Chapter XVIII: End of the Trail

Below many other sensations, there was a layer of enjoyment in watching the situation unfold as it did. She was also part of that strange picture, and in no small way. She, the object of the discussion, was looking two people argue over her, while one was not looking her way and the other wasn't even looking at either of them. In fact, the Solitude guard didn't even grace her with a glance, while Azrael was focused on looking around the tumbled wagon.

'Dragonborn,' the soldier insisted. A blonde beard emerged from his helm, and that alone showed that he wasn't merely a Imperial legionnaire given to the guards. He was a Nord, and the Nords all had true respect for their hero, as it appeared. If he was arguing with him, then Serana's presence was something that he wasn't willing to accept lightly. 'I am willing to let you work on this, but we don't know the woman. We will escort her back to the town and you will meet her once you're finished. This is clearly the work of vampires, and they told us not to trust anyone we don't know.'

Azrael's hand, which was slowly grazing a timber beam that made up the carriage, stiffened. Not only did it stop, but the fingers closed every so slightly. 'Who told you?'

'The vampire hunters who came by,' answered the guard. 'The Dawnguard, or whatever they're called. They—'

'The Dawnguard…' whispered Azrael, cutting him off. His head turned shortly in the other direction, on the other end of the cart, and then rotated tersely back towards the guardsman. 'The Dawnguard were here and you didn't think it worth the mention?'

Serana caught several signs of distress in the man. Seeing his profile, she could notice that he brought his weight slightly backwards, as if meaning to initiate a step rearward. His hands shook also very faintly, and through the small fissures left for the eyes she could see both of the widen. 'I…' he muttered, 'I didn't think it important, Dragonborn. You asked for information about the attack, I had no idea…'

'Silence,' Azrael said, coldly. He rose to his feet, letting his arms loose by his side and looking the other way still. 'You'll go back to Dragon Bridge.'

'But the woman—'

'The woman stays with me.'

The guardsman stood still, but only for a moment. He was trembling, and every moment he remained increased the chances of him being reminded of his order. He finally turned around, and in doing so shot a fiery glare at Serana through the cracks in the helm. A pair of hazel eyes were hidden behind them. She looked him walking away, the head faintly sunk in between the shoulders but a hand proudly put on the pommel of the shortsword he carried. The sound of his footsteps on the dirt road were one of the only noises that remained in the air after the words disappeared.

Serana turned around, and looked at Azrael. A curious thing she had noticed that last day was that every victory of his was also a victory of hers. She had not spoken a word during the debate between him and the soldier, but the simple reality that he had successfully send him away gave her a semblance of the exhilaration of victory. Well, we are a team. Individual victories are still victories for both of us. Two higher vampires were a particularly powerful team, as well. A two man army, we could almost say. On the other hand, that didn't seem to be new to Azrael. The stories she had only began to hear about him and the skirmish she had witnessed in Dimhollow Crypt both were quite indicative of his habit of being a one man army, as well.

'Have you found anything?' she asked, stepping closer. She was very much glad the guardsman had left the two of them alone. She felt better when no one else was around.

'Do you know anyone names Malkus?'

The face of the Orc quickly came back to Serana's memory. The greenish skin marked by the red war paints and the enormous teeth coming our from his lower lip, which were almost more terrifying than the canine teeth that had been prolonged by the transformation. That greenskin always rubbed me the wrong way, but he was faithful dog. Her father kept an eye of regard for him, because if there was need of someone slaughtered, he was up for the task and didn't require much thanks. He enjoyed it, and would continue to until the end of days. The transformation had only worsened his bloodlust, according to the court members. How does he not know him? Oh yes, of course… she thought. He had stayed in the Keep in the days prior to Azrael's return with the Chalice. He wasn't one of the old members, either. She had only met him two days after her reawakening after biting Azrael.

It took her a while to put the name in the context of where they were, and when she did surprise got the better of her. 'Malkus? What about him?' She glanced around hurriedly, but didn't see him anywhere. 'How do you even know his name?'

The Dunmer held up his hand, clutching something in between the pointed ends of his fingers. It was piece of paper, burnt on one side, but with some visible writing on it. 'This scrap bears his name. It instructs the vampires to abduct the Priest and bring him to Forebears' Holdout.'

'Malkus is a member of the Court,' she explained, suspecting that he would have liked some more information even if he had not explicitly asked for it. 'He departed from the Keep two days before your return, and he wasn't there the day you left, so it's highly unlikely you remember him.'

'An Orc, with red tattoos around the eyes. Long black hair. Was it him?'

She stopped for a moment and could not find words. How does he even remember? The only chance was when he entered the Keep for the first time, when he brought me back. She had been so tense during that whole moment that it was unlikely that she had noticed anything specific. However, she had been the one to initially do the talking and she had led the way from the gate onwards, so it wasn't impossible by any means that he had spied the Orc among the people sitting at the tables. And he was the only Orsimer present, so it is possible. Still, quite surprising. After their additional time together, she was more convinced than ever of what she had told her father about his greatest weapon being his mind.

'Yes,' she said, slowly and with a slightly teasing tone. 'I find it quite incredible of you to remember him, but you did described him perfectly. He is one to go out and coordinate dens of lesser vampires so that they would help us, as far as I know. He's rarely at the court and doesn't stand the politicking involved, so he much prefers to stay out of anyone's business. I can see him out here, managing this abduction.'

'This is more than an abduction by now,' Azrael said, folding his hands behind his back and looking at the cart, casting short glances at the corpses.

'What happened here, exactly?' she asked.

'It was probably late in the afternoon, not too long ago.' The Dragonborn swept his gaze around, and then looked towards the road. 'Two vampires approached the caravan and toppled the cart with their sheer strength. The claw marks on the wagon's beams are clear. Next, they slaughtered every single one of the Priest's guards, but not before one of their own was taken down.' He shifted his gaze towards the remains of the vampire that lay on the ground near the carcass of the horse. 'An arrow struck him from behind and broke the bones, and the soldiers finished him off upon seen him weakened. Then, the two who had overthrew the wagon grabbed the Priest and escaped with him. What didn't make any sense was the amount of newer footprints near the scene.'

'And now they do?'

'Definitely. If the Dawnguard met the wagon and followed the vampires to Forebears' Holdout, there's a good chance they'll already be there. The prints are of light boots, marked soles, no prints I had ever seen outside of their headquarter. Moreover, this trace in the dirt is strange, but now I recognize it. The head of a Dawnguard runic hammer, laid on the ground so that the wielder could lean on it. The blunt portion is generic, but the forked pointed end matches flawlessly.'

'And how do you know they managed to follow the vampires to the Holdout?'

'The footprints go in the precise direction of the scent that the vampires left behind fleeing the battlefield, and a pair of prints arrives up to the vampire which carried the note from Maluks. Not incidentally, the note was left on the ground, meaning someone has searched the vampire's corpse and then left the scrap on the ground.'

Serana was feeling a sense of bliss slowly making its way inside her, but could not understand exactly why. Maybe it's him. Azrael, since they had arrived there, had maintained his emotionless tone and the cold attitude, but she could tell that he was having fun. Solving riddles, observing, finding clues and working his way into the flow of time, finding the logical line that kept the events together; it seemed to be fun for him. It was far away from the fun a normal person would feel, but for once she thought she could relate. His words were faster and clearer, his movements sharper and more precise. She could almost hear him thinking. Such was the intensity of his mental activity. And someway, somehow, a slight amount of that euphoria was seeping into her. And yet, he's more a riddle than ever. Will I ever know what goes on in his head?

