Sorry for missing the deadline! Been traveling a lot. :) Expect another chapter tomorrow to make up for it.
As soon as Akatosh entered the portal, he knew something was wrong.
Hardly anything was ever right in Oblivion, of course, but a giant metal gate blocked his view of the Deadlands much like the first part of the realm he had entered so long ago in Kvatch. This time, the gate was much larger, and he could only stand and gape as it opened.
He ran forward, ducking through the opening cracks in fear of it closing shut quicker than it would open. However, it only stopped moving when he was inside its walls, and Akatosh had a feeling that meant that this fight was for him, and him only.
He was met by a large ocean of lava, daedric towers built to look like they may crumble on the spot stretching up to meet the smoke covered skies. Something in the haze gleamed through but he didn't stop to peer much more closely, hearing the snarling of monsters already approaching.
He rushed to the tower on the left, taking a chance, and it crumbled apart at his touch. The Breton charged inside, finding a lever on the other sighs of the wall. He pulled it, hopping on a plate lined with spikes that served as a centerpiece to the room, and the platform began a slow ascent up.
He took the time to catch his breath, heart already racing nearly as fast as the adrenaline in his veins. The Breton could hear a constant pounding noise from outside, and he guessed that it was the dreaded Siege Machine. He had heard about it from the Blades, even caught glimpses of its told power in the many ruins engraved along the Deadlands, and he knew it was only a matter of time before it would be able to crash through those gates and escape into Cyrodiil.
But he would stop it. He was a hero, after all. He had his greatsword, lucky Kvatch armor, dagger, extra potions in his spare bag from Martin-
Martin.
He cursed under his breath as the platform reached halfway to the top of the tower. Why had he been so stupid? The heir probably didn't even- he shouldn't have-
"You better be alive when I come back," Akatosh murmured under his breath, dismissing the train of thought altogether. The platform finally reached the top and he jumped off, glancing down at the small group of scamps hissing at him from underneath his feet. "See you guys!" He taunted, picking a door at random and watching as it broke apart at his will.
Akatosh took off across the narrow bridge. He realized with a start that he was going the wrong way, instead heading towards the tower to the east, but a couple of raging Dremora already blocked his path. They must have come from the tower he had meant to go, he noticed, but it would do little to help him now. He didn't have time to fight.
Akatosh continued on to the wrong tower, pushing his way through the cracking entrance. He was met head-on by the teeth of a Clannfear as it latched onto his left boot, tasting only metal. He kicked it away as the larger enemies started rolling in, bursting out of the tower as he had the one before. Akatosh stumbled across another bridge, this time headed the right way, fingers coming up only once to relieve the constant sting on his cheek. His wound seemed to have re-opened from the earlier battle but there was nothing he could do about it, healing Magicks beyond his range of power.
He was able to glance down, higher than he had been before. He could see past the smoke, spying the Siege. It was a large machine with a fury of spikes at its head, shooting balls of fire at his form but missing all the same. The hero pressed on without another glance, finding the last building from across the ocean of flames.
A group of enemies had gathered by the door, awaiting his arrival, and he untangled a burst of lightning from his fingertips. Akatosh was able to push through the mess, attempting to run down the passageway and back to the ground. Getting an idea, he focused a burst of pure cold in his palms, bending down to let the frost cover the bottom of his boots. The Breton couldn't help but yelp in excitement as he began to skate down the ramp, leaving the daedra behind.
He broke the thin layer of ice when he reached the bottom, heading through the doors. The angry mouth of the Siege glinted at him like a large red eye, watching his trek across the platform leading to the Sigil tower. The beams that held the wide bridge were dotted with glowing ruins, but he didn't have time to read words from the beasts that inhabited the world he was destroying.
Akatosh jogged across, getting a decent look at the side mechanism of the Siege. It was an amazing construct but terrifying all the same, and it had gotten closer. "Damn," he murmured, spitting out some blood that had gotten into his mouth, but he didn't stop moving.
He came to a pause when the bridge broke off, an impossibly large gap between his side and the rest of the way across. Akatosh's eyes widened, strands of sweat-soaked brown hair falling in front of his face and making him wish his helmet hadn't fallen off his head at the battle outside for Bruma. It was a lost cause; he simply couldn't make that jump.
He turned around, cursing as the hero saw the group of approaching enemies. It seemed to be a wave of scamps and Clannfear lead by a few high-ranking Dremora, and they would all reach him within a few seconds. Akatosh turned back to face the edge. Maybe, if he managed to jump far enough, he could grab onto the edge...
