Chapter 40

Tournament of Ten Bloods

XxXxXx

4E 201, 6th Sun's Dusk – Bitter Coast Region, Vvardenfell

Veleth walked through the night, with no idea where he was headed but following the push that was ever present at his back. If he hesitated or thought about turning back, the compulsion pressed harder, at times nearly shoving him face-first to the ground. The only thing he could do was grumble, pick himself up and continue on.

The ground beneath his cut-up and bloodied feet slowly changed from the rough scrub of the ashlands to the marshlands. He couldn't see anything but he could sense the trees starting to get denser around him. The wind shifted, bringing the briny scent of the salt marshes to him. He could imagine the trees going from short scrub to the wide-rooted swamp trees. He could hear creatures moving in the blackness around him but nothing went out of its way to bother him. Once, something large and heavy lumbered in front of him, the heavy thud of its feet loud and clear in the night, a musky scent lingering in its wake, but it paid him no mind. He was to be left alone. Someone had other plans for him. Nothing disobeyed that.

It was dawn when he reached the coast, the morning light filtering in weak and hazy through the winter clouds. It was just enough light for him to navigate the rocky shore without breaking his neck. Unlike the dry, rocky reaches back home, this area was swampy, the boulders covered in slime. On more than one occasion he slipped and nearly split his head open had he not caught himself at the last possible second. The going was treacherous but he simply could not slow. He was already late, if the nervous energy coursing through him was anything to go by. For what he had no idea. His desires and intentions were no longer his own.

Finally he made it where the shore met the sea at a bluff. There, overlooking the water proudly, was a massive statue of a proud warrior, holding aloft an axe that no mortal could ever hoped to wield. It appeared innocuous, if not a little out of place here in the middle of nowhere, but Veleth could feel that this statue was where he was supposed to be.

He walked around the statue, carefully inspecting it. It was obviously a shrine of some kind; there were still offerings from long ago where they had been placed with reverence. Old weapons, rusted from the humid, salty air, wax from candles was still smeared next to darker stains that looked suspiciously like blood. Veleth huffed as it all clicked in his mind. He didn't need to read the carved runes at the base to know who this statue depicted.

Boethia. For of course it was Boethia who had been calling him. Who else would be associated with the bloodthirsty urge to fight he had been plagued with? In hindsight he had known all along, especially seeing the hunger beasts in his dreams, but he really hadn't wanted to believe it. If he were truly honest with himself, he was still fighting with the denial. Boethia, while approving of fighting and violence, was the master of deception, almost on par with Mephala. Almost. Boethia preferred her assassinations to be public and bloody while Mephala preferred silent, mysterious kills that were intertwined with sex and lies. Neither was preferable in Veleth's mind but if he had to choose, he preferred Boethia's methods. That he agreed with her made him snarl to himself a bit in brief fit of self-loathing.

The shrine itself was old but the stone had seemed to resist the crippling attack of salt and time. The daedric lord had been carved just so that it seemed she was scowling in displeasure. Well, he, in this case. Boethia tended to take the form of whatever pleased her the most. In this case, whoever carved the statue preferred a more masculine form. Boethia tended to come to him in a more feminine form.

"Tell me why I should not strike you down where you stand now." A voice reverberated all around him, causing the sea water behind him to tremble. He winced and clamped his hands to his ears in a futile gesture. "I do not tolerate such insolence."

"If you didn't like my insolence you would have never shown an interest in me in the first place." He silently cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth. As annoyed as he was, it probably wasn't the wisest course of action to sass a daedric prince. He blamed being around Nevano for far too long.

"Confident. And stupid." Boethia begrudgingly admitted. "You'll need all that and more to survive."

"Survive?" He had the sudden sense that, somewhere, Boethia was smiling rather maliciously, highly amused at a private joke that he was not privy to. Before he could attempt to demand an explanation, a portal materialized at his feet like a trapdoor, dropping him from his own plane of existence in the span of a heartbeat.

He landed in a rusty cage, one barely big enough to fit him. The bars were old and pitted, threatening to shred whatever part of him that dragged against it, making finding his feet rather treacherous. Looking around, he recognized where he was at once. His dreams did not do Boethia's plane of oblivion justice and that was not a good thing. Lightning crackled overhead in the red sky, the air shimmered with heat that was almost unbearable even by his standards. He could hear the pop and hiss of lava directly below him. How many did Boethia find so unworthy that she simply dropped them from the cage to die in agony below? Beyond the bars of his cage he could only see high stone walls that were...oh, those were the same walls he had seen in his dream of the fighting arena, he realized with a jolt that froze his lungs in spite of the hot air. There had been one empty cell and he...he was in that cell.

"Welcome, my chosen, to my Tournament of Ten Bloods!" Boethia's powerful voice boomed all around them, sounding positively delighted at the prospect of violence. "All around you, the other chosen await."

Veleth shoved at the rusted bars of the cage and the door fell open. Gingerly he stepped out and into the stone cell. The rock beneath his feet was hot, just like in his dreams. He could hear the others around him, hidden from view behind the stone walls, shifting in impatience, eager to fight. The rage beast growled. He tried to shove it back but it was proving difficult. It was tired of him shoving it around but he knew giving in to its reckless stupidity would be, well, recklessly stupid, especially as vulnerable as he was.

"All of you have proven your faith to me over the years. Save the Dunmer." Veleth's ear twitched at that. That was a loaded barb and his gut instantly screamed to be wary. "Thus the rules are slightly altered. Whoever kills the Dunmer, I will declare to be the winner of my favor."