'We're following the trail they left behind then?'

'We are,' he said. His left hand went to his chest and then slithered past the shoulders and on his back, grazing the quiver, the longsword and the bow. 'And we'd best hurry,' he added, raising his head and turning towards the other side of the road, where the woods were. He blew a long whistle.

Who is he calling? she wondered, although the question already had a very probable answer. Shadowmere, of course, but I've never heard him calling her with a whistle. Normally, they were the ones who walked back where he had left her, because it didn't usually matter if they spent a few more minutes backtracking and returning to where Azrael had left the mare. In her favor, it had to be mentioned that in all the times Serana had seen her left somewhere, she had never trotted too far away from that place, and it was often quite easy to find her again. I've never seen him bind her, she thought, but the reason was simple. He mentioned her strength, and I can believe him. She could probably rip the tree she'd tied to off, together with the roots. Leaving her free opened the possibility to call her at will which, again, they usually didn't do.

This once, however, time really seemed to be at the essence. And I wonder why. The Dawnguard would not kill the Priest, that didn't seem what they would do. They would interrogate him and ask what rumors he heard exactly, but no more. They wouldn't go as far as killing an innocent man. They had bloodied their hands a little more than mere vampire hunts required in the near past, or so the populace claimed. However, if the main source of rumors was indeed the city if Riften, and if Riften was indeed controlled by Azrael to some degree, she could not trust those venomous rumors to be a perfect representation of the reality of facts. All considered, she didn't believe they would kill the Priest. However, what's his prediction? she wondered. Does he think the Dawnguard won, or the ones led by Maluks? She could not now, and didn't even try to guess.

If the vampires could defeat the rescue group of undead hunters and successfully complete the nabbing of the Priest, than the situations changed slightly. What will he do in that case? Will he kill them and pretend he was the one who found the Priest? Her attempts at justifying her trust for him all ended up failing. She didn't know his angle, didn't know his goal and didn't even know what he planned to do with the Priest, once he was in his hands. What if my father has given him further details about the Scroll? If he steals it and attempts to… thwart the prophecy, what do I do? She had chosen to trust him, but in truth she had not chosen which side of the barricade she was on. Well, you can't really take sides if you don't know the warring factions, she thought, efficaciously lifting some of her inner tension. She just felt like she could trust him, but she didn't know anything more.

'Serana.' Azrael stood beside her, and he had neared a little while she was thinking. He was exactly in line with her, in front of her if seeing it from the direction from which Shadowmere was most likely to appear. 'She's going to come here swiftly, and won't stop.'

'What, wait,' she said, turning towards him, 'do you mean we have to jump on her back while she's running past?' The sound of the hooves stamping the dirt and the undergrowth behind them informed her that, if that had been the case, it was too far away in time.

'Accurate. Now turn.'

The time during which the sound closed in was squeezed together, and she could not tell if it was one or ten seconds, because the tension at the prospect of having to take that leap was keeping her still. When the red eyes of the mare appeared in between the leaves, she legs began to quake and readying for the jump. The sound of the undergrowth being crushed was very close, and the moving long shadows bordered the rim of the forest. She was right there, behind those bushes.

Shadowmere's frame ran them by. Serana she could only trace the movement of her hand grabbing the side of the beast and her legs springing upwards, while her other hand moved above to go and grab the back of the mare on the spine. She could not see anything, because all of her focus was being directed on the movements. One last tug brought her up enough to extend her right leg beyond the beast's back. Her hands moved quickly, moving forward and grasping the first thing they came in contact with, something cold and hard at the touch.

A few moments went by before her senses returned to their normal level of functioning. Her sight cleared after a while, reconstructing the colors of the twilight and the shapes of the terrain around them. Most of all, it put together Azrael's black cloak, which was what filled most of her field of vision. She noticed that her hands had instinctively grabbed his armor on the waistline. After a while she heard the sound of Shadowmere's hooves hitting the ground, and the jolting also became apparent to her soon after. Something that she felt very early on in the recovery but that came to her awareness only later, was the strong smell that the vampires had left behind. She could still feel it clearly, and Azrael could too, probably.

She allowed herself to relax, now that the situation was very much familiar again. The bumping underneath them, the rush of air on their sides and Azrael's frame in front of her where the most common sight in their days of travel. We've only known each other for a few weeks, but it feels like it's a lifetime. They had all been difficult weeks, so they did count for intensity, but she had never really had that feeling of knowing someone so well. Especially since I know almost nothing of him, still. In a way, his consistency in being intangible made him familiar. He was the one who is always elusive, who always managed to stir her feelings. There was a regularity in that, which made that contradiction credible in some ways.

Not only that, but they had their habits and their rules in that relationship. That came to her mind because previously they had to interrupt something he was telling her about Elisif, and he said something specific. We'll continue as soon as we're on horseback again. For once, he had not thought that the next time they'd be on horseback could be something of the sort, and right now she had a half-mind to call in that imprecision. Azrael wasn't one to play games, and he stood by what he meant with his words, not his exact wording. He could answer me right now, though. He did have the skill to shift his focus very fast from one thing to another without hindering his concentration.

Fine, I'll ask, she thought, pursing her lips. It was never easy to ask him a question, or to start talking to him at all. Most of the time the silence he kept was a very clear clue to not disturb him, and she always went through the same emotional turmoil when thinking of how to frame and work the inquiry and whether it was wise or not to disturb him. You'd think it would get easier with the passing of time, but it doesn't. Not noticeably, anyway. Two times she opened her mouth and two times she thought over it again. I wonder if he senses that I'm so tense. It would not be the first time he would incite her to speak even when she had not said a word about asking him something.

'Azrael,' she said, shifting to the side barely in time to avoid a tree branch from hitting her shoulder. 'You were not finished telling me about Elisif. What happened after that counsel you spoke of?'

'I'll have to keep it brief.' Something, anything, even a scoff would have made him at least a little closer to normal. But he didn't do any such thing. 'After that, we spent a few days completely alone. At the end of those, we decided to amicably part ways, but I wanted to do a final favor to her. I contacted everyone in Solitude I could, and asked if they had any work that I could twist enough to strengthen Elisif's position. I did three things. One of them was reintroducing the event we witnessed yesterday.'

'And the others?'

'I eradicated a cult that had its roots near to the city and that was planning a less than polite plan to overthrow the capital. I tied up all loose ends of this one. I had noticed before that a member of her court, one of her most trusted advisors, was actually a mole of that cult. I killed her, making it look like suicide. The other being that I slew a Daedric minion that had made his lair near the city.'

'You've killed a lot in your life.'

The words disappeared in the noise of the gallop, with the sound of the hooves hitting the ground replacing the one of her words. Azrael was still, his eyes locked forward. 'Yes,' he said, slowly and exceedingly calmly.

'Why?'

'Impossible to say. I've killed in fear, killed in anger, killed for money and killed for fun.' He paused, waiting for them to pass by a fir which grazed the mare's saddle making sonorous hisses. 'The death of many people weights on my shoulders, but it's a burden I hardly feel.'

'And—'

'Not now,' he cut her off, tugging Shadowmere's mane to the side and making the mare turn abruptly. 'We're here.'

