A/N: Welcome to Day Keeper, Night Reaper. This lengthy retelling of the Dawnguard DLC doesn't follow the exact route the game forces you to take and has some unique aspects to it. Mainly, a fresh introduction to the story that will simultaneously present the main character. I just wanted to note that, even though this story uses my previous three works, The Assassin I, II and III, as a basis, it isn't strictly necessary to have read those to understand Day Keeper, Night Reaper in its entirety. The overall journey will be different between the ones who have followed me throughout The Assassin and those who haven't, but it will work for both. Either way, no worries. There's no one beta reading this new project for the moment, so there could potentially be some typos and grammar mistakes. I'll periodically re-read and correct, but there still could be. As always, if there are any kinds of questions, observations or comments, feel free to leave those in any way you like.
PROLOGUE: Blood and Fury
The cold wastelands of the Pale were a harsh place to travel through. That day wasn't any different. The grim sky, grey with clouds ready to unleash the snowstorm, was only vaguely brightened up by the distant blaze of the Sun. A shimmering bright beyond the shroud. The mountains on the road's right were white already, and more flakes were sure to fall shortly. The pines and firs that made up the forest bordering the road were heavy with snow; some branches hadn't been able to hold the weight and had snapped. The younger plants, weaker and with less steady roots, had fell down under the overload. There were no less than a dozen fallen trunks along the road that went from Whiterun to Dawnstar, and it was only going to get worse. The wind flailed the forests cruelly, dealing the final blow to the unstable trees and even uprooting some that would hold.
The road, albeit visible, was far from free of snow. On its sides there was a high layer of it, whereas on the narrow path itself it wasn't much thicker than one foot. The hoofprints and the cart tracks were the things that helped the most, however. They made sure the right way could be kept at all times. There weren't any footprints, not one along the entire road. No one had made that journey on foot, intelligently. The path was long and difficult on horseback, let alone walking. The week before had been a sunny one, but the warmth melted the snow during the day only to let it congeal during the night. As a result, the white sheet that covered the road was mainly solid and icy, and it was almost too easy to slip upon it.
It had been a harsh winter. Long nights followed long days in which the flurries kept raging, white flakes piling on top of each other. The snowfalls lasted several days each. One in particular had become famous during the lengthy winter, one that came down from clouds so large the blizzard had raved all of Skyrim simultaneously. Even Falkreath, usually untouched and therefore uninterested in snowfalls, had been struck harshly. The blizzard had become widely known as "Alduin's Tears", and was used as an excuse to remark the recent victory of the Dragonborn. Every child born during that season would hear the stories of that snowstorm before his sleep for many years to come.
It was dangerous and daring to travel along the roads that led North. The last days of First Seed were passing by fast, but the harsh weather and the cold hadn't surrendered. Any path that went towards Dawnstar or Winterhold was still considered unsafe, but some had to travel that. Merchants and suppliers needed the money and were eager to be the first to arrive in the littoral cities to obtain better prices. The first messengers had begun their standard routines, although only for very important communications. The political situation in the land was still delicate, and the first letters talking about the end of the truce were already passing from hand to hand, and they had to be delivered to the Jarls of the northern cities same went for the couriers. However, there are also others that get back in business as soon as the snow as much as seems to melt. Criminals, highwaymen and outlaws were already building their camps, planning for the warm seasons. Thieves patrolled the road, hoping to find some undefended trader to rob.
And yet, in spite of the land slowly but steadily coming back from its forced hibernation, the road from Whiterun to Dawnstar was unsurprisingly short on rarities. Skyrim is big, and not many people inhabit it in proportion to the sheer width of the land. There weren't many strange sights to behold.
Except for the sallow corpse the Dragonborn had stumbled upon.
It had been a strange find indeed. The Dovahkiin was already halfway through the snowy expanses outside of Dawnstar, which looked queer by themselves. The sides of the road were almost one foot higher than the road itself, and he managed to see everything clearly only because he was on horseback. Truthfully, he didn't think being on the back of a normal horse would allow that, but Shadowmere was higher and bigger than any steed he had ever seen. The two of them were traveling back to Dawnstar, headed for the Sanctuary. The contract he had taken was completed, but he wanted to check back with everyone. He had also taken the time to resolve a Guild business while in Riften, so he was a little late according to the schedule.
