A/N: This chapter is almost a week overdue, I'm sorry! I'll make this a short author's note to compensate.
Disclaimer: All the original characters, locations and dialogue belong to Bethesda. The OCs are my own.
Chapter 6
He was unsure as to how long he had traveled through the winding tunnels of the Nordic ruins. The further he walked the more changes he noticed; architecture that set Dimhollow apart from any other peculiar place he had explored. At first they were minor shifts in etchings, stronger, more expensive stones that were carved with far more care than the enslaved Nords of the past he believed were capable of, and then he first met with the crude, carved monsters that lined doorways protectively – gargoyles that guarded whatever the vampires sought here. Arbos came here with his only guide already killed, so he followed the mined paths where the vampires appeared. They provided him with a trail, guarding each twist and turn of the tunnels leading into the heart of the crypt.
His racing mind provided different theories on their strange behaviour, what had caused their sudden upfront aggression, a relic or a weapon? Whatever cause that could have possibly led them to abandon their discrete nature was a cause for concern to the mortal world.
It was that which had roused his caution, his stiff posture as Arbos crossed the thick double doors, once guarded by a lever locked gate and a guarding vampire. The two heavy doors were ancient wooden beams, clasped together by metal.
He stepped into the next room cautiously, leaving behind the vampire and the frost bite spider with a shared fate. The more vampires he fought, the more confident he became that they were eerily different from the mere nuisances that had sometimes bothered him on the Skyrim roads. There was intelligence behind their aggression, one that did not escape Arbos' notice, serving to unnerve him further with his lack of knowledge.
He knew he had entered this lair unprepared.
The doors closed behind him with a great shudder as he entered the next odd, archaic looking room. On the other side there was an open doorway protected on either side by the dark gargoyle statues, with a balcony to oversee the cavern beyond. A pedestal etched of black stone stood in the middle of this room, Arbos walked down the steps with a steady grip on the crossbow, approaching it cautiously.
A scroll, yellowed by time rested on top of it and as he approached it he could make out the shimmer of magicka with which it was surrounded; it was an arcane scroll of fire storm. He brushed the dust off the paper, his fingers tingling in response to the magic that flared within the parchment. Frowning thoughtfully he surveyed the room, before regarding the scroll again contemplatively. Decided, he gingerly set his crossbow down onto the pedestal and reached for the scroll, slipping it underneath his gauntlet. It could prove useful against the undead susceptible to fire.
Tucking the parchment in he turned back to study the room and its content, tracing the architecture that appeared foreign when comparing to the crypt itself. The same gradual change, the stonework was newer, still old but in a far better state than its counterpart behind the double doors, infested with Draugr and the like. There were arched windows on either side, covered somewhat with hanging moss and an arched entrance that led to a balcony, he could only guess at what such a cavern could contain – his suspicion was that they were of ceremonial intent, seemingly the one of the few similarities to the common, ancient Nordic ruins.
He crossed the length of the room and quietly walked down the several, worn out steps, the view from said balcony was one to render him momentarily breathless.
Before him stood grand, cavernous chamber with ceilings so high they were kept in shadows, far away from the flame wrought luminosity of the fire holders and braziers that kept the cavern itself mostly visible to a mortal eye.
He neared the old, stone railing of the balcony, noting that the only pathway now was the turning line of stairs that should lead to the dark water below. The water streams that he had previously followed and was ambushed in have gathered here as a subterranean lake. The black water surface shimmered with the torch light, it made the structure at its heart seem ghastly pale in comparison. His eyes narrowed as he studied the ceremonial island surrounded by the underground reservoir, it confirmed his earlier suspicion. It was a superior structure of a similar making to the balcony, and to the room at his back. The same architecture responsible for the gargoyles standing vigil; stone statues he had not seen in any other tomb nor crypt or ruin.
The only way to reach the island in Arbos' line of sight seemed to be an old stone bridge that led to the circular island; great pillars encircling the island's braziers and engraved circular gouges into the flooring. The setting of a ceremonial chamber screamed at him as he studied it intently, it cautioned him with the skill of those who had designed it, and what exact purpose it held.
