Disclaimer: As usual, Elder Scrolls and anything related belong to Bethesda Studios. OC(s) and plot belongs to me.
Prologue
"I do what I must do. I cannot stay to rebuild Tamriel. That task falls to others." Martin Septim spoke sternly. His eyes were without fear-his resolve resonating through the hearts of those around him.
The Hero of Kvatch placed his fist over his heavy heart. They both knew what would come next. There was only one road left and Martin must walk it alone.
A guard made a move to speak, but Martin waved him aside. Outside, their friends, families, and people were fighting for their lives. There was no time for goodbyes.
Martin looked the Hero in the eyes. "Farewell. You've been a good friend, in the short time that I've known you. But now I must go. The Dragon waits." The man smiled sadly. He wore robes fit for an emperor-robes that were too large and ungainly for him. And the Amulet of Kings hung from his neck like a weighted noose. Yet they all knew that he would have become a virtuous king, a king of legends. As a simple man of humble beginnings, Martin was only a mere scholar, yet has risen to accept a destiny meant for heroes. A true Dragonborn.
The Hero nodded slowly. There were no words left to say. Martin glanced at him appreciatively. Alone, he ran up to the circular center of the Temple of One. Several enormous white pillars surrounded him, reaching for a ceiling that seemed hundreds of feet high. However, at this very moment, Martin Septim seemed no less small.
A monstrous roar thundered outside. Suddenly, the entire ceiling blasted off the temple room, huge chunks or marble and stone falling around them like rain. The guards scrambled for cover, raising their arms in a futile attempt to protect themselves from the debris. However, the Hero of Kvatch stood stoically still, eyes glued on the towering figure with skin the color of deep crimson. Its blood caked lips curved into a vicious smile as it eyed its prey with black eyes as dark as its soul.
Mehrunes Dagon. Daedric Prince of Destruction.
And with the last of any resistance gathered before him, he only saw himself as Daedric King.
The Hero of Kvatch watched helplessly as the Daedra reached one of his four massive arms-each the size of a pillar-towards his friend, the new emperor. Yet Martin stood defiantly, glaring into the Prince's eyes. Dagon paused, and seemed to notice for the first time the object clutched in the human's hands. The Hero saw the Prince's eyes widen in disbelief as he heard the sound of the Amulet shatter in Martin's fist. He turned away, quickly shielding his eyes from the brilliant rays of blindingly white light that shot out of his friend's body. To his astonishment, Martin slowly rose into the air, almost peacefully, as if asleep.
Dagon stepped back, clearly disturbed. However, before he or the Hero could realize what was happening, an explosion of white and gold fire lit up the room. The remaining pillars were sent flying, leaving only ruins of the beautiful white temple that was once revered by all. In its place floated a massive golden dragon wreathed in holy fire.
The Hero of Kvatch could only stare in awe at the scene before him. Both the dragon and Dagon were of equal size, and the outcome of the inevitable fight was still uncertain. The dragon was the first to move, opening its maw and bathing the Daedra in scorching fire. Dagon countered with a wave of his axe. The Hero knew for certain that the sight before him would live on as legend. Two beings of titanic proportions locked in a battle meant only for immortals.
Mehrunes Dagon bellowed in rage, swinging his double-bladed war axe at the Avatar of Akatosh. The Dragon beat its wings furiously, driving off the Daedra's desperate attack. Dagon snarled, thrusting one of his four arms forth and delivering a shock-wave inducing blow to the Dragon's chest, following with another swing of his claws. Yet the Dragon seemed unfazed. Taking to the air, it once more released a column of flame large enough to burn a mountain to the ground, forcing the Prince to block with all four arms as its burned away the armies of Dremora behind him.
The fire dissipated, and Mehrunes smiled triumphantly. He was still standing. He opened his arms, lifting his axe high into the air, preparing to bring ruin onto his enemy with all of his might. This time, he would crush the life from the dragon in one final sweep.
The Hero felt apprehension stir within the depths of his heart. The Daedra had not fallen. Instead, he saw with climbing fear the small curve of a smile on the Prince of Destruction's lips. His practiced eye noticed how one of the Daedra's hands clamped down tightly around his axe, before lifting it above his head. Another swung from below, armed with sinister claws. Whatever he was planning, the Hero prayed it would not come to pass.
And the gods answered. The moment Dagon stopped his block, the golden Dragon darted forth, its teeth ripping into the titanic Daedra's throat, crushing bone and sinew.
Mehrunes blinked in shock. There was no scream, no cry of fury and defeat. He could not even move. The Hero saw the Prince go limp between the dragon's jaws, his axe falling to the ground with an earth-shattering boom. The golden dragon released him, watching with gleaming eyes as Mehrunes fell to his knees. It took to the air one final time, unleashing a torrent of flame hot enough to melt stone. Mehrunes disappeared behind the wall of dragonfire, unmoving. Finally, the flames stopped, and the Daedra closed its black eyes.