The stone walls instantly crumbled away at Boethia's will, leaving every fighter exposed to each other. Veleth could only stare in shock. Did the daedric prince really just paint a giant target on him? Even the rage beast was shocked into silence. This wasn't a grand melee, this was a fox hunt and he just found himself playing the part of the fox. Vith...

He didn't really have time to get a good look at his other opponents but he was no stranger to the stories. There were ten of them in total, each representing the races of Tamriel; Nord, Redguard, Imperial, Breton, Khajiit, Argonian, Orc, Bosmer, Altmer and he representing the Dunmer. All skilled, all wholly devoted to Boethia, all hungry for blood, all of them targeting him. He had faced impossible odds before but he felt rather safe in concluding he had just reached the pinnacle of impossible odds. There was never going to be a situation as logistically unworkable as this ever again and there was a very real, very high, very assured chance he was going to die a violent death.

He dove into a roll as a massive axe almost as big as his torso crashed down where he had been standing, sparks flying from the volcanic rock. He scrambled, fingers scraping raw. The mountain of a Nord that had been in the cell next to him had moved with impressive speed despite being roughly twice the size of the average Nord. He had no hope of winning a contest of brute strength against the huge Nord or the Orc. Come to think of it, he had no way of being faster than the Bosmer, Khajiit or Argonian and no way to get close to the Altmer or Breton before being nailed by magic.

No, not true. There was always a way. That was what his father had always told him. There was always a way, even in the face of certain death. It just might not ever be a way he would normally take, or the way anything with any sense would take but, as this strange journey had been slowly teaching him, sometimes one had to make one's own sense. If there was a small shred of a chance he could make it out, he was going to take it.

He needed a weapon. That was something both he and the beast agreed on. He took in the long sword that the Imperial was currently brandishing with entirely too much flair. It was a gorgeous weapon, one he took an instant liking to. The steel blade was shot through with red and black, slightly curved up at the end, spikes along the hilt, reminding him a bit of Trueflame. It was not true daedric steel, such weapons were rare enough to be legend, but it was certainly created with that style in mind. What skilled smith had managed to not only imagine that but create it, Veleth would love to personally give his compliments to. The red streaks were dark and moody. The sword was unhappy. It needed, he decided, a change in ownership. The beast agreed.

He ducked a wild swing from an Orc-wielded club and ran straight for the Imperial. The swing would come down, overhead to his left shoulder, the hope being to get the vulnerable portion of his neck where it met his shoulder, tearing down into the arteries. Death would be very quick and very bloody. If he wasn't fully familiar with the typical Imperial training, that is.

He dropped to the left, using the advantage of not being weighted down by armor, dragging his knee along the ground, the swing whistling by his right ear. He pushed up as hard as he could, his thighs burning with the effort. His right shoulder crashed into metal armor, his momentum carrying them both to the ground. Veleth ducked his chin down, letting his body continue the roll. As he did so, three arrows zipped by, thudding neatly through gaps in the Imperial's armor. The man howled in agony, dropping the sword. Veleth's toes caught a rock and halted his roll, pushing back the way he had come. He stretched out and grabbed the hilt of the sword.

The hilt was warm in his hand as he lifted it. It was not a light sword by any stretch of the imagination but he was strong enough to wield it easily. It was perfectly balanced; handling it was such a joy it sent a shiver down his spine.

"The Imperial is the first to fall." Boethia's voice boomed out, offering a running commentary to amuse herself. "Do not own something others will covet if you cannot protect it."

He spun around and blocked a strike from the Redguard, pleased with how strong the blade was. The two handed strikes came blazing fast but never as fast as a small mer who had four times the experience this human would ever have. Veleth threw his full weight into a strike, shoving the human into a defensive position. A quick thrust between both swords and a hard twist and his foe was left horribly exposed. He wanted to kill him. He desperately wanted to claim this kill as his own as his own but unfortunately, regrettably, he didn't have time for the finishing move. He had to leave that to the Orc coming up behind him. Several more arrows thudded into the Orc as Veleth allowed him to take his place, though the massive beast barely seemed to notice as he smashed the Redguard's head like a melon.

"In the scales of testing, Redguard, you are tried and found wanting." Boethia taunted.

That, the rational side of him noted, would make five arrows so far. The average quiver held about twenty four arrows, if none of them were broad heads. Keep moving. Keep moving and maybe he would stand a chance. The rage beast growled in frustration. He was doing this all wrong."Shut up!" He yelled, feeling as though he was shoving a struggling dog in a harness. "Vith!"

He threw himself sideways as runes glowed on the ground underneath his feet. Blue. Ice or lightning. Smart, not using fire. Not so good for him, as the runes kept chasing him. He tried to get out of the circle it was herding him in but the runes appeared in front of him, trapping him. He looked up. The Breton mage smiled at him. She had the whitest, straightest teeth he had ever seen. He wondered if they were really that white or if the fiery red hell all around them made them seem whiter than they actually were. The white teeth disappeared quickly as her eyes darted beyond him. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the Bosmer lining up a shot. Even from this distance, he could see that it was a broad head arrow. Unlike the narrower, lighter arrows, the broad heads had several hooked barbs along the head that shredded flesh and organs in its path, rather than simply puncture through. This was a shot meant to kill and, trapped as he was, he was easy prey.

"No! He is mine!" Lightning crackled past him but the Bosmer fled, too fast for her. She continued to cast bolts at the mer, helpfully singeing the bleeding Orc, while the archer made a circuitous route to her, more arrows coming to bear.