Having said that, Serana saw him moving. He bent his right leg and put both his hands on the mare's spine. He further retracted the leg and brought them both to the left, jumping off the back of the beast while the speed had barely gone down. Shadowmere slowed quickly, but Serana didn't wait for her to stop and followed the Dunmer right in tow with a leap. She directed her movements with care, but her preternatural reflexes were more than enough already to permit her a safe landing.

When she touched the ground, it was similar to when she had gotten on the mare's back before. It took a few moments to become aware of everything once again. When instincts took hold, they absorbed all the usable attention that her body and mind could provide, and there was almost none left to be aware of what was happening. Well, it has always worked and will continue to, she told herself, turning around in Azrael's direction. He was standing a few feet away from her, and was readjusting the cloak on his shoulders. His eyes were fixed on the side of the mountain, and Serana looked as well. Oh… There it is…

Forebear's Holdout, it had to be. A small, unassuming hollow in the mountainside that was no doubt her destination. The scent of someone of her kin being near was very strong, albeit fading. They could be all dead. The scent of a vampire doesn't linger, but permeates the body for a while after death as the magic slowly wanes from the undead flesh. Those were the things her father's trackers said about finding dead members of the court, at least. Well, if the scent was not enough, there's the huge bloodstain… she thought with a touch of irony, ridiculing herself for not having noticed it earlier. Right on the side of the entryway there was a red splatter, and what lay directly underneath looked to be a corpse, but not a vampire's one.

'Azrael's, that… A body, isn't it?' she asked, not stepping closer but waiting for him to do it first, for reasons she didn't understand herself.

'Yes,' he said absently, walking closer to the body. 'A Dawnguard light combatant. Burnt remains of a vampire, too, just beside him.'

'I see them,' she said, looking at the pile of ashes lying three feet away from the corpse, more or less. The late afternoon Sun had still been enough to incinerate the body to ashes. The only things still intact were some of the bones, mainly the ribcage and the pelvis, although the latter was broken and eroded. 'What happened here?'

'This vampire was standing guard,' Azrael said, nearing the pile of cinders and sweeping glances from the corpse to the entrance repeatedly. 'The Dawnguard squad attacked from a distance. Look, two ribs have been snapped in half and there are two broken crossbow bolt heads in the cinders,' he said, pointing down at the dead vampire's ashes. 'They injured him, and the bloodlust had the better of him. He managed to grab that one.' He pointed at the corpse of the combatant. 'He smashed his head against the wall, but then was culled down.' He cast a glance at the blood splatter itself. 'This happened less than an hour ago.'

Serana crossed her arms and smiled, the irony hiding the confusion. 'You guessed that just by looking at it? You can guess how old a blood stain is from how it looks?'

'No,' he said calmly, 'I guessed by sensing the strength of my urge to drink it.' He stepped forward, shoving the dead vampire's ribcage aside and gazing down at the pile of ashes once again before shifting his eyes again forwards and walking towards the entrance of the hollow. Serana watched his cloak flapping behind him, and the faint gust dispersing the vampire's ashes around. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that the small movement hypnotized her for a brief moment.

She came to as soon as the dust settled on the grass. She shook her head to snap herself completely awake, and then looked onwards. Azrael was already submerging himself in the darkness of the hollow, and she didn't want to lose sight of him. She could see in the dark, of course, but she couldn't see through rock without the use of spells. Spells that were only known to her through the monstrous side of her, which she would rather not show. Quicken your steps then, princess, she told herself teasingly, feeling eerily ashamed by her own use of the word princess. It was what Azrael called her when he was mocking her. It was the first time ever she said that to herself. Nevertheless, she did quicken her steps and after passing by the pile of cinders herself she came very near to the pitch black darkness of the cave's entrance.

As she moved from the dim light of dusk to the utter black, she felt her eyes sizzling and adjusting to the blackness. She statred seeing the outlines of the rocks first, and then even the colors, even if dyed with that strange reddish hue. There was an unlit brazier ahead, now that she could see it, and Azrael was standing right beside it, grazing the outer rim with his hand. Unlit, strange… she thought, most of all because there was a faint light coming from behind the first turn of the corridor, which meant there was another light source. They might have tried to light this one too, but failed. I see some embers… There were indeed two pieces of coal who were heated, but it was probably so old that it had not caught fire as intended.

Azrael retracted his hand from the object, and her focus too moved elsewhere. She looked at him walking forward down the cavern, walking light behind him. I don't know what he's going to do, she thought. We are at a crossroads. The thought was making her feel more tense, and the choking sensation was coming back, but she couldn't stop it arising. Think. Gathered here, in this place, there's the Dawnguard, the Priest and me. He could just as well help them free the Priest, give me to them and receive a handsome reward for it. Isn't that what he does? The major problem was that it wasn't merely a theory, there were facts that could support it. He almost sent me to them once. Now he has a second chance. What if he has arranged the Dawnguard freeing the Priest and meeting him here? He did go down to Riften to recover the Chalice, didn't he? It was the wrong moment for those doubts to arise, definitely, but if she was good in anything, it was afterthought. She figured things out when it was already too late.

And it didn't stop at betrayal. What does he even mean to do here? Even if he fights the Dawnguard, he'll be the one who brought back the Priest, because Malkus is likely dead. What will he do with the influence he'll have over my father? The thing he was most enigmatic about, indubitably, were his aims. She could think of how much power he would gain inside the court after that, but she could not tell what he would to with it. Strength could only be measured on the object on which it was exerted, and right now she could not guess what that object would be. Come now, I've known him for so long, how can I not make a guess? But it was harder than that, because if she had to wage, she would think that he wouldn't waste that power gained on small things like leverage in the court intrigues. No. He was more than ambitious. Ambitious people aimed for the highest target that could be seen, whereas he was something else. He aimed for the target so high that the others had not even noticed it. So, she summed with venomous irony poisoning her thoughts, the most likely scenario is something I cannot even imagine. That's reassuring.

That was if she really knew him and what she suspect to be his fundamental traits were indeed what she thought. If he was merely a facade for someone worst, than she could not guess, but she doubted it. For once, my doubts work for me, she thought. Because the facts, her heart and gut feelings all pointed at him not being a fake. Nobody could fake being such a heartless bastard all the time, and there would be far better disguises. Moreover, part of what she had discussed with Elisif echoed in her reasoning. Part of his grim, unexplainable allure could only come from a real contact with him, and it drew upon the fact that he could lie and pretend really well, but only for short lengths of time. Indeed, nobody who could significantly change himself would be so cynical and nobody who could build his image around lies would choose to appear so mysterious.

Her thoughts were cut off as something solid hit her chest and held her on the spot. She quickly moved forwards with her torso and stepped back with her feet to avoid falling, and as she regained some semblance of awareness of her surroundings, a blinding light seemed to appear in front of her eyes. She turned away with a hiss of pain, feeling her pupils burn and her face heating up and aching. She soon made out what was the object that had stopped her in her tracks. It was Azrael's gauntlet.

'You lose yourself in thought quite often as of late,' he commented, bringing the arm back to his side and stepping forward. He was almost whispering, as if he didn't want to be heard, and not wrongly. There was a strong scent of fresh blood in the air.

Serana stepped back and put her hands on her face, trying to ignore the momentary pain. 'Look who's walking,' she murmured, a giggling note in her voice. 'You're always focused on something no matter the situation.'