The Dovahkiin was knowledgeable in every kind of assassination, but the one he was looking at had something completely off. He followed the short trail that led to the wall of snow on the right side of the road and then came back towards the corpse. It was no ordinary killing, and the key to solve the problem might not have been in the open as he thought. He kneeled beside the cadaver, leaning his clenched, armored fist on the icy ground and laying the opposite elbow on his knee. He felt the sides of the hood waving slowly in the breeze, the same breeze that carried the scent of frozen flesh towards him.
He analyzed what he had. The victim was an archer. It was impossible to say if he was a huntsman or a poacher, since the Jarl of Dawnstar had not only allowed but also encouraged the hunting of giants and their mammoths. The sure thing was that two mammoth tusks were tied to the man's back, and they were still there. Those alone were worth more than that chap's life, given he was who he looked like. It wasn't robbery. It wasn't a normal assassination either. It could have been no assassination at all, but no animal the Dragonborn knew of kills leaving only marks on the neck and nothing else. Everything that belonged to the man was there, even his purse; the bow and arrows were still on his back, untouched. The dagger he brought along was safe and clean in his belt. He hadn't had a chance to defend himself. Whatever attacked him must had crept up on him unseen and unheard, which further tightened the options.
The Dragonborn narrowed his eyes, looking closely at the archer. He had removed the hood the man was wearing, revealing the light complexion, strong jaws and thin brown hair. It was a forgettable face, and the Dovahkiin didn't remember any contracts or deals that had been made for the life of a fella like that. He had vast connections in Skyrim's underworld and if there was someone who wanted someone dead, he knew, whether it was Dark Brotherhood's business or not. That huntsman was on no one's black list, and he couldn't imagine someone wanting such a man dead. He couldn't have done anything bad, aside from stealing someone's wife or kick a competitor out of business. Those were trifles a killer for hire fulfilled during the warm seasons, when he was free to travel around.
The huntsman wore a light gambeson and a hide armor as protection and a thick fur hooded cape to shield himself from the cold. All of these things were untouched, not ever scratched. Further proof that he hadn't seen or fought his aggressor. The only trace was that bite mark on the neck. The skin had been pierced by pointed object, very sharp ones, but the wounds were elliptic; that meant the object had closed on itself. Like the jaws of an animal. Or the teeth of a vampire, the Dragonborn said to himself, but was prone to discard that option. There were some things that didn't match, but they didn't match with any other animal he knew as well.
He slowly put two armored fingers on the neck of the victim, near the four biggest wounds. He pressed, first gently and then more and more harshly. The gashes were close to the carotid, but no blood emerged from them. The Dragonborn had no idea of how long that corpse had been in the open, but everything pointed at a short period of time. A very short period, maybe. The clouds darkened the sky, but he could tell it was around halfway in the morning, more or less. The killing had happened during the last night, that much he could safely guess. The cold was enough to lower someone's temperature enough to kill, but not to freeze the blood solid in the veins. Furthermore, the sallow color of the body suggested that the blood hadn't congealed in the body, but was no longer inside it. That looks like a vampire. A big one. Babette's fangs would leave smaller marks. He pondered the options, trying to find a link. Had the marks been smaller, he surely would have thought of Babette and everything would be in place.
Still, the hypothesis of the vampire didn't explain the clues nearby.
The Dovahkiin slowly raised, leaning on his fist. He casted a last glance at the corpse, and then looked at the tracks beside it. They were claw marks, but they had the vague outlines of a humanoid foot. The heel looked human, but the shape of the foot and of the toes was unnatural. It was broader, webbed and clawed. The few vampires I've seen wear boots, some even greaves, but this is a bear foot. It's no piece of armor. That deduction was as revealing as it was disturbing. He had never seen all the beasts that inhabited Skyrim, but he had read about most of them. And yet, he had never heard or read of a beast that has clawed feet and sucks the blood out of its victim.