Suddenly, his enormous body twitched. Then it began to twist. A vortex of black formed at the center of the Daedric Prince's blood-red chest. The Hero, along with the survivors of the demonic invasion all stared in shock and awe as they watched the massive body of Mehrunes Dagon disappear into the void with a swirl, as if sucked into a whirlpool of air. Within moments, Dagon was gone, all traces of him purged from this world.
The Avatar of Akatosh reared its mighty head and roared in triumph to the skies. Golden fire cloaked its majestic body, sending hope and relief through the Hero of Kvatch's aching limbs. Slowly, the fire gradually burned out, leaving behind the dragon still in its victorious stance, now turned to stone. Martin's sacrifice had worked. Tamriel is saved.
The Hero blinked as the dim crimson sky suddenly vanished, as if swept away by a mighty wind. Brilliant blue skies and pure white clouds took their place. Sunrays pierced through the heavens, bathing the land in its comfort and warmth. Survivors could be heard cheering from outside the walls of the city. It was a breathtaking sight. Martin should have seen it. He deserved it. Now the Septim bloodline was lost-the empire without an emperor, and he without his trusted friend.
Footsteps interrupted the Hero's nostalgic daze, and he turned to meet the newcomer. High Chancellor Ocato approached him, practically beaming with excitement. His clothes were shredded, his face cut and bleeding profusely from several places. No doubt he had participated in the defense of the city, and probably fought his share of Dremora.
"What happened? Where's Martin? I must congratulate him! Mehrunes Dagon is defeated! Cast back into Oblivion! We've won!" He laughed, still panting from his run through the palace grounds.
However, the Hero felt an uneasy clump form in his stomach. Although the Prince of Destruction should have been banished forever in his realm in Oblivion, he sensed that the Prince had vanished completely, as if he never existed. Something else was at play, something that might have manipulated fate. But now was not the time to worry. Ocato was searching for Martin. And only the Hero and a handful of guards knew of his fate.
"Martin is gone." He replied gravely. The High Chancellor's face fell immediately. Panic and confusion crossed his features.
"What do you mean, gone?" He asked, eyes darting around. "We saw the Temple dome explode, the Avatar of Akatosh appear…that was Martin?"
"Yes. He shattered the Amulet…"
"The joined blood of kings and gods. The Amulet of Kings. The divine power of Akatosh." Ocato murmured quietly.
"…And Martin's blood too…"
"Then Martin is gone..." Ocato's head dropped, eyes downcast.
The Hero of Kvatch felt the pain just as keenly. They have all come a long way since they found Martin Septim among the humble monks in the distant town of Kvatch. However, he knew they must move on, and look to the land Martin entrusted to them.
"But the gates are sealed." He said, drawing Ocato's attention forth once more.
Ocato nodded. "Yes. Sealed forever. Mehrunes Dagon and his ilk can never threaten Tamriel again. Martin is dead. But he died an emperor, and a hero to rival Tiber Septim."
"What about the Empire?"
"This victory is not without cost. We've lost Martin Septim. What an emperor he might have made. His sacrifice was necessary, but it leaves the Empire without an emperor. I don't know what happens now. There are troubled times ahead for the Empire." Ocato shrugged regrettably. "But now is not the time to worry about the future. Let's just give thanks that we're alive." He gave a small smile. Nearby, survivors began to gather, seeing their High Chancellor and Hero. The Hero could recognize many of them, guards and civilians who assisted and fought alongside him on his journeys.
"In my capacity as Lord High Chancellor of the Elder Council, I hereby proclaim you Champion of Cyrodiil!" Ocato exclaimed. Upon hearing High Chancellor Ocato's proclamation, the small crowd began cheering, chanting in repeat the Hero's new name. Champion.
The Hero-no-Champion was wordless. He began his quest as a prisoner. Now he was the seventh Champion of Cyrodiil. He felt a swell of pride and happiness fill his heart. However, there was still a lingering doubt buried deep within the depths of his mind. A suspicion that he knew would plague him to the end of his days.
Dagon was not banished to Oblivion. He was transported.
To where, the Champion did not want to know. To when, his fears only mounted. Amid the roar of the growing crowd, he raised his head to look at the clear blue sky, breathing in the fresh air untainted by the smell of blood, dust, and smoke. Something was happening. The Wheels were turning, in which direction he had no idea. Maybe the rules of the world have been changed completely, the Wheel broken, yet inconspicuously so that not even the gods had noticed. But deep inside him, with gathering dread, he knew.
There was an even greater danger ahead.
The Vestige snarled.
He was kneeling in knee-deep water, left hand clutching a wound on his side. I'm the Soulless One. I cannot die. Hurt maybe, but not die.
