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Skyrim Spartan
Chapter Sixteen
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Kratos let out a low growl as the burns on his body ached. He was no stranger to pain, having endured unspeakable amounts of pain in the course of his life, but that did not mean he no longer felt it. His wounds now were minor, a droplet in an ocean of past pains. But though they were minor, they were significant. For this was the first time he had felt genuine pain in this new world.
He should have expected the dragon's fire to be magical in nature. After all, it was a legendary magical creature in this world. Not to say that he was completely immune to regular fire, but he would not have sustained as much damage as he did were it not magical. Perhaps it was time to consider wearing some armor now that he was trying his best to suppress his rage, and with it the bulk of his power. Though finding something in this world worthy of him wearing it was likely going to be a challenge.
The sounds of coughing from behind him served as a reminder that Kratos was not alone. He turned, catching sight of the surviving guardsmen staring at him with equal parts awe and disbelief. One of them, the one he had heard giving orders just as he arrived on the scene, was leaning against a wall with a bow in her hands.
"Who are you?" she asked, noticing his gaze upon her.
"If you want to live, you will do as I say," he said, ignoring her question. There was no time. "Understand?"
Outside, the dragon roared again, and it sounded angry. It was likely going to make another pass on the tower. They needed to act quickly.
The woman shook herself from her stupor and then nodded. "I'm Sergeant Maveri, leader of this garrison. What would you have us do?"
"You will abandon the tower," Kratos said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Spread out into small groups in the open field nearby. Those who carry shields will form a shield wall to protect the archers from the dragon's fire. Archers, you will wait until the beast is on the ground before you start firing. Aim for its head. If we are lucky, you will take out one of its eyes. But remember, its mouth is unprotected too, and your arrows will also hurt it there. Its hide is thick and strong. Do not waste your arrows anywhere else. And do not get too close unless you wish for an early grave."
There were some looks of displeasure among a few of the guardsmen, perhaps a few had thought to engage the beast in melee, but nobody protested. It was a far better plan than they had before, and they all knew it. Besides, nobody was about to argue with the towering warrior who had socked a dragon right in the face like he was merely in a tavern brawl.
"And you? What will you do?" Maveri asked.
Kratos turned away from her and proceeded to walk up the steps, his body still partially wreathed in steam and leaving a smoky white trail in his wake. "I will bring the beast to the ground. Be ready."
"How do you plan to bring down a dragon?" Maveri called out, but Kratos did not bother to reply as he disappeared from view and emerged onto the rooftop.
The first thing he did was scan the skies. It was easy enough to spot the dragon. Already, it was banking around for another pass at the tower, though it was taking much longer to do so than its previous attacks. Perhaps it was taking extra time to recover from the ringing in its skull.
Kratos was counting on the fact that by punching it as hard as he did, the dragon would deem him a serious threat and thus focus on him, ignoring everyone and everything else. Essentially, he wanted the dragon to have tunnel vision for him and him alone.
With concentrated effort, Kratos activated his healing and the fresh burns on his body slowly disappeared. Letting out a long breath from the effort, he moved to the edge of the tower and looked down. The guardsmen were fanning out into groups like he asked, plunging themselves into the snow-covered fields surrounding the tower. Good. Hopefully they would be of some use.
He looked back at the dragon flying straight at him and waited, sword gripped firmly in his right hand.
The trouble with fighting a flying beast was that, unless you could fly too, fighting it was an absolute pain. It could harass you and constantly stay out of reach of your weapons. There was almost no running from it either. Not to mention it always had the option to retreat. The best thing to do was to bring it down to the ground, and fast. And once it was on the ground, you had to then make sure it could not take flight again, else the whole exercise would have been pointless.
When the dragon drew closer, Kratos backed up as far as he could to ensure that he had ample room to run and gather the necessary momentum for what he was about to do. He would have only a small window to strike, and likely one chance to do it. If he failed, the dragon would know what he was up to, and be far more cautious because of it. Making it that much harder to take it down.
But he would not fail. He could not. The dragon would not stay in the air for long.