The purpose for the island was unclear, but it spoke of the power on par with the ancient Dragon Priests, if not the same era. Arbos exhaled quietly, the air was chilled and it frosted his breath slightly, an errant finger tapped at his crossbow as he mused over this new discovery. He stilled himself after a moment; the vampires were bound to be close.
He registered mutterings below him and slipped behind a stone gargoyle to his left, his hand tightening around the tiller of his crossbow. He leaned towards the gaped railing of the balcony and squinted down to see five humanoid shapes; one wearing distinct Vigilant robes was on the ground, struggling. Another looked like a bandit, three vampires. His lips thinned with frustration.
Arbos strained to hear their conversation; at once glad for the echoing nature of the cavern though it warned him not to make any sound at all. He shifted uncomfortably at the pained yell that came from the Vigilant, watching as a vampire in red and black robes had cruelly slammed a foot onto his back.
"I am not telling you anything, vampire!" Despite the firm defiance in the Vigilant's voice, there was a pained catch and a shuddering breath that Arbos caught, and judging by the satisfied chuckle of the vampires they did too.
And to Arbos' quiet repulsion, they delighted in it.
He watched with growing unease from his hidden perch behind the gargoyle as one of the vampires, the male shrouded in robes of similar making to the one torturing the Vigilant, but of a grey color, approached the fallen man, he heard the arrogant voice as it reverberated through the cavern carelessly, "I believe you, Vigilant."
A pause, Arbos lifted his crossbow to rest it against his shoulder; maybe he can get a clean shot.
He brought the crossbow closer, shifting slightly in his crouch while he sought a better angle, he winced at the quiet click of mechanics as he adjusted his hold on the weapon, he knew little about vampires, but his venture into the crypt had taught him they had senses akin to animals, heightened sense of smell and hearing. At one point, he was forced to scrub dirt onto his clothing and armour to ward off the fresh smell of blood when he had noticed that the vampires had began to anticipate his approach.
When Arbos leaned back against the railing, between two carved pillars that barred it, he finally had clear view of the leading vampire, who was now standing in front of the bloodied, still defiant body of the Vigilant with a short sword in its hand. Arbos frowned, he could make the shot, it was a short distance, and it would recoil and give him time to reload. He angled his crossbow some; his thumb grazed the lever lightly. He could feel a nervous tick in his jaw.
"And..." The sinister chuckle paused Arbos before he could press the trigger, "I don't think you even know what you've found here."
Arbos stayed his hand, tilting his head thoughtfully as he contemplated the unaware, smug posture of the speaking vampire. All he had to do was press the trigger, the force of the bolt, should he pierce the skull would kill instantly, and return the vampire to whatever afterlife set for the beasts of Molag Bal.
But he halted, his finger would not budge – the vampire sounded so sure, should he stand back, observe and wait for a better chance to kill them? He had followed the vampires here, but should he kill them now he will not know what to do next.
Arbos frowned in distaste, his options were limited.
With great reluctance he peeled his hand from the trigger, keeping his crossbow in its set position despite his decision. What will they do to the Vigilant?
That sly, voice of the vampire again rang through the cavern, "Go meet your beloved Stendarr." Arbos heard a crunch, a weak gasp of pain. And then there was silence below him.
Right. He closed his eyes briefly in response, but he restrained himself from the stab of guilt that followed. Remember why you're here.
He opened his eyes again and surveyed the undead who had gathered away from the corpse, they were heading for the bridge. He followed them in the shadows, pressed against the carved and jagged rocks that formed this cavern.
"Are you sure that was wise, Lokil?" It was the other vampire who spoke, distinctly female. She wore a style similar to the quiet vampire walking slightly behind them, red and black. They approached the bridge, with Arbos stealthily creeping behind them.
He heard the scepticism, the doubt in the vampire's tone as if probing her vampiric leader for weakness. "He still might have told us something."
