This chapter's song is Black Betty by Caravan Palace. Second to last chapter here, will update on the day I first posted it.

The blast fades away, and Acnologia looks up, the poison now spreading very quickly through his system, his heart pumping the toxins all throughout his body. He coughs, sputters, but recovers, strained though it is, as I slice at his face with Dawnbreaker, the impact making him flip onto his back. He doesn't quite flip, however, as his legs are now sunk fully into the ground, making him unable to move. Slowly, he struggles up, but finds it more and more difficult, the soil dragging him down into it's depths of shadow. His torso engulfed now, he snarls, attempting to drag himself out of the muck.

I chuckle, bouncing so that I rest on the balls of my feet, my arms crossed over my knees, drawn up to protect my chest.

"You are not going to escape." I smile at him, finally proud enough to do such a thing, one that I rarely allow myself the pleasure of. Gloating.

I feel a presence next to me, and out of the corner of my eye I see a black shape.

"Morrigan." I speak, and she wordlessly hands me her sword.

"Execute him, Listener." She urges me, and I grasp both the swords in my hands firmly.

"A wise statement, Morrigan." I rise, placing the two blade on either side of his neck, while his eyes pulse with hatred for me, for Morrigan, for the human population. Veins stand out, pumping around black blood, filled with the jarrin root toxin, and his sinking frame stills. Not even a breath of wind stris the scene, and I feel the eyes of everyone who has fought today with us on this.

Without another thought, I move both swords, executing the human turned dragon turned human again.

Wordlessly, I hand Morrigan her sword, nodding deeply in appreciation. A good execution should always have two swords.

I smile fondly at the approaching shapes, running towards us both. We do, however, have some time before they get here.

"Morrigan. I have a feeling I will be…. Hard to contact for a while. In my absence, I wish for you, and anyone you deem appropriate to assist you, to run the Black Hand for me. Can you do this?" I question, looking not at her or the approaching figures, but at the skyline. A beautiful new day is dawning, and although I do not like the day, nor the sun that heralds it, I can appreciate it even as it's rays sting my skin.

Because what is night without day? (234)

Morrigan turns her head to look at me, then back at the sunrise. "I can."

"Excellent. Do you remember the saying of the Black Hand, our forever oath to be here?"

The Morrigan nods. "Of course, Listener. Dawn may break, the sun may rise…"

"But forever is the certainty of night. Hail Sithis." I finish the saying, unable to not.

"Hail the Listener." Whispers a voice, and both Morrigan and myself turn to try and find the speaker, only to see nothing but blackened soil.

"What do you visions tell you, Morrigan?" I ask, wondering if her power has increased since last I saw her.

"I can see but a few minutes ahead, Listener; but a vague impression of our future has been revealed to me. It…. is not good, nor a fun path for us." Her expression changes, as if trying to recall a very confusing and vaguely specific dream.

"But as a Family…" I start, hoping it's something good.

"We'll survive it." She finishes her thought, and I glance over at her.

"Thank you, Morrigan. You are a true sister." I smile, and then the crowd reaches us.

Some react to Romeo's body, smoking slightly, but I know without a glance he's dead. Congratulations Romeo. You saved the world by sacrificing yourself. (235)

Others swarm the both of us, Kessie inspecting both Morrigan and myself before announcing that we are both not dead.

Ortelloth claps her on the back and smiles at us, a silent thanks.

The most astounding thing, though, happens.

Bickslow is not here- his former guildmates are, grudgingly happy about our victory, but he himself is not.

Why?

I puzzle over it for a moment, before deciding I will find out later. It is more important and imperative for me to rest.

As much as I hide it, I am… damaged. Harboring a god's power, as well as having a piece of your soul ripped away from you, no matter if it was yours to start with, is not a pleasant experience. Adding onto that, the wing ripping thing, then fighting Alduin and Acnologia… there is a limit to what I can handle. A high limit, but there is a limit.

I smile and nod as they all appear to be extremely proud to be here, wondering how long this will take and how quickly I can get away.