The winged beast flew right at him and roared its challenge, letting loose a torrent of searing flame as it approached. Before the column of fire could reach him, Kratos lurched forward, picking up speed before he hopped onto the parapet exploded into the air in a trajectory that took him over the dragon's incoming head. Behind him, the parapet he had used as a springboard suddenly crumbled and collapsed from the pressure, but thankfully he was already airborne.
The dragon followed his trajectory upwards with its head, its neck bending, as it continued spewing fire after him. Kratos arced over it and proceeded to fall towards its spikey back where he hoped to wreak havoc and attempt to cut one of its wings down. As he was falling, however, the dragon did something Kratos had not expected.
Pulling in its wings tight to its body, the dragon rolled a full one-hundred-and-eighty-degrees, belly facing the sky, and snatched Kratos by surprise with one of its large forepaws. Sharp claws attempted to pierce him as it also tried to crush him in its powerful grip. With Kratos securely in its clutches, it spun again and began to climb, its massive wings unfurling once more and beating with loud, rhythmic thumps.
At first, the dragon roared in triumph, but then the roar quickly turned into one of pain.
Kratos had reacted quickly enough to being grabbed and had dug his sword into the creature's paw with one hand while he used his other arm and his legs to push against the tight grip of the dragon, managing to slowly push its claws back. He only needed a few more seconds to free himself.
Realizing that the attempt to crush Kratos was futile, and even painful with the blade digging into its paw, the dragon again did something that Kratos did not expect. Once more it folded its wings in, but this time it spun several times instead of only once. And before Kratos could fully escape its grasp—and truth be told he was starting to feel a bit dizzy from all this spinning around—the dragon used the centrifugal force it had gathered plus its own strength to hurl Kratos skyward. His sword came along with him, dislodging from the dragon's paw.
The wind was rushing loudly past Kratos' ears as he swiftly ascended ever higher into the sky and away from the dragon. Things were not exactly going according to plan, and he found himself no closer to bringing down the dragon than he had been earlier. He needed the dragon to get close enough for him to do some damage, preferably to one or both of its wings.
With another roar that sounded distinctly angry, the dragon obliged and flew up after him. When it was close enough, its jaw opened once more, deadly dragon fire spewing forth as it followed Kratos straight up and into the clouds.
Similar to earlier, Kratos used the flat of his magical frost blade to dampen and deflect the bulk of the dragon's fire. It hissed steam and vibrated as the frost magic imbued within the blade battled with the fire magic of the dragon. Even with the sword taking the bulk of the flames, the relentless stream of fire began to slowly burn his extremities, and the pain from those new burns grew.
When his ascent began to slow, Kratos realized he had a chance to turn the situation to his advantage.
Angling the blade ever so slightly, he used the now angled force of the rising fiery column to push him a little off-center from where the dragon was also ascending. Kratos emerged above the clouds first, meaning the dragon would momentarily lose sight of him.
It was unlikely for the dragon to think that Kratos would have a means to change his positioning in midair, what with his not having wings nor the ability to fly, so it would most likely continue to fly in the same direction until it realized he was no longer where he should have been. By then, he would already be falling upon its flank, which is where he wanted to strike in the first place.
Sure enough, as he reached the apex of his ascent and began to fall, the dragon finally emerged from the clouds, and the gap between them closed quickly. With a surprised growl, the dragon's head jerked left and right as it tried to locate Kratos. By the time it did, it could only watch as the falling Kratos brandished his blade and plunged it into the thin membrane of the dragon's left wing, slicing through it with ease while leaving an expanding trail of frost along the torn edges.
The dragon bellowed in pain and anger as its left wing immediately became compromised, unable to fully catch enough air to properly fly. It flapped its wings in desperation, and sure enough it began to lean and fall to its left side, no longer able to stay wholly aloft.
As it was teetering over and on the verge of falling itself, the dragon's head swiftly came around and Kratos could feel it actually glaring at him. Feel the fury radiating from the beast. With the dragon's gaze fixated upon him, Kratos allowed himself a rare smile. Well, more of a smirk, really.
The dragon's reaction was immediate. It roared louder than ever before, completely enraged.
As Kratos fell back into the clouds, the last thing he saw before the clouds engulfed him was the dragon collapsing its wings into its body and diving straight at him like a javelin from heaven.
Perfect.