'I don't bump blindly into braziers when I'm thinking,' he remarked emotionlessly, but Serana took the lonely fact that he had replied a small victory. She shook her head and ate back a silly smile that was shaping her lips, while also raising her head and looking forward.

Forebear's Holdout, behold. She knew the place by name, it was her first time setting foot into it. She didn't know exactly where it was located, before. She knew it to be a small but complex headquarter used by a splinter cell of the Court that had kept in touch, but that was a very ling time ago. She could notice the signs of the traditional architecture, and a contraption which used the old magic was in the distance. It's probably not too different from the one my mother used to seal me away. It was a spherical magic barrier, it seemed. A shimmering light blue wall with greenish hues where the energy was stronger. The structure in the middle was complex and on multiple levels.

Speaking of multiple levels, every spot of the place was kept under close surveillance by warriors donning the same armor as the corpse outside. Dawnguard members, they have to be. There were some on the walls surrounding the center and some patrolling the various entryways into the central arena. They have not noticed us, which is good. Some were still, looking at the ground, and almost all of them were looking at corpses of vampires. The battle didn't take place too far back in time. Also… She remembered then that Azrael didn't know that she was familiar with the place.

'Azrael,' she whispered. 'There's something I should tell you. I know this place, it has been mentioned to me. It was built alongside the one where my mother sealed me away.'

'I know,' he said. 'The slabs are cut with the same kind of chisels, the overall shapes are similar and the arches have exactly the same angle. It wasn't a difficult leap.'

Why do I even bother telling him the things I notice? she thought, almost wanting to laugh. The question has never been whether he has seen more than I have, but how many things more. There was something about his very way of thinking that was alien, almost paranormal to her. The moment he had seen the room had had probably already planned how they would move in it and how they would approach the enemy. He had already found all possible escape routes and registered every tiny detail that could be stored in the back of his mind to be used further on in time. And all that happened in the timespan that was necessary to her to shush the variety of different emotions that emerged. He had the precision of one of those machines the Dwemer liked to build, but also the chaotic imagination that was unique to mortals. Combined, they made him into something immensely dangerous.

'All right,' she said. 'Any thoughts, then?'

He waited for a brief moment before saying anything, and his gaze kept darting everywhere very quickly. 'As I see it, it will be impossible to approach this head on. Not without taking risks I'm not willing to.'

'What do you mean?'

'Count,' he said, pointing towards the central ring of stone. 'There are at least twelve of them, not including the watch over there,' he said pointing to their left, 'and the Troll that is with him. Twelve in such a small area is too much. If we enter from there, we'll get overwhelmed. If we sneak from behind, we'll be against the wall. Even if we split and cause a distraction, they will be a lot to tackle.'

'You have handled far worse. Is it really this dangerous?'

He completely ignored the compliment and continued unfazed. 'These are not regular warriors. They're trained specifically to fight vampires and are equipped to do so. Their weapon are forged and infused with an old kind of magic, one that mimics the effect that the Sun has on a vampire's skin. Their armors too are build to avoid damage from our claws and fangs, and their shields are specifically resistant against the kind of magic the Volkihar use. Worse yet, I saw some researches delving into the magic they use for their weapons, meaning they could target us with beams drawn Aetherius that would be as harmful as a direct beam of light of the Sun at its zenith.' The black void hiding his face shifted clearly in her direction. 'I presume that's enough.'

She nodded. 'It is indeed,' she said, trying to contain her anxiety. 'So what do we do?'

'You stand guard,' he said, turning towards the entrance. 'I'm going back to town to get reinforcement.'

'Reinforcement?' she said, not fully understanding. 'There's no one that can help us, and nobody would be willing to fight against them.'

'They won't be willing.' Azrael's head turned in her direction slightly, and there was both a resigned and exasperated note in his otherwise even voice. 'We'll have to charm them, and we will send them forward. It should give us enough time to approach them and win the skirmish.'

'You…' she trailed off, lowering her voice because she had realized that she was almost screaming, but she could hardly avoid it. This time he has crossed the line. 'You're using them as fodder, by Oblivion. You can't let two innocents die just because we have to get to the Priest!'

'And if he falls in the wrong hands? How many will die then?'

I see what you're thinking, but I still can't understand it. She once again resisted the impulse to cry out loud. 'It's not about numbers, Azrael. We just can't lead two innocents to the slaughter. I know it's what soldiers are for, but not on our watch. We can't.'

'You can't.'

'What does it matter?' she said, her head extending and getting closer to his hidden face. 'We're a team, and I will not allow you to kill them.'

Azrael's head shifted fully towards her this time, whereas it had previously only stiffened at the mention of them being a team. Serana felt his eyes looking and piercing hers. She felt the necessity to step back, but there was nowhere she could. Behind her was the wall, and on her left a three meters fall down into an underground brook. I have crossed the line too, it would seem, she thought, bringing her head backwards from the slightly extended position. We are a team, but we never make decisions together. If he doesn't want to risk, we'll do it his way. I never had a say in anything. Her gaze was entangled by the simple sensation of his eyes being on her face.

After a short few moments, the Dunmer turned to the side, grabbing his cloak with one hand to avoid it from flapping and making too much noise. 'Fine,' he muttered.

Serana felt her own eyes opening wide in surprise. 'What did you say?'

'I said fine,' he replied coldly. 'Listen carefully,' he continued, leaving almost no time in between. 'I will clear out the main route and distract them. You cross the brook, climb up those outer walls and hide from the watches until I attack. When I do, avert attention from me. It is possible that we can cull them down before they retaliate in any lethal way.'

She searched for words, but he was already turning to the side. 'Azrael—'

'Not a word,' he whispered, bringing a hand to his chest and rummaging with his bandoliers. 'Refrain from doing anything stupid. The plan is dangerous enough as is. Go.'

Even by his standards, that was an abundantly clear communication of his intent of not being interested in a second debate. Not that I wanted to, this plan suits me. She actually wasn't sure why she had talked in the first place. It was merely habit. She could not picture herself hearing out his strategy and then walking off without a word more. I had to say something. Not the way he saw it, and the way was clearl enough. There was no purely logical way of justifying it, unless she had a doubt, which she didn't.

She turned to the opposite side, facing the cave. Jump down this ledge, she thought, seeing that it was hardly more than a few feet high. Cross the stream. The water was shallow, but she should have skipped over it to avoid any kind of noise. Both sides of the rivulet were made of wet dirt, which muffled sound rather well. Once there, climb up outer wall of the arena. The fortifications were steep, but the slabs used left gaps in between each other that offered a secure grip for both her hand and feet, especially since she was so light. She looked once again over her track, and thought that it wasn't overly difficult. And interestingly, or not at all so, I am a lot calmer when I'm executing one of his orders, she thought, stealing a brief glance back at Azrael.

The Dunmer had drawn a small flask out of the bandoliers in the meantime, and had untapped it using the sharp ends of his armored digits. He looked towards the center of the cave and on the whole top level of the wall, where the three watches were placed, to see if anyone was looking directly at them. They are not, observed Serana, turning her head back as well. Azrael, having arrived to the same conclusion, brought his arm over the brazier and poured the flask's content on the flame. The fluid that flowed out of the small bottle was dense and black as tar, but as soon as it came in contact with the heat of the flames it seemed to liquefy. The drops crackled strangely when they touched the burning coals inside the fire, smothering it and leaving only dense clouds of smoke. Every new drop doused the flames more and more, and very quickly. When the last drops cascaded from the flask's rim, the fire was completely out and Serana could only see thanks to her vampiric eyesight and little more.

