20

He was livid. He hadn't been this angry since the Silver Hand had killed Kodlak and he had gone on a killing spree with Vilkas, eradicating the entire cult. This was the level of anger he was at. There would be no saving the gods be damned Thalmor from his wrath.

Hadvar had not sided with the Stormcloaks or the Empire, he had kept himself out of the gods be damned civil war because it had been made very clear to him early on that dragons could not be killed unless he was helping. He was the gods be damned Last Dragonborn, a natural born dragon slayer. He had a duty to his people, to his homeland, to his country.

There was no way he could take part in the war. Alduin did not care who won, he would destroy the world no matter who claimed Skyrim in the end. This was why Hadvar had never taken part in the war. He had ignored Ulfric's barely veiled insults, tolerated his boarish attitude. He had even tolerated the traitorous remarks that General in Solitude had muttered beneath his breath.

These were all things Hadvar would have continued to tolerate, in silence. All in the name of protecting his people, because it was his duty. His purpose. His cold, calculating eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth in pain as both ice and lightning danced through his body. He released his hold on the Thalmor he had every intention of beating to death and smirked as the Altmer jumped to his feet and cast a series of spells on himself.

It wouldn't matter in the end. Hadvar would wipe his sect from existence. They had messed with the wrong man. He would personally see to it that the Thalmor were eradicated from the pages of Skyrim history.

No one.

Made an attempt on his life and lived. The Dark Brotherhood had learned this the hard way. He had killed Astrid in her abandoned shack instead of being drawn into her little game of death. He had killed two of her assassins not far from Whiterun. He had made up his mind then to annihilate the guild, and he had.

He'd rid Skyrim of the Dark Brotherhood and the Silver Hand. The vampire threat was all but finished. He had killed all the Dragon Priests, including Miraak. The Aldemeri Dominion had made its final mistake when that Thalmor agent had attacked him in Saarthal. They would join the others in adding to his infamy. He was the Last Dragonborn, and they would rue the gods be damned day they had crossed his path.

Hadvar was the Harbinger of the Companions, as such he had the perfect weapon to deal with these fools from the Summerset Isles. Wuuthrad. Ysgarmor's faithful weapon, forged with his tears of sorrow from the destruction of Saarthal by his son, was especially deadly to elves. It had cut a swath through the snow elves when Ysgramor had returned with his five hundred warriors.

He used it now, clutching it loosely in his thick meaty hands. A part of him hoped the elf was not ignorant and knew what it was Hadvar was wielding and understood the significance. The Dragonborn would execute every single last one of them with this weapon. Every gods be damned black and gold robed Altmer mage would feel his gods be damned wrath.

The Altmer unsheathed a phantom Daedric blade and cast his healing magic on himself. Hadvar charged then. His muscles bulged and he swung Wuuthrad in an arc. The sword came up and blocked. The elf grunted and slid back beneath Hadvar brute strength, his heels creating furrows in the snow.

The Dragonborn hopped back swiftly, making a mockery of the fact he was wielding a heavy two handed battleaxe. The elf switched his healing spell for a fire spell and cast a blast of flames directly at him. Hadvar rolled away and reached for his pack. He pulled out two potions, a stamina one and a resist fire. He quaffed them both quickly, lights swirling about his body.

The fire hurt a lot less and Hadvar was able to straighten and use the Elemental Fury Shout. The three Words of Power flowed from his lips and encircled his limbs with dragon magic. Wuuthrad became lighter, he would be able to swing it unnaturally fast, its damage would increase with the speed.

The Altmer's eyes widened, almost as though he realized what had just happened, Hadvar smiled at him, the beast within smelling the fear and adrenaline coming off the mage. It was going to be over very soon, and they both knew it. His fingers clenched on the long handle of his battleaxe. The elf sheathed his Daedric blade and ice crystals floated over both his palms. Hadvar knew then he had to move fast. Magic users needed time to charge up their spells and by the look of this one, it was going to be big, bad, and painful. The kind Hadvar really hated.

Three steps had the Dragonborn within reach. He raised his axe and swung it down. The elf grunted again as the blade sliced through his shoulder. His armour spell saved him from losing an arm. Hadvar stepped closer and swung the axe as though he were hacking at a tree. The spell protected the legs from amputation, but the blow tripped the elf who landed on his back in the snow and muck.

Hadvar's grin widened as the air was audibly knocked out of the mer. He was swift to raise the axe over his head and bring it down on the mage. A ward came out and deflected the hits but the Dragonborn continued his assault. His Shout allowed him to swing his weapon a hundred percent faster than normal. The ward would only hold out so long before it would break, same with the armor spell. There would come a time where it would wear off and Wuuthrad's head would sink into yellow flesh and bone.

Hadvar had potions aplenty, and his strength was legendary. The mage stood no chance. The grunts soon turned to a gasp and blood splashed towards the Harbinger. The elf tried to roll, Wuuthrad sunk in the snow right beside his head on the left. He went the other way, Hadvar followed, the axe keeping the mer on the ground.

Lightning arced from the yellow fingers and hit the Dragonborn right in the middle of the chest. The Nord screamed and raised Wuuthrad high over his head. His thin lips parted and cold blue eyes met yellow ones. The Elemental Fury Shout passed his teeth just as Hadvar brought the axe down on the Altmer on the ground.

A shard of ice hit the last Dragonborn in the shoulder, penetrating the iron armour and coming out the other side, his blood covered the tip. The sharp blade buried itself in the shoulder of the elf, almost amputating the left arm. Their howls of pain merged, another ice blast hit the Nord before the axe came down and this time cleaved the head of the Altmer clear in two. Blood dripped down the handle of Wuuthrad.

An iron boot stomped on the chest of the dead elf, and yanked the battleaxe out with a sickening crunch. It should have been the end of it there, but Hadvar was not finished, far from it. He let out a warcry and continued to hack at the body beneath him, swinging his weapon high over his head and bringing it down over and over again. Blood spattered everything and it wasn't until the elf was left unrecognizable that the last Dragonborn finally stopped, straightened and quaffed a multitude of healing potions.

He spat down at the body and walked calmly towards the library. He had done his end of the deal. He had retrieved this gods be damned staff. That orc better come through with his end of the bargain. Hadvar had had enough of the College of Winterhold. The quicker he left, the quicker he would deal with Alduin.

It was almost over. He would free Skyrim, or die trying.