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Anske watched with horror as she saw the pinprick in the sky that she knew to be Kratos falling to the ground, with no way to slow or stop his rapid descent. From that height, there was no way he would survive the impact, no matter how strong he was.
Above Kratos, the dragon was diving straight down towards the falling warrior, recklessly chasing after him. It let loose with yet another long torrent of fire, engulfing Kratos who could do nothing to avoid the flames.
Tears filled Anske's eyes as she kicked her mount into an even faster gallop. The horse was already pushing its limits, shuddering with fast, labored breaths as it thundered down the road. Some distance behind her, yelling for her to stop or slow down, was a group of mounted guardsmen led by Rorik and Reldith. She did not pay them any mind.
Her focus was entirely on the falling man. A man who was likely already dead, or close to it, after enduring so much dragon fire. There was nothing she could do to save him now, loathe as she was to admit it. But she could try and avenge him.
She continued to watch with deep sorrow mixed with anguished rage as Kratos' body eventually plummeted into the earth, slamming into the ground not far away from where she was with a thunderous boom that sent a thick plume of snow and dirt more than three dozen feet into the air while a cloud of dirt and snow expanded outward from the impact crater.
The dragon was not far behind him, careening dangerously towards the ground. Realizing its folly too late, the dragon attempted to slow and readjust its trajectory by unfurling its wings. But with its left wing torn and nearly useless, it only partially succeeded in the effort. Unbalanced and twisting counterclockwise in the air, the dragon loosed a roar of dismay right before it smashed into the ground with such tremendous force that it was felt all the way in Whiterun.
There was even a shockwave that emanated out from the initial impact the dragon had with the ground, powerful enough to kick up tons of dirt and snow as it expanded outward from the point of impact.
That shockwave, combined with the shaking earth, knocked both Anske and her galloping horse over right as they were passing the watchtower. Pain exploded across her left side and her left arm as she fell in a tumbled heap and rolled hard across the dirt, her whole body feeling like it was being pummeled from all sides as the world around her spun madly.
Meanwhile, the dragon bounced and tumbled towards the watchtower, each time it hit the ground producing a booming, ground-shaking rumble that kicked up significant amounts of dirt and snow. By a stroke of luck, or fate, the dragon's body actually bounced right over where Anske was still rolling across the ground herself, sparing her from becoming an unidentifiable smear in the earth.
The dragon grunted and whined with every impact and then let out a pained roar not unlike a whimper as it slammed into the base of the watchtower, where it finally came to a stop. The tower itself immediately teetered and fell over onto the dragon in a loud shower of several tons of stone and wood, eliciting more groans of pain from the downed dragon.
Thick clouds of dust and snow filled the air hundreds of feet in all directions, obscuring almost everything. All of that deafening noise from the chaos was immediately followed by an eerie silence, where not even the wind stirred, as if the world itself was in a state of shock from the turn of events.
There was a ringing in her ears as Anske let out a pained groan. Somehow, she was alive. But everything hurt, her left arm most of all. She was facedown in the dirt, she realized after a moment. Somewhat in a daze, she rolled onto her right side and then slowly pushed herself up with her right arm. Her left arm hurt too much whenever she tried to move it, so she did not bother.
There was a splitting pain in her head as well as a sharp, throbbing pain, and the sticky liquid she could feel across the left side of her head was undoubtedly blood. She frowned, feeling dizzy. She could barely see anything, and her eyes stung from trying to keep them open, forcing her to blink excessively as she tried to peer through all the dust in the air.
"PAIN…" a strange and powerful voice spoke from somewhere nearby, accompanied by an odd rumbling sound that resembled a growl.
Forcing herself to her feet, Anske shuffled on shaky legs towards the voice, wondering whose it was and why it sounded so strange. Her left arm hung limply at her side. She tried not to look at it, fearing the worst.
"SO MUCH PAIN…"
As Anske neared the voice, a dark silhouette slowly emerged from the haze. Something large, the size of a massive barn. Something with spikes. Through the pain and the shock, she needed a few seconds to realize what it was, and she paused, perplexed as to how she could seemingly understand what it was saying. Had she really hit her head that hard earlier?