'Someone has put out the fire!' a voice yelled from across the cave. 'Weapons at the ready!'

And so it begins, Serana thought, leaping down the ledge. She felt suspended in the air for longer than she had anticipated, but then she connected with the ground exactly as she had thought. There was no need to distribute the weight, so she stuck the landing to avoid any unnecessary noise, and then she proceeded towards the brook, careful to stay on the parts of the ground that were wet with water and that made a soft and damp sound that could not have traveled very far. Above all, there were way louder noises coming from inside the arena, where hurried footsteps and the clanging of weapons could he heard rather clearly even from that depth in the terrain.

'Something moving!'

What? Serana wondered, doing a mental check but not imagining any part of Azrael's plan that involved them seeing him. He hasn't told me his part of the plan, to be completely fair, but I doubt it would include being seen. He surely looked like an infiltrator or an agent at the least, although he had been called an assassin time and time again. From the color of his armor to the way he hid his face clearly meant that he didn't really want to be see, so it made little sense that he had been spotted so easily. Careful now, she thought, do not step into the water by accident… Once she was sure of where she was putting her feet, she glanced behind.

There was indeed a figure moving in the dark. Not very tall though, without a cloak. That wasn't Azrael. The strangest thing about it was the strange glow that irradiated from it. There were white and light blue hues on its frame. That looks familiar, but… Of course, a reanimated dead. She had not seen any corpses, but there might have been one in the darkness. That was why Azrael had doused the flames, because he needed to reanimate the body. Depending on what he does with it, it could range from smart to genius. The body, whose garbs were clearly of a vampire, was stumbling forward in the darkness, his position given off only by the luminous signs of the magic.

She turned around, because the stream was coming up. She saw two rocks that were placed in a perfect spot, valued the distance and skipped from one to the other. The surface was wet and covered in moss, but she was light enough to not slip. The watercourse was shallow, full of minerals that shone weakly in the darkness. She didn't look at anything and kept running, landing on the opposite side of the stream with the necessary momentum to not slow down. The walls were still a distance away, but there wasn't any light and she was already out of the watches' sight. None of them would think to look down.

Another sound came, from the other end of the cave this time. On her left. The sound had surpassed the confused noise coming from inside the arena, and was a very familiar sound. A blade piercing flesh. Albeit confused, there had been a choked scream beforehand and gurgling sound afterwards, which had been lost in the echo of the sharpest of the three. 'A man down!' someone cried from atop of the fortification. More noises came from the other end of the cave. That heavy breathing… A Troll? He did mention one, now that I think of it… The heavy breathing turned into a gurgling moan of pain very soon after. The choking scream the man had made was a recognizing blend of surprise and fear, but the beast's groan was of strong pain.

Serana turned to the other side, unable to resist the curiosity and wanting to know what was going on. Where is… There. It was the only place on that side of the cave that was somewhat illumined. Yes, but… Is that…? As she made out the shapes, she recognized the frame of the reanimated vampire in front of the beast, slashing away at it with his claws. The Troll, however, was completely helpless. A torch, a lit torch, had been stuck directly into its mouth. No way the reanimated vampire did it, she thought. No revenant retains that level of cunning. It was Azrael, it must be. The watchman he had just killed must had carried a torch. He had killed him while making it look like his revenant had done it, snitched the torch from his hand and thrust it in the Troll's mouth. Well, genius it is, she thought, feeling again that strange of bliss at the thought of a victory that belonged to both of them.

She turned to climb the wall. The price for turning around had been to slow down her run, so now she didn't have the impetus she thought she'd have, but it was plenty to walk a few steps vertically on the wall and then gripping two fissures with her hands. She let her legs dangle twice before she searched for a grip for them, too. The stone slabs were old and some cracked, but the design of the structure made it impossible for any of them to form wide enough cracks for her to use. Which is a disadvantage, but also means no rocks will fly on my head without me noticing. There was a new sound, again of a blade cutting flesh, but this time it was different. It was shorter and much smoother.

'Hold on to your bolts!' a deep and sonorous voice said from the other side of the cave. It was Azrael's voice, unmistakably. The raspy note and the intonation left no doubt.

'Halt! Do not shoot!' screamed another one from atop the walls. 'It's the Dragonborn!'

Serana was half-way across a step up the wall, but she froze. Her palm touched the smooth surface of the slab and her foot fell back on the fissure it previously occupied. What in Oblivion? She turned around to look. Her eyes looked over the section where the Troll was, and she saw Azrael at the rim of that area. He's walking. He's really going up to them. She looked up. There were only two or three yards left, and then she would be on the highest level of the walls. What if I am walking right into a trap? Why did he reveal himself to them? She could not decide what to do. I could descend this and flee, but I'd be leaving him alone. She could also stick to the plan. But if he's betraying me, I'll walk right into my enemy's hands. It was a decision that she didn't feel like she could take. She needed to decide whether to trust him or not.

As usual, the thoughts initially bubbled to the surface only to storm her mind a short moment after. He always meant to betray you. You remember in Solitude, when he stood so silent when Elisif said that a Dawnguard platoon was coming our way? Sure he could have been surprised to know it or concerned about having to deal with them, but maybe he was merely content to know it. Maybe he was the one who had staged their arrival. And now, the crowning moment in their collaboration, he consigned them the most precious thing he could. Both her, and the Elder Scroll. I have not trusted my father and I have opted for bringing it with me. As always, it was safely tied to Shadowmere's saddle. He will now give me in and give the Scroll to them afterwards. They will decipher it and everything will be in ruins. It made sense. Perhaps it wasn't the most likely thing, but she didn't care. As long as it made sense, that option would harrow her mind.

The exact opposite could have been true as well. Maybe he has slipped up, and he's improvising. Or maybe this was part of his plan all along? He had asked her to avert attention from him, which could have been an effective approach. After all, the vampire who had just killed their watch and the Troll was dead, and Azrael had shown himself slaying the vampire. They trusted him and would let their guards down, so they would be completely confused upon being backstabbed. Using that confusion, he would attack them too and sow enough madness to win before even fighting. It sounds like him, a lot. But the other option does, too. He is always playing, always manipulating. But who is he manipulating this time? My enemies or me?

'Dragonborn,' said a voice, a different voice from the one of the sentries. 'I'm Vanik, leader of this expedition. Thank you for killing that fiend for us. What do you seek here?'

'I followed the trail left by you and your men,' Azrael said, with his normal unemotional and deep tone. 'I thought I might have been of help in storming this subterranean stronghold, but it seems you were faster than I anticipated.'

'Curses,' said the man, but the tone was vital and almost jovial, 'had I known, I'd have waited for you. I lost seven men here, and those were losses we could not afford. I only hope it was worth it.'

'I heard the rumors surrounding the Moth Priest.'

'It's true, he's right there, imprisoned in some kind of arcane device. I think I have found a way to free him, but he's been turned already. We were devising a plan to incapacitate him without injuring him. We will need him strong enough to make the journey back home, or to Fort Dawnguard.'

'Why do you need him?'