And can apparently fly… he added, remembering what he had seen before. The claw marks stopped suddenly on the rim of the road, just before the wall of snow. There was a single blood drop on the ground and then the trail ended. No further trace or sign of the monster. No way to know what it was, no clear way to track it down… Looks like I'm out of luck, this time. He was out of luck, but not quite out of means and determination. That drop of blood was his hint. If there was one, there might have been others.
The Dragonborn looked at the distance between him and the bottom of the mountainside. It was half a mile, give or take. He could have walked that far without issues. He turned towards Shadowmere.
'You stay here.' The red-eyed beast snorted and gave him a calm and clever glance. 'Good lass,' said the Dovahkiin, turning away.
He leapt on the side of the road and tried to keep his balance. The snow was untouched and friable. It collapsed easily under the two hundred pounds of flesh and metal. He would have sunk in at every step, but that gave him enough time to look around while he walked. The absence of any real rays of light was an annoyance, but he didn't care that much. He cared about very few things, as of late. He had almost stopped caring about that very carelessness. Those moments when his inner ambition and desire for knowledge could be satiated, like the one he was experiencing, were the few occasions that kept his will to go on alive. He took every opportunity like that, after having lucidly pondered whether it was worth it or not.
He floundered about in the fresh snow, still glancing around. There was another drop of blood ahead, and he kept footslogging in that direction. Good… It's confirmed that our mystery creature has flown away. The blood drop was in fact in the middle of intact sleet. He was actually lucky he had spot it. The snow was slowly melting, and the droplet was dispersing in the water. It was difficult to determine how long it had been there, but the Dragonborn was quite sure of his calculations.
He continued onward. He turned back to see from where exactly he had come from, and traced a mental line between the two drops of blood. He adjusted accordingly, and immediately spot another one in the distance. He walked ahead, and saw that there a trail of droplets from that point on. So kind of the beast to point the way.
Now that the way was clearer, there was no reason to keep all that slush intact. The Dragonborn focused for a brief moment, gathering and redirecting the magicka flow from his body into his hands. He kept it there, giving it a specific form and a specific purpose. The ethereal energy molded, assuming the essence of scorching flames, and then began wrapping up the entire frame of the Dragonborn. As he released, an aura of fire spread around him, instantly turning the snow into hot water. He felt himself falling down and hitting the wet terrain, while all around him more and more of the sleet began melting and then immediately boiling.
He stood straight, letting go of the stream of magical energy. It would have lasted no more than a few minutes, but it was plenty of time for him to cover the distance that separated him from the mountainside. Free from the hindrance, the Dragonborn walked forward performing immense, swift strides. He covered an enormous distance with every single step, the same a normal man would in two paces.
He kept thinking. There were a lot of unanswered questions, and every one gave an extra layer of lethality to the threat he could have faced in mere minutes. He checked the black leather pouches attached to the cuirass, then the satchel at the height of the belt. The mixtures were still there and intact. The bandoleers held all the poisons that he needed. With time, the amount of items he had need to bring along had grown thinner. Especially since he had learned more about magic. There were spells that rendered some of his usual alchemical concoctions useless. The vast majority was still useful, but no longer essential. He had kept that in mind even when crafting the new armor.
He was now three quarters of the way towards the start of the slope that led up the mountain. There were no more blood drops to guide him, obviously, but he knew the general direction. He swept his gaze across what he could see of the mountainside. There wasn't much to see and most of it was covered by the snow anyway. There were some tress, firs most likely, and a sort of hollow in the rock. It was an unassuming cavity, but the Dragonborn kept examining it for some time. That is way too humble of a cavern to not be a hideout of some kind, he thought.
He twisted the flow of magicka once more, this time forming imperceivable waves or magical force that pulsed around him. The energy irradiated freely, seeking any sign of life force there might have been. The sustained drift allowed it to spread quite far from the source, but found nothing. The Dragonborn focused more intensely; maybe he just wasn't sensing the signs, but there was no mistake. He slowly let go of the stream of power, seeing that it wasn't finding anything. There was one more thing he could do.
He closed his eyes.