"SUCH STRENGTH FROM ONE HUMAN… A WORTHY FOE… HIS DEFEAT BRINGS ME HONOR."
Anske's face contorted in anger as she remembered right then how Kratos had died only moments ago. A heroic, but rather gruesome death. All she could think about was that the dragon had taken someone precious to her, and for that it had to pay. Anger welled up inside her. She searched around and spotted a spear on the ground, next to the charred remains of one of the guardsmen.
Bending over, wincing with pain that she forcibly ignored, she picked up the spear with her good hand. Gripping it tightly, she marched forward, closer to the downed dragon.
At that moment, she heard more voices far to her left. Smaller voices. Human voices. But she ignored them as she stalked closer to her prey.
The dragon did not ignore the voices.
"MORE PREY," it said.
Even in its injured, weakened state, it was still dangerous. Painfully, it moved its head and growled at the approaching humans, and then a bright orange-yellow light shone through all the dust in the air. A jet of fire appeared, quickly followed by the agonized screams of dying men ringing through the air. A moment later and the smell of burnt flesh reached Anske's nose, but she ignored that too.
"It's still alive!" yelled another voice in the same direction as the others. The panicked voice of a man.
"Shields up! Form a shield wall, you imbeciles! Archers at the ready!" said another voice. A woman. Angry. Commanding.
Anske kept moving. The dragon finally came into clearer view. Its neck was curled towards her left, head facing in that direction as it sought out the others who had come to finish it off. Hoping that it would not notice her, she angled her approach a bit more to the right to ensure she remained in its blind spot. Assuming it even had a blind spot. She really had no idea and was merely taking a chance. Not that she cared. All she wanted to do was kill the beast. Nothing else mattered except killing it.
The dragon's rumbling breaths sounded labored. It was badly hurt, judging from its breathing alone, and the fact that it was barely moving. And still, it could move its head enough and spew fire. Another breath of fire went out into the distance, but this time there were only cries of alarm instead of pain.
Anske heard the distinct whistling sound of arrows fill the air.
"I HAD FORGOTTEN… WHAT FINE SPORT YOU MORTALS CAN PROVIDE!"
Anske's grip on the spear tightened. Her anger was rising, eyes still watery. Her face was intermingled with sweat, blood, and dirt. She used the back of her right hand to wipe away some of the tears from her eyes. She needed to see as clearly as she could for what she was about to do. For she was about to end the beast's life. A beast that apparently attacked humans for sport. Killed for sport!
It appeared not to notice her as she drew ever closer, its attention still fixated on the guardsmen somewhere nearby. Then, when she was close enough, she raised the spear and started to run. The dragon heard her then, turning its head in surprise, but all it did was give her an even easier target to aim for. Letting loose an angry battle cry, Anske leaped—in a manner very similar to how she had seen Kratos do several times already, though nowhere near as high—and then she was thrusting the spear into the dragon's eye as she landed on its head.
Her aim was true, and the spear easily pierced the soft flesh of its eye, impaling itself deep into the dragon's skull. Blood and other pus-like liquids burst from the wound as the dragon's head jerked away from her and it roared in terrible pain. Her grip was unyielding on the spear, even as it tried to shake her off, or perhaps was simply convulsing from the pain, and the spear was now firmly lodged into the dragon's head.
Anske gritted her teeth and used her feet to plant herself more securely on the dragon's head, using the spear as an anchor. As it writhed in agony, groaning and roaring, she twisted the spear farther into the dragon's skill, her own body shaking from all the physical effort it was taking.
"Die! Die you beast! Just die already!" she yelled at it angrily.
"NO!" it boomed in anguish.
In a last-ditch effort, the dragon tried in vain to move its whole body despite its injuries, attempting to escape. The sounds of shifting debris filled the air, but it could not get away. Its movements eventually slowed as it grew weaker until Anske made one final push, screaming with anger and pain, and the spear sank a few more inches into the dragon's head.
Then, it was like a puppet with its strings cut, as the dragon's head finally fell to the ground with a massive thud. One final breath exhaled from the dragon's flaring nostrils, before it was completely still and silent.
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"We need to get in there!" Reldith shouted at Rorik.
Rorik shook his head. "It's too dangerous! We wait until the dust settles."
