Disclaimer: I have nothing.
It was impossible.
No one, be it man, mer, Divine or Daedra, could have stopped him. Not when he had first discovered his true nature, not when he had first become the Prince of Fate's 'loyal' servant, and certainly not today, when he could whisper and both dragons and men, both mortals and immortals, would bend to his will without another thought.
No, no one could have done what he had done. He was Dragonborn, a god among men. A creature that's mere name and presence could bring thousands to their knees in both reverence and fear. Someone so powerful that not even the gods dare sway them, for fear of their wrath.
But yet now, upon this vile and hated realm's summit, he had been laid low.
Not by man or dragon, nor Divine or Daedra.
But another Dovahkiin.
Another one of his kind. Another tool for the gods designs. Another weapon, another soul, another piece placed upon the world of Nirn for the Daedra's sick and twisted games.
Another Dragonborn.
It wasn't supposed to be possible. There could never be two with the souls of dragons, of immortals. In every book, every scroll, everything he had ever even heard within Apocrypha and Nirn, told him that such an occurrence was impossible. But yet here they were, the First and the Last, face to face in what had surely been the god's designs.
He could see it.
Even as he pressed and raised himself from the caustic earth of Apocrypha, even as blood poured through the cracks and tears in his mask, even as he raised his broken blade to resume their deadly dance, he could see it.
The power.
The total might this Altmer, no, this dovah, wielded with both magic and armaments in his arsenal. The souls of the dragons he had taken that had been bound and merged with his own soul roaring in might and fury as he watched the First Dragonborn rise. Even his breath seemed to radiate power, as if the Thu'um within him filled not only his soul, but all of his being at once.
The Last Dragonborn was strong.
But so was the First.
Or, he had been.
Before he could strike once more, a sharp, agonizing pain filled his chest as he was lifted from his feet and into the poisonous air. Looking down as his entire body jerked with pain, he frowned at the twisted, dark mass of flesh that belonged to his former master as the large appendage impaled him and continued to dive and tear through his flesh.
He didn't scream.
In fact, had there not been both a massive loss of blood and a tentacle impaled within his chest, Miraak would have begun to laugh.
It seemed Herma-Mora had made his choice.
He could feel and see the darkness creeping towards him as the demon went on and on about things that were rather trivial to a dying man. Maybe he could just let go, just let death have the soul he had been hunting and seeking for a millennia…
He suddenly fell to the ground, the cold and unforgiving plane of Apocrypha now suddenly warm and inviting as his life stained it crimson. Clutching his still bleeding and burning chest as the pain mounted, he turned his gaze and stopped cold, only able to blink in both surprise and shock..
He had struck a blow against Hermaeus Mora
The Last had saved the First.
The disconnected length of dark flesh twisted and writhed upon the ground as its master cried out in both agony and anger, but the Last ignored it as he sprinted to the First's side. Raising his hands, light began to pour in streams, filling Miraak with strength and power as his wounds closed and the bleeding ceased.
Coming to his feet, he turned to the Altmer and exchanged a nod before raising his blade once more as the hordes of Daedra rose to challenge those who dared to defy their lords will. As the two dovah leapt into battle and their blades and magic tasted the dark flesh and blood of their enemies, a single thought crossed his mind.
'There can only be one…right?'
A/N: Okay, I'm not really sure how this little one-shot turned out, so if you will please R&R, that would help a lot.
Sincerely,
kingofsecrets15