The vampire beside her scoffed, his authorial drawl dismissing the other vampire's concerns as if it would a bothersome bug. "He knew nothing." Arbos saw her bristle at Lokil's dismissive tone; from the shadows he could see the dangerous glint of her fangs as she turned towards the other vampire. Lokil seemed unfazed by the hostility, merely turned to meet the glare of the vampires, his mocking eyes hardened.
"He served his purpose by leading us here, and now we will bring Harkon the prize." Lokil's voice had kept its monotone, he sounded bored as if he had explained himself to them too many times previously. "Vingalmo and Orthjolf will make way for me after this." He reminded the flustered vampire with a sneer.
The vampiress snarled in response and to Arbos it seemed like the two would come to blows when another voice jolted both vampires from their quarrel.
"Yes, yes Lokil. But do not forget who helped you."
The vampire who had held the Vigilant down before interrupted, stepping in between the glaring duo; Arbos watched the bandit thrall trailing behind him obediently and frowned, he was the one in control of the thrall then. He watched as Lokil kept his eyes trained on the snarling vampiress, seemingly ignoring the other vampire's warning.
She likewise ignored the vampire playing at peace keeping, looking conflicted between whom she would rather tear apart more. Arbos felt his lips twitch up at the look of pure loathing.
Now, now, it wouldn't do for them to do my job for me. Was Arbos' amused thought as he shifted slightly from his hiding place near the bridge. He will attack, he quickly decided, should they start fighting among each other, with that thought he trained a bolt at the thrall master with a smooth motion, having grown used to the mechanism. He kept to the shadows as he adjusted his aim – the master and thrall would go first.
His finger was a hair's breadth from the trigger when he saw Lokil's icy countenance shift; he stifled a grunt of disappointment. Patience... He soothed the adrenaline that wrought his hyper heart.
Arbos watched Lokil carefully, noting that although the danger in his posture was yet to disappear his expression turned back to his previous conceited amusement, he broke the gaze of his angered companion, turning back towards the vampire trying to keep peace, "Of course, you know I never forget who my friends are, Falic. Or my enemies"
The last part, Arbos saw, was directed at the snarling vampires who seemed to glower even more at the laughter of her vampiric companions. He watched carefully as Falic turned away from Lokil and towards her, and although Lokil could not see Arbos noted the look of caution that Falic shot the vampiress.
Arbos felt a stab of unease, although he was unsure as to its origin. He pressed himself farther into the shadows.
The vampires, seemingly reproachful of Falic's warning shifted subtly, though her tone was only marginally less irritated. "Only Molag Bal himself knows why our Lord Harkon should saddle me with you two. And – "
She turned towards Lokil with a hiss, seemingly unwilling to let go all of her hostility, Arbos saw her hand twitch towards the dagger at her belt, although it stayed where it was.
"Neither do I, Lokil. You'd best not forget." Even from Arbos' vantage point, hiding behind a pillar as they stood in the middle of the bridge, he saw Lokil's calmed expression become strained, a glint of white flashed at his mouth. Arbos tensed with his crossbow at the ready but Lokil said nothing more. Arbos stifled a grunt of irritation, Patience...But his mind was working, churning with new information.
They entered the circular of pillars in the middle. Arbos stopped at the bridge, crouching behind a gargoyle statue. His mind was whirring with speculations – this was an organized group of vampires, he had gathered as much before and now he was sure that his theory was correct. As soon as he reaffirmed in his mind, a disarming stab of uncertainty pierced his thoughts.
The reason for his unease was hard to place, somewhere along the line that he had began – He paused.
He had begun to refer to them as live beings.
But they are not; they're not. His mind protested, only to be shushed by a new, blooming theory that had begun its slow domination over his mentality.
He had honed his intellect through tomes upon tomes of the College, and the ones not to be found there he had found elsewhere in his travels. He relished in knowledge, in thinking. And in the open minded views worthy of scholars that taught that not everything was as it seemed.