Some of their number had been knocked off their horses from the shockwave, and there were a few minor injuries, but most of the twenty guardsmen who had ridden along with Rorik and Reldith were intact. Though everyone was certainly shaken from all that had happened.
Rorik had left Vors, Jouane, and the lieutenant in charge of the convoy, which was continuing to make its way towards Whiterun as quickly as they could manage. The more distance they put between them and the dragon, the better.
"But Anske is somewhere in there! She could—"
"Be dead," Rorik said grimly. He did not like to think of it, but it was a high possibility. They had all seen her fall off her horse when the dragon crashed to earth, and subsequently rolled right over where she had fallen. Then everything had been covered in clouds of dust and snow, and they could no longer tell what was happening.
"How dare you!" Reldith said, eyes glowing with power. "She can't be dead. That girl is stronger than you think."
"And Kratos was strongest of all," Rorik said pointedly. "Look what happened to him."
Reldith seethed but fell silent, gripping the reins of her horse. She looked like she was going to bolt in there anyway, so Rorik moved his horse to block hers, taking on the full ire of the angry Altmer.
"We wait," he repeated.
In the clouds of dust, bright flashes of orange-yellow erupted, followed by the sounds of dying men. The guardsmen from the watchtower. Survivors who thought they could finish off the dragon now that it was downed.
"The dragon is still alive," Rorik said, sounding vindicated for his decision to hold back for now. They could have been barbecued had they foolishly rushed in like Reldith had wanted.
The guardsmen behind them were in no hurry to rush into battle against a dragon, injured or not. They were content to wait for Rorik's command, trusting in his judgment, both as a man of authority and as a veteran of the Legion.
All of them stared into the dust cloud as it moved and billowed around slowly, shrouding everything within. More flashes of light emanated from inside the cloud, almost like lightning flashes, accompanied by the telltale whooshing sounds of rushing fire.
There were other sounds too. People yelling. Though they could not quite make out what was being said.
The smell of burnt flesh wafted over them, and Rorik wrinkled his nose, frowning. Some of the guardsmen covered their faces with their hands. Reldith simply scowled, looking like she had half a mind to run through Rorik and get in there.
Then the flashes stopped. The dragon roared in suffering. It sounded like something had hurt it terribly. It roared and roared in unmistakable agony. There was a rustling sound, like stones grinding on stones and heavy things smacking against each other while a rumbling sound echoed through the air. Followed by a heavy thump as the ground shook lightly. Then all was still and quiet.
Rorik and Reldith exchanged surprised looks. The Altmer was no longer as angry as she was but a moment ago.
"Is it dead?" Reldith said softly.
Rorik's lips pursed into a fine line as he looked back into the clouds of dust and slowly shook his head. "We wait."
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"He actually pulled it off," said Jouane softly, staring back at the battle with the dragon from astride his horse.
"Aye. That bloody bastard's a living legend, he is," said Vors. "Ain't no question about it now."
The guardsman lieutenant riding alongside them spoke up too. "Where did you say this warrior came from again?"
"We don't know," Jouane replied first.
Vors, however, had a different answer. "He was sent by the divines!"
"What do you mean by that?" said the lieutenant with surprise.
Even Jouane raised his graying eyebrows at the sergeant's words. This was the first he had heard of it. Yet the sergeant sounded so sure of himself, as if he knew it for fact.
"It's a right long story, lieutenant. One that I can tell ya over a few pints. Long as yer buying, o'course." Vors winked at him.
Jouane chuckled as the lieutenant immediately agreed to do just that when they arrived in Whiterun. Anything was worth hearing such a story, it seemed.
The convoy slowed behind them. Everyone was craning their necks, looking back at what was clearly an epic fight. Man against dragon. Legendary beast versus mighty champion. The stuff of legends come to life before their very eyes. They all watched with awe as the dragon eventually appeared to fall from the sky, and then crashed into the earth in a massive explosion that sent dust and dirt high into the air and shook the very ground beneath them.
"Should we go back?" the lieutenant said.
Vors and Jouane said no at the same time.
