The mer within Blackreach fell to their knees, desperately trying to cover their ears against the painful roar.

With his arms shaking and his head thrown back, Therion's cry finally transformed into heavy, ragged breaths. Planting one foot violently on the ground, the dragon souls he was absorbing froze in mid-air. The brilliant, white wind hung suspended around him in an aura, quietly chanting words in the dragon tongue, tossing his gold hair in its wake.

His amber eyes glowed with an ethereal light as he stalked across the platform, with molten cracks forming in the stonework beneath each step.

Therion and Radac's eyes met and the Ascendant fell back several steps in awe. The Dragonborn's gaze was as feral as his thoughts, reduced to torrential rage and torment.

Thalmor soldiers sprang to their feet, bravely regrouping and forming a defensive line. Swords drawn, they rushed Therion.

The Dragonborn stared through them with cold indifference.

"FUSK!" The word for throw left his lips as the vague idea formed in his mind.

The pillar lying atop Talamagne launched forward, slamming into the soldiers and crushing them with a terrible crunch, leaving Therion's path to Radac clear. Through it all, his gaze never faltered from Radac's bewildered eyes.

Shred.

"TROF!"

Radac staggered back as deep claw-shaped marks ripped across his chest. Therion's eyes narrowed to slits as he watched the immortal's body quickly heal, leaving no trace of the wounds.

Tear. "LUV!"

Rip. "VAAZ!"

Shred. "TROF!"

Long marks raked across Radac's red robes in jagged, criss-crossing patterns. Staggering back under the barrage, he looked at Therion warily, uncertain if he wanted to engage him.

The Thalmor leader ordered his remaining mages to open a portal as he raised his hands, slamming a bright ward down on Therion. Using all of his might, he was relieved to see Therion's knee finally begin to bend under the crushing attack, causing Therion to pause in his steps, before forcing him to break his wild gaze away from Radac.

Enraged, the Dragonborn snapped his head back to glare at the barrier.

SHATTER, DESTROY. The vague thoughts were wild and senseless.

"KREN AL!" he bellowed into the air.

Eyes wide, Radac watched his gold ward fracture, before shattering into small bursts of light sent hurdling toward him, forcing him to clutch his head as his magic backfired. He only just barely managed to catch sight of Therion between his fingers, as the Dragonborn shrugged off the barrier with a bestial snarl, before advancing toward him once more.

His portal to Alinor nearly open, Radac retreated to stand safely beside it and behind the dark robed Mor Mallari.

The mages stepped forward, channeling spells of fire, ice, and lightning in unison.

Therion didn't flinch, his predatory expression ever fixated on Radac as he vanished beneath the barrage of spells. After the mages had thoroughly burnt, shocked, and frozen Therion's last known location, they cautiously lowered their hands, watching intently as the smoke cleared.

After a tense moment, they drew in a breath as a white aura emerged. Therion appeared unharmed, chanting, "UNVIIG."

They hastily resumed their spellcasting, but every one of was deflected effortlessly as the ominous figure drew ever closer.

"What in Oblivion..." one mage whispered, a shiver racing across their spine as they met Therion's terrifying gaze. The Dragonborn looked through them as though they were made of glass, barely noticing their presence.

Die.

"DIR."

At his command, the line of mers' eyes widened drastically. Each of the Mor Mallari collapsed lifelessly on the ground.

The remaining Thalmor quickly dropped their weapons, falling back with terrified whispers, with Auriel's name on their lips imploring protection.

Radac's portal finally opened, and with a nervous glance back at Therion, he turned and ran.

"TIID DIIN."

Radac's view of Alinor's glittering throne room was suddenly obscured by scarred, gold flesh as Therion impossibly appeared, blocking his path to the portal.

Essence, mortal, tear.

"RII JOOR VAAZ!"

Radac looked at him in confusion as nothing happened.

"FAAZ!"

The word evoked a feeling Radac had all but forgotten as for the first time in over a millennia, he felt pain. Grabbing his chest, his face was contorted by the terrible and unfamiliar sensation as he staggered on his feet.

"AUS!"

His pain intensified by tenfold at the word. Surprise colored his face as he heard screaming and realized that he was the source.