I have my contingencies, and this is one of them. The ultimate restoring palace for someone of my caliber to rest, recuperate, and go into a magically induced coma to heal any, and all, injuries.

So, yes. I will be gone for quite some time. The true question is whether or not I will wake up, or if I will be needed.

Eventually, everyone dissipates, Morrigan disappearing with a lacrima call before most people even left. The palace is not far from here, and I will be able to make it, though it may be through sheer force of will alone.

I've fought through many things alone before- I can do it again.

Gritting my teeth and acting as though nothing is wrong, I leave the last of the people here, and set out in the direction of my palace.

The mountain that once held the most dangerous ruin in the entirety of Keizaal- Labyrinthian.

I force myself to move, walking, somewhat unsteadily, to the one place I know I will be safe from whatever might bombard my forgotten palace. The last refuge for me in the world- and the most secure. Only I can access it, through the Dovah Sos.

It'll be lonely, that's for sure, but if I'm in a healing coma, will I care? Absolutely not.

I chuckle lightly at this, forgetting about my wounds for a moment. Summoning up the last of my magic, which has only partially regenerated, I use it to pull up Arvak, sighing as the skeletally flaming horse appears and paws at the ground, tossing his head and snorting. Smiling lightly, I mount his back, groaning at the pain of actually moving. (236)

Taking a moment to catch my breath and orient myself, I sit still atop my trusty steed. The clouds in the sky are disappearing, and I take that as a sign for me to move on.

I spur on Arvak, the horse breaking out into a gallop, my destination far away, but getting closer. Hopefully I wouldn't have to travel for many days and nights, across blistering cold and scorching deserts to get there.

"One last journey together sounds nice, doesn't it Arvak?" I ask the undead horse, once he's stopped galloping, simply loping along now. He shakes his head and snorts, picking up the pace just a smidge.

I pat his neck, used to the bony feel of him as a result of having him as my horse for so long. "I wish that day will come too, my friend."

Scanning the horizon, I take in the beauty of the world, one I will not see for… I have no idea how long. But, I am scared that it will be long enough that I want to know the landscape before I go in.

I gulp- this is scaring me.

Why is it scaring me? It doesn't make any sense. Certainly this is not the most dangerous thing I've ever done, nor is it the scariest. I have driven back armies purely on my own, I have beaten countless enemies, each with a worthy chance to kill me, I have survived the most disgusting tasks known to man because I wanted more power, courtesy of the Daedric Princes.

So why does this simple task- healing myself- scare me?

Arvak snorts, warning me that there is a very large and quite intimidating mountain in front of us- with no pathway up.

I murmur a word, "Bex."

Immediately, a small path appears, not wide enough for Arvak to carry me on, which I must curse myself for doing when I built this now. Dismounting my horse is a struggle, both because of my wounds and the fact that I don't want to. (237)(238)

I pat Arvak on the side of his neck, sighing, and say, "Goodbye, old friend."

Gathering my strength and courage, I turn to the path, starting up it.

Alone.

Like always.

I feel my hands shaking- I clench them to get rid of it the sign of weakness. I can do this. I have to. I will.

I trudge up the mountain to Dragon's Rest, my home, for the next few….

Days? Months?

….

Years?

I shake my head- these thoughts are… unhelpful. Keep going. I'll get there, heal, and get back to my Family.

Where I should be right now….

No. I have to do this, and I know why, I scold myself. If I don't force myself to do this- I doubt I will survive for very long.

The structure looms over me, hidden by very strong illusion magic, and aided by the dormant magical powers hidden in the land beneath it. Labyrinthian was quite the symbol in my time- and, thanks to Morokei, it radiates Magicka.

A perfect resting place to heal for a High Elf.

The colors come into view, they magic of the land and the place it's situated over painting the surface like dragonfire, bright orange fading to a lighter tone.

Of course, the magic of the land and the ancient Dragon Priest who used to live below is not the only magic here. The Eye of Magnus is powering the place, with protection of the palace, maintaining the enchantments and illusion, and giving additional magicka should I need it. In this case, I do, so good on me.