But what then? He wasn't strong, there was no way he would be able to hoist himself up from there. He would need a spell or a potion-
He nearly cheered, thoughts clinking together to form a tangible idea. Akatosh wasn't the smartest, memory dysfunctional under pressure and ideas sketchy at best, but even a troll would be able to remember a certain strength potion in their bag.
The hero opened up his borrowed and sadly unenchanted pack, digging through. He threw a few glances over his shoulder, managing to reach his prize as they advanced closer. Akatosh tore off the cork of the bottle, downing the potion in one go and through away the glass. Damning it all to Oblivion he readied himself, backing up only to run forward and give more fuel to his leap.
His heart nearly gave out in the few short seconds when there was nothing but him and gravity in the world, and then he hit the bridge. Hard. Akatosh gasped in surprise, strong arms keeping him from falling, and he hoisted himself over the edge before even his mind could fully catch up. The hero stumbled over the bridge, breathing heavily at the crazy wave of fear, barely managing to duck a spray of arrows.
The hero pressed on, throwing a lightning bolt behind his back whenever an arrow came at him. Either they must be terrible shot or his luck might have started to pull through, but he wasn't going to complain. Akatosh jogged until he reached the end of the walkway, coming short at the sight that awaited.
The Sigil tower looked more deadly and pronounced then it had ever before in the shadows of the Siege, the very top of it opened up instead of closed. He could see the glowing power of the stone inside, it's energy shooting up into the flaming skies and causing waves of thunder to roll through the air.
"World Breaker," he whispered, in awe. It was beautiful.
Akatosh furrowed his eyebrows, running to the side. There wasn't a door waiting for him at the bottom, that he could see, but two world towers flanked its sides. He chose one at random, knowing they would both get him to his destination.
The hero went through the rubble of the entrance way, having to pull out his sword for the first time. It was cool to the touch except when it hit the Dremora, fire bursting at its tip. It was simply enough to distract, Akatosh running up the ramp of the tower without a second thought.
Burning corpses met him on the way, and he didn't make the mistake of looking up. He knew where the monsters kept their prizes; stripped and strung up by their entrails. Akatosh shuddered, running to the Magicka essence near the exit, and he took its power before moving to the lever.
Akatosh pulled it down, flinching at the creaking of old gears as they turned. He heard the surrounding gate as it opened outside the exit way and made to move there, being stop by a blood-curdling screech. Akatosh held up his greatsword, coming to meet the beast. He knew the potion had wore off but adrenaline seemed to be enough, and seconds after yielding his finger reached out to send a blast of cold through the monster's heart.
The Dremora crumbled, not yet dead, and he didn't bother to finish it off. The world needed to be saved, after all. He had better things to do then kill senselessly.
Akatosh gulped down an invisibility potion before blasting through the door, running from the clutter of high-ranking Dremora as they rushed towards the commotion. He allowed himself a grin as he jogged to the tower, the grin spreading as it broke away from its frame and he was let in.
The beam of light that came from the top was larger than it had ever been, a huge mass of heat and raw power in the center of the entrance way. It could only mean the Great Sigil stone was a bigger beauty than the ones before it, tucked away at the temple. He readied himself before dashing through, invisibility washing off and revealing his position, but the hero was already through the Dread Halls.
He ran through the hallway, barely avoiding a barrage of traps that fell from the ceiling. Only the scamps from outside awaited him and they hadn't even caught up, so he allowed himself to slow his pace. His lungs burned and his legs ached, but he supposed running around in another dimension as an army hunts you down will do that to you.
Akatosh waited for the flesh-like material of the citadel door to split apart, pushing through the goo before it was fully open. He went up the ramp and out the hall, onto another level.
The level didn't go out into another hall but instead carried him straight up to the top. As he boarded the walkway, rushing past daedra as he went, he couldn't help the insane buzz of excitement. This, this feeling of rushing through the World Breaker, of any other Sigil Keep, miles of enemies behind your back; there was nothing like it, and only him to take it in.
It was a job for the hero of Kvatch, sure, but to him he almost couldn't live without it.
Akatosh jumped the Dremora at the top, unlatching his ebony dagger from inside his boot and burying it into its skull. He took out the knife just as evenly, giving himself a few breaths. There wouldn't have been another way to easily unlock the door without eliminating its guard, anyway.
He kneeled down, pulling the slit of a key from his neck. It slid into the slot by the entrance door at the top, the door to the Sigilium Sanguis splitting down the middle and letting him through. Akatosh dove in, running through the entrance halls and out into the main section.