Oh how he had fought to erase all the 'blemishes' his younger childhood teachings imprinted on him, to adapt to the Jarl's, to the Empire's laws. He had labored as an orphan to adopt the good customs, to be accepted by his new peers, and then as a young man sought to see all without bias, as an arcane scholar worthy of the College should. He, who was once hated for being the lawless son of the Reach, had become a hero, a legend. By sheer strength of will he had become an acknowledged Arcane Master, the Arch-Mage. And by pure chance of fate, he had become the Dragonborn.
Savos Aren made the College of Winterhold sanctuary to the prosecuted races studying in the arcane arts, and Arbos followed his tradition. And he then furthered his claim for racial equality in the Thieves' Guild, with his connections to Brynjulf and Karliah, and all his brothers and sisters still following the revered, infamous trade.
But this, this was an uncomfortable thought that vampires, whom he at some point beyond his recollection deduced to be lesser. No, Arbos corrected himself as he watched the three vampires enter the circular island, I see them for what they are, walking corpses, they are walking corpses.
They were, why then did he feel so unsettled?
It was a troubling thought, that these vampires, with their sinister battles of wit, with their sarcasm and hostility and hierarchy he had seen so many times before, working with the Empire and the Stormcloaks, seeking a treaty of peace in High Hrothgar. Their squabbles are so familiar – in that these moments when he watched them from the shadows, the vampires seemed so human.
Arbos was so unsettled by the thought, was driven so deep into his musings that he almost forgot why he was there. Realized his lapse in attention he forced himself out of his own stupor.
He felt himself frown, it did not matter what they were. He was to find what it was they were searching for, to stop them and to kill them. Distraction was fatal, doubt was lethal.
Let it trouble me when it is safe to do so. He prayed into the recess of his mind, unused to the vacant emptiness that was previously reserved by a Daedric power, a Daedric Prince that had abandoned him when leaving him to this mission.
He felt a cold stirring somewhere in his mind, a brief flicker of something before, so quick he barely noticed it, and shook it off just as quickly. It matters not, not now. He soothed his own impatience, his breaths even, his heart and hand steady.
Arbos crossed the bridge, crouching and staying close to the shadows within the cavern, where the water did not shed the dim lights of torches. The vampires were on the island, near the odd carved pedestal – the only detail that occupied the circle surrounded by the connected pillars other than the unlit braziers. His keen mind, trained by Brynjolf so many years ago filtered through the rest of their conversations, their excited murmurs hinting that they were close to retrieving whatever it was that brought them here in the first place.
That meant he could not delay any longer, to do so would risk the vampires getting away with what it is they were searching for. Still, there were four of them, three vampires and a thrall and Arbos took care not to underestimate their abilities. He would be a fool to attack them head on.
He let the image of Tolan settle within his mind, his own personal warning.
No, he must use stealth for as long as he could, albeit the illuminated island did not appear promising for his plight. A plan was needed, one against they who have swords and daggers and magic and fangs. After entering the crypt he had learned quickly that the vampires excelled in the arcane arts, wielding spells he as an Arch-Mage knew not of. It was worrying, the extent of his ignorance to their kind. A problem to be taken care of once I leave this place, no sooner, He prayed he would not come to find said answers at the fangs of Molag Bal's servants.
But there was one thing he did know, they loathed the sun, and fire to the same extent.
He tilted his head thoughtfully, an idea came to mind, it roused a flicker of grim satisfaction and served to lessen the pang of remorse trapping him since the death of two Vigilants of Stendarr. Arbos reached into his knapsack and took out the scroll he had found upon the entrance to this cavern. Scroll of Fire Storm...
He needed to be closer to all of them, and to contain them to the island. What to do, what to do... An idea came to mind, it was ill thought, dangerous but something that just might work.
Arbos rested the crossbow to his shoulder again, his eyes narrowed. Crouching in the shadows of the bridge he fired the bolt at the vampire with the red and black armour, Falic. Arbos was startled as a giant, desperate body of a Nord met the bolt before it got to its intended target; the thrall had pushed its master out of the way. Arbos bit back a curse and hid behind a nearby pillar, one of the many that circled the island.