The force rose from the deepest abyss of his soul, mind and body. It erupted from every shard of his being, bonding and merging together to form a flurry of pure, unaltered power that shaped space and time alike. The strength found a vessel in his flesh, rushing through his blood and resonating in his hybrid essence of both mortal and immortal. His soul acted as a catalyst, increasing the potency of the supernatural force far beyond the threshold of magical perception. The Dragonborn's eyes, though invisible under the hood, flared. Every fiber of his body quaked because of the energy that was gathering in them. At last, the force surged through him one last time and erupted from his mouth, as a whisper.
'Laas Yah Nir!'
Time and space bent to the will and whim of the Thu'um. For a few moments, the Dragonborn heard the fabric of creation itself answering his call. Everything does, but there are things that resonate in a more distinct way than others. And as he suspected, one of those was in the cave. He listened to what nature had to say. The source of that echo was bizarre. Its essence twisted, betrayed. There was something deeply wrong with that creature. It was kept standing by a blend of energies that didn't belong to this plane. The Dragonborn sighed weakly. Definitely a vampire…
He walked on. The aura of flame around him was starting to wane but it would have soon be useless. The layer of snow on the mountainside wasn't nearly as thick as the one on the ground. Several snow slides had brought most of it down on the flat terrain, which the Dragonborn had already surpassed. He saw and felt the ground starting to slope. The wind was frigid, but thankfully it was blowing from the North-West and he had his back turned in that direction. The cloak waved and pressed against his greaves, pushed by the gusts, but it never got in the way of his feet. The hood, especially the sides, kept flapping slowly. The Dovahkiin didn't feel the cold, though. He always wore the shirt of tempered leather underneath the armor, which had been infused with magic to shield his skin from the cold. The cuirass provided defense enough against enemies and the blouse from the elements.
He was almost at the entrance of the cavern. He crouched, staying out of the sight range an enemy could have should he or she stand right behind the entry. Silently, he crept towards the rocks beside the hollow. His boots, though made of metal, were reinforced on the sole with a thin layer of pelt that had been also imbued with magic to render the noise emitted by his footsteps nearly imperceivable. No common mortal was able to hear him approaching. With a vampire it was quite different, though. He hadn't faced many before but knew their hearing was exceptional. A misstep and he could have been discovered.
He drew the dagger, as silently as he could.
He considered the place and the situation for a little more before setting foot inside. The entrance of the cave wasn't that big, but he still could have escaped had the need arisen. The unfavorable thing was that the light of the Sun was vastly shrouded and that could have potentially been an issue. If the clouds hadn't been there, he could have counted on the possibility of a tactical retreat. The vampire would have almost certainly hesitated to follow him under the Sun, but wouldn't have if the light was veiled. He flattened against the rocks that made up the entrance and lurched onward a bit. He could now see a small cone of the inside of the cavern.
Hmm… Cozy and pleasant, he thought, still advancing. The place was clearly a mine, but judging from the complete absence of any ore veins it was equally clearly a mistake. After the death of one of their biggest entrepreneur, the miners of Dawnstar had started digging everywhere. They had built pits and quarries, but very few of them actually found something. That was close enough to the city to be one of those failed excavations. Wooden planks were still holding the ceiling. There was also an abandoned pickaxe and an unlit lantern by the side of a big chuck of ploughed stone. The ashes of a fire were still in a corner. There was also a weapon rack against the wall on the opposite side of the entrance. It was empty.
However, the things that immediately caught the Dragonborn's eye was the grim figure standing in the darkness.
A male Altmer. How interesting. The vampire was looking away from the entry, but still facing its general direction. In the dark it was quite hard to make out his facial traits, but the yellowish tint of the complexion was rather evident. Still, it looked unnaturally pale. The particular thing about that vampire was the absence of the horrific deformities in his face. If not for the eyes, which were glowing weakly, he could have been any normal mortal. Something's up here. It's not normal, the Dragonborn thought.
The lean body of the tall undead was clad in armor, a kind of armor the Dragonborn had never seen. All the vampires he had seen wore a suit and bracers of red leather with a black shirt of cloth underneath. This one was different. The chestpiece was of reinforced on the torso with a layer of steel and so were the bracers. A short cape hung down from the shoulders, which were protected by small pauldrons. The neck also was covered by a leather gorget. Overall, it was of a way higher quality than the usual one. In Skyrim, the status of a person could frequently be worked out by what he or she wore. If that rule still applied it meant he was facing a person of great importance and possibly great power.