Molag Bal approached him, grinned wickedly, victory painted across his hideous face. Every step he took through the cold, sludge-like water created a thin layer of ice. His mace emanated a murderous aura, wanting for blood. His blood. Yet, before the Daedric Prince of Domination could bring his mace down upon him, the Vestige charged, driving his blade deep within the Prince's belly and leapt aside. Molag Bal recoiled, growling furiously, he grasped the handle of the great-sword lodged within his gut. With a yank, the blade was easily pulled free, spilling the Prince's black blood.
"I am God of Oblivion. You are less than nothing." The Daedra spat. "Your weapons cannot hurt me."
The Vestige scoffed, withdrew his bow from his back, carefully nocking an arrow, then another. And another. Molag Bal tossed the great-sword behind him, shrugging the wound aside. However, the Vestige knew that it had hurt him more than he let on. After all, he himself had acquired the power of the Aedra. This was now a fight between equals. The Vestige glanced around, spotting the hordes of Daedric Titans. Equals, but not on even ground. He smiled grimly. He released his arrows of light.
Molag Bal swung his mace, batting several away, but several more struck him in the chest. He grunted in annoyance.
"Still you fight on? Do you care nothing for your own existence?" The Prince roared, enraged. He charged the Vestige. The Vestige ducked another swing from the Daedra's massive, twisted mace and dove to the side, landing with a roll. Bringing his bow up, he launched another stream of golden arrows blessed by the power of the gods. The Prince flicked his hand, releasing a wave of freezing cold air. Most of the arrows froze mid-flight, falling into the murky water with silent splashes. The Vestige frowned.
"I am the face of pain! The souls of the dead are my weapons. You will know eons of suffering!" Bal screeched, his voice thundering across Coldharbour. The Daedric Titans nearby began to make their move, no doubt following their eternal master's silent order. They beat their enormous wings, lifting themselves into the air as they flew towards the battlefield.
The Vestige watched with growing dismay as an entire pack of Titans landed around him, surrounding the two combatants. They roared as one, sending vibrations through the air and water, and into his bones. Momentarily distracted, the Vestige did not notice Molag Bal approach from behind. The Prince slammed his mace down, striking the Vestige directly in his back. And explosion of pain erupted from his spine, and the Vestige collapsed into the shallow water face-first, coughing blood. Above him, Molag Bal laughed mockingly.
"A mortal with the blessing of gods is still a mortal!"
The Vestige grimaced, slowly pulling himself to his feet as he slid his sword into his hands. His back was dripping blood, the armor crushed and shredded by the Daedra's twisted mace. It hurt. Almost as much as when Lyris caught him peeking. That also hurt. He grinned. The pain was tolerable-he would repay Bal, tenfold.
"Finish him!" Bal bellowed.
From his side, a Titan lunged for him. With a swift slice of his glowing sword, the Titan stumbled back with a yelp, holding the stump of its right arm. The Vestige immediately pressed his attack, and the Titans converged upon him. All the while, the Prince of Domination stood by and laughed in glee.
Molag Bal turned to walk away. Behind him, the Titans were clumped into a ball of rage and fury, devastating a significant portion of the battleground. He had expected, no, hoped for a greater challenge. Unfortunately, it seemed that even a champion chosen by gods were no match for his might. Molag Bal chuckled to himself. The fool had no soul in him, probably stolen by some god or another Prince. It amused him how those on the side of what they called "good" were just as deceitful and manipulative as him. But once the mortal was physically and finally dead, his soul would belong to him, trapped for eternity in his domain. The Prince licked his lips in anticipation, imagining all sorts of tortures and revenges he would force upon the one being who had caused him such a great deal of trouble. All of his schemes, ruined by a single undead rat. The Planemeld, his Dark Anchors, his network of spies and worshippers, a complex web of intricate plans down to the most miniscule detail that could even match those of Boethiah's-all took eons of planning. Eons of waiting. And it took one worthless mortal less than a year to wipe it all out! Molag Bal seethed in a fresh layer of fury a his headache returned with a vengeance. If Dagon got ahead of him, gods be damned, if Dagon of all Princes managed to absorb this realm before he did, his fury would be infinite. He will punish every mortal, every soul, for the transgressions of the vermin that opposed him, that ruined his machinations. The men would suffer. The women would be his to toy with. And the children…he hated children. They would spend eternity in the deepest pit he could find in ColdHarbour.
Then, unexpectedly, everything went silent. No sound was heard but the occasional distant moan or scream of a trapped and tortured soul. Molag Bal whirled around, his senses on fire as he felt godly aura emanate behind him in waves. His black eyes widened as he took in the form of the very center of his misery.
The Vestige remained standing among an enormous pile of Daedric Titans. He was breathing heavily, swaying slightly, and suffering cuts all across his body. However, even in his state, he stood tall and defiant. The Vestige had never felt more powerful. He grinned at the Prince, meeting his eyes in challenge.