"Damn it!" Falic's savage snarl was only deafened by Lokil's order, "Leave the thrall and find the hiding coward!" Arbos pressed himself to white pillar, another bolt nocked and ready.
He saw Lokil and the female vampire nearing the bridge once more, their weapons drawn; even from the side he could see the blazing orange eyes that differentiated them from men and mer, not human, not alive, the manta in his head. The next bolt hit Lokil in his shoulder, the moment the familiar twang of the crossbow rang in his ears Arbos swung himself over the railing that guarded the stone island, his hands grabbed at the ledge, hanging from the sharp cut out of stone that led straight down to the water. His fingers dug into the foot of the railing and he began his swift circling of the island, his hands grabbing at the ledge deftly as he listened to the commotion above him.
He heard a pained hiss and an outraged cry that reverberated through the cavern. Arbos smiled grimly while he climbed sideways.
"Lokil!" It was Falic's voice, the previously collected, dangerous tone cracked with concern. The cave rang with the angry, predatory hiss of hostile vampires.
"I'm fine you fool, find that piece of meat!" Seeing that as his cue, Arbos lifted himself onto the railing, now on the opposite side of the ceremonial island that trapped the angered vampires, the female vampire, whose hands were alight with red, pulsing magicka saw him first. He silenced her with a bolt between her eyes before she could announce his presence. Her final, savage shriek although abruptly silenced though, had caused enough commotion to garner the attention of her companions, he watched coolly as both vampires turned towards him.
Lokil's orange eyes, like the ones of his companion glowed with venom; the cavern air felt colder, Arbos felt the hair of his nape rise in response although his hardened glare did not weaken under the demonic gaze.
"You..." Lokil hissed. There was a menacing lisp in the vampire's speech. Arbos saw Falic match the other vampire's snarl, catching the brief flash of pain as he caught sight of the undead turned dead vampiress.
Arbos did not linger on that look, for it was gone swiftly.
He stood up; standing on the thick stone railing and smoothly notched another bolt, it was a show of challenge on his part, one that the vampires did not take kindly to. Lokil barked a laugh, his vampiric eyes gleaming with hunger, "I will tear you apart, mortal."
The sadistic purr did not unnerve him.
Arbos felt himself smirk, catching Falic's angered glare "Well come on then. You filthy, daedric thrall." The cruel sense of pleasure as Falic's fiery, demonic gaze widened with reproach was worth the potential consequences of taunting a predator.
Lokil roared and charged, too eager to rip him apart with his bare hands to use his vampiric spells. Arbos' smirk widened as he pinned the charging vampire with a cool, deathly look and jumped off the railing to meet him, conscious of Falic's warning shout, "Lokil, don't!" But Lokil did not listen. A snarled curse, and then Arbos saw Falic charge after his vampiric comrade. The arrogant die first.
Lokil roared and swung his sword, the wicked gleam of steel high over his head. In the same moment, a mere few feet away from a deadly collision with a vampire Arbos snapped, "Tiid."
And time slowed as he commanded.
He felt time sink into his moving limbs, trying to slow him just as his dragon blood repelled the greedy leach of his Thu'um. The two vampires in front of him however had no such protection, and he watched them slow to a mere snail's pace, as if trying to run against a powerful river current.
The slow, descending blade at his head Arbos side stepped, using the sharpened tip of his notched bolt to slice at the vulnerable conjunction of arm and shoulder, he heard the hint of a rip and a beginning of a howl that only fully enveloped the cavern when he was already in the middle of the stone circle, back pressing into the pedestal behind him. The vampires turned as fast as they could, which was not nearly fast enough to catch him as he unravelled a scroll.
The scroll clutched in his hands shimmered and flared with fiery light, the runes ignited through the parchment. Each word burnt itself into his mind with the same intensity of a newly learnt word of power though he did not fully comprehend them, merely an observer as the scroll disintegrated within his hands, only to leave behind immense power. He drew it closer, encasing it within his hands, closing it in tighter until his arms trembled and the fiery light of fire bubbled like boiling liquid. He felt his strength drain with the force of his thu'um and the magic it took to control the fiery magic imprinted into the scroll's essence.