Now… How do I approach this? the Dovahkiin wondered. Bow and arrow seems too risky; I won't be able to aim perfectly in the dark. If I walk in, he could see me. Still… I don't see any weapons on him. Maybe he has a dagger, or he could be a mage. Odd. There was definitely some mystery surrounding that creature, which made every tactic possibly dangerous. If he was a normal enemy I could turn myself invisible and slice his throat, but if he's a mage he could sense the magicka being altered near him. No matter what, all things had some degree of danger involved. I'll go back to the basics and see how they work out.
He lurked onward.
The vampire was looking away from the entrance. His gaze seemed to be fixed on specific spot on the wall, as if he was hallucinating. The glow in his eyes made it difficult to guess which way his pupils were turned. He was way too still for the Dragonborn's taste. He was either a bit hectic or was playing some evil game. The Dovahkiin assumed it was the second, just to be sure nothing went worse than planned. He was fairly confident in his ability to move unseen and unheard, but not if the vampire had seen him moving from the start.
A step after the other. He lurked onward still. He was so close he could notice him not breathing. That particular stillness in the body and face was unique among the undead, which had no conditioned nor spontaneous muscle movements that weren't strictly bonded to the survival instinct of the creature.
He was close enough. It was time. It all happened really quickly.
The Dragonborn rose slightly and dashed forward. He extended the dagger right beside his enemy's body and then adjusted the route, aiming at the exposed part of chest near the left armpit. The vampire's eyes lit up suddenly, sparkling of a nightmarish yellow light. The edge of the blade reached the leather before the creature could do any significant movement, except for initiating a jump to the right. The weapon pierced the leather with ease and sank briefly in the dead flesh, cutting it clearly and without much effort. It should have hit the heart.
The vampire ignored the wound and completed the unnatural leap. He now stood in the middle of the hollow.
The Dragonborn quickly sheathed the dagger back in its place, grabbing the longsword with one hand and focusing a small stream of magicka in his other hand. When he released the small stream of ethereal energy a small orb flew across the room, stopping near the ceiling and brightening up the entire cavern. He gripped the longsword with both hands and looked at the vampire.
'You'll explain how you managed that later.'
The vampire didn't seem to be in the same mood. He looked at the bleeding gash and growled, showing his long fangs.
'Die, mortal! I'll gladly feast on your remains!'
You wouldn't like that… thought the Dragonborn. Regardless, this is how it begins.
With the Magelight hanging overhead and casting its cool, colorless light on the ground it was way easier for the Dovahkiin to see his enemy. The Altmer's face and body were truly well preserved for a vampire. His mouth was still stained with the blood of the huntsman lying on the road. It had surely been him, but that didn't explain how he managed to fly away. There were still some questions to answer, but that wasn't the time.
The Dragonborn darted towards the vampire, twirling his blade in a flurry of strikes that compelled his enemy to fall back. He hadn't drawn any kind of dagger from his belt or boot, while instead a weak purple light had indeed sparkled in his hands. He was a mage, and the Dovahkiin knew how to fight one. Even the most experienced of sorcerers had to focus away from the material world to channel the magicka into his spells, and that usually caused the movements of the body to halt. For the Altmer, stopping meant dying to one of the many slashes the Dragonborn was drawing in the air.
A sideward slash, then an uppercut. The vampire managed to slip through the two only thanks to its enhanced reflexes and nimbleness. He's stronger, quicker and smarter than me, the Dragonborn thought. He readjusted, hinging on his left foot and redirecting the sweep he had already initiated. The vampire avoided it somehow. He now had the time to cast some spells.
Different lights blinked in his hands. In his left hand glowed a red light, while a purple blaze flashed in his right. He raised the left one and pointed it in the direction of the Dovahkiin. A vermillion haze of dark magic spewed forth, but impacted and dispersed as it touched the shimmering ward the Dragonborn had summoned from his own left hand. The vampire was gathering the energy for a nastier spell in his right palm, but his adversary gave the creature something else to worry about as he thrust the longsword towards the vampire's heart with the other hand.