"VAARNUFAAZ!"

Therion's savage cries were inescapable, each word increasing his pain greater than the last. They shouts echoed in his ears, sounding more beast than mer. The onslaught continued mercilessly, until he felt himself being brutally thrown on the ground beside the dead Nord.

"DRUN MOK RIGIR!" Therion snarled.

At Radac's blank expression, he shook his head in frustration.

With a look of painstaking concentration, he growled, enunciating each word.

"BRING. HIM. BACK."

The way he spoke was odd, every word sounding strange and unfamiliar to his tongue, as though he could barely grasp how to speak Tamrielic.

The Ascendant swayed and staggered, before rising to his full height in a display of defiance.

"You cannot command me!" he snapped, replacing his mounting fear with anger. "I am eternal! You are enslaved to me!" Radac stared into Therion's glowing eyes and pitiless gaze, hearing the sounds of the dragon tongue whispering aura. "What are you?!" he snarled in bewilderment.

Therion regarded him with frigid, glazed eyes, making Radac wonder if he could understand him.

The Dragonborn craned his head to the side, as though considering. The gesture looked odd and unnatural on him, and his movements looked as though he were experimenting, uncertain of his body.

"I will not raise this human," Radac said with contempt.

Therion's upper lip curled, whether in understanding or in response to his tone, he was unsure.

"Do your worst," Radac sneered, splaying his hands in a welcoming gesture. "Your precious Nord," he said with disgust, "is dead. So do as you will, but there is nothing you can do to me that will change that fact," Radac said with a victorious smile.

There was a tiny flicker in Therion's expression. A hint of his usual bravado, which made Radac's gut sink with foreboding. The sinister look in Therion's glowing eyes intensified his dread.

Rend! "KRUZ!"

Devour! "DU!"

Soul! "Sil!"

The words struck Radac making him shudder. A terrifying feeling of helplessness and mortality filled his bones. From nowhere, a white wind sprang to life around him, whipping in all directions.

A scream of surprise and agony tore from his throat as his body began to glow, parts of his skin started disintegrating.

"NO!" he cried in disbelief, looking at his arms. "I AM IMMORTAL!"

Therion held out his hand, watching Radac burn away with dispassionate eyes, the mer's essence gathering into a gold orb at the center of his palm. Radac disappeared in one final scream, leaving a skeleton behind.

The gold soul shined in Therion's hand as he closed his fingers into a fist around it, absorbing it into his body.

"What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to honored dead?"

Tsun stepped down from the bridge of whalebone to stand before the Nord in blue robes. Standing at twice his height, the God of Trials towered over him as he did all men. The stranger took note of the ancient axe strapped across his bare back, nearly as large as himself.

"I seek entrance to the Hall of Valor," he replied, looking at the building over the bridge.

"By what right do you request entry?" Tsun asked him, his challenge ringing across the landscape of otherworldly beauty.

"By right of cleverness and wit," the Nord replied proudly without hesitation, sea green eyes challenging him to disagree. "I was High Wizard of Skyrim. A scholar and seeker of knowledge."

"Well met, mage of Skyrim," Tsun said in a welcoming voice, his bearing suddenly friendly. "The Nords may have forgotten their forefathers' respect for the Clever Craft, but your comrades throng this hall. Here in Shor's house we honor it still."

The wizard seemed surprised by his reply as he was left momentarily speechless, a mix of emotions passing across his face.

"By decree of Shor none may pass this perilous bridge," Tsun continued, flexing the powerful muscles of his broad chest, "'till I judge them worthy by the warrior's test."

Reaching over his shoulder he hefted the ancient axe in his hands, grinning with anticipation. The mage's hands lit up with flame, casting a deep red glow across his shrouded face as he dropped into a ready stance.

A sudden gold light made them pause. The mage shielded his eyes from the brilliance which surrounded him as he heard Tsun's deep, resounding chuckle.

"Till next time, son of Skyrim," he said, putting away his axe. "The hero of the dragon blood calls. Eagerly shall I await our battle for another day."