Had his own heart not been hammering away through his ribs he would have found great amusement at the paranormal seen, the vampires' expression of shock, the panic, they will not catch him in time.
Too slow... something in his mind whispered, it sounded like his voice, he smiled –
And then his dragon blood released its hold on time, and he in the same instant released the power boiling within his physical grasp, the magic that engulfed him in its power flooded through savagely, tearing through his very essence as it flooded the corporal world.
It was a brief moment, short. But in that moment Arbos' eyes were encased with light and his ears with the roar of fire. His body thwarted with the heat, though he was left unharmed.
And then the fires were gone and his ears were overwrought by sounds of agony. His body was left unscathed by the arcane blaze while they who chased him before were now clutching at their burning skin, the cavern echoing with inhuman shrieks. The flames had extinguished into nothingness, but they clung greedily to the vampiric skin that loathed them.
He heard a pained gasp, it was Falic struggling to his feet – his once pale skin charred and covered with burns, his – its his mind screamed, snarling face darkened by burns making the glinting curved fangs stand out even more as they appeared past its peeled back lips.
Arbos shifted on his feet slightly and tilted his head, lifting his crossbow to aim in response to the vampire's savage look. Arbos watched as Falic shot the other surviving vampire a look wrought by panic, Lokil was still crouched on the ground, breaths haggard and pained. Arbos estimated roughly how long it would take the vampire to recover. Not long, these are powerful, more powerful than normal vampires. He felt his thoughts darken, what are they?
And then something happened, something Arbos should have foreseen, but it caught him off guard.
Lokil heaved himself up with a hiss, his grey vampiric armour laden with ash and burnt through to reveal dark, charred skin in some parts, the vampire's glowing orange eyes were alight with wrath, they locked onto something behind the Breton, Arbos turned quickly to see Falic standing with an equally savage stance, blood was covering his nose, staining his fangs red.
And then both vampires disappeared, a shimmer of spell work the only clue to what they had done; they turned invisible.
Arbos cursed roughly, hearing a rasping chuckle to his left in response.
He turned to his left; searching for the glimmer of their spells as he brought his crossbow closer, his hand tightening around its hand rest. Arbos twisted behind him, in front of him, sideways. Where were they? He squinted, trying to trace the unearthly shimmers that might give them away.
He saw nothing, heard nothing more.
Arbos slowly backed away, his back hit that same pedestal again, and he was in the middle of the circular island, out in the open. You fool, he muttered darkly, his voice echoing within the panicking recesses of his mind.
He felt his jaw twitch in anticipation, he forced himself to calm. For once noticing that his heart was hammering against his ribcage, his palms were sweaty but his only response was to tighten his hands around his crossbow, he whirred around in a circle again, straining his eyes. There was a foot step behind him, he whirred around to face a magical shimmer.
But now, time was against him.
Something hit him in the stomach, sending him reeling back and stumbling over the pedestal. His back hit the smooth top, and in front of him was the far away ceiling of the cavern, his crossbow flew out of his hands and clattered somewhere beside him. He felt his back compress the stone slob beneath it of the pedestal, feeling the slab retract with a shudder of stone.
Everything was quiet aside from Arbos' breathing as he struggled to regain the air that was so brutally kicked out of him.
He heard Lokil's cruel, humorous chuckle, "Let's see if this works." Arbos turned slightly, meaning to get off of the pedestal and grab for his crossbow when a pain erupted in his back and he screamed.
The sound of the metal, jagged spike piercing his flesh echoed with his wild heartbeat in his skull but he felt deafened by the pain. His jaw ached as he ground his teeth, his arms and legs dangling in mid air, his body being held up only by the spike that pierced his lower back. He felt blood oozing through his throat, coating the inside of his mouth and he coughed harshly.