For a brief second, he thought he saw fear flash through the Prince's dead, white pupils. Wrath immediately replaced it. With a deafening roar, the Prince attacked. The Vestige lifted his spear, smiling widely like a madman. His sword was lodged deep within the eye of a dead Titan. Likewise, he sprinted forth, mouth opened with a roar of his own.
The impact of the two beings of enormous power created shockwaves that shook the earth. The water parted for a brief moment, sending waves across the swampy battleground as the Vestige and Molag Bal engaged in flurry of strikes and blocks, each attempting to outsmart and overpower their enemy. Black and red blood flew everywhere, soon clouding the already murky water.
Molag Bal delivered a rib-shattering blow with his mace, but received a gaping hole to his neck in reply. The Vestige brought his spear across the Prince's abdomen, carving a gruesome tear through his abdomen. Molag Bal screamed, before slamming his empty fist onto the Vestige's left shoulder, dislocating and shattering bone. Yet neither side backed down. Instead, their attacks only increased in number and intensity. Eventually, Molag Bal's mace and the Vestige's spear were both knocked out of their hands, and the fight devolved into a contest of pure strength. The only weapons were their hands. Fists flew. Claws swiped. After what felt like days, both combatants finally separated, gasping and wheezing. Blood poured from countless injuries, and each sported several wounds where bone protruded from skin.
"I congratulate you, insect. Your sting is formidable. But why mortal? Why do you defy me so?" Bal spoke through bloodied teeth.
"Because I must." The Vestige coughed, blood dripping from his lips. "You have my soul."
"Your soul? Ha!" The Prince exploded into laughter, then choked on his own blood for a brief moment. "I do not have your soul, revenant. If I had, it would've been too easy to bring an end to this little farce. You would have lost to me before you even considered opposing me."
The Vestige's eyes widened in disbelief. "You lie. You have my soul. Even she said so."
The Prince's remaining good eye narrowed. "I may be the Schemer Prince, but I tell the truth when I say that your soul is not within my grasp. Would I have let you wander this far into my domain and strike me with your weapons had I held what was most precious to you?"
The human blinked. The Prince's statements had rattled him.
"You made a great and terrible enemy this day. Your world would've been better off had the Planemeld succeeded. Had you bowed before me and accepted eternal servitude. I would have protected you. There are worse masters than I, far worse." The Prince laughed.
"I serve none." The Vestige replied. Yet even he could see the emptiness of his words. It probably reflected in his eyes, or his voice. He did not know what to make of the Prince's words. Empty threats to shake him? Or amusement from truth?
At this, Molag Bal laughed even more. "Serve none? You are but a puppet in the grand scheme of things. You have a powerful ally, but do not be so blind to her kindness, mortal. Every power comes with a price. And I do not speak of your trinket."
The Vestige glared at the Daedric Prince.
"The dark machinations of Oblivion are far more complex than anything your mortal senses can comprehend. She may pose as a friend, but keeps hold of your soul for bargain. Just who is the true monster, Soulless One?"
The Vestige stared at the Prince. Even when they both currently faced each other crouched on the ground, the Daedra still towered over him. They might be eternal enemies, but the Vestige could sense the truth behind his opponent's words.
"My soul will be returned once I best you." He spat.
"Of course it will. And best me you have, mortal. But know that you will not see the last of me here. Strike me down, and I will return. You cannot hope to stop me forever."
The Vestige snarled. His left arm hung limply at his side. But he managed to muster enough strength to stand. Still glaring at his enemy, he slowly hefted his spear from the cold water. Molag Bal watched him, a tinge of admiration flaring within his boundless rage. This was his first defeat. Both of them knew.
The Vestige lifted his spear with his good arm, aiming the glowing white point at the chest of the Prince of Domination. His enemy glared back at him, yet did not move a muscle. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a woman's voice.
Bring an end to this nightmare.
With one final roar, the Vestige drove the spear into the Daedra's heart. Or should have. Instead, a powerful pulse of energy suddenly shot from the Prince's chest, sending the Vestige flying a dozen paces away. When he looked up, he saw a black hole forming at the Prince's torso, whirling in a circular motion, sucking in everything around it. Molag Bal's white eyes widened in surprise and terror, before his body was engulfed into the vortex with a final scream. Then, almost immediately, the vortex disappeared, leaving a crater where the Prince had crouched. Water rushed in from the surroundings, leaving no trace of what had occurred.
The Vestige stared at the spot in shock, wondering if Molag Bal had been destroyed. Yet he felt that something was wrong. Although physically killed, the Prince's spirit should still remain. After all, Daedric Princes are immortal. Yet Bal could not be sensed in the entirety of Coldharbour, his own realm. Not even a whisper. Something was amiss.