Veleth spun in his prison, taking advantage of the small lull to try to pinpoint just where all his opponents were while trying to get a look at the arena. As was his cell before the walls dropped, the arena was made up of volcanic rock with lava pools forming here and there. Massive rock structures dotted the arena, creating effective hiding places. Veleth could see the Breton and the Bosmer chasing each other in a hail of arrows and lightning, the Nord and the Orc, who had been celled next to each other, were starting to eye each other with naked hatred. The Imperial and the Redguard were dead. That left the Khajiit and the...

The Argonian leaped over the magical mines, landing on Veleth's spit of rock in the middle, taking full advantage of the uproar outside to take his own private shot at the prize, the primitive spear in his hands stained dark with blood from countless fights.

Veleth's mind flashed back to the swamps of southern Morrowind, the sweltering heat, the fetid smell suffocating him, surrounded by enemies, the very ground betraying him and his men as they struggled to even go a mile. He remembered the searing pain that had sent shock waves through his entire body as he dragged back to the safepoint, retching acrid bile every few steps as the poison snaked its way through his veins. They had gotten the better of him that time, very nearly killing him. He had fallen very far since then. Not this time though. No, it would be very different this time. This one would be the one to pay for the lives of his men.

Reptilian eyes blinked slowly, the third milky lid sliding over orange eyes. Veleth curled his lip. He hated when they did that. He swiped his sword high, right across the Argonian's face. The giant lizard fell back in shock, blood flying from the new slashes to his face.

"That was for using our own dead as bait."

Veleth pushed his advantage, not allowing his momentum to slow. The Argonian was good, better than good, managing to block his strikes even half-blinded by blood, but just parrying was not good enough. Veleth caught the spear and shoved it wide, leaving the Argonian wide open, allowing him plenty of room to slice through leather armor and scaly skin. The spear clattered to the ground as the Argonian tried to grab at his entrails spilling from the nasty wound. Blood quickly filled up the porous volcanic rock and began to form a pool as the reptilian man sank down.

"That was for running me through with a poisoned spear."

As one final insult, Veleth plunged his sword deep in the Argonian's left kidney. Though the Argonian was dying and would not have to live the rest of its life with the pain and humiliation of a lifelong injury nor would it suffer a long, painful death by poison, it gave him a dark satisfaction. A shot for a shot.

"And that was for...everything else."

"How sad." Boethia didn't sound upset in the slightest. "The Argonian was a poor thing. Not as strong as I thought."

Abruptly, all the magical runes on the ground disappeared. Veleth looked up in time to see the Breton mage fall to her knees, an arrow sticking from her shoulder like a flag. Not enough to kill her, but certainly enough to shatter her concentration. Several arrows, frozen mid-flight, littered the ground around her, the magic strong enough to survive in the brutal heat of Snakemount. He could see the Bosmer trying to put out a small fire on his clothes. In a moment, he would recover enough to end the Breton and turn his focus elsewhere. Namely back on him.

'It's very easy to get someone on your side.' His mother's voice echoed from a dusty corner in his mind. 'All you have to do is do something for them that they will feel obligated to pay back.'

He glanced at the mage and then back at the Bosmer. The little monster growled that he should just kill both and be done with it. He mentally punched it in the face to be silent. He had an idea and he wanted to see if it worked. Quickly, he counted up arrows. At last count, there were at least eighteen arrows left. There was one arrow in the Breton and thirteen littered the ground in various statuses of frozen, burned and broken. That left at least four arrows left.

Three, he amended, as an arrow flashed over his shoulder. The Bosmer had put out his smoldering clothes a bit faster than he credited him with. No matter. Wait it out. Just three more arrows. He knew from Nevano's cursing that there was nothing worse than running out of arrows and this Bosmer did not have a backup weapon that he could readily discern.

Veleth ran for the cluster of volcanic rocks to the right, dropping to the ground as soon as he reached them, an arrow splintering against the rock where his head had been moments before. Two left. He crawled along, ignoring how the rough rock grated against his exposed skin. He pushed hard, cutting his toes further, into a roll through an open gap in the rocks. He heard the distinctive clack of metal and wood on stone. One arrow left.

Carefully he got to his feet as he got to largest of the rocks. He had a small, Nevano-inspired idea to get that Bosmer to loose that last arrow. He pulled off his ripped and blood-stained shirt and hung it carefully on the tip of his sword. Then he stuck it around the rock.

The last arrow ripped through the shirt and harmlessly away. Veleth allowed a small smile to escape as he charged around the rock to the surprised Bosmer.

"You are out of arrows."

The smaller mer tried to jump backwards, away from him, but Veleth swept low with his sword, slicing through both kneecaps. The Bosmer crumpled to the ground as if the orc had stomped on him, shrieking more in shock than in pain. The pain wouldn't hit for a moment or two, giving time for a painless death. Veleth wasn't about to grant that small mercy. He wanted his target to feel pain.

Mistake!

The bow came up, the broad head arrow Veleth had foolishly forgotten about lined up perfectly with his bare chest. He jerked sideways, reacting to his gut screaming at him, just as it was let loose. It didn't hit its intended target but it did bury itself painfully in his upper arm. Veleth howled in pain and outrage and lashed out, his sword finding the mer's throat, finishing what he should have started before his pride got the better of him. Foolish. Foolish, stupid mistake. It was the same thing that had gotten him in trouble time and time again. His gut only partially agreed with that sentiment.

"Alas for the honor of Valenwood. The Wood Elf has fallen."