'He was the one who contacted us. Rumors of an Elder Scrolls being found spread all across the order of the Priests, but they suspected it might have something do with more sinister machinations. Once arrived in Bruma, the Priest sent us a messenger, asking us to meet him near Solitude. We were intrigued, and decide to investigate, see if the vampires were behind all of this. And Isran was right this once, they indeed were. I could hardly believe it. He wasn't very specific in his missives though, so we'd like to make some questions ourselves, but he won't answer any in this state. Not even under torture.'

'I see. And what else have you gathered about the vampires?'

'Well…' said Vanik, 'Isran was quite angry when you didn't return, but we assured him it would have been for a good reason. Even he agreed that it might have been because you were on a good trail. Were we right?'

'You were. Go on.'

'After that, we just had a few scouts out gathering rumors and information. We have not made extraordinary progress, so this expedition to meet the Moth Priest was pure gold in our eyes. It could finally make things clearer, give us a glimpse of what the vampires might be planning. Because, and this doesn't take anything to guess, if there's a Scroll in it, it's some very big. But you surely have a lot more knowledge than we have so, please, tell us.'

'I'll tell you everything on the way back. I will follow you to Fort Dawnguard and devise any further plans with Isran. Before you prepare to leave this place, I have a few more questions.'

What game are you playing, Azrael? He might have been waiting for her to climb up, or he couldn't have attacked them without being outnumbered. But what if he's saying the truth? He's putting me into a trap. There's probably two more of them waiting by the entrance that will block me if I try to get out. And through the impasse, there was a flame burning. She felt it in her limbs. No matter, I will not let you betray me. You remember my promise. You won't forget me. But what to do? They were there talking, but what else were they doing? I need to see. There was only a few yards left. She threw her arm towards the next slab and grabbed it, hearing Vanik's voice in the background but not even trying to focus on it. Azrael interests me. You can go to Oblivion.

Only a few slabs remained. She climbed all of them quickly, the boiling feeling of her distrust and anger melding with her inner violence and lending her their strength. Her long nails scratched the smooth stone, leaving shallow signs in them. In a few more motions, she reached the top. She dragged herself up. She cast a wide glance around her. I'm behind everyone. I am safe here. All the watches were turned in the opposite directions. She slowly rose to her feet, feeling the solid rock underneath her feet, and looked towards Azrael. He and the Dawnguard warrior were talking under the arch that led to the central arena.

'Indeed, Dragonborn, indeed. But the Dawnguard's primary goal is to protect the citizens of Skyrim from the vampires. Whatever happens while performing this duty—'

'Intruder!'

A wave of searing heat seemed to emerge from the ground. It coiled around her calves, spiraling its way upwards. The pain blocked her motions, and her forearms shook strongly and without her being able to stop it. Her mind became numbed by the pain and by a mortal fear. The heat she felt was the heat of a normal fire, that hurts and annoys but doesn't feel lethal until it is touched directly. It was another kind of heat completely, one that could kill if touched for too long. She knew the feeling. It was the feeling of the midday sun on her skin. Her whole body began to shake.

'She's a vampire!'

Confused noises, a deep voice. 'Serana…'

Even among the noises and the numbness of the pain, she could hear a silence heavy as lead descend on the people standing down in the arena. She was distracted when the searing sunlight moved higher, to her waist, melting her skin away from her bones. She started to shake violently, trying to escape, but she felt paralyzed. Her lips opened and closed, and she couldn't tell if she was screaming or not.

'You know—'

'Fo Krah Diin!'

The pain ceased right along with the thundering sound. A gust of air came from below and it would had been strong enough to blow her off the wall had she not been crouching down, bent in two by the scorching throbbing throughout all of her body. Also from below came a freezing breeze that blew flurries colder than ice itself towards her, which somewhat lessened the pain. However, her head was completely storming. He had done it again. He had used that magic. The feeling of the world itself being ripped open and mended was always there as he did that, and she always felt it.

Down in the arena, agonizing screams and choked shrieks of terror completely covered every other noise there might have been. Serana only briefly looked there before turning her back, and she saw white everywhere. Ice splattered with blood, and a mountain of corpses pushed against the wall. She didn't stop her eyes turning and looked behind her, where the voice had come from before. Behind her was the man who had done all that hurt to her. I will rip you to shreds, mortal. However, as soon as she turned, surprise smothered her bloodlust. There was no one standing on the wall, but there was a corpse flying down the ledge of the wall. He was wearing a mage's tunic and had a splatter of blood below chin. The dark shaft of an arrow with black vanes emerged from his throat.

She turned sharply to the other side. The beast inside her was awake, and every thought, even emotion, was silent. Now all that mattered was surviving, and there was nothing drawing attention away from that. She was lucid, her mind clear and her limbs vibrating with forbidden strength. He did not betray me, was the last thought that passed through her mind. Afterwards, she looked at the wall. She quickly made out the shape of two men facing her. Her hand went to the dagger's handle in the blink of an eye, the ethereal energies poured into her palms. Come here and bleed for me.

She dashed forward towards the two. She had seen that none of the two had a shield and they were only holding an axe. One of the two wielded it with both hands. What will you do now? The first was bending backwards, as if to backpedal, while the other was doing the exact opposite. The latter was holding his weapon in a defensive position, but she easily found a way around his guard. She brought the dagger closer to her torso and lowered her body, hoping to get low enough to stab in a sensitive spot. Only when she was in a good place did she thrust the small weapon.

The strike was successful. There was a thinner protection on the cuirass' side, and her dagger pierced it. The blade wasn't very long, but it had penetrated to the hilt thanks to the strength of her thrust. The man bent significantly on the stabbed side, bringing his free hand to the wound, and doing something stupid in doing so. Serana moved her hand away and freed the dagger from the flesh, cutting two of the combatant's fingers in its motion.

The scream arrived to her ears already diluted and shimmering in a thousand different sensations. It was more than a sound. It was a pleasant sensation that involved all the senses as if they were one. The taste of a mortal's fear, the smell of their terror, that scream was showing her everything. The sense of touch, as if often did in situations like those, permeated strongly her fingers and even her teeth. The muscles in her jaws were just starting their erratic pattern of movements, tensing and ready to bite. Blood, so close. She could hear it pumping in their arteries, and she could sense it, hot and still fresh, coating her raised her head and looked into the man's eyes, which were filled with pain and fear, for one last time.

She first lunged forward her right hand, grabbing the enemy's wrist before he was able to react. Her long and sharp nails incised the skin in multiple spots as she applied enough strength to shove the man's arm aside, leaving him completely open. Her hand needed no preparation to land a blow of sufficient strength, it was that easy. Her other hand darted in the direction of the throat, holding the dagger tight, and when the tip touched the flesh, the smell of blood only intensified. A last jerk on the wounded man's arm did it. She only meant to make him stumble down the wall, but her pull was instantaneously followed by the sound of bones snapping. Multiple ones. A smile, a cruel one, made its way onto her lips as she saw the dead man tumble down the side of the wall, although internally she regretted not being able to drink the last drop from him. There's always the other one, she thought, turning her head sharply and focusing on the other one.

Afraid, she thought, sensing her smell even before her eyes could detect anything of importance. Angry and disgusted. He had clearly never seen that much blood before, and had not wished to see it. His face wasn't shaped in signs of fear, but he was afraid. Good. They're always so delicious. This time she'd have worked a bit more before dealing the final blow. She focused for a moment, and then a soothing cold pulsated in her left hand, and as she extended her arm she already felt the veil between Aetherius and their plane weakening and cracking.