Suddenly, his vision flashed pure white, and he opened his eyes to find himself in another dimension, another world. Around him, purple and blue covered the vast landscape and floating rocks from the size of pebbles to mountains filled his range of view. A beautiful golden light pierced the darkness behind him. The Vestige turned, shielding his eyes from the blinding glow. A few seconds later, it dimmed-not entirely-but enough for him so see. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the change in brightness, before immediately bowing in reverence.
Meridia floated in the air before him. Her entire form was a translucent gold, yet he could see the outlines of her features. She was beautiful beyond words, and the warm light that shone off her form filled him nothing but a desire to see Tamriel once more. "Come forward, Vestige. You are safe, for now. Something precious to you has been ridden from Stonefire's being. I have brought it here for you to reclaim."
The Vestige looked upon his soul. The pulsing blue-white light radiated to him, reached to him. Excitement coursed through his veins, his very being. He felt breathless, mesmerized. Yet he felt uncomfortable doubt sink into his heart. But first and foremost, his most valuable treasure was before him, and he reached a hand out to reclaim what was his. Life and warmth engulfed him, making him whole; filling up the emptiness that he had never gotten used to during his adventures as the Vestige. Now, he was the Soulless One no longer.
"Your soul is restored. I can see its light within you. And you have saved you world from a great calamity. But know this, mortal. The forces of Oblivion are legion, and the God of Schemes is but a single player in a complex battle for supremacy."
Her words did little to comfort him. In fact, he felt a cold seep into his limbs.
Battle for supremacy? Among whom? He cautiously eyed the Prince before him. "What happened to Molag Bal?"
"You have wounded him gravely. It would be some time before his power is restored." Meridia answered, smiling kindly down at him.
"But I don't feel his presence anymore. Where is he?"
"He is where he belongs, mortal. Trapped in Oblivion, as he should be. You have nothing to worry about anymore. I will return you to Tamriel within a moment. You have done the world a great service, Vestige, do not forget that."
The Vestige almost laughed aloud. He ignored her meaningless praise. The Daedric Prince of Living Things was lying to him. He knew. But for what reason, he did not know. Yet the tingling doubt that lingered on his mind only gave one warning.
This is not the end.
"Lok…Vah Koor!"
The Dragonborn shouted into the heavy fog. Three shouts followed immediately after. Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, Felldir the Old, and Hakon One-Eye braced themselves for the final confrontation with the World Eater himself, Alduin. The combined power of the Heroes of legend and the Dragonborn finally managed to blast away the dense white clouds, revealing the beautiful ethereal landscape of Sovngarde. Dozens of souls previously snared in Alduin's trap for eons stumbled forth in shock, including one particular Harbringer of the Companions.
Kodlak was glancing around, as if seeing Sovngarde for the very first time. His eyes landed on the Dragonborn, and understanding seemed to dawn upon the old warrior. Tears and pure gratitude filled his eyes, and the Dragonborn smiled. He was sad to see a friend in the afterlife, but was glad Kodlak had truly arrived in his paradise without having been devoured by Alduin or taken by Hircine. The old former werewolf had always been a source of trusted council and treated him like a son. Unfortunately, he met his untimely end at the blades of the Silver Hand. The Dragonborn placed a fist over his chest, silently reassuring the previous Harbringer that the Companions were in safe hands now under his guidance. Kodlak reciprocated the motion, eyes brimming with pride, and together with several other lost souls, quickly began his way to the Whalebone Bridge, where Shor's Hall awaited on the other end. They were free from their eternal wandering, free to rejoin their kin in the legendary Halls of Valor.
From the distance, an answering shout that sent ice through the Dragonborn's veins rippled through the skies, echoing through Sovngarde's valleys.
"Ven Mul Riik!"
The fog returned in force, covering the green trees and snowcapped mountains like an ugly smear. The freed souls saw the dense mist and immediately began rushing for the bridge. Kodlak's desperate eyes once more met the Dragonborn's and conveyed his final plea. The Dragonborn grit his teeth. He will free the souls lost in the mist as many times as it took, and slay the World Eater. Even if he died trying.
"Again!" Gormlaith Golden-Hilt yelled.
"Lok…Vah Koor!" The four warriors shouted in unison into the mist. And like before, the air cleared, once more releasing the souls within. Many cheered, yet a few, along with Kodlak, eyed the skies behind them, knowing full well that this was not over. They cannot escape yet.
"Ven Mul Riik!"
Alduin's shout again obscured Sovngarde. The Dragonborn frowned uncomfortably, hearing the wails of despair from the countless souls once more snared in the endless white mist.
"Does his strength have no end? Is our struggle in vain?" Hakon muttered.
Gormlaith turned her steely eyes upon him. "Stand fast! His strength is failing. Once more, and his might will be broken!" She snarled, and shouted into the sky.
