Oblivion: An Elder Scrolls Novel
Prologue
A blood red sky was matched only in ferocity by the roar of the thunder and crack of purple lightning. It was as if a great wildfire had stricken the surface of Nirn, burning the trees to a crisp without a trace of leaves remaining and scorching the very surface of the earth to a crisp. He could hear the distant screams, helpless and hapless victims of this great and horrible danger. He wondered if he would be the next victim.
Walking along the burned path, he observed the horrifying surroundings without a hint of emotion. To his right was a pile of corpses, mutilated and torn to pieces by what he presumed to be hell hounds. To he left were more bodies, except these were impaled on spikes as if part of some sick and twisted art display. He wanted to scream in fear but something wouldn't let him. He simply observed the atrocities and moved on, completely unbothered by the horror that his world had become.
He looked at the bodies as if there were nothing unordinary about them. He saw men, women and children alike, all ages and sizes, some cut in half and others disemboweled. It was as if whatever monsters had killed them took great pleasure in their senseless murders. He did not mourn them, though, for he was the only one who mattered now. If he did not succeed, they would only be the tip of the iceberg.
The city awaited him ahead, smoke and fire rising from within the walls. The thunder rolled and the lightning struck as he made his way down the path of a thousand corpses. As he continued down the road, he couldn't help but notice that the bodies seemed to increase in magnitude in front of his eyes. He felt constricted and ensnared by them, as if they were trying to consume him. His breathing became heavy and his knees became week, but he pressed on to the city nonetheless.
He had to get for the city. It was the only way.
He could see the gate now, a massive steel door that appeared to be a mile high. He could feel the heat of the fires within and coughed violently from the haze and smoke. Falling to his knees, he almost gave up and turned back. But he knew the consequences of that decision. He had to keep going.
The sounds - screaming, thunder, and the clang of steel on flesh - suddenly came to a halt. It was as if all of the world went silent just for him. He shuddered at the newfound silence and looked around, fearing the worst. He saw nothing behind him as a massive foggy haze had enveloped the path he traveled down moments before. In front he still saw the city, but he swore this time he could scarcely make out a figure in the battlements: a single shadow the loomed overhead like death itself.
Before he could react, a dozen more appeared, each one staring down at him motionlessly. Their cold, icy gaze pierced down deep into his soul, causing him to fall to his feet and feel as if he was suffocating. He couldn't look at them - their shadowy faces were too much to bear.
Then silence was broken as the massive, towering gates slowly opened before him. Another figured shrouded in darkness awaited him in the other side, cloaked in a robe as black as night with a hood concealing any face that it might have had. It rode a horse that appeared to be long dead, its flesh decomposing on the spot and its bones fully visible. The horse's eyes glowed red in the darkness, and as he noticed this it was as if a host of other pairs of red pits lit up in the battlements above. The horse and its rider sped up to a trot, slowly and menacingly approaching him
He had to make it to the city. He had no choice.
Mustering up the remnants of his courage, he pulled himself to his feet and began to run. The horse was taken aback and reared in defiance, but its rider cracked a whip and forced it to charge. As he ran ahead, the rider closed in on him and drew a lance made of bone and blood. The lance was pointed right in his direction, and yet he ran forward anyway, not fearing the consequences.
He had nothing to lose.
He had to make it to the city.