From her palm emerged a freezing mist mixed with small crystals that surged towards the fighter, casting a faint cold on its immediate surroundings but a strong one on the impact area. The stream of ice hit the man across his torso, and briefly touched one of the armpits, which were less armored and more exposed to all sorts of weapons. Serana saw him flexing his arm, but not managing to move it very quickly. It was his dominant side, and even if gripping the axe with both hands as he was doing, that was still the side that would give the most strength. Not that he could have done anything else. His other hand was busy covering his face for now, which she had no intention to target seeing how well she could hit other places.

She felt a strong strike in her side. She didn't notice anything at first aside from the strength of the impact, which made her clench her palm. The ice stopped flowing from it. A sound. I heard no sound. She hadn't heard it, but strangely enough she could remember it. A sharp snap followed by a thud and the noise of something heavy cracking. What was it? It had hit her on the side right on her waistline. She lowered her head to look, and the sight almost aroused a feeling surprise. The fletching of a very small arrow emerged from her waist. They had indeed tore through the armor and penetrated her skin, but she had felt hardly anything aside from the impact. However, the impact had played a role. She had stopped casting her spell and she had to control her sideward step to not tumbled down the wall herself. The other one may be trying…

She was hit again. It was her other side this time, but this time she definitely felt it. The blow did hardly anything, but came together with the cracking of the armor, and with it came a wave of searing pain. Not again… she thought frantically, remembering the sensation. It was the same pain she had felt before, that the man in the mage tunic had inflicted on her. It was scorching and frightening, because it awoke fears that were rooted very deeply inside her. Only that touch had made her believe for a split second that she could dissolve into ashes. That hit, that soft tap, had hurt her as much as beam of direct sunlight. She reacted almost without being able to control herself, but the predatory instincts didn't fail her this once. Holding on to the dagger she thrust both hands forward towards the man's neck, knowing that his weapon was still lingering beside her wounded side. Her fingers encircled his throat in the blink of an eye and started pushing and closing in with all their strength. The side of the claw-line fingernails cut the skin, making drops of blood fall down. Bleed for me, she thought, making the grip even stronger.

The fighter's eyes seemed about to surge out of their sockets from the way he was holding them out into the air. Serana only hesitated momentarily when the expression on the man's face transitioned quickly from the one of mortal dread, from one of resigned sadness to one of incredible anger. Behave, lamb, she thought, grinning beastly in his direction, but it sorted no effect whatsoever. She noticed then that the watchman had dropped the axe and was bending his torso backwards. His leg raised faster than she could move, only because she didn't see the beginning of that movement.

She tumbled backwards, incapable of stopping anywhere safe that was before the edge of the wall's higher level. There was one last thing that she could do before falling. A farewell gift. She gave up trying to find her balance with her hands, instead choosing to continue her confused steps backwards and preparing for the free fall that would follow. Her hands went to her side, and she felt the ethereal energy she drew blistering and chancing. Right as she was about to fall, she brought her hands forward together. A blaring sound akin to a thunder burst from her palms as a flash of violet light erupted from her hands, and she could only see her enemy being shoved backwards by the lightning spear just before her feet slipped off the edge.

She opened her arms, tensing every muscles and preparing for a sharp turn, while also enjoying the thrill of the plunge. The sensation of the mad rush, the intensity and the sense of alertness of her inner instinct was something that was always welcome. It draw away from the flatness and the boredom of the rest of existence. All her attention focused on one thing, and she gave the necessary strength. She twirled in the air, and after that she was facing the ground, with her back towards the high ceiling of the cavern. Her limbs lowered, ready to land, and her eyes swept across the arena, picking up everything they could. They, however, stopped half-way through and focused on the center.

In the middle of the ring, Azrael's dark frame was moving. He was holding his sword with one hand and keeping it above him head. He had one of his knees bent against the ground and his head was facing down. Focus on the landing, she said to herself, but she only momentarily did before looking his way again. Three enemies were facing him, all roughly in front of him. There was one with a big two-handed hammer that was swinging the weapon above his head, readying for a strong hit, while one of the other two held a smaller axe that he was swinging obstinately against the Dunmer's blade.

Azrael… She had forgotten about the landing, and so she was brought away from her thoughts only in precise moment when she could do nothing else than focus on that. She bent forward, but judged the angle hurriedly and imprecisely, having a sense of it before touching the ground but only realizing it once she did. She briefly lost track of her own position and movements, but she when looked around again she understood that she had not rolled the way she had intended. Her eyes, shifting around frantically, fell on Azrael yet again. While she wasn't looking, the man with the hammer had brought down the weapon on the Dunmer's back, flattening him on the ground. His cloak was tarnished with blood and it was torn in two places.

Azrael, no… She was on her knees too, but before she could walk any further she felt a hand grabbing her by the collar and dragging her backwards. The fingers were big and rough, she could clearly feel it on her skin. Her legs bent and she didn't move them around it time, ending up with her back towards the ground once more. 'Got you, fiend,' said a gurgling voice behind her. She almost didn't care, because she was still looking in Azrael's direction. The man with the hammer had just struck a second blow on him, and he was still flat on the ground. Her eyes darted to the side, where his sword rested. It was a good distance away from him, not close enough for him to grab it with his hand.

She looked at the man with the hammer. I will kill you. I will rip you to shreds. The sides of her field of vision were blurring and pulsing, her whole view being dyed with blood red. The man was tall and big. He was holding the hammer by his side and was looking down at Azrael, with a worried expression. He seemed desperate. He has understood that he's a vampire, she realized. Ever since they started fighting. She looked at the Dunmer, who was still on the ground with the exception of his head. His hooded face was raised, and was directed towards the man with the hammer.

In the silence, a weak growling sound could very easily heard. Serana immediately found its source, which was Azrael himself. It had much in common with his voice, but it was very different as well. It wasn't cold and composed, but filled with anger. She looked at the man with the hammer, who was bringing his weapon behind him to prepare another strike. 'Hit him again!' he screamed desperately. By the time he had finished the sentence, his hands were above his head and he could strike the blow very soon. Is it too late, though? Serana wondered.

Azrael's hands leapt upwards, pushing him above the ground enough to almost make him stable on his feet. Serana followed his movements barely, and doubted the others could. The Dunmer bent his knees, looked at the man for a split second and then dashed, putting his armored hands forward. His fingers coiled around the man's head, the palm pressing on the temples and the fingers grabbing him all the way to the cranium. At that point, Serana could hardly follow herself. He was moving slow enough for her to see, but too fast for her or anyone to understand clearly. The man's arms lowered and he dealt the hammer blow, but Azrael was too close to be hit and only took the wooden handle on the shoulder. It didn't seem to matter that much to him, however. He just pressed stronger on the man's temples, and only moments after the fighter's mouth twisted in a voiceless scream of unimaginable fear and pain.

There was a sound, which was hearable by everybody before they could understand what they had just seen. It was a noise very few had ever heard. It was like the snapping of bones, only less sharp and more dull, deeper. Serana saw Azrael's hands relaxing and opening, covered in gore. The man's body dropped to the ground, and the mixed and mingled mass of his smashed in head dropped down on his corpse.