Hakon and Felldir followed closely after, dispelling portions of the enormous blanket of mist.
Lastly, the Dragonborn released his strength in a shout that tore the mist apart, until not a speck of it lingered. The souls previously hidden behind the white veil all ran towards the bridge, having realized that they were lucky to have been saved not once, but three times. Kodlak gave him a small pat on the shoulder as he paced by, and the Dragonborn nodded in appreciation. He knew the old man wanted to fight beside him, but was afraid to get in his way. This was for the best. The Dragonborn's chosen party, including Tsun, was the optimal group in defeating the Black Dragon. They were probably also the only ones who stood a chance.
With a deafening roar, the World Eater himself decided to end the duel of shouts. A black speck launched itself off a distant mountain, creating an avalanche at the highest peaks, and began approaching the Dragonborn's party at a great speed. Narrowing his eyes, the Dragonborn could see Alduin beating his mighty wings, open maw filled red with the fires of his fury.
"The endless wait gives way to battle! Alduin's doom, his death or ours!" Gormlaith proclaimed, brandishing her Ancient Nord sword with vigor.
"Stand together and we shall defeat him!" Felldir followed.
Alduin dived over their heads, leaving a shockwave of wind in his passing. The ancient heroes stumbled from the blast, yet the Dragonborn stood tall. He nocked arrow after arrow, hands unwavering and steady, and shot dozens at the enraged Black Dragon.
Alduin only growled in annoyance, shaking off the few tiny projectiles that managed to embed themselves in between his scales. Closing his wings together, he dove once more, this time intent on crushing the source of his troubles within his talons. The heroes gathered themselves, hurling shout after shout, arrow after arrow in an effort to repel the beast. Alduin ignored them, his eyes set firmly on a lone figure.
The Dragonborn rolled to the side, barely avoiding the enormous shadow that shot by, claws and jaws extended. He flipped his bow onto his back, instead opting for his trusty sword. In his other hand, he readied his fastest restoration spell. Once he used his greatest Shout, he would be battling Alduin on more even footing. Yet attacking the World Eater head-on would require a tremendous amount of magicka to close the tremendous number of wounds he will undoubtedly sustain. A touch of fear invaded the depths of his mind, and for the first time in his life, he hesitated.
Why was it his destiny to clash with one of the most terrifying entities of Mundus? The fate of the world was upon his shoulders-it scared him to ponder the consequences if he failed. What if he failed? Then everything would be devoured by the World Eater. But even if he succeeded, what then? All these years spent preparing to kill the Black Dragon, what life would be left for him after?
Tsun's flying body broke him from his trance. The God of Trials was still fully conscious, but clearly miffed as the Black Dragon tossed him away like a doll. He landed with a heavy grunt amid a pile of rocks a considerable distance away.
The Dragonborn blinked, now alert once more. All around him, his companions were risking their own souls fighting to change their fate. Everyone knew only he could stop Alduin, yet they fought beside him, attempting to make whatever difference they can. Seeing their struggle for himself brought him out of his stupor, and he scolded himself for his momentary weakness. They needed him. The world needed him. His friends and family needed him. She needed him. If there was nothing in the world a dragon wouldn't protect, it was his treasure. And the Dragonborn knew full well who his treasure was. Steeling his nerves and roaring into the air, his blood boiled with a true Dragon's rage. All sense of apprehension was replaced with a lust for battle, and the Dragonborn felt the air around him hum with his power. The sensation invigorated him, and his allies followed with war cries of their own. Soon, the air was filled with the wrath of both deceased and living alike.
Alduin narrowed his eyes, hearing their defiance loud and clear. He responded to their challenge, rearing his horned head to the heavens. Opening his giant maw, he roared wordlessly for all to hear. The sky churned and heaved like the sea during the worst of storms. The clouds swirled like a whirlpool, lights flashing within them. Suddenly, enormous flaming boulders began raining down upon them, landing on the ground in massive explosions of force and fire. Alduin laughed as he watched them flail and scamper about.
"Iiz…Slen Nus!" Felldir shouted, freezing several chunks of rock before their fires spread. However, more fell to take their place.
"I have already defeated your friends once. Beyn. I do not fear them." Alduin taunted.
"Then you will learn to fear me." The Dragonborn faced him; his eyes drinking in the Black Dragon's look of amusement turn to one of terror as Alduin realized the power he now wielded. "Your reign ends here."
"JOOR…ZAH FRUL!" The shout that gives Dragons a taste of fragile mortality. Dragonrend.
"Where did you learn this? How? Impossible!" Alduin screamed in agony into the sky as a blue aura shrouded him like fire. His body convulsed as pain wracked his twisted form. He clawed for the skies, his skies, but his wings struggled to keep him in the air, crumpling inwards as he was forced to land. His body crashed into the soils of Sovngarde, tearing up mounds of dirt, grass, and rock. Lifting himself onto into a crouch, the Black Dragon thrashed his massive head about, snarling in pain and humiliation, eyes seeking his mortal enemy.