I suck down another breath, steadying myself against a slab of ice that easily cuts through my gauntlet and my skin, making me bleed. Ripping my hand away, I hiss. A small bite of magicka has returned, allowing me to burn away the offending icicle and any evidence I may have left on it. I clench my hand, stopping the flow of blood and cinching my resolve to get to the god damn resting place.

To distract myself, I look up at the citadel again, finding comfort in the teal glow of the power of the Eye of Magnus. A tiny window, circular, rests at the top of the structure, just below the roof, in the center. Ice and snow surround the entire stronghold, making this path the only way in or out unless you want to fall to your death, and even then, it's quite risky. (239)

I huff out a breath, the miniature cloud white in the air, and continue onward.

The last few stairs leave me out of breath, and I set down my pack, glad to do so even for a second, though I have to pick it up again.

Not gently at all, I collapse to my knees, and take out a dagger. Not Mehrunes' Razor, I am not that muddled in my thoughts. Slashing across my other palm, I look to my hands, both now gushing blood. (240)

Still, I let my hand bleed over the symbol of Sithis, a skull.

As soon as one drop of blood touches the metal, the skull outline in the keep starts to appear, the blood running over it lightly to give it the distinction from the black of the other stones comprising the citadel. I move one knee up, then the other, so that I can rise. Using only one hand, I swing my pack onto my shoulder, taking the weight on once more.

I hear something in the distance, but don't turn around- this is much more for myself than any other.

Once fully formed, the skull reveals a door, triangular so that it's shaped like a nose of an actual skull. A wind rips through, giving my the voice and the question.

"How many lights?"

I speak one word, and the wind tears it from my throat as soon as I utter it, seeming to give it to the door and no one else.

The door cracks open, allowing me entry. I turn as I push the door aside, and spot a flying figure, too far away to really tell who it is. I am in no mood to deal with this, so I continue onwards into my citadel, the Dragon's Rest. Finally, it will be fulfilling it's purpose.

The angry screams are drowned out by the sound of the door closing. I continue down a long hallway, blood dripping down from my wounds on my back, wondering who it was. And if I should have waited.

I groan and sigh as I remember how long it will take me to get to the healing center. Damnit, why did I have to be so dramatic? A smile breaks across my face as I admit to myself, grudgingly, that it wouldn't be any other way.

If Miraak and other Dragon Priests, not to mention every Draugr Deathlord, get to be as dramatic as they want, I will do as I please. If lesser beings such as them can do it, I should be able to do so without a single question being asked.

The smile turns into a frown as I have to pause, leaning on a pillar of solid steel, catching my breath. Damn this, this weakness!

I would punch the wall if I had the strength.

Grunting, I push myself off of the pillar, standing on my own again, and continue onwards, glancing up and finding entirely too many stairs. My pack drops as I get to the base of the stairs, my body unable to bear the weight or the stress.

I take a firm hold, or as firm as I can, of the handrail, and, using that, I drag myself up the first few steps, panting as I get to the fifth one.

There are sixteen flights of stairs.

Each flight has twelve steps.

That amounts to 192 steps.

Why did I do this to myself?

Bickslow's POV

"Listener!" I shout as the door closes, probably permanently sealing the place. She turned back to look- why didn't she stop? Did she know it was me? Does she not want me to help her?

I bang my fist on the door once more, then shove my body off of it, my robes flapping in the wind. It's howling, almost angry, it seems, my puppets huddling close to the ground and me to keep from floating not so gently away.

How to get inside? Obviously, judging by the bloody path up the mountain, she needs help. Why go somewhere isolated? Or is she condemning herself to death?

A thought enters my head- is this her version of letting me go? Of letting everything going? Is she shutting me out?

That's three, but it doesn't matter. I have to get in there.

I waltz back to the edge of the rock face, looking over the trail that she climbed. Her blood glistens on the white snow- if she was attempting to not leave a trail it has not been accomplished.