"We don't stop until we reach Whiterun," Jouane said with finality. "Those were Rorik's orders. Besides, if we stop, who knows what other things might befall us. Forsworn, bandits, and now dragons." The old Breton shook his head slowly.
"You'd think we're cursed," Vors said with a hearty laugh.
The lieutenant frowned but did not argue as they rode on.
A living legend, Jouane thought. Dragons had apparently returned. Violence and strife everywhere. Strange sightings and unspeakable horrors abounded. A time of great upheaval. This was the perfect time to have a living legend in their midst.
The only question was: what was going to happen next?
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Anske was still twisting the spear further in with all her might, until almost three-fourths of the weapon was embedded into the dragon's skull. Blood continued to pour out from the gouged eye, some of it getting onto her. But she didn't care. She was crying again, her muscles shaking. Fingers bone-white from all the pressure she was putting on them.
She even started to stomp at it with her feet, not that it was doing much damage. The dragon's hide was incredibly tough and hard like diamonds. She might as well have been petting it with her feet.
"Die!" she said, breathless.
"It is dead, girl."
Anske blinked. Her whole body went completely still. She thought she had heard Kratos' voice, but that could not be. It must have been a trick of her anguished mind. Was she going crazy? Or perhaps it was simply the voice of Kratos' ghost, coming to her one last time before it moved on.
But then hands grabbed her. Gently. Large, familiar hands. Those were not imaginary.
"Kratos…?" she whispered, shuddering as a fresh wave of tears flowed.
"You can let go now," said the unmistakable voice of the man she swore should have been dead. A voice that was speaking from directly behind her.
Feeling numb from the shock and the exhaustion creeping up on her, Anske let go of the spear and was lifted up into the air and turned around as she was placed carefully on her feet. She saw him then. Saw his hulking pale figure. His chiseled muscles. His old scars. Immediately, she threw herself against the hard, but warm and very much alive, body of Kratos. Using her good arm, she hugged him tightly, though Kratos did not return it. In fact, he seemed to suddenly tense from the unexpected contact.
"I thought you were dead!" she cried accusingly.
Kratos exhaled, his breath ruffling her already messy, dirt-filled hair. "It will take more than that to kill me, girl."
Anske suddenly laughed, although it hurt to do so. "You're really alive."
"I am."
"This isn't a dream?"
"It is not a dream."
She paused then. Trying to comprehend, but still not quite able to wrap her mind around it.
"I… I killed a dragon," she said at last, finding it hard to believe she could even utter such a phrase out loud.
"You did." Kratos paused a beat. "Though I seem to recall doing most of the work."
She laughed again. Weaker this time. Shorter. The pain was getting worse.
"Sorry… we killed a dragon," she amended.
Kratos snorted with amusement. "That we did, girl. That we did."
Silence settled between them as she continued to hold onto him, her body feeling heavier by the minute. The pain that she had been ignoring was growing stronger. Her mind felt sluggish all of a sudden, and the world appeared to be wobbling, off-balance. She figured it wouldn't be long before she passed out.
This time, Kratos spoke first, voice laced with concern. "You are hurt."
Anske hugged him a little tighter, shutting her eyes as her world continue to spin. "I just… can we just stay here, like this, a little longer?"
Kratos said nothing, though he placed a hand gently on her good shoulder. She took that as a yes. Even if he might have been doing it in preparation to catch her when she inevitably passed out.
Not long after, footsteps sounded nearby. Slow and hesitant. Followed by sharp intakes of breath and several shouts of surprise. A few prayers to the divines could be heard as well. Anske turned her head a little to look at the newcomers. The survivors of the watchtower garrison.
"Is it really dead?" said one of the guardsmen as they came to a stop a healthy distance away from the dead dragon.
"Go ahead and check," said another, nudging the first guy.
They were all staring at the unmoving dragon, getting their first up close look at a legendary beast so large that its mouth, with a few fangs protruding that were as long as a man's forearm, could easily swallow them whole. Its scales were the color of storm clouds, with black horns on its head and black spikes all the way down its back to the tip of its tail.
Those guardsmen with shields still had them up and at the ready, afraid that the dragon might abruptly come to life and bathe them all in fire or tear them to shreds. But the longer they stood there with nothing happening, the more they realized that the dragon was not going to move anymore. It really was dead.