Without a moment's pause, the Dragonborn was immediately upon him. He slammed his enchanted war hammer into the Dragon's head, smiling grimly as Alduin bellowed in response. The World Eater snapped at him, but he ducked beneath the massive jaw and swung the hammer against the dragon's snout. The hammer cracked, crumbling into large metal chunks as paralyzing vibrations shot up the Dragonborn's arms. He continued his assault, drawing forth a war axe-its enchantment giving it a glowing red aura. Roaring, he attacked the dragon again.
For what seemed like hours, the Dragonborn and his legendary party continued an unrelenting assault on the grounded Black Dragon. Time and time again, Alduin sent one of them flying through the air, or reeling from a blow. Yet they never stopped to rest. Each time the dragon made to fly, the Dragonborn would use Dragonrend, bringing Alduin to the earth once again, to be struck with his metal. Still, the Dragonborn constantly had to switch his weapons, replacing one that dulled or broke against the Dragon's tough hide. Alduin bit and tore into his dragonbone armor in turn, flapping his wings and swinging his thick tail at his attackers. And so they fought, exchanging massive blows to each other, each with the intent to kill their destined enemy.
The Dragonborn saw the look of rage and fear in Alduin's eyes. He too felt the exact same emotions flooding his veins and pouring from his wounds. Both fought for a purpose larger than their own lives, a purpose than transcended time. Both had everything to lose. It was a desperate, bloody battle. Yet deep within him, he wondered why he relished the feeling. The feeling of power, of pain, and a strange pleasure. He knew Alduin felt it too. Even in the dragon's furious eyes, the Dragonborn saw the awe and excitement of fighting with everything on the line. It was in the blood they shared. The blood of true dragons. Their predetermined hate for each other united them, closer than ever before.
Alduin twisted his head in pain, blood pouring from his hide. The Dragonborn could feel it. Their epic, ancient conflict was reaching its end. His foe would fall this day. He ran forth, leaping off the Black Dragon's wing and onto his neck. Alduin twisted and turned, trying in vain to throw him. Armored hands clutching tightly on a large horn, the Dragonborn drew forth his last sword, Dragonbane. The ancient weapon of the Blades glowed with a vibrant light, as if sensing its purpose. With a sharp thrust, the Dragonborn plunged the curved blade into the back of Alduin's skull.
Alduin froze, eyes widening in realization. Then, with a mighty thrash, he flung the Dragonborn off his head. The Dragonborn sailed through the air, watching the ground approach him with immense speed. He hit the rocky ground with a roll, dislocating a shoulder and cracking one of his remaining good ribs. Tsun stopped him with his large hands, gently lifting him onto his unsteady feet. The demigod gave him a victorious smile. The rest of their party gathered around him, each sporting countless wounds, yet beaming with unbound joy all the same.
Before them, Alduin screamed. "Zu'u unslaad! Zu'u nis oblaan!"
The Black Dragon thrashed, his wings tearing flightless through the air. Dragon blood flew from Alduin's hide like rain. His maw churned smoke and wisps of fire. His eyes flickered with fury, darting back and forth, unfocused. His long tail crashed against the ground, cracking boulders. Screams and roars ripped the tranquility of Sovngarde, sending tremors through the Halls of Shor. The Dragonborn winced, watching the legendary monster struggle like a drowning man. Foe or not, his dragon's blood boiled at the sight in both predatory triumph and sympathy. A dragon that cannot fly is but a worm.
Alduin's eyes finally managed to find him. They locked eyes, and the Dragonborn glared back.
"Dovahkiin!" Roaring in rage, Alduin made a final, mad lunge towards him. Immediately, Tsun and the other ancient heroes stepped in front of the Dragonborn in an attempt to defend him with their collective effort. However, Alduin never reached them. The Black Dragon's body froze. His scales flickered. His limbs thumped uselessly against the ground. A small black void the size of a man's fist formed from the center of his chest, sucking in Alduin's body. The dragon screeched wordlessly as he disappeared along with the void into nothingness.
The Nords stared in awe and terror, not knowing what to do. The Dragonborn gazed at the spot Alduin had occupied but seconds earlier. He felt nothing. Alduin's soul had disappeared along with his body. He could sense the presence of dragons still wandering Mundus, but the World Eater was gone. Wiped from existence. He was denied his victory.
Thunderous cheering erupted from the Halls of Shor and the Nords watching them. Kodlak stepped from the bridge, smiling proudly. The heroes raised their arms in victory, laughing with relief and bathing in their glory. Souls hugged each other, singing praises and songs in the name of the Dragonborn. Among them, he spotted former High King Torygg, Jurgen Windcaller, Ysgramor, and even former Legate Rikke. They met eyes, and for a second, he wondered if she would try to bring his hard fought life to an end. However, even his former enemy seemed to have warmed to his presence, and she nodded to him, a smile playing on her lips. He was glad that her life was not taken from his blade. They might even have been friends, in another life.
From every corner of Sovngarde, the Dragonborn could hear his name booming through the air. Shor's Hall echoed, as those within heard news of the result of his legendary battle. It felt as if the entirety of the land was glowing with hope. Even the landscapes seemed much brighter than before, as if the color was returning with Alduin's absence.
"This was a mighty deed! The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare." Tsun stepped up behind the Dragonborn, slapping him in the back with joy, nearly slamming him into the earth. "They will sing of this battle in Shor's hall forever. But your fate lies elsewhere."
Gradually, the cheers stopped, but those who witnessed and partook in the fight remained where they were, practically vibrating with energy and happiness. The Dragonborn could feel the admiration pouring from their eyes.
"When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again, with glad friendship and bid you join the blessed feasting." Tsun thundered. Behind him, dozens of Nords bellowed and whooped in encouragement. "When you are ready to rejoin the living, just bid me so, and I will send you back."
The Dragonborn stood silently for several moments, brows furrowed in concentration.
Gormlaith raised an eyebrow. "You don't actually plan on leaving your life behind so abruptly now, do you?" She smiled in jest. "Or am I just that irresistible?"
"Nonsense." Hakon chuckled. "Our feasts are indeed wild and fierce, but you should enjoy your time in Tamriel while you can. We aren't going anywhere, Dragonborn."
The Dragonborn did not answer immediately. The heroes chuckled at his apparent indecision. Finally, he raised his head and looked Tsun in the eyes.
"Where is Alduin?"
Around him, people laughed. Gormlaith lightly punched his armored pauldron.
"You didn't hit your hard head in all the fighting now, did you? Alduin is gone, Dragonborn, banished for the last time. Victory is ours!"
"Where is Alduin?"
The Dragonborn ignored her, staring hard at Tsun. The demigod refused to look him in the eye. Those around them ceased their laughter, sensing something off with the atmosphere.
"What's wrong, Dovakhiin?" Felldir asked, worry beginning to show on his wrinkled face. "Why do you still worry over Alduin's fate? The World Eater is felled. His destiny, your destiny, the prophecy, is fulfilled. He is no more."
The Dragonborn's eyes blazed with silent fury. He grabbed Tsun's massive arm in an iron grip. Tsun winced, but still did not answer. The heroes around him protested, confusion rising amongst them. The other souls likewise began voicing their concern.
"Do not ignore me, dammit! I do not know what I just saw, but I do know that Alduin is not dead. He's gone, but not dead. Where is he? Where has he gone?"
"I know as much as you, Dragonborn. But Alduin will eventually return to fulfill his purpose as the World Eater. It may take millennia or even till the end of time, yet he will return. But there is nothing left to fear. You have won a great victory here today." Tsun replied stiffly.
"Do not lie to me. I know you felt it too. Like another Elder Scroll. I witnessed his first defeat, but this one felt the same! As if he was banished once more. So answer me Tsun! When will he return?" The Dragonborn roared. The Nords around him retreated with caution.
Tsun looked away. "Not in your lifetime, nor your children's. Or their children's. The world is safe from Alduin—"
"FUS!"
Tsun stumbled. His foot caught on a rock, and his large body landed heavily on the ground. He looked up, only to find a blade at his throat.
The Dragonborn's soul blazed with rage, denial, and most of all, fear. His pupils became slits, his growls much guttural and menacing. More dov than man. Around them, the Nords stood in shock, stunned to silence. Then, slowly, yells of confusion and outrage rose in volume. The heroes hesitantly drew their weapons to stop the Dragonborn's assault on their guardian. Yet they knew that stopping him would be a near impossible feat. Not as he was now.
"I do not know, Dragonborn. I do not know where, or when he will return. I am most sorry." Tsun spoke quietly. Everyone froze. "Alduin lives. And he may well return sooner than we would think."
The Dragonborn withdrew his blade, standing up slowly. He offered a hand to the demigod, whose face was etched with regret.
"I'm sorry Dragonborn. I truly am." Tsun stared at the ground, unable to meet his gaze.
The Dragonborn closed his eyes and breathed. The entirety of Sovngarde was as silent as could be. Everyone knew the implications of the World Eater's return. The prophecy was no longer being traced; in fact, it had been broken. Their relief was only temporary at best. Soon, the Dragonborn found himself the center of attention once more, as all eyes landed on him. He could feel the emotion behind each one, including sadness, remorse, fear, and pity. He could feel the weight return to his shoulders, heavier than ever. Finally, he opened his eyes.
"Than if he does happen to reappear, we must be ready."