Distantly he heard the vampire's laughter, sinister and low and he blurrily saw their shapes in the corner of his vision as they moved, the spike retracted and he fell off the pedestal with a pained gasp, hitting the floor, his eyes were assaulted by nearby purple flame that writhed within the engraved gouges in the floor.
He reached behind him with a shaking hand, gasping as he pressed against the gouge in his back; it pierced the metal and leather of his armour. He dug his temples into the ground; his teeth ached from with muffled screams that he fought suppress.
Lying there, his life blood leaving and dribbling between his weakened fingers he felt oddly detached from the world, his vision was turning blurry, his breaths growing shallow, only his hearing seemed to be high tuned to the world around him, for those agonizing minutest that felt like eternity he could do nothing more than listen;
"...maybe we should treat ourselves."
"Focus, Falic. Help me solve this infernal puzzle." Lokil hissed, the voice sounded almost normal, so unlike the savagery it held before. He heard the grinding of moving stone, they were moving the braziers.
"Brother. Feed on the Manmer, you are weake- "
Arbos distantly heard Lokil's threatening snarl. "Do not finish that sentence, brother."
There was a groan of a stone brazier fitting into place and Arbos forced himself to turn onto his back, his jaw was aching now as he stifled another yelp. The gouged line on the floor beside him erupted into purple flames, the arcane fire stung his eyes and he recoiled, scrambling backwards and howling at the pain that went through all the nerve endings in his spine, his back stung with the wound of the spike, dots filled his vision interrupted only by purple flames and then he felt the ground beneath him part and crumble.
He bit back a pained gasp, the back of his head hitting the stone floor, staring at the darkening ceiling. The grinding of stone in the background was comparably dull to the throbbing of blood between his ears, but from the corner of his vision he could see a rising structure of stone, a monolith.
And then his dimmed vision was blocked by a wall of grey and a pair of orange eyes as Lokil crouched in front of him, seemingly unconcerned with the burning, purple fire that surrounded them. Twin fangs were protruding past his lip in a cruel sneer, "You have served your purpose, mortal."
Arbos' vision wavered, the vampire and stinging azure flames and the agony in his back sent his mind plummeted into a dark abyss. He fell into it helplessly, losing sight of the fiery eyes that held murder.
And he resurfaced into chaos.
Arbos pushed past fighting bodies, metal boots crushed his smaller feet but he was too panicked to cry out, he scrambled up the staircase to the keep, a spell of sparks was shot above his head and he glanced sideways to see –
"Ragar!" He saw his older brother, an untested youth with a sword with jagged bones, too big for him, in his hand trying to escape an Imperial soldier. Arbos watched as he clumsily brought his Forsworn sword up to block an axe. He was sent staggering back onto the steps with the force of the Stormcloak's blow.
Ragar met Arbos' panicked gaze with a terrified expression, he reached for Arbos desperately when the soldier swung his axe down again.
Arbos stumbled over his feet to get to his brother, shoving the soldier down the winding steps, the Stormcloak kept rolling down, the armor making a horrible shrieking sound as it hit the edge of each step on its way down into the burning streets, he grabbed his brothers hand and ran, "We need to find father!"
His vision darkened again, and he felt like a vortex had taken him again, his senses blurred.
A freezing hand grasped his throat and it jerked him back to his senses, gasping as he was lifted off the ground, his back screamed in protest but he could do no more than to struggle weakly, dizzy and light headed from blood loss.
It was Lokil who was holding him by the throat, the cold hand digging into his throat and keeping him aloft, all he could manage was a weak grunt and a defiant glare at his captor. Arbos watched Lokil through the dimness of his vision, the vampire's fiery eyes stood out from the scorched flesh of his face, the flesh eaten away by his spell. He felt a flicker of satisfaction somewhere within the still functioning portion of his mind.
Arbos saw Lokil's taunting sneer flicker with anger and the hand around his throat tightened, "I will drain you dry, mortal. And your blood will heal me as I kill you."
Arbos did his best to snarl; a less effective insult without fangs, so he spat at the vampire's burnt face to compensate. The vampire's flinch was so comical to his weary, reckless mind that he chuckled, a hoarse pained sound. He was too tired to care of the repercussions.