The Sanguis' roof was exposed to the thundering skies, and Akatosh could feel the heat from this high up beat down on his form. The smell of smoke was almost intoxicating, the Deadlands pulsing lazily from all around, and he could hear the Siege as it clawed its way to Tamriel.
Akatosh ran up the spiraling ramp to the top, getting out his sword at the Dremora that awaited him. He prepared for a strike but they didn't move, staring at him. Frowning, he approached, giving them a wide berth, and they didn't follow.
The hero put his sword away, confused. The group of monsters he had encountered on the way up waited at the base of the Sanguis, but none moved forward. It was as if they were simply watching, as if they knew something he didn't, and they probably did.
Akatosh quickly ascended to the very top, keeping an eye on his entourage, and they kept their eyes on him. He looked at the Great Sigil stone as it shone on its pedestal, brimming to the top with the same energy that gave the portal power. The whole of existence came to a stop as his hand reached out, but it stilled inches away.
He didn't have time to pause, he knew. But Akatosh- he couldn't.
The thunder stopped, skies darkening, and he looked up as ashes started to fall from the heavens above. It was like the snow that falls everyday in Bruma, dotting his hair with white and spiraling to the ground. He held in his breath, and the Deadlands waited.
Why was he still here? There were people outside the portal, counting on him. He had to take the stone.
But if they did, if he did, Oblivion was closed forever. And it was a strange thing that happened when a mortal entered a realm for the gods. When their soul explored its depths time and time again, becoming part of it. Oblivion was not like Tamriel, not in the slightest, not in any of its different sections. When thou enterest into Oblivion, Oblivion entereth into thee.
"I have to take it," he spoke out, voice loud over the silence that had never been. The words weren't in his own tongue but in the language of the world he had intruded on, of the world that had welcomed him without him ever knowing. "I have to."
The daedra only started forward when his hand touched the stone, but it was too late. It was gone from its pedestal, realm exploding into the richest flames, and the hero of Kvatch was pulled out from the chaos.
He heard the Siege Machine as it broke apart over his head before he saw it, a tumbling mass of machinery that arched over his form. He crouched instinctively, pulling his arms over his mouth to block out the dust and smoke.
His hands clutched tightly to the Great Sigil stone, feeling warm and pure in his hold. Snow crunched under his boots, ashes lost in his hair, brown eyes blinking at the brightness of Tamriel.
Martin's voice wafted over the few excited cheers. "Akatosh?" He shouted, sounding worried, and the Breton crawled out. He couldn't help but glance back at the Siege, big mouth of flames now dead, body halfway through the portal. It was almost poetic, gleaming in the sun's light rays and the snow that had started to fall like ashes, but he wasn't one much for poetry.
"Akatosh!" He found himself stumbling back at the hug, armored arms wrapping around his chest. The hero couldn't stop the laugh from escaping his lips, returning the embrace. Martin pulled away in what felt like too soon, facing his friend. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," he promised. "They didn't manage to touch me." Martin brushed a finger against his cheek, the soft glow of Magicka leaving his hand and washing onto his face.
"I don't think I can take away the scar," he admitted, putting down his arm. "But I can at least stop the bleeding. I'm sorry." Akatosh shook his head, dismissing the apology.
"It's fine," he said. "I'm just glad to be back. Look!" He held up the stone, and they both saw as it pulsed and hummed with energy. "We've won!"
"Not yet," Martin reminded, but they shared a smile nonetheless. Akatosh turned away, glancing around. A few lingering soldiers had stayed, some already making the trek back to Bruma, and there was more than a few allies' corpses splayed around with the dead daedra.
"Did Jauffre and Baurus already leave?" He asked. "We should bury the fallen when we have a chance."
"I think the Bruma guard and townsfolk will take care of it," Martin told him. "But we can help after this mess is over." The heir seemed to be avoiding the hero's gaze, and he frowned.
"What's wrong?" He questioned. They had been fine seconds before. "Is it about what I said before I went? Because it's fine if-"
"No!" Martin cut off. "I want to talk to you about that. But," he faltered. "You should take a look around. Near that contraption, at least, but be careful."
Akatosh furrowed his eyebrows, walking clumsily to the machine. He spied the glint of bronze near the first gate's remains, and his jaw dropped. The Breton limped over, coming to a stop in front of the body.
"Baurus!" He yelped, kneeling down. The Redguard was still wearing his helmet, arms spread out on the snow like wings and armor dusted in frost. "How did he-?"
"Same as all the others," Martin answered, walking up behind him. "Protecting the town. Like a hero."
"He is a hero," Akatosh swore. "Is Jauffre the same?"