The bloodsucker had to backtrack again with a bounce. The Dragonborn whirled his blade around him, channeling the magicka through the sword and making it flare with scorching flames that drew burning circles wherever the weapon was swung. The heat seemed to be enough to make the vampire think twice before engaging again. He kept backpedaling, but he couldn't do it forever.
The Dovahkiin noticed that the wound was slowing down the creature. The Altmer kept his elbow very close to the bleeding wound and was bent slightly towards that side.
No room for rash actions, but the fight could have been over very soon.
Gripping the longsword with one hand, the Dragonborn shaped the magicka that was rushing through him and gave it the form of roaring flames. They were brimming with energy when they materialized from his armored palm. The fire touched the ground, but the force stored in it kept it alive and sizzling. In a matter of seconds, a wall of flames had closed off one of the escape routes of the vampire, who had no choice but backtrack towards the wall. He stopped for a moment, bringing a hand close to his chest. A frosty spurt burst from his palm, but the Dragonborn had seen it coming and sidestepped it with little effort. He grasped the grip of the longsword with both hands and drew a wide downward sweep. The edges of the blade blazed just as the tip of the blade touched vampire's thigh, which was protected by a thin layer of leather. The armor cracked and burned, while the skin got first lacerated and then incinerated.
The creature reeled. Then, it bent forward, grasping his stomach almost as if it was about to vomit. The Dragonborn stopped his slice mid-swing and vaulted back, unsure of what to expect. What kind of new hex is this? he wondered, leaning on his hand and getting back up.
The vampire coughed and bent even more. He was grasping his lower torso with his clawed hands very hard, leaving marks on the metal of the cuirass. He curved his knees, almost losing his balance. A grim mist was bursting out of the body, slowly shrouding it completely. Dark pulses of energy were coming from the dead flesh. Then, when he had crooked even more, his limbs seemed to close together and reopen in a spurt of black mist and blood.
The Dragonborn turned away, hit by a splatter. He heard a repulsive scream coming from where the vampire stood a moment before.
He turned, and gazed at the monstrosity.
The beast was a foot higher than him and loomed over menacingly. It was hairless and grey. It was humanoid, but the head was distorted horrifically; the cheeks were sunken, the face scrawny and gaunt, with the skin strained over the bones. The wide forehead, huge pointed ears and the thick and flattened nose bordered the demonic and bloodshot eyes. Large hands with long claws at the end of the digits hung by the side of the monster at the extremity of the skinny but muscular arms. A large golden plate decorated the upper chest and an ornate belt decked the abdomen. Out of the back of the monster came out a pair of bat-like wings. The creature wasn't beating them, but still floated in the air thanks to some kind of dark magic. The Dragonborn noticed it by looking at its feet, which were a few inches above the ground and looked rather odd. They were broad, webbed and clawed. Like the tracks on the road.
Well, well… Enigma solved. We found the mystery murderer. Now to defeat it, which looks to be way more difficult. Dark magic pulsed around the creature, confirming his fairly straightforward intuition. The Dragonborn took a little more time to analyze the beast, trying to deduct information that could have been of use to defeat it. He first observed the gouge on the left side of the torso. The wound is there and so is the burnt graze on the thigh, so this is still the vampire I fought before. Just in a different form. I've never seen a transformation like this, but it seems to function like the one of a werewolf, aside from the fact that it seems to be under the full control of the cursed one. That could mean some characteristics of the vampire still remained in his other form. Judging from the energy twisting in his hands, he uses magic even in this other shape. Fine, let's see what our dear monster does…
The monster did nothing, for the time being. However, a quiet shriek came from above and two bats dove down towards the face of the Dragonborn. He dodged one, but the other clutched his small claws on his eyebrow. He ripped it away from his face, closed the armored fist and squeezed the small animal, making it burst with a spray of black blood.