"Must you? The new look suits you far better." The outraged expression of the blonde vampire made him chuckle again. The light headedness definitely loosened his tongue. He felt like he was stuck in limbo, in a dream.
"You...you – "Whatever words Lokil was grasping to come up with was drowned by the vampire's roar as he slammed Arbos into the monolith behind him, his teeth clicked together painfully as he struggled not to scream again at the stab of pain, he saw those stars again, of how he hated these constellations. Dimly, his weary mind noted that the monolith sounded hollow, what was in it?
"Lokil!" Arbos heard Falic's warning voice, it rebounded in his head but he could do nothing but stare back and meet Lokil's burning, murderous eyes. A sense of familiarity settled within him, a dizzying feeling.
The world churned again.
"Lokil!" A smooth, authoritative drawl rang through the chamber, a vampire with dark hair pulled back, his features condensed into a predatory but solemn expression as he approached the victorious looking vampire.
Arbos froze when he saw what said vampire was dragging with him,
"Rag – "His shout was interrupted by a gloved hand over his mouth, he struggled but the grip did not relent. He heard a soothing whisper near his ear, an authoritative, feminine voice.
"Don't move."
"NO!"
His panicked shout drove him back to reality, and sent both vampires back with the power of unrelenting force. He caught himself before he fell, leaning against the monolith behind him tiredly, his back was still in agony but muted, overshadowed by memory of fear and the pounding of adrenaline that now jarred his body into action.
Arbos was moving in a daze, his body working without the consensus of his thoughts as he charged at the startled vampires. He dashed towards the staggered body of Lokil, sending a bolt of lightning towards the retreating back of Falic.
He heard Lokil's thunderous voice echo through the cavern and his skull, "Come back here you coward!"
He could hear panic in the vampire's voice as he watched his companion flee into the catacombs. He only felt a slight prickle of annoyance that he could not finish off the other vampiric nuisance.
No matter, it was Lokil he wanted.
Arbos drew his sword from his scabbard, the sound of steel against leather ringing in his ears and regaining Lokil's attention from his treacherous comrade, Arbos punched the vampire with the thick, metal cross guard of his blade in the cheekbone, watching as the vampire fell with the force of his blow, the cross guard left a bloody path along Lokil's face. It wasn't enough.
He grasped the fallen vampire by the throat, "What were you doing there?" He roared, his fingers compressing the wounded vampire's throat. Lokil's fiery eyes were alight with menace, fear, panic. Arbos almost grinned with satisfaction had it not been for his intent need to know. He was there, the vampire was there.
"Markarth. What were you doing in Markarth when Ulfric stormed the city?!" Lokil's demonic eyes shone with comprehension, his fanged mouth portraying malicious glee and Arbos pressed harder into the beast's windpipe.
Arbos glared vehemently as the vampire coughed, "Ah, that day, the buffet of panicking mortals ripe for picking." Lokil's fiery eyes were laughing at him; Arbos felt his jaw twitch and he retaliated by bringing the sharp edge of his sword into the vampire's throat, above his clenching fingers.
The vampire's fiery eyes flared, Arbos started.
A sharp pain hit him as the vampire in his grasp drove a sharp point of steel into his back. He was thrown back by paranormal, vampiric strength. The aggravated, gaping wound throbbed painfully when it met stone. The stone monolith that had stood untouched shuddered at the impact. The back of his head hit the stone with a crack, his saw the damned constellation again. This time darkness lapped at the edges of his vision, his eyelids gained weight.
And in his last moment of consciousness he heard the groan of stone sliding against stone. His head lolled back against the monolith's shuddering wall limply, and with the taste of copper in his mouth the last traces of awareness left him.
Darkness swallowed him, and he could not fight it.
A/N: On another note, thank you both the mysterious guest and Alkeni for your nice reviews, and also a big thank you to everyone else who is reading my story, I appreciate your views just as much.
I'll see you next chapter.
-thyvillain