Turning back, I face the door and try to reach inside Listener's head. What would she seal a place with, her own personal Sanctuary?

A blood magic spell. I grin, knowing her answer to everything. Blood- vampires and their- our- fascinations.

But will it open for my blood? Presumably, no- considering how she once described herself as the last of her kind I doubt so. What of the blood barrier on her manor, though? Would that help this?

Perhaps, I muse, and scan the area in front of me again. What am I missing?

I don't have the opportunity to find out, as someone kicked me into the actual door, ten feet away from me, and sent a dagger whirling at my right hand, catching my wrist and probably tearing a tendon or a ligament or whatever.

Normally, I'm the last person to say this, but hasn't there been enough violence today?

"TRAITOR!" It's all I hear before being blasted further into the door.

Moving is difficult, but I manage to stand, after wrenching that dagger out of my hand. I cast it aside, blood scattering everywhere. I grimace, hating the feeling of blood welling up on my skin.

Looking up, I see it's…. Luna.

This isn't going to be pleasant.

She roars as she pushes me with her magic, seemingly unhappy with how badly I'm hurt right now as is. Whipping out two daggers, she charges at me, her magic flinching out to push me again, her rage causing her lapse in control.

"You were supposed to be gone forever!"

I dodged the first swipe, skimmed the second, and felt the blood drip down onto my cheek on the third swipe. The fourth slammed into my shoulder, her face contorting into a huge grin as she twists the knife in, making me cry out in guttural pain.

I push her away from me, sending my babies after her, and slamming her away with a Point Blank Baryon Blast, followed by a swift Drop of a Gravity Well, sending her flying away at a much higher speed than would have been possible at normal gravity. Increasing gravity equals an increase in mass which equals an increase in speed.

I wrench out her damn knife, flinging it away from me. The blood wells up and spills over, coating almost my entire left side, but her absence allows me some time to heal some of the damage she's caused.

She's back on the offensive in a second, her attacks brutal, the tactics slapdash and the magical power behind them focused solely on hurting me, in any way possible. Her eyes flash dangerously from behind her visor, and I aim at it, the shining metal both distracting me and providing a steady target for my own strikes. (241)

I slash at the visor, catching on the rim and sending it flying off, along with her entire body. Blood drips down from behind her ears, the visor apparently fastened there by something that drilled into her flesh.

That…. That wasn't like that in the Games. Minerva did this- and suffered for it- but there was no blood besides her own spilled then.

"Mother and I were going to be happy without you." from the crumpled little girl on the ground, this gravelly voice, sounding oddly strangled, emanates.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, my voice shaking from strain. When magic is barraging your body, it's difficult to maintain a steady mind; it's not uncommon to find people unused to the waves of magic, though they can be magic users themselves, trembling, panicking, or even paralyzed by the phenomenon.

It's also usually on much lower levels than this.

An entire magical being is surrounding her- both dark and light magic is attracted to her greatly, making conflicting shadows across her soul (242). It looks like a dragon and a… puppet? Are fighting it out, while a spider spins webs all around both of them, intertwining them together and separating them.

"WE WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY."

I'm hit by raw emotion and power, the combination of feelings from her sapping my strength as I get pushed back.

"FOREVER."

I grunt as she pushes even more energy into it, Luna standing up now, her eyes wild, flaring green against powerful red. Her hair flaps around in the storm she's created, the magical aftereffects guaranteed to hit her later.

"ALONE."

I hit the door of Listener's hidden abode, and I close my eyes, clearing my mind but for one thought.

Push the world harder than it pushes back.

My eyes flare red, small trails of smoke appearing, as if like vents for magic buildup in the spell I'm trying to power. I grit my teeth, my familiar habit of sticking my tongue out almost winning- but I'll save that for when I win this duel.

Push the world harder than it pushes back.

I take a small step, then another, and another. My babies lay down cover fire for me, distracting Luna from focusing all her rage on me again. I feel the burning flames of her passion, the cold, freezing fire of her regret, the boiling hot magma of her rage.