Veleth ignored the annoying commentary as he inspected the arrow embedded in his arm. It was, luckily for him, angled in such a way he could remove it. He clenched his teeth hard to the point where his blood pounded in his ears and began to push on the arrow. He refused to allow himself to scream as it burrowed deeper through his flesh like a macabre worm until it finally popped out the other side. He did allow himself a small groan as he snapped the shaft and slid the last of the bloodied arrow out. It had torn his arm up quite a bit but he could, he noted with relief, still clench his hand. It would bleed but it would heal at least and he still had use of his arm. There wasn't much else he could do for it right now except bear through the pain.

"As long as it moves..." He muttered, keeping his hand clamped to the wound to try to slow the bleeding as much as he could.

Again the beast growled for him to take full advantage of the Breton and kill her now but he brutally squashed it down. No, he was sticking to his plan. He had no idea if it would work or not but, as he kept staring at those damned perfect white teeth, he had to try. What was it about those teeth?

The Breton opened her mouth. Her expression was a bit unreadable so he wasn't sure if she was about to curse him for stepping in or thanking him. He rather doubted it was the latter. They weren't in a situation where that would be the least bit likely, but she stopped herself just as her tongue started to move to form her words. Instead, her gaze snapped upwards and her white teeth flashed.

"Look out!"

His feet moved before he fully registered what she had said. He wasn't one to take someone on just their words alone but there had been a flash of genuine alarm in her eyes.

Claws that had been aimed at his throat instead raked down his back as the khajiit twisted midair in an attempt to reach him. Unlike arrows or spears or even magic, claws stung. Enough so that his limbs locked up, frozen in shock as the sting of giant needles seared through his body. As he struggled to regain full control of his body, the red haze was shot through with white and something howled in agony.

The Breton had dragged herself up, blood dripping from her wounds but her hands somehow steady. She glanced at him as he got to his feet, his own blood dripping just like hers. For a moment, they ceased to be enemies. For a moment, they were simply mortals who wanted to survive at any cost.

"Together."

It was precisely what he had hoped for. His earlier actions had sparked a small bit of...something. It wasn't trust, they would never trust each other, but it was enough of something that would allow him to have an edge over the rather angry Khajiit. He nodded in agreement.

Khajiit, along with the Argonians, had suffered quite a bit at the hands of the Dunmer. That bitterness was alive and well, judging by the particularly nasty look in the big cat's eyes. Looking at the muscles moving like liquid steel under a reddish coat and the claws like grappling hooks on all four paws, Veleth was suddenly rather glad the Khajiit hadn't decided to exact their revenge on the Dunmer like the Argonians had.

In one powerful bound, the Khajiit was nearly in his face, claws fully extended. Veleth quickly brought his sword up, chipping one claw short. The Khajiit began to reach under the weapon but suddenly went backwards as if someone had picked him up and pulled him back as lightning flashed by. More lightning followed, forcing the Khajiit to retreat a bit. Veleth watched as the Khajiit ran back to the rocks he had initially leaped off of. As he ducked another magical bolt, he coiled his legs under him and leaped towards the rock, pushed off the side and back towards them, leaping and twirling midair to avoid the mage's attacks.

There was a begrudging admiration stirring in Veleth's gut as he watched the aeiral acrobatics. There were very few beings out there that could pull that off. It wasn't just avoidance either; every leap and twirl brought the Khajiit closer to them, sometimes by a few inches, sometimes by a few feet. It was rather fascinating, Veleth mused to himself as the Khajiit got ever closer. Leap, leap, twirl, duck, leap, leap, twirl, duck, leap...

Veleth exploded into motion, right at the point where the Khajiit was most vulnerable in midair. His sword went in through the Khajiit's sides, lacerating the kidneys and liver, right in front of the spine. The Khajiit screamed in agony, claws flailing uselessly in the air. Before he could catch a face full of desperate claws, Veleth shifted his grip on his sword hilt and, his muscles snapping as the Khajiit fell fully against him, ripped the sword out through the Khajiit's spine. Blood and bits of flesh and bone sprayed out over the ground. Instantly, the claws stopped flailing and the cat dropped to the ground, his strings literally cut.

"Another one bites the dust. The Khajiit is done."

He truly was. Veleth didn't need to finish the Kahjiit off. The few parts that were still able to move were twitching in the final throes of death. There was a particular pang of sadness, watching something that had moved with such grace die with so little of it. Such was death. It cared little for what things were in life.

The Breton mage dropped to her knees, her head rolling in exhaustion. Her part in his plan was complete. He knew he had to kill her now but after fighting with her, she seemed far less than an enemy than ever before and more like someone that could have fought beside him in any other situation. It froze his arms to his side.

Another memory, completely unbidden, came to him. His father telling him the story of the time Drelasa and Nevano had accompanied him on some job or another for the Buoyant Armigers. Drelasa had thoroughly scared both men with how eager she was to use the knife they had given her, to the point where Nevano had spent a good portion of the trip trying to steal it away from her. In the end, she had used it with frightening skill to keep both men alive. Veleth had been quick to pick up that, despite his reputation otherwise, his father had not embellished that particular story. His mother could be a rather frightening creature. Terrifying and loving all wrapped up in one. There really was no doubt in his mind that, had his mother been in here in his place, she would have already annihilated the entire lot. That Breton with the perfect teeth, as helpful as she had been, had not made it to be part of the Tournament of Ten Bloods by being sweet tempered and merciful. She was dangerous and would not hesitate to do what she must, no matter how exhausted she was.