Farengar opened his eyes, staring into light as bright as the sun. Gasping, he filled his lungs with air and sat up, heart beating wildly in his chest. Mind racing, he looked around in confusion. His thoughts were muddled and confused, and he felt as if he'd been abruptly awoken from a deep sleep.

He found Talamagne smiling at him, the lanky wizard looking extremely pale. Ondolemar spared him a curious look, but seemed more focused on holding onto his husband as though he were made of glass. As the former justicar channeled a continuous stream of healing magic into Talamagne, he looked uncertainly at Therion.

Still in a daze, Farengar looked up at the elf, confused by his appearance as much as he was by everything else.

Groaning, Farengar shook his head, trying to make sense of everything.

"Los hi bek?" Therion asked in flawless dovahzul, further confusing the Nord.

"I... am fine. I think," Farengar answered, glancing at Talamagne and Ondolemar for answers.

"Can you understand him?" Talamagne asked eagerly, sitting up. Wincing, he touched his head and immediately laid back against Ondolemar once more, eyes shut tight in pain. "We've been unable to understand a word since he got like this," Talamagne mumbled through grit teeth as Ondolemar intensified his healing magic with a thin frown.

"Yes, I understand him. He's speaking the dragon tongue," Farengar said, climbing to his feet.

"Nid fen ahraan hi einzuk," Therion said solemnly, holding his gaze.

"What did he say?" Talamagne asked curiously, his words a slurring slightly.

"That nothing would hurt me again," Farengar muttered looking troubled. Placing a hand on his robes, he traced a finger through the blood stained hole at his chest and across a thin scar. "Did I die?" he asked slowly, a disturbed look on his face.

Therion's warm hand on his cheek made him look up at the Altmer. All at once the matter of his death seemed a distant concern, as he examined the Dragonborn's strange expression and glowing eyes.

"What's happened to you?" Farengar asked in bewilderment, searching his face and finding only faint traces that were distinctly Therion beneath a mask that was distinctly not.

"Short version," Ondolemar said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he paused his healing efforts. "You broke the artifact and released over a hundred dragon souls or so, according to Talamagne. He was counting when the Thalmor harvested them. My assumption is they tried to flood Therion all at once, and well..." he raised a hand, indicating the glowing Dragonborn. "After that he hunted down Radac and... ate his soul, perhaps? I'm a bit hazy on the details, but the bastard is a skeleton and apparently my cousin is now capable of resurrecting the dead. And could probably heal his cousin-in-law with nary a thought, if he'd be so inclined," Ondolemar said sharply looking at Therion who appeared to either not hear him or ignore him.

"Therion, vahraan Talamagne," Farengar said thoughtfully, nodding toward the tall elf.

After tilting his head in consideration, Therion placed a hand over Talamagne, gold light illuminating his hand. When he removed it, Talamagne opened his eyes and sat up, the deathly pallor of his skin gone.

Ondolemar carefully examined Talamagne, sighing with relief.

Therion returned to Farengar, gathering him into a tight, possessive embrace, murmuring dovahzul in whispers.

"So, my cousin thinks he's a dragon?" Ondolemar asked uncertainty, watching Farengar squirm in his grasp, uncomfortable at the sudden display of affection.

"RAH," Therion said, making Ondolemar jump at the sudden, reverberating word.

"God," Farengar supplied wryly with a sigh. "Your cousin believes he's a dragon god."

"Well," Talamagne smirked, looking at Therion's strange glow and the breadth of destruction around him, "I for one, am inclined to believe him."

"Would the dragon god kindly release me?" Farengar said with irritation, trying to get out of Therion's arms.

"Nid," Therion said, holding him tighter.

"Well, we don't need a translation for that one," Talamagne chuckled. "Is he capable of resurrecting the Psijics?"

Farengar grunted several protests in dovahzul requesting Therion to let go before giving up and relaying the question.

"Zu'u ulaak nid fah fahliil ahrk muz," Therion muttered indifferently, removing Farengar's hood and curling his fingers in his hair.

"That was a lot of words and very little resurrecting," Ondolemar said, drumming his fingers, thoughtfully watching his cousin.

"Yes, this is becoming more worrisome than entertaining by the second," Talamagne said, frowning down at Therion. "We need to find a way to fix him. What did he say, Farengar?"