"I don't know where his body lies, but he was stuck down fighting." Akatosh scrunched up his features, holding back the tears.
"But we were winning," he muttered. "They were supposed to live!" He looked up at his closest friend, golden armor shining on his chest. "What do we do?"
"We keep fighting," Martin told him. "For them." Akatosh shook his head.
"How are we supposed to? We need Jauffre, and Baurus, and-" he broke off. "This is terrible. I should have been quicker."
"There was nothing you could do, and I mean that when I say it," Martin told him. "We won a great victory today. We now have the means to recover the Amulet of Kings from Mankar Camoran."
"Just like your father asked," he murmured.
"I don't know a thing about my father," Martin told him. "But if I was him, I would be proud of myself for choosing such a righteous hero."
Akatosh looked up. "You think so?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "I do." He helped his friend up, both of them on their feet, alone on the broken battle ground. "We need to act quickly. Camoran will not take long to recognize his danger."
"How long do we have, you think?"
"I have no idea," Martin admitted. "But the portal closes behind you. Anything you need, bring, and anything you need done? Finish it."
"I'm all good," he promised. "But what next?"
"I'll have to prepare the ritual," Martin said. "I'll have it ready in the Great Hall."
"Okay," he nodded. "Wait for me there." He left without a farewell, making the jog back to Bruma to ask if he could help bury his friends.
This was actually what I had originally written for the scene at the bridge but I had to change it around. Extra read?
He turned around, cursing as the hero saw the group of approaching enemies. It seemed to be a wave of scamps and Clannfear lead by a few high-ranking Dremora, and they would all reach him within a few seconds. Damning it all to Oblivion he turned, backing up only to run forward and give more fuel to his leap.
His stomach hit the side of the bridge hard, arms coming up seemingly on their own as his mind blanked out. His elbows held up his scrawny form on the edge of death, trembling already with exhaustion. Akatosh's legs kicked and swung meaninglessly, lacking the strength to pull himself up, fingers clawing at the stone.
He gasped in fear as he began to slide down, bashing his chin on the bridge in a desperate attempt to keep still. His skin cracked open but he didn't so much as blink at the cut, already having one hell of a problem to deal with.
His bag thwacked against his thigh as he tried once more to hoist himself up, and Akatosh stilled. He was a mage, after all, and a weak fighter such as he had no choice but to think with his mind. Although his mind was sometimes as lacking as his strength and he definitely had some short-term memory issues, even a troll would find room to remember the strength potion tucked inside his bag.
Akatosh nearly passed out from relief, but nearly was the keyword and he managed to hold on. The stress was overwhelming, and the hero was already at his breaking point. Part of the reason he had forgotten the Amulet so long ago was because of the constant pressure he had been under, reducing his memory to shreds and destroying his focus. Under this level of anxiety he could barely form a single thought, mind a complete ruin.
What was he supposed to do? He couldn't let go of the bridge, not even spare a single hand, and it would take longer than he had to find that potion. Akatosh was dragged from his motion of thought as a fire ball from one of the atronachs behind broke into his body, hitting his back and burning against the metal. It was enough to startle him, remind him of the enemies, and his arms slipped.
Only the barest end of his back seemed to touch the lava before a sudden wave of Magicka forced its way out of his hands, the intense sensation of heat being battled by an instinctive explosion of ice all around his form. He found himself being flung up in a show of steam, like a geyser as it blows up in the air, hitting the side of the bridge and tumbling over its edge and onto the platform.
Akatosh blacked out for a few seconds, being forced back into consciousness just as quickly. He gaped at the fire-covered skies, silence turning into a scream. His back burned from where the lava had met the steel of his armor, and the metal was still melting away his skin.
Akatosh tore his completely ruined cuirass off, unable to stop from shouting out as the armor tried to stick to his skin. He felt almost numb with white-hot pain, and the hero blacked out again when it was finally off. When he opened back his eyes he was facing the other side of the bridge where he had come from, and he felt a prick of relief when he saw the eruption of lava had scared off his entourage for the time being.
His bag had landed some feet away and he dove towards it, dumping out its contents. Akatosh downed every healing potion he could find, and Martin had packed over twenty of the small things. His throat burned and his head pounded when he had drank them all but he couldn't feel the pain, merely knowing the slight sting on his back.
The hero consumed his only strength potion with the bunch, resisting the urge to throw up. Even though it had in reality only been a few minutes since he had leaped it felt like ages, and he didn't have any time to stop. His attackers had already started to gather once more on the other side, leaving him with no other choice but to run.
It seemed like he never had much of a choice, and today wasn't any different.