Even with that thought in mind, it still made it no easier to thrust his sword between her ribs. The Breton, for her part, did not seemed surprised in the slightest. Her last breath escaped out with barely a sound, her shoulders slumping. She sank slowly, more in disappointment than defeat. Veleth didn't know if that made this better or worse. He wanted to feel something for her but the grumbled muttering in his gut made that a little difficult. Still, he felt moved to at least explain a bit to her, though she could no longer hear him.

"I'm sorry." Veleth said, his voice leaden. "This is, after all, a fight to the finish. Boethia will never allow two to leave."

"Pride only goes so far, thus the Breton falls." Boethia said.

Veleth turned away, forcing his attention to the big problem in the room. Two big problems, actually. Ones currently eyeing each other with such naked contempt that Veleth rolled his shoulders in an effort to shed the uncomfortable feeling of his skin prickling. The Orc and the Nord had been in adjoining cells while they had waited for him. Veleth had no idea how long they had waited in those stone cells but it apparently had been long enough to form a rivalry. One that was currently taking all attention off him, their initial quarry.

Now, Veleth wasn't a tiny elf by any stretch of the imagination. He was rather tall and his shoulders were broader than most of his brethren. Compared to these two however, he felt tiny. They both had a head and a half height over him and probably half his weight again. Add in a weapon that was roughly the size of his torso and it all added up to a fight that he didn't have a snowflake's chance in oblivion of winning. Not in the normal sense anyway. He crouched down, picking up a small rock, rolling it between his fingers, the rough surface scraping his skin. He was starting to see the point in being sneaky. In small ways, at least. He still wasn't very good at it but all he needed was for the Orc to be dumb enough to believe him.

He threw the rock at the Orc's head.

The Orc spun around, eyes bloodshot and furious. Veleth forced his expression into that of wide-eyed innocence as he pointed at the Nord. "It was him."

It was a bare basic ruse. Nothing that anything with half a working brain would have fallen for. So when the Orc charged, spittle flying from his protruding tusks as he roared in fury, Veleth's knees buckled a bit in relief. Just as he had counted on, the bad blood between the Orc and the Nord overrode all sense and boiled over into a titanic battle of brute strength. Every blow they traded made the very air cringe and throb. Even Veleth had to bite back his pride and take a few steps back to ensure they wouldn't turn their attention to him. If there was one sure fire way of getting the beast in his belly to shut up, it would be getting flattened by an annoyed swat for interrupting the dual. He even hazarded think that the massive stone giants that lived high in the Velothi Mountains would have trouble with these two. It was a sobering thought, imaging that level of strength.

Axe and club battered against each other over and over, each trying to feel the smallest bit of weakness, searching for the moment when the other would tire first, much like two stags locking horns. It was primitive. It was fascinating. Veleth couldn't look away. He could tell that every unseen thing around them were also wholly absorbed in this fight. He, very privately, wished Nevano were here to bet on who would win.

The Orc wobbled first. It was only for a split second, most likely due to being off balance the slightest bit, but it was enough. The Nord, filled with a renewed vigor, began to batter the orc over and over. The first few pounded in harmony with Veleth's heartbeat, deep and pulsing, but each subsequent hit became...crunchier. When the crunch turned into a squish, it was all over.

Veleth winced a bit as blood managed to spray him in the face from across the arena.

"Alas, poor Orc. This was not your finest hour."

Before Boethia's words had even faded, Veleth was running. As worn out as the Nord was, Veleth still had very little chance in terms of strength. Even a weakened hit would hurt him badly and he wasn't about to take the chance. He was too close to the end to even think about ruining it.

Taking his feet off the ground was risky. Very risky. There was no bracing, no ability to move once airborne. Those split seconds were extremely vulnerable. On the flip side, the moment and force behind his sword was undeniable. Especially as it buried deep into the Nord's back, Veleth's entire body weight shoving it deeper, popping through the lungs and erupting out the other side. The Nord tried to swing around and swipe him off, which he succeeded in, but the hammer slipped through his fingers, crashing to the ground. Blood spouted from his mouth as he tried to wheeze around the blood rapidly filling his lungs. Veleth slowly pulled himself to his feet, watching as the Nord slowly drowned in his own blood.

"I must confess...the Nord was a disappointment."

The four humans, the Argonian, the Orc, the Khajiit and the Bosmer. Eight bodies littered the battleground. That left one. Veleth put his foot on the Nord's body and heaved his sword out. He could feel the presence of his final opponent. If he were completely honest with himself, and to the growling rage in his belly, out of all the fights that he had been presented with, he had been looking forward to this one. He looked across the smoking rock and locked eyes with a predatory stare.

The Altmer had been waiting. She had simply stood on the outside, conserving her strength and energy, watching with contempt as the others busily killed each other off, waiting for her chance. Now she had him alone, just as she wanted. Her robes shimmered and disappeared, replaced with red and black armor. Black daggers, curved and barbed, appeared in each hand. Veleth had only ever heard of such summoning spells. Argonians didn't use such spells and reavers were too stupid to. He had wondered whether if it was real daedric steel they wore or a mere replica that was easier to summon. Now he was about to get an up-close and personal view.

She charged in, arrogantly coming straight in to his chest. He blocked it easily and she jumped back, circling him. No, not arrogant, he realized. She was testing his strength. She wanted to see how strong he was, how much energy he had left in him. Had he struggled against the initial charge, she would not have disengaged so readily. She was, he concluded, a very experienced and clever battlemage.