More hisses. Three other bats came down from nowhere, trying to close their tiny fangs on the Dovahkiin's flesh. Cursed little things… he thought, putting the bloodied gauntlet in front of his face to hinder their attacks. The animals were smart though, and one of them pinned itself on his higher neck, which was exposed. He tried to smack it away, but as soon as he did two more swooped down from the ceiling and attempted to slip into his hood and bite him. He felt their little claws scratching his skin.
An insignificant spark of frustration and wrath crossed his mind. It was enough.
His skin started to get hotter and hotter. The magicka wasn't being altered, all the power that was being drawn was contained in his blood alone. Dunmer, brothers in blood, Ancestors… Come to me!
His epidermis ignited instantly.
A flame gust burst from his body. With low shrieks of pain, the bats that were attacking him turned into flames and then cinders. The transformed vampire, which had gotten closer, growled gutturally and backed off. After the first spout, the flames surrounding the Dragonborn reduced in size and just permeated his skin, at times flaring in longer gushes of red-hot blazes. The fire flashed underneath his armor. The Dunmer looked at the vampire, and even that monstrous face showed some uncertainty in the face of such bringer of inferno staring right into his eyes.
Now it was the right time to strike. The nasty creature hurled a red orb of dark energies that exploded on the ground, but not before the Dovahkiin could perform a pirouette and get out of the way. He closed in still on the monster. The longsword flared with hellfire once again, spewing out all the power the Dragonborn had channeled through it. The swings left traces of smoke and vapor as they got closer and closer. He whirled the blade towards the creature, which avoided the hit. The next slice, however, was too fast to be dodged, even with the supernatural reflexes of the vampire. The burning blade barely grazed the monster's skin, but it was enough to leave a thin, long cut with scorched edges.
The monster screamed.
The Dovahkiin chained the slice into a wide sweep, which would have also hit wherever the vampire might have decided to avoid. But as the blade drew closer, the creature seemed to become more and more immaterial. A swarm of bats came down from the ceiling and closed on the beast's frame and carried it away. The Dragonborn locked every muscle up tight and stopped the sweep, driving it down and twirling the blade into a more comfortable position, while he looked around in search of the creature. It wouldn't have been hard, the Magelight was still fixed to the ceiling and gave off plenty of light.
However, the Dunmer could do nothing when a great force lifted him into the air. He managed to hold the longsword in his hands. He had turned just in time to see the monster extend an arm in his direction. An orange light had sparkled in his hands, and that had took him into the air. He was prepared for something, but that had come as complete surprise. No human mage was strong enough to lift a human in full armor in the air using telekinesis.
The Dragonborn felt the magic shift, change a little. The spell, which was holding him in the air for the moment, pulled him closer to the vampire. It was quick and sudden, he would have reached the monster in a matter of less than a couple of seconds. He thought of something, but the flames that had shrouded him had waned quickly when he had regained complete control over the fight and his mind. With his wrath gone, there was nothing left to fuel the fire. He lost the grip on the longsword, which fell to the ground with a grim ringing. The dagger was still on his side, but he was too disoriented by the movement to reliably grab that. Besides, he would have needed to do something before the spell brought him close to the beast. There was only one way.
He focused as much as the current condition allowed him, sensing the magic that was dragging him closer to the monster. He followed the stream, retracing it back to the wielder of the hex. He twisted and turned the magicka in a way that it acquired the shape of a disruption. An interference. He let the ethereal force go, and guided it through the flow of his enemy's spell. When the tap touched the hand of the vampire, the magicka curled up and flowed out, draining the last energies from the telekinesis incantation.
The Dragonborn fell on the ground.
His vision was blurred. His head had hit the ground. Not powerfully, but strongly enough to make his senses rather unclear. The cold bright of the Magelight appeared faint and vague, the outlines of the rocks in front of him shimmered and melded together in a confused disorder. He had fallen on his back, and his hood had come loose. The long hair had dispersed behind his head, on the rocks. He was utterly disoriented. He couldn't even tell where the entrance of the cavern was, except for the fact that it wasn't in front of him. And if he didn't know where the entrance was, let alone the sword. He had no clue of where it was. He was feeling a strange tingling sensation in all his limbs, which weren't exactly responsive at the moment. There was a more pressing matter however, something that bothered him way more than wilted arms and legs or his blurry sight: the vampire was nowhere to be seen.
