I never could figure out a good name for Miraak's catgirl...

Blood of the Dragon Part II

Felwinter roared. The ground trembled, the trees shook, birds took to the skies in panic. The sound that left his mouth thundered as if the gods had taken the world in their hands and were trying to shake it apart. The two housecarls nearly dropped their weapons just to shield their ears in surprise and pain.

Just as suddenly as he began, he stopped. Felwinter's head lowered until his pale white eyes locked back onto the Khajiit. His armored hands were balled into fists, his shoulders rose and fell with each heaving breath he took. Soft plumes of white smoke could be seen escaping the corners of Felwinter's mouth with each heavy exhale, though it was not so cold where they were. The man had only looked like a man but his movements were that of something worse than an animal. More dangerous, more unpredictable. The cultist refused to take her eyes off of him. His housecarls wouldn't as well.

Still, without a word from his mouth, Felwinter began to move. He advanced on the Khajiit, each step deliberate, each footfall heavy and forceful, his gait never rising above the speed of a slow walk, as if he were trudging through a knee-high field of snow.

The Khajiit snarled, took one step back and stopped. Apprehension gripped her tightly but she refused to let it drag her down. She filled her lungs with cool air and then slowly let it flow from her mouth, grounding herself, steadying her nerves.

Then she sucked it in again, faster this time, and Shouted. Marked for Death, the same three words she had been gifted and had used to incapacitate him the first time traveled as a wave of sound and power over the expanse of sand and stone separating her from the Dragonborn. He did nothing to move out of its path and it struck him hard, encasing his body in an envelope of hazy, violet light that would sap his strength until he could no longer stand and breathe at the same time.

The light faded and Felwinter never left his feet. He kept advancing showing no sign that her attack had taken effect; no change in his posture or shift in his expression. The Dragonborn kept powering forward, one foot in front of the other.

The Khajiit blinked only once. Then she threw her free hand out, sending a wave of invisible wind to knock him back, as it had before. With dizzying speed, it traveled, kicking up a wave of sand and dust. It connected, like a wave of the sea against a mighty, encroaching glacier. It had just as much of an effect. She called on more magic from her dwindling resources, threw out another blast of force, hit him again. And then again and again, her teeth baring more with each strike. It was all for naught. One struck his chest and only slowed his step. One struck his foot and just barely managed to shift it out of place. Another struck his shoulder and swept past when he turned. Another struck him square in the face and his head jerked as if he had been flicked. The Dragonborn kept moving forward, kept advancing on the Khajiit, one drawn out step after the other.

This wasn't an onslaught she could maintain. If he would not bend, she decided, then he would burn. The Khajiit returned her blade to the scabbard at her waist. She put her hands together and with no small amount of effort, called upon as much magic as she could. She forced it to twist, to take the shape she wanted it to while remaining caged within her fingers. It maintained the shape of a small, shimmering sphere but grew in strength as she fed the spell all the power she could afford. The Dragonborn paid it little mind, as he seemed to everything else that had been thrown at him.

The spell in her hands was full to the point of bursting. Humming, trembling as the energy within fought her will for release. She would give it. With a yell, the Khajiit drew her arm back and with all her strength, she launched it, sending the spell straight at the Dragonborn.

It traveled the expanse of the battlefield with dizzying speed. He seemed to be making no attempt to defend himself or even move out of its path, even as one of the Nords behind him screamed at him to do so. By the time her words reached their ears, it was too late. The Khajiit's flame spell was too close. The result was jarring. It rocked the earth, kicking dirt and ash into the air and let out a sound that would have drowned out the Dragonborn's inhuman roar.

Even from as far away as she was the heat, light and wind were palpable. The Khajiit put her arms in front of her face, shielding her face from the blast as the Dragonborn was engulfed in roaring fire. She heard the Nords scream his name, saw the looks of abject horror on their faces as they watched the bright flames spring high into the air and despite her exhaustion, despite her apprehension, the Khajiit's lips twisted into a cruel and victorious grin.

Then, the flames began to move, as if the wind had taken hold of it. From their height to their base, they began to swirl and whip around in great arcs. They moved faster and faster, shrinking and condensing, falling into themselves rather than continuing skyward. The Khajiit watched on as the great blaze fell to the size of a bonfire and only continued to fall smaller. So did the smile on the Khajiit's lips. A fang-bearing snarl replaced it.

Now a black silhouette could be seen at the explosion's center. The Dragonborn was no longer moving and as the flames withered and dimmed, he could be seen more and more clearly. His back had straightened, his mouth had closed and his arm, still sheathed in that burning orange light, had been raised with its hand outstretched. The last of the Khajiit's magic dissipated with a crisp snap and the only sign that remained was a small trail of black, acrid smoke, rising from the Dragonborn's palm.

He absorbed it.

Damnable Breton half-breed.

The Khajiit ripped her blades out again and ignoring the pit growing in her belly, she watched, waiting for him to begin approaching again.

He didn't. This time, it was the Dragonborn Shouted. She Shouted as well. Whirlwind Sprint moved her rightwards across the sand so quickly, she lost her footing and fell. The speeding ball of fire from Felwinter's mouth missed her by less than a hair, crossing the expansive distance between them in mere half-seconds. It collided with the trees behind her and the resulting explosion made her own look like a weak spark. Long, thick, sturdy trunks blew apart on contact, dissolving instantly into ash. Those that were avoided by the flames were still uprooted by the force of the impact. The explosion felled them, sending even more birds fleeing into the sky.