She moved, almost too quickly for him to notice. Unnaturally fast. Magic, he noted with a curled lip. He wasn't fond of magic, especially the kind used again him. His sword snapped around, blocking one dagger as it came towards his chest while moving in towards her as the second sought his kidney. She wasn't expecting him to move in towards her but she recovered quickly. She ducked and slipped around his side, one arm snaking behind his back to grab him by the opposite hip and use him as leverage for her momentum. She hooked a leg around his leg and spun, a dagger aiming for his gut.

He snatched her wrist in midair, yanking her off-course and thrusting her away from him. She jerked like a rag doll, the knife slipping from her fingers, bouncing off his wrist. The razor sharp blade briefly brushed against his exposed skin, slicing it open as if his skin were no more resistant than water. He watched, his gaze fixated with a strange detached curiosity, as blood quickly welled up and spilled down his arm, dripping off his elbow to the hot ground below. Something quivered deep inside him, ripples on a still pond.

His gaze snapped back to her. For some reason, she seemed startled, her cool demeanor shattered. She was afraid of him now. Something had changed but he wasn't sure what. Tiny sparks of electricity began to dance between her fingertips and he thrust her away quickly before he took a lightning bolt to the face. She scrambled away, a new knife quickly materializing in her hand. She seemed to shake herself off a bit and regain control of herself.

"What are you?"

His only answer was to raise his sword. No more games, no more testing.

She rushed him with an overhand strike down to his chest. Veleth blocked it, swiping it out of the way to open up for a strike of his own but her left hand came in, aiming for his kidney. Quickly, he reversed his parry and brought the butt of his sword down on her wrist, knocking her off course. The force of both her arms thrown wide forced her to jerk down. Veleth brought his knee up and shattered her nose. She fell on her back but rolled away as his sword came down for a death blow.

She leaped to her feet and swung around, going for his exposed back. Veleth leaned his weight on his sword and spun around, her knife striking only air. He pushed back quickly as the second knife whistled past where his face had been but she was faster. He felt the sting of unbraiding flesh prickle at his cheek.

Anger built in his gut, making his vision red around the edges. She was still toying with him. That one should have flayed his cheek open completely but it was merely superficial. The beast screamed in outrage, insulted. Veleth caught himself just as he started to agree. This was not the time!

Again, the Altmer almost got through his defenses while he was distracted. This time her dagger slipped past the sword and dragged against the skin of his neck, again drawing blood but not doing much damage. She licked her lips, thinking he was faltering and losing strength. She was thinking she was going to win. She was going to toy with him until he was too exhausted to make a move and then kill him however she chose to. It just made him angrier.

"Enough!"

He had lashed out, the sudden outburst catching them both off-guard. With a wild swing he knocked both her arms wide, allowing him time to grip his sword in both hands and bring it straight down. With a crack that echoed through Snakemount, his sword broke through the summoned armor and sank down through the Altmer's shoulder and down through the rib cage, shattering bones along the way. She fell to her knees with a wet gasp, her armor and weapons disappearing as her concentrated shattered. She stared at him in shock, blood already starting to trickle from her mouth.

"What are you…?"

He leaned down to her, lips intimately close to her ear, close enough he could feel her terrified pulse making her ear twitch. "I am the one that will destroy your empire, one by one. Starting with you."

Her eyes went wide and her hands flew up to stop him but it was a feeble attempt. His sword was pulled free and came back down, slicing clean through her hands, through her robes, through her neck, throwing her down until the ground stopped them. As he pulled his sword free, the few final beats of her heart sent bright red blood spraying. He watched silently as the spurts slowed as her heart began to fail, the arcs of blood finally trickling to a gurgle. His final bitter opponent finally died.

"The price of failure? A worthless death for the High Elf." Boethia didn't sound the least bit upset at the carnage that now littered the arena floor. If anything, she sounded curious. As if wondering how he, a weak and simple mortal, was still standing. "You are alone, Dunmer. The others are defeated. What will you do with your win?"

"Absolutely nothing." He said wearily. Blood dripped from his numerous wounds, splattering on the ground in a growing ring. The exhaustion he had been keeping at bay was starting to creep up now that all his opponents lay dead. Still, the beast in his gut roared with suppressed fury, making him feel strangely dissatisfied though he knew he should have felt relieved that he had managed to survive insurmountable odds. He just wanted to leave this place but the beast disagreed. He wasn't to leave just yet.

He became aware of a stone throne rising up above the arena, the stairs leading up to it a mere few paces from him. How he hadn't noticed it sooner, he would never know. Maybe that was the point. This was a plane of oblivion. It wasn't meant to make sense. He would never have noticed it if he wasn't meant to. Seated at the top was Boethia herself, watching silently, her expression unreadable, half-slouched in a rough stone throne. She had chosen a female Dunmer form, long white hair pulled back severely from her face, her black armor both alluring and intimidating at the same time, the massive battle axe planted head first on the ground, her long fingers idly twisting the huge weapon.

At this point, any sane being would have thrown themselves to the ground in supplication but Veleth refused to drop and make himself vulnerable. He was lucky that Boethia didn't revel in that sort of thing, though he'd still refuse even if she were. The resentment of being led here by the nose was still very much fresh in him. In his opinion, this entire farce was highly unnecessary. He boldly met the daedra lord's eyes, refusing to flinch.

Boethia frowned and stood, the heat swirling around her like a shroud. Slowly, she made her way down the stairs that led to her throne, her bare feet leaving smoldering footprints in her wake, her eyes murderous.

Exhaustion made his legs burn with the effort to remain standing but Veleth stubbornly locked his knees. He refused to be a crumpled, bleeding mess. Besides, Boethia would probably kill him long before his locked knees caused him to pass out. He'd much rather die standing.

Boethia's hand tightened on the battle axe as she stepped up to him. The air around her seemed to wither and die in an intense inferno. She was close enough he could feel it burn like the sun against his skin. Close enough he could smell her; a mix of sulfur and perfume. The curious denizens of Snakemount that had gathered to watch the bloodshed fled in terror as she growled her displeasure. Veleth didn't flinch. Later, he didn't know whether to say if he was too brave to or too stupid to.

"You haven't learned a thing."

Now that did make Veleth start. Of all the things he was expecting, being chastised ranked very low on the list. He hadn't learned a thing? What did she mean? What exactly was he supposed to learn while being attacked by nine other beings who thought his blood would appease a god whose appetite for blood could never be fully sated? What in all the planes of oblivion did a daedric prince want a mortal to learn?

"You are blind. You are a blind, witless fool. You rail at the world around you without a single thought as to who your real enemy is." Boethia said contemptuously. "Fool. You think you have control but all you do is swing wildly, with as much finesse as one of Sanguine's drunken idiots. You are unworthy to be my champion."

"I never asked to be your champion." He said, again struggling with his growing outrage. "You brought me here. You wanted me to fight. You wanted me to learn. You say that I haven't learned a thing but oh, Queen of Shadows, I have. I have learned much from the people closest to me. I have learned that there are choices out there. I can choose to allow those who profess to be above me to beat me down, or I can choose to fight, and even die, on my own terms. I have lived this long in your tournament but if I'm to die here, so be it...but I won't go down without a fight."

"So be it."

Before he could even register the word being spoken, Boethia was upon him, striking impossibly fast, almost too fast for him to follow. Unlike the Altmer, this was no magical enhancement. This was the sheer power of a god. He barely had time to bring his sword up to defend himself and was thrown nearly off his feet by the force of Boethia's strike. It was by far the most powerful thing he had ever felt in his life. An angry bull Kagouti the size of a giant couldn't have hit harder. What shook him even more was the realization that this was merely a fraction of Boethia's power. She wasn't even trying. The next strike came even faster, not allowing him the brief moment he needed to recover. All he could do was scramble clumsily to block her.

"What is this?" Boethia taunted him as she pushed him further back. "I thought you wanted to fight?"

His arms ached, screaming in pain at every mighty strike. She was so impossibly fast, moving that massive axe as easily as if it were a dagger. There was no possible way for a mortal, no matter how skilled, to have a hope to beat her. Still, he recklessly held on, refusing to allow his sword to slip from his numb hands. He wasn't going to allow her this easy win. He was going to die but she was going to have to work for it. An honorable death. That was all he was striving for now. Or at least something somewhat honorable.

"You wish to give up? Then give up. Stop. Kneel. Die."

"No."

That one small word slipped from his lips before he could even think of it. It snapped something within his mind. A somewhat honorable death. It...was suddenly was not enough. He wanted more. With a shower of sparks, gritted teeth and a clang that echoed through the entire realm, Boethia's axe came to a shuddering halt against one of the curving points of his sword. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the sound of metal shrieking against metal. He wanted more.

"No."

He would not die. Not now, not like this. He had come too far, had seen too much. He wasn't done. His role in this world Was. Not. Done. No one, not the Redoran council, not Argonians, not the Thalmor, not Boethia, not any of the aedra or daedra or whatever other force out there that lay claim to this world was going to take that from him! The quivering from earlier was back, this time generating a pulsating heat from deep in his gut. It racing up through him, turning his vision red and making his muscles constrict. He had been tossed around, thrown down, and thrown away and he had rolled over and taken it like a beaten dog. Not this time. This time was going to be different. This time, he was going to fight back.

"I will never give up."

Using every bit of strength he had left, he shoved Boethia back and drove in with a wild strike with both hands like a club. The daedra casually blocked it but he didn't stop. His attacks were sloppy but that wasn't the point. He refused to take another step backwards. He pushed harder as the rage built into a frenzy, shrieking and howling within him to be set free. He set his teeth and shoved it back, trying to force it into his strikes instead.

"You cannot beat me."

The red rage blinded him. He wanted to shred her apart. He wanted to turn a god into a bloody pile. The beast howled wildly, screaming, begging to be let loose. Begging...it had never done that before. He blinked, almost forgetting where he was as realization flooded through him. It didn't want to fight him. At that moment, faced with an angry god with only a stolen sword and his own stubborn will at his side, he finally understood. It didn't want to fight him. It wanted to fight what was in front of him. It wanted to fight with him. He knew what he needed to do.

"What do you think to earn, fighting like this? You are nothing. You will achieve nothing."

"I will achieve...everything."

He let go. Everything, his rage, his frustration, the desire to rip his opponents to shreds, he let it all go. This time, instead of everything running wild all around him, he felt swept up in it. Like he was riding along with it instead of bring trampled by it, in the middle of a herd of stampeding horses. He could no longer feel fatigue or pain. In fact, he felt clearer than he had in weeks. The red haze forced his attention to narrow in, not allowing him to be distracted. He was to fight. He was to win. He was to kill. His vision grew sharper. He could hear every movement of his prey, smell the blood in its veins, hear its heart beating, though nothing about this prey seemed normal. No matter. Prey was prey. There. His target was there, moving in slow motion, the axe aiming to crack his chest open. He could see every weak point, though on this target there was only one very small one, to go beneath the mighty weapon to the exposed flesh of the torso. The window to it was closing. Go. Strike now. Now! He dove in, fixated on that one point. His body was weakened, threatening to give out totally under the enormous strain of this hyper-focused state. He had this one chance to hit it with everything he had.