He managed to raise his left arm high enough to lean on the forearm and try to get up from the ground. He straightened his arm and held himself up using both fists and, after a bit of effort, the knees too. He propped up slow but determined, as fast as his muscles allowed him. Still, the voice of realism in his head told him it was all for nothing and he agreed. Even as he succeeded in standing on two feet he knew the monster was lurking very near to him, probably waiting for the best opportunity to strike. The hand of the Dragonborn reached for the dagger mechanically, while the other heated up with magical flames that were ready to spurt out of his palm.
His vision was still somewhat fuzzy when a dark shadow sprinted towards him at incredible speed. It moved to him at once, and as it got closer the Dunmer managed to make out the features of the monster, which was stretching his long claws in his direction and had opened his fanged mouth.
It wasn't the first time a vampire sank its teeth into his neck, but that time was by far the worst one. The canine teeth of that creature were longer and sharper than the ones of a regular vampire. The dreadful sensation of the blood surging faster in his veins, being drained by the thing pinned to his neck, was unsettling to say the very least. The monster was closing its teeth, almost as if trying to rip the flesh away, and incised the skin deeply and painfully. A hiss of pain and anger escaped from his mouth.
But then, suddenly, the monster growled strangely. It seemed to the Dragonborn it was a snarl of surprise or shock. The vampire pulled the fangs out of his flesh, spitting some blood as it backed away. It kept fumbling furiously, at times spattering more of the red liquid.
The Dragonborn fell on his knees, a bitter sneer playing out on his lips. Dragon blood isn't good for you, overgrown leeches. Now, in addiction to the blurry vision, he had also a headache because of the blood loss. Despite the short time, the vampire had sucked a great quantity of it. Yet, he had an advantage. The monster was still lashing out desperately, firing ominous glares at the Dragonborn. Its flesh was decaying, deteriorating, its face becoming gaunter still. Spasms shook the creature's entire body. The black mist that had hazed it during the transformation was oozing out of his skin and the dark magic coming in pulses from its from was slowly waning.
Time and space alike twisted and warped as the Dragonborn sang a thundering note in the song of the universe.
'Fus Ro Dah!'
The Thu'um struck the creature and hurled it backwards, carrying its limp figure to the very end of the cavern. The monster hit the wall and collapsed to the ground, leaving a splatter of black blood on the wall. The vampire tried to pick himself up, using what dark energy hadn't left his body to pull himself straight a little bit. The Dragonborn, ready for a last stand, rose and grabbed his dagger.
He dashed forward, stoically ignoring the pain, and aimed the hit. The monster struggled to react fast enough, but it was still unable to do anything when the dagger sank deeply into its neck. With a turning of the wrist, the Dovahkiin rotated the blade and severed the head from the shoulders.
A black pool spread where the lifeless figure of the vampire lied.
An odd silence fell suddenly in the cave. The screeches of the creature dying were the last noises to be heard. The wind howling outside was distant and easily forgot, especially to the ears of the Dragonborn. He felt the cool and calm air on his skin and in his nose. The cold seeped into his mouth and his lungs as he breathed, and he was breathing very heavily. The headache wasn't going to get any better, not until the blood had regenerated.
The Dunmer paced on the rim of the blood puddle repeatedly and slowly, going back and forth. He put on the hood again and tucked his hair inside, trying to use them as covering for the fang marks on his neck. His knees trembled. He calmly reached for his black leather pouches and took out a small flask. He held it delicately by the neck and used the pointed ends of the armored fingers to uncork it. He drank its full content and plugged the stopper back in before stuffing the bottle into the pocket.
Fine… That should prevent me from turning into one of them, he thought. Now, I need to burn this poor sod. Then it would be good to drop by in Winterhold. I bet my fellow mages might find my adventure quite interesting. And I suppose Colette could take a look at my injuries, too.
A/N: For all you The Assassin readers who wanted the Godsplitter's return, I hope it's everything you hoped for. You'll find him changed, especially as we delve further into the story, but let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?