Push the world.

I'm almost near her enough to unleash the spell building up, but not close enough. I take more steps, and she finally notices me.

Push.

She turns around, enraged beyond belief to still see me in existence, as if I have the audacity to be alive, and screams.

It's the perfect time for me to open my mouth and let loose the one Word of Power that Listener taught me.

"Fus."

It unbalances her, the power behind it pushing her back and stopping her magical tornado.

My babies pour on the attacks, Baryon Formation going off with her in direct target, and I switch tactics with Gravity Magic. For now.

I make her lighter than a feather, and shove her off the mountain.

It won't be a nice wake up call, as I increase her gravity to hit the ground as hard as possible.

I didn't raise her- is she really my daughter?

The distraction ended, at least temporarily, I'm able to focus on the real problem here- why Listener sealed herself away in this- sanctuary? Stronghold? Tomb?

And how do I get inside? (243)

My babies circle above my head, occasionally going into dives to look closer at the markings surrounding the entrance.

I study it, wondering how she built it, before remembering that she's an immortal ageless vampire with a lot of time and resources on her hands. Of course she'd build something like this.

Can I get in? The last I saw her, she was…. Looking a bit rough. And that's an easy way to describe it- her wings ripped off, a stab wound in her torso, magical energy used up and her soul likely torn around the edges due to Lumen Histoire.

That's not the kind of damage that a person should suffer through alone.

But…

Is she trying to? Why would she do that?

A blood seal marks the entrance- of course. What is it with her and blood?

I chuckle a bit at the thought of a vampire being captivated by their own blood, and it hits me.

She built this for a reason, but one defense no one can crack? Her blood.

Didn't she say she was the last…. Dragonborn? Dovah Sos?

If that's the case… I don't think that I can crack it. No one can.

….

That doesn't mean I won't try.

Listener's POV

I gasp as another memory rips through my mind, the steps imbued with every ghost memory of importance. This time, it's Morrigan's ceremony to becoming a Speaker.

I feel my throat tighten up and my eyes tearing up again, leaking out the saline, as she looks up at me, so proud, so, so, determined, to make me proud, to make all of our family proud, to prove herself worthy of this position.

It ends, and I gasp, taking the next step and finding Decimus and Fukuro spinning around and around, their engagement finalized with a proposal by the giant owl-headed man.

The next step- Noctus wiping out an entire field of cadets at one of our training facilities, smiling so cutely all the while, with Lucifer gazing at her shyly in admiration.

Another- Morrigan speaking to the crowd of people below her, their new Speaker, their new leader, under me. She won the loyalty of us all that day.

Another- It's Luna, her first successful Blood Magic spell in her hands, her little face smiling up at me, so… so precious.

I have too many stairs left to climb to count.

"Why did I do this to myself…" I groan out, gritting my teeth and stepping onto the next platform.

Which, conveniently, has the memory of Morrigan meeting Luna for the first time- and teaching her how to draw a squirrel.

My eyes well up with tears again. I remember that drawing… the squirrel had three tails, because Luna wanted it to.

Shaking, I grasp the railing tighter than ever before, and resume my climb.

This is the only way up to where I need to be.

Curse my ingenuity.

234- There is a saying about the Dark Brotherhood and its inevitability. What is it?

235- Of course, as a Dragon Slayer's Mate, it probably wasn't much of a world left in his opinion.

236- It's been quite some time since I have been as injured as I am now.

237- This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I am scared. Which I am not.

238- I am not scared. Or frightened. Or terrified. Or any synonym of the word!

239- I almost slipped three times. Long fall.

240- Insert heavy sigh here.

241- I would like to know how this looks from another person's perspective. Very confusing.

242- Souls are the basic vessels to describe our magical style. When the forces of magic act contrary to what the soul's color is, it can have cataclysmic effects on the surrounding environment, animals, people, and, yes, even the person. Most of all, the person.

243- That... Is actually the more pressing matter.