Boethia's weapon came down, closing the gap to impossibly small but he was just that tiny bit faster, just that tiny bit lower. His sword slipped past, sparks flying as it dragged along the shaft of the massive axe. He could hear his own heartbeat speed up in excitement as his sword got closer. He was going to die, his waning strength had no hope of stopping the momentum of the axe, of that he had no doubt. It would split him like firewood, but he was going to take his opponent with him. His throat seized, trapping his breath as the tip of the sword touched Boethia's armor.

His vision flashed as if he had been struck by lightning. Sound and feeling rushed back in with a roar, physically beating him down like a waterfall. He staggerd but managed to keep from falling flat on his face. Boethia stood on the steps above him, looking as if she hadn't ever moved, her expression again unreadable. His sword clattered to the ground; his fingers no longer had the strength to hold it. All he could do was stand there, greedily sucking in the hot air to his aching lungs. They had been fighting, right? Had he imagined the whole thing? That had been a fight so completely unlike any other he had ever been in but no...the fading rush was there. His muscles shivered as the last vestiges of ecstasy drained from him, leaving him feeling both drained and satisfied. It had been real, in some ways at least.

"All your life you were told your temper needed to be checked and tamed. They were fools to say it as much as you were a fool to listen to it." Boethia said. "Rage is a power on its own. Not many are able to use it correctly but every now and then, some mortal can actually wield that power. Twist it. Use it. Make it yours. Make it useful."

"Make it useful..."

"Yes. As you will it, so it shall be." Boethia considered him. "You have proven yourself to be my champion. Maybe one day you'll prove to be one worth remembering. We shall see in the coming months. Plans have been set in motion, ones that have been woven since before you were born. How they play out now is purely up to you. Do not mess it up, for there will be no second chances. Now, tell me, now-last of my followers, wherefore do you remain where the others do not?"

The words escaped from him unbidden, a dark, unholy script that had been burned into time for longer than the races of mer had even existed. His sword reappeared in his hands, an unbidden force holding his arms up to present it to Boethia. "I am alive because they are dead. I exist because I have the will to do so. And I shall remain as long as there are signs of my handiwork, such as the blood dripping from my weapon."

"Indeed."

He was thrown backwards into oblivion.

XxXxXx

Slowly awareness returned but he happily stayed in the realm between unconsciousness and awake, floating weightlessly in his own mind. He couldn't remember how he got here and he didn't want to think on it. He didn't care. He finally felt fully at rest, something he hadn't felt in quite a long time.

Something settled over his body, waking him up a bit more, albeit reluctantly. All at once, the sting of dozens of cuts hit him like a whip. He twitched and his torn, strained and battered body screamed in protest at his movements. He groaned and dragged his eyes open, sleep now a distant thought.

Millions of stars greeted him, twinkling merrily from their dark blanket. He blinked. The blood lust from earlier was gone, replaced with a smug satisfaction. The beast had been sated finally. He didn't feel animosity towards it anymore, rather, he felt they had finally come to an understanding, albeit an uneasy one. This time, though, he wasn't opposed to working on it. Make it his, make it useful.

A soft snap made him look over. A small fire was crackling next to him, fending off the bite in the wind. After being in the sweltering heat of Boethia's realm, he welcomed the warmth keeping the now too-cold winter at bay. Then he noticed the pair of yellow eyes watching him from the other side of the flames.

"We're a legendary pair now, my friend." Nevano said with a smile. "Didn't realize you had such a blood thirst in you. Well, I did, but to attract Boethia's attention is something even your father couldn't have predicted."

"Neither did I." Veleth winced when his voice cracked dramatically. He tried to sit up but even the slight weight of the blanket thrown over him was enough to keep him flat. He had pushed himself to depths he didn't even realize were, or even should be, achievable. He was beyond exhausted and his body had had more than enough of his recklessness. He wasn't going anywhere for a while.

"I'm still not sure whether I should be impressed or think you crazy for resisting Boethia for so long. I think I'm a bit of both. I can't tell you how proud that makes me." Nevano grinned. "Get some rest, Bull. You earned it."

"How did you…?"

"You are not the only one the daedra like to bother at some stupid hour of the morning. It's like they have an invested interest in what we do." Nevano shook his head. "Azura was rather excited over this. Enough so that I was basically told to meet you when Boethia spit you, or your mangled corpse, back out."

Veleth groaned a bit, fighting a fit of dizziness. "How long have you been here?"

"I followed you a few hours after you left. Certainly sent the Velothi into a fit since none of them actually noticed you leave, let me tell you." Nevano grinned widely. "It's been almost a full day. Doesn't matter though. Just hush and sleep. You can try that armor on in the morning."

"Armor?"

It took a great deal of effort to roll his head to follow Nevano's pointed finger. There, reflecting the fire light in a fierce glory, was pitch black plate. He recognized it immediately. Boethia's token to her champion: the Ebony Mail.

XxXxXx

A/N: Once again, massive shout-out to AJestice who, with her genius and marvelous insight, made this chapter very possible. I was honestly, truly and completely stuck here. Veleth was not cooperating. It's not helping that I am trying to build a career and move all at the same time. Don't give up on me just yet, y'all. I am NOT done here!