There was, however, among the guardsmen a woman with a bow in her hands and a sword at her side who was not paying any attention to the dead dragon at all, as awe-inspiring and unbelievable as that sight was. No, she was instead staring straight at Anske and Kratos, as if she could not believe her eyes. It was obvious in her face that she was warring with herself, unable to believe and yet having to believe because her eyes were seeing actual proof of something that should have been impossible.
"How in Oblivion are you still alive?" said the woman, staring unflinchingly at the Spartan. Her face matched the tone of her voice as she spoke, a mixture of confusion, disbelief, worry, and suspicion.
It was then that the other guardsmen seemed to finally take notice of the hulking warrior—not surprising considering there was a dead dragon to ogle nearby—and several of them made some more exclamations filled with curse words.
"Would you rather I be dead?" Kratos replied evenly.
Anske had tried not to think too much on it. Even she had to admit that she was unsettled by the fact that Kratos was alive. As much as she was relieved and glad that he was still there, she also could not even begin to understand how it was that he had survived seemingly without a scratch. Sure, he was almost completely covered in dirt, but other than that he not only looked and moved fine, but he sounded fine too. He did not seem like someone who had finished battling with a dragon in the sky and then fallen to earth from an incredulous height.
She knew and accepted that Kratos was incredibly strong, and that his body was, by his own admission, especially durable. It was easy enough to believe that because of his massive frame and his bulging muscles. But this latest feat of durability was simply beyond comprehension and well within the realm of the absurd and impossible. The fall. All that dragon fire. And who knew what else the dragon could have done to him as they battled in the air since they were fighting high enough that nobody could clearly see what was going on up there.
"No, I do not wish you dead," the woman replied, "But… how could you have possibly survived a fall like that? You should be dead."
"But I am not."
The woman shook her head in disbelief. "How?"
Before Kratos could reply, something strange happened. Something so strange that they all shut up immediately.
The air began to stir around them. The dust-filled air was contorting, then swiftly cleared away as a whirlwind gathered strength, centered around the dragon's body. Everyone had to brace themselves as a strong, unnatural wind began to buffet them.
"It's still alive!" exclaimed one of the guardsmen, panicking.
"It's casting magic!"
"Shield wall! Shield wall!"
"Divines protect us!"
Anske clung to Kratos, who turned them both to the side so that his body stayed largely between Anske and the supposedly dead dragon. She peered around his torso, watching with equal parts curiosity and fear, as the dragon's body began to glow. Faintly in the beginning, but the glow began to strengthen.
A column of wind at least twenty feet high was swirling around them, clearing the air enough that they could all clearly see what was happening. Not that they could make any sense of it.
The guardsmen had huddled together with their shields up, forming a shield wall with spears out while the archers stood behind them, bows drawn. Their courage was to be commended.
The dragon's corpse appeared to convulse as the glow spread across it, before suddenly the glow turned into what could only be described as a bright, white flame that seemed to burn the dragon's flesh and engulf its entire body. The dragon's hide began to flake off into pieces, carried by the rushing wind like glowing petals that circled up and around them all, lending an ethereal quality to the whole scene.
Then, tendrils of white light erupted from the dragon's core, and they snaked purposefully through the air towards Kratos and Anske. Anske could feel Kratos tense as the beams of light engulfed them both. Then the lights stabbed right into Anske, though instead of pain, there was only warmth. A growing warmth that spread through her body like a soothing balm.
"Kratos?" she whispered fearfully. "Kratos, what's happening?"
Kratos held her shoulders with both hands, as if worried the light might steal her away. Or do something else horrendous.
"I do not know," he said. His eyes worriedly searched her face and her body, as if he might find answers where the tendrils of light were connecting to her body.
"Kratos!" she cried, as her body began to run hot, and the light became blinding. "What's happening to me?"
"I do not know!" he yelled, sounding panicked for the first time, adding to her fear.
Kratos tried desperately to grab at the tendrils of light but found that he could not touch them. His hands and fingers simply passed through the lights. No matter what he did, he could not interact with the light. He looked on helplessly, unsure of what else to do.