The Khajiit dared a look back. Her ears were ringing, her skin tingling from the power and the horror. Horror at the destruction he had just caused, at how little effort it would take him to do it again and when she turned back, it was just a heartbeat before it was too late.

The Dragonborn was now in front of her. He had crossed the vast distance between them in the few seconds she had made the mistake of taking her eyes off of him and he had done so without spell or sound. His massive frame loomed over her head, blot out the sun, his armored hand was held high. Her blade rose on instinct and caught the hand, just barely managing to stop him from taking hold of her head. The instant after she did was agony; so much so, she was sure her spine would not last the struggle.

The Dragonborn pushed against her and it was all she could do to not buckle under the immense, bone-crushing strain. Up close now, she noticed that his eyes were not entirely blank, as she had believed but that the pupils had shrunken so much, they were like little dots in a sew of white.

He threw his arms outwards, sending her sliding back. Felwinter charged at her before she could recover and slammed his shoulder into her side. A shriek of pain escaped her before she could clamp shut her jaw. She kept rolling, even as her ribs stabbed into her with every movement. He only pursued.

The Khajiit kicked off the ground and struck out, wildly. She caught the Dragonborn in the torso with her dagger. His arm swiped at her but she managed to avoid it, bringing her sword down to strike again at his torso. He only tried to return the favor. The man was like a stormcloud, raining down blow after thundering blow in response to her attacks. Each had to be avoided. Each would surely kill her if it were not.

Bending away from another skull-crushing swipe, the Khajiit darted forward. Her dagger swiped out and caught him on the side of the head, cutting a stripe across his cheek, red and weeping. Her success was short-lived and prompted a severe response. The Dragonborn recovered, faster than he ever had before, and lashed out wildly, catching her square in the shoulder.

She heard the joint crack, followed by sharp, stabbing pain and another scream escaped her. The single blow lifted her feet from the ground. She went tumbling away from him, the ground striking her ruined shoulder every time she skidded across it. The Dragonborn continued after her, moving so quickly across the sand, a plume of it kicked up behind him.

As soon as he was close again, she cast. Bending the magic she let out from her still working arm, she caught hold of the Dragonborn. She could not hold him in place but she could turn his momentum against him. He went sailing in an arc over her body, so quickly, she felt the wind of it run across her face. It was the first time she had managed to get him off his feet since his return. Now he was tumbling, rolling across the ground and towards a cliffside overlooking the snowdrifts and icy rivers below.

He would recover in a second. He would cross the distance back to her in less time than that. The Khajiit was already on her feet, half-running, half-limping to where her sword had fallen, her broken arm dangling uselessly at her side. For just a second, her eyes took in the two Nords still near the temple, the third who joined them, their refusal to come any closer.

The Khajiit ripped the blade from the sand, turned back and caught the Dragonborn just before he could grab at her again. Her sword clashed with his clawed, armored hands and it took every bit of strength she still had not to be overtaken by the impact.

He struck out at her again and again, no longer interested in remaining on the defensive. The Khajiit struggled to deflect blow after blow from his arms. It was not lost on her that he had never once taken up his sword again. Neither was it lost on her that he didn't need it to be more than a match for her.

She caught him again and locked her blade with his outstretched hands. The pointed tips of his fingers clattered gently against the metal. His eyes bore into her own, no sign of exertion or exhaustion within them. She doubted he could say the same. She no longer had the fortitude to hide how she was feeling.

With a roar, the Khajiit threw her blade outwards, knocking his hand away. When the inevitable returning strike came, she swung her weapon back to meet it.

They did meet. Her steel, his plate. Her blade and his limb. Their weapons of choice clashed hard against each other.

And her sword lost.

The blade gave out a sharp, screeching ring before it snapped in two. The blade sliced across her cheek as it went spinning past her head. She should have felt pain, in her face, her sword wrist, everywhere. And maybe she did. But horror overpowered it all. Horror and the gut-twisting panic that broke through her floodgates and began to drown her in her own mind.

The world moved in slow-motion. The Dragonborn did not.

His arm shot downwards and then jammed forward. Breath left her as his hand struck her in the stomach and an overwhelming amount of pressure suddenly appeared in her torso. Pressure that had her eyes bulging and her mouth spewing air and spitting in shock. He was so close to her now. She could feel his breath leaving his nose, dancing across her skin. The Khajiit grit her teeth and tried to move. Bring up her hand, push a clawed finger into one of his eyes. Blind him. Hurt him in any way she could. She couldn't. All strength had left them. Then her legs, then her neck. Her head fell down…

She would have screamed. The Khajiit wanted to scream. She could no longer do that either. The Dragonborn's clawed hand had struck her in the stomach and pushed; through her leather, through her cloth, through her flesh and muscle and his thick, armor-laden arm behind it had followed through. She could feel the pressure in the front. She could feel his wrist twitching in her back.

The Dragonborn, without a sound, brought his other hand up to her face, over her bulging eyes, her gaping, gasping mouth. Slowly, he pushed her, sliding out of her the arm that had impaled her. The bones of her ribs tried to cage him in. Her seeping lifeblood relieved the friction.

When he released her, she fell. She could not remember if she hit the ground. She could not remember how she got to where she was or even how she woke up that morning. Black spots gathered, spreading over every facet of her mind, growing further and further in size and number.

The Khajiit's sight was the last thing to leave her and before it did, it was filled with nothing else but the sight of him. The Dragonborn, standing tall over her, drenched in her blood, bone and viscera from the tip of his fingers to his elbow.

The familiar orange light that adorned his arms. The tiny eyes lost in a sea of white.

Then even that went black as well.

Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes