flared in her shoulder as rows and rows of sharp teeth took a deep bite of her flesh.
Isran roared, rushing to her aid. But Durnehviir twisted violently, throwing her in his direction. His tail followed, spines slicing through her silver fur mid-flight, tearing a deep gash along her flank as she crashed into the ruins.
Her breathing came out in raspy breaths. She barely had time to recover before, "FUS RO DAH!"
The world exploded. She and Isran were thrown back, bodies tumbling across broken stone and debris.
Aela landed hard, breath knocked from her lungs. Her vision started to blur.
Durnehviir rose again, a low growl in his throat, one eye still continuously bleeding black ichor.
Then, an explosion covered the ground as Durnehviir staggered. A blast of magicka struck him head-on, engulfing him in smoke.
Lightning followed—white and brilliant—slamming into his underbelly and forcing him backward.
Aela felt it then. Strength and warmth filling her in equal measure. Her wounds dulled into a muted pain, her muscles surged with renewed power.
That's when she saw it. Gerron stood at one end of the street, hammer having bloomed open like a flower.
From an opposite street, Serana, lightning still dancing between her fingers, and beside her, Mirabelle, hands raised in the direction of Isran and Aela.
The Champion of Stendarr rose beside her, his breathing steadying, one hand clad in warm gold as he cast Healing Hands on her.
"Well," he muttered, re-summoning his radiant hammer, "You lot came at the right time."
Mirabelle was the first to move, her eyes glowing a powerful green as she slammed her magic downwards.
The green wave surged and covered every single one of them like a cloak, and almost instantly, Aela found herself moving faster, her muscles stronger.
Aela grinned, a bloodthirsty smile on her lips. Was this the power of a Master Illusionist Wizard?
Feeling invigorated, Aela howled before leading the charge. Her massive form crashed forward as she leapt straight for Durnehviir. Her claws struck first, raking across his chest and forcing him back.
Gerron and Isran followed. The two titans striking both of their hammers together and blue lightning and golden light exploded from the impact. Durnehviir was launched backward, his massive body tearing through stone as he crashed into the ruins behind him.
He tried to rise, but chains of frost snapped around him. Serana and Mirabelle stood in unison, the latter empowering the former with another Rally spell. Ice formed into thick bindings, wrapping around the wings and limbs before locking themselves to the ground around him.
Durnehviir roared and tried to take flight, the chains straining as a result. But a blade of pure light descended from above and slammed him back into the ground.
Aela was already on him again, claws tearing into whatever flesh she could reach, holding him down as the others pressed their assault.
Then, the dragon roared again. But it was different this time. Aela realized what it was a few seconds later when the moans and shambles of the undead began appearing as swarms of them surged towards them from every direction.
But another force met it. From the other side, a tide of red and light yellows began appearing from the other side. At their heads, Legate Rikke and Jarl Balgruuf, who looked battered and bloodied, but not broken.
Balgruuf raised his axe, leading the charge with his dragonbone armor as he screamed, "For Skyrim!
They crashed into the undead, holding them back with sheer will.
Aela didn't look back. She couldn't.
This was the moment.
She lunged for the wing. Durnehviir's head snapped forward, jaws opening wide. But the Dragonslayer was there, his hammer struck beneath the dragon's chin and sent it sideways.
At the same time, golden threads of light joined the icy chains, binding Durnehviir in place.
He struggled, roared and fought as Serana and Isran let out grunts of their own in their attempts to contain him. It was when Gerron took one of those threads himself and pulled was Durnehviir finally held.
It was at that moment that Aela knew what to do. After all, she was there when Gerron Ironbreaker did it for the first time and claimed the name 'Dragonslayer'. She was there when the bards immortalized his feat into the songs in 'Breaker of Iron'.
Aela climbed up his back, her claws digging deep and she went higher and higher. She reached the neck, up the head, and her paws slammed down on either side of his skull, and she pulled.
She could feel Durnehviir roar and his attempts to break free grew wilder and wilder, only for her own allies to roar, for they knew this was their chance.
Aela's muscles began to scream, veins bulging beneath her fur. She pulled, harder and harder as the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, CRACK.
The sound echoed across the city as Durnehviir's neck twisted, too far and too much.
The great dragon stilled. And in that very moment, all across Shor's Stone, the portals began to close.
One by one.
…
AN: BIG CHAPPIE, COMING AT YA!
This chapter was hard, simply because a majority of it is just action sequences. I honestly don't know if I'm going to be doing this for the rest of the arc or if I should just streamline the action so the plot could go forward…but it's also the final battle and that has to mean something, right?
Anyways, more reveals regarding the Eye of Magnus and the Staff of Magnus. Kind of a cliche thing, but I always saw the Eye of Magnus as a literal thing, an eye to see magicka at its purest form while the Staff is the anchor, the foci that could be used to absorb magic and empower spells.
I don't know how much people would enjoy that since it's not a unique ability in any sense, but it is the one I came up with, so I hope you guys like it.
The last battle here was fun though. Making it an Aela POV was a last minute change since I originally used Isran as the main focus. But then I remembered Aela hasn't been getting as much love in recent chapters so I decided to give it to her.
I hope you like that whole action sequence, team up battles are always so fun to write and writing that part was a joy.
Anyways and as always, more chapters are available on my P-word. Chapter 131 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers people.