Serana felt the man that had grabbed her moving. 'Wha…' he muttered, but she didn't much care. Azrael had already dashed towards the other man, producing that rasping and growling sound again. It made even her shiver to the bone. His hand dashed lightning-fast on the side of the next man's armor, penetrating the side layer with the sharp ends of the digits and grasping it. A strong tug to the side and backwards ripped the chestplate away from the fighter, who had dropped his axe on the ground and was no completely defenseless. Serana's eyes followed the ripped plate of metal as if slid across the room for a couple of yards before going back to the struggle.

It was a scream that made her turn again, she realized afterwards. The Dawnguard fighter's face was disfigured, half by pain and half by fear like the other one. Azrael had done something similar to what he had done with the armor, but this time he had thrust his hands directly inside the man's flesh and was trying to open his hands. Is he… Serana wondered, but the thought dropped. She didn't focus on it. Her attention could only go to some many things, and the flow of the fight was what she was concerned with the most. Now, it seemed the man could no longer even scream. The Dunmer's fingers had gone deep in his flesh, and were pushing towards the sides.

A new sound, and one equally unknown as the one before. Familiar, but unknown in its specificity. Serana couldn't tell if she had batted her eyelids involuntarily or if she had immediately removed the image from her memory, but she could not see the precise moment in which the body of the man was split right in two. She could only remember the two bloodied halves falling on opposite sides, tumbling to the ground in a sea of reddish life lymph. She also felt the shaking of the man holding her, who almost brought his hand away from her collar, but did not see the moment in which the man had been torn in two.

Azrael turned in her direction. She immediately felt a series of shivers running through her body, but he didn't move in her direction. His hand only flashed briefly with a green light, which rushed slightly above her head. The moment it did, she felt the grip of the man holding her becoming at once tighter and less precise. Paralysis, she thought, recognizing the kind of light and the effect it had. She thrust her neck away from the man's grip. I don't have a weapon.

She turned to look at her paralyzed aggressor, who lay on the ground. She looked for anything that could kill him quickly, and there was his axe lying right beside him. He must have dropped it when he grabbed me. She brought her hand toward the grip and her fingers closed on it without her needing to even think it. Her other hand grabbed the handle just underneath the axe's blade. She noticed only then that he he hadn't dropped the weapon at all. His other hand was missing, sliced away recently. He had only managed to seal the severed blood vessels with healing magic, but not much more. She raised it and position the blade barely above the man's throat, braced herself and pushed down.

She let go of the axe as she saw the first drop of blood emerging from the man's severed throat, wanting to look back to see what Azrael was doing. There was one last man standing. Once again, she hadn't heard any sounds, but she remembered them. It was a common thing when her fighting instincts took hold, remembering and acting upon impulses that hadn't not reached her consciousness. She turned sharply, having in mind the deafening scream that could have only belonged to the Dawnguard man. It was shrill, clear, and it couldn't have been Azrael's in any way.

The scene she witnessed explained the cry abundantly. She only saw the Dunmer bring his head away from the man's throat, leaving a gaping hole in it and spitting blood and pieces of flesh. The dead man's body collapsed to the ground, moving in agonizing spasms. Blood began to pour out of the hollow in the throat. Azrael spat some of it on the corpse yet again.

It's over… she thought. The vibration in her body were decreasing in strength, and had been ever since she had plunged the axe in her last victim's throat. The fingers were not tingling as strongly, and the forearms had stopped shaking. The sense of touch had pulled back from her canine teeth, although it lingered somewhat in her palate. There's still fresh blood around, a voice said in the back of her head. The tension was regressing from her legs. A creeping sensation of pain was flowing towards her side, where the bolt still was. Most significantly, her head was clearing. Thoughts were flowing in it again, filling it to the brim. Her eyesight had stopped pulsing and all the distress and fear she had felt were showing only now their aftermath.

And speaking of aftermath… The battlefield was a gruesome spectacle, even for someone like her. Even considering that the space was small and amplified the sensation, it was still gruesome. It's a sea of corpses. She quickly counted nine corpses. Makes sense., she considered. He said there were thirteen men here, minus the sentry and the Troll. That is twelve. Three were on the upper walls with me and another nine here. Four of them were mangled and pushed against the wall, their bodies pierced and ripped to shreds. The magic. The ice wave he summoned with the Voice at the beginning. Four men dead meant he had faced against five adversaries. Two of them he had cut down while she wasn't looking. One lay a few feet away from her, with a cut that went from the right collarbone to the left cheek. The fifth one is the one that I killed. The missing hand had been sliced off a few moments before.

She brought her hands down towards her waist, noticing how reluctantly they moved. She felt pain because of the bolt in her flesh, that was true, but she would feel more when she extracted it. She didn't care about consequences. There were no blood vessels that she could accidentally break and even snapped bone would have reformed with time. It was only the anticipation of the pain that made her uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she grabbed the shaft of the short projectile and closed her fingers around it. Pulling gradually, the bolt emerged almost intact from her flesh. The tip mostly broke against my armor. There were no broken pieces left in the wound. As the bolt became a smaller concern, she heard a distinct thought crossing her mind. I messed up. He fixed it, and it nearly cost him his life. She raised her gaze, searching for the Dunmer.

While she was looking away, Azrael had walked towards his sword and picked it up from the ground. He was facing her way. Aside from the cloak, the armor was also damaged on the shoulder and had a larger crack on the thing. The way it was damaged was particular, the result of a single blow. The hammer, she thought. That was also the leg on which he was kneeling down when she had seen him upon landing. He hit him there. It must have hurt. Two of the bandoliers were darker, and one was cut open. He keeps liquids there. If one of the was shattered, the cloth must be wet. That's why they're darker. He looked the same as ever, though. His posture was the same as every moment she saw him and the black void hiding his face prevented her from seeing anything. His hand, though, she noticed. It was quavering.

'What did I tell you?' he growled. Serana wanted to back away upon hearing him, but she could not. There was the wall behind her. 'What did I tell you about doing something stupid?' His voice was frosty, and not in the same way it was always. It was even more hollowed and it vibrated. The depth and the raspy note strengthened that pulse.

She looked back at him, motionless. What do I tell him? Her tongue felt frozen inside her own mouth. She felt as if she could not move it, which was annoying on top of being humiliating. She thought, but there was a storm in her head. She wanted to shrink, to disappear. There was nothing that could have saved her from her own emotion. She could not even name them, because they were so much and so complex. Some were causing more physical discomfort than the bolt in her waist could, and her thoughts were fueling them relentlessly, giving her nowhere to hide from them.

'Vanik has a contraption hung to his belt.' The Dunmer turned towards the arch leading out of the ring, facing away from her. His voice was still cold as ice, but slower, focused. 'You'll be more familiar with it. Free the Priest and charm him.'

She lowered her head, even though he wasn't looking her way anymore. A sneaking feeling was emptying her chest once again leaving a gaping hole of pain and void. He had interrupted the flow of her feelings with his words, but they would arise again. Her throat felt closed, but she didn't need air to speak. 'Where will I find you?' she muttered hesitantly.

'I'll be outside.' He wound his fingers around the grip of longsword and twirled it by his side, grabbing it reversely. He brought it towards his back, hanging it in its place on the series of hooks that made up the back portion of the leather strap that served to hold the bandoliers on the chest. His cloak flapped languidly behind him as he strode away.

A/N: Excuse the gruesomeness, it was all for the sake of proving a point. Jokes aside, I hope you've enjoyed that battle scene. There hadn't been one in a long time.