Anske felt something enter her mind. Something heavy and powerful. And foreign. She bit her lip, drawing blood, as she abruptly felt her broken bones rearranging and heard them snapping into place, painfully. She cried out, clutching at her body and then at her injured arm with her right hand. Her exhaustion was suddenly washed away, replaced instead by tremendous vigor and strength. She felt like she could run all the way to the summit of the Throat of the World without stopping.
The foreign entity in her mind seemed to form something akin to a key, and it slammed home into a lock she did not even know existed in the recesses of her mind. Then it turned, unlocking a mental gate that resulted in a sudden flood of power streaming forth from beyond the gate, threatening to overwhelm her. A tidal wave of energy swept across her consciousness, and she struggled to stay afloat.
Along with the flood of unknown power came strange symbols she had never seen before, flitting chaotically through her mind's eye. Somehow though, she could actually understand them. As inexplicable as it was, she knew what the symbols meant. Or at least, she thought she could. They were alien, and yet so familiar. Never before seen, yet it was as if she had known them her whole life. Vague, and yet discernible.
Each symbol was wreathed with great power. They were practically glowing with energy. She tried to focus on them, but they spun and whirled around her mind so quickly she could scarcely hold them still long enough to really decipher them. Until suddenly, one symbol in particular came to the fore. It grew and stabilized in her mind, drowning out all the others. Pressing itself firmly in her mind. Permanently. Unable to be ignored.
It was so strong that she wanted to say it aloud. She needed to say it aloud. Like she might actually burst into a million pieces if she did not let it out. She shut her eyes then, trying and failing to keep a lid on it.
The bright tendrils of light between the dragon and her suddenly faded into nothingness. With the lights gone, the wind quieted so abruptly that the silence that followed was deafening. The dust cloud pushed to the edges of the whirlwind began to slowly reclaim the air it had been displaced from, no longer held at bay by the swirling wind.
The dead dragon had changed drastically since the lightshow began. Its flesh had disappeared entirely, leaving behind only bones, scales, and so many questions.
Kratos knelt down, hands still on Anske's shoulders, shaking her gently.
"Speak, girl. Open your eyes. How do you feel? Are you hurt?"
Anske's eyes fluttered open, glowing with power. The same light that had come from the dragon now shone from within her. She raised her hands to her mouth and looked like she was about to hurl. Pushing Kratos aside, she turned away from him, and then spoke in a voice that seemed not entirely her own.
"Fus!"
The very air in front of her warped into a cone of shockwave energy that issued forth from her mouth, as if the very word itself had become material energy. Dust and rocks were thrown violently into the air in the direction she was facing, and the encroaching dust cloud was pushed back some distance.
Anske fell backwards and would have hit the ground were it not for Kratos catching her. Her glowing eyes returned to normal, and other than her ragged breathing, she seemed perfectly fine. Her body no longer ached. Her arm no longer hurt. Even her head was no longer throbbing. She cautiously tested her left arm and found that she could move it without issue.
What just happened? Her mind scrambled to make sense of everything that had transpired, but she was coming up empty. Somehow, she had been completely healed. Not only that, but she felt a tad stronger than she had ever felt before, even on her best day. And what was with that strange power she had displayed?
Anske reached up to gently touch her mouth. She remembered what she said. It was a word she had never uttered before. A word she never even knew existed. And yet, it was as if she had always known it. Fus. She knew it meant 'force,' but could not for the life of her think of why she knew that. She did not even know what language the word belonged to.
When she turned her head, she found Kratos staring at her with genuine worry. But he said nothing, completely at a loss. Her eyes slowly scanned the faces of the others nearby. Nobody said a word. Nobody even moved a muscle. Everyone simply stared at her for what seemed like forever.
It was the female guardsman who broke the silence first. Her voice soft. Disbelief mixed with a tone that was almost reverential. Where before the woman was staring solely at Kratos, now her scrutinizing gaze was reserved solely for Anske.
"Dovahkiin."
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AN: Just like the world being larger and more realistic in my story than depicted in the games, the dragons are also larger and deadlier as a result. This dragon (Mirmulnir) is one of the smaller, weaker ones we will encounter. Rest assured there will be plenty of fights and battles to come, from all manner of foes. Hope you enjoyed. More to come!