"That he cares nothing for elves and men," Farengar growled, giving Therion a disapproving look.

"That certainly sounds like dragon reasoning," Talamagne said, shaking his head in disappointment. "I do hope this isn't permanent," he added, looking sadly at Therion.

"Perhaps we could- Do you mind?!" Farengar snarled indignantly, trying to pry Therion off as he nuzzled his face, inhaling deeply beside his ear as though he were drinking in his scent. "You are not a dragon!"

Talamagne poorly stifled a laugh in a fake cough, before doing his best to look suddenly fascinated by the mushrooms overhead.

"Go easy on him," Ondolemar said looking sympathetically at his cousin. "He lost it when you died, Farengar. He's clearly still out of his head from it."

Farengar sighed, looking up at the powerful elf. It was hard to imagine Therion, of all people, as bewildered or lost, least of all when he was literally glowing with incredible power. He thought back to the wild eyed Dragonborn he had pinned so long ago at Solitude's inn, recalling that even Therion had his limits. Stifling his protests for the elf's benefit, he grudgingly accepted the affectionate attention.

"Right," Ondolemar said. "Now tell him he's not a god and to get to work raising these poor mer from the dead."

"I think," Farengar said, watching Talamagne smirk at the comment, "I'd have greater success, if I did not express it all in one sentence. Put that way, I have a difficult time believing it myself." Turning to Therion he repeated his question, asking if he could return the monks to life. "Vis hi drun faal Psijics rigir?"

"Geh," Therion replied disinterestedly.

"He can, but he's being stubborn," Farengar explained.

"Well, if we cannot appeal to Therion, can we appeal to his, ah, dragon nature?" Talamagne asked. "At the moment he seems to be the personification of a hundred dragons, give or take."

Farengar mulled over the idea for a moment. Using his most persuasive tone, which he normally reserved for the tedious occasions on which he had to engage politicians and dignitaries, he said, "Faal Psijic Order los suleykaar." The word for 'power' had an immediate effect, catching Therion's interest. "Nust los hin grah-zeymahzin. Voth niin hi los muliik."

The Psijic Order is powerful. They are your allies. With them you are stronger. He reflected on his words, double checking his translation.

A deep rumbling sound of consideration came from Therion's chest.

"Nii huvut pah do dii mul," he said uncertainly. "Zu'u fen kos gesahlo."

"It requires all of my strength," Farengar translated for the Altmer. "I will be weakened."

Ondolemar placed a hand on Therion's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

Talamagne nodded his support.

"Mu fen jaaril hi. We will protect you," Farengar promised.

The Dragonborn let out a heavy sigh. Closing his eyes, he furrowed his brow in concentration. The aura of souls around him whipped up in a sudden gale of wind, before suddenly branching off in numerous directions, the white orbs each finding a Psijic to hover over. One by one, lights drifted down like glowing snow, settling onto the monks and absorbing into their bodies, followed by a sudden gold light flaring in every direction, blinding the three men.

Farengar felt Therion sag and quickly supported his weight as the elf slumped.

When the after images finally faded and he could see once more, he found Therion was no longer glowing. His whispering aura had gone and his hair was once again obeying the whims of gravity.

The Psijic Monks stirred one by one, rising to their feet with shared looks of confusion.

Quaranir looked the most surprised, as he found himself surrounded by his brethren. Particularly Nerien. The monk lay over him, having tried to protect him to the very end. He looked at Nerien with relief and gratitude as the mer sat up.

With a deep throated groan, Therion raised his head and opened his eyes, looking down at Farengar.

The mage started as he found a tender hand on his cheek.

"I killed you…" Therion said in a choked whisper.

Farengar's heart ached at the look of devastation on his face.

Smiling, Farengar wiped away a tear rolling down his cheek.

"You tried," the mage said with a gentle chuckle. "But I was determined to collect on our bet as to which of us would die first. I win."

Despite his best efforts not to, Therion couldn't resist laughing.

Wrapping Farengar up in his arms, he kissed him deeply, the Nord's warm lips sending a peaceful wave throughout his body.