When Shez came face to face with the high chancellor of the Empire's Elder Council, she wasn't expecting to be bombarded with so much cleavage. That said, she certainly wasn't complaining.
"Hello my darlings!" greeted High Chancellor Casagranda. "I've been expecting you. The full council has already convened and given their approval for your coronation, provided the proper evidence, of course. You know what they say after all, the Crest chooses the Emperor. So? Who's the lucky heir? Is it the one with the axe?"
"I am the last heir," declared Byleth, stepping forward.
Manuela looked her over. "Oh my, so young, yet so strong, and with such appreciable assets as well. And yes, that is indeed the Crest of Flames resting around your neck." She clapped in delight. "Wonderful! Simply marvelous!"
"Then you accept my claim to the throne," stated the blunette.
"Naturally, my dear. Oh, but, just between you and me, it's such a drab old piece of furniture. I suggest making your first act as Empress be the requisition of a new throne, one with softer cushions sewn with fine silks imported from Morrowind. Trust me, your cheeks will thank me later."
As everyone digested that latest statement, Shez finally said what they were all thinking. "I have to admit, you're not at all what I expected from such an important politician."
"Oh I get that all the time," waved off Manuela. "I wear many hats. High Chancellor of the Elder Council is just one of them. I'm also a songstress, a physician…" Her eyes swept over the group, landing on Jeralt. "And available~!" she finished, sending the older man a wink.
Jeralt looked deeply uncomfortable. "Please just crown my daughter so we can relight the Dragonfires," he all but begged.
A loud boom thundered throughout the Imperial City, the earth quaking beneath their feet as a pervasive sensation of wrongness struck their very souls. Cracks began to form in the ancient stone atrium they stood in, and a stained-glass window high above shattered from the strain. Shards of glass rained down upon them, their absence revealing the sky, the usual blue tranquility twisted into a roiling nightmare of bleeding crimson.
There was no doubt in anyone's mind what had transpired. Oblivion had come to Tamriel.
"We're too late," uttered Lysithea, "The Imperial City can't survive an assault like this."
"We will overcome," insisted Edelgard, axe in hand. "Though the situation is far from ideal, we've dealt with Oblivion Gates before. We can stop it."
But the magical prodigy shook her head. "Can't you feel the magic in the air? It's more than just one gate this time. There's… dozens. They're smaller than what we've faced before, but every single one of them is disgorging scores of daedra into Tamriel. Nemesis is throwing every pawn he has at us."
"Then we just have to tackle them all at once," chimed in Shez, snapping her swords out.
"The Dragonfires," stated Byleth, "If we light the Dragonfires we can close all the gates and stop the invasion."
"I mean… theoretically, yes, that should work…"
"Then let's get going," decided Jeralt. He turned to Manuela. "Chancellor, the Empress is going to the Temple of the One. She'll require an escort."
"Of course." She looked round to the guardsmen assigned to the chamber, most of them still shell-shocked from the rapid deterioration of reality. "Sentinels of the Empire!" she called out with authority, "Form up and protect Her Majesty! We march for the Temple of the One!"
The various soldiers began marching over to create a column, grateful for a firm direction to follow. But their formation was never completed.
The chamber floor exploded open, a burst of magical force blasting the defenders back as an Oblivion Gate manifested in the forum of the Elder Council. Panic and terror seized those unlucky enough to be present, and chaos erupted as dremora poured forth.
Byleth and Shez reacted first, the pair of mercenaries leaping into the fray. The first dremora to cross over were cut down ingloriously, but their replacements were as implacable as they were endless.
"Wait, don't get distracted!" called Lysithea, "We need to get to the Temple!"
"But what about the people here?" shouted Shez as she slashed a dremora across the chest with Ratslayer. She cut off its agonized wail with a stab to the throat.
"Worry not about the people of the forum," declared Manuela as she stepped up. "As High Chancellor of the Elder Council, they are under my protection." She raised a hand to the sky, calling forth several bolts of lightning to obliterate the invaders.
Shez looked over the carnage with wide eyes. "Damn, lady. Didn't expect that from you either."
"Being a sorcerer of some modest accomplishment is yet another hat I wear," demurred Manuela humbly. "But I do believe I wear it well."
"I could've done that too if I wanted," muttered Lysithea.
"We'll leave this to you then," nodded Byleth. "Let's get to the Temple of the One."
Emerging onto the grounds surrounding the Imperial Palace, they were attacked once again. Under a blood red sky, battered blades clashed against daedric claws as the new Empress and her entourage fought against the forces of three Oblivion Gates that attempted to entrap them.
Edelgard removed her axe from the pulped head of a spider daedra, raising her shield to take the brunt of a storm atronach's lightning bolt. "We need to get by this blockade!"
"We don't have an opening!" retorted Shez with frustration, cleaving through two clannfears in rapid succession. "And we can't make one with these gates in the way!"
"A small group could pass by if a large enough force kept us the defense," suggested Byleth calmly as she gutted a daedroth.
Lysithea shot off another bolt of frost. "But what if you get attacked elsewhere? Their numbers are endless!"
"That's a risk we'll have to take," thundered Jeralt. "You kids go! I'll hold here with the guards!"
"We'll be back," promised Byleth. "Shez, please clear us a path."
Regrouping with her companions, the mercenary with two swords braced herself for the challenge. She breathed deeply, trying to predict the movements of the oncoming horde and clear away just enough of them for the others to make it through. She watched as a guard engaged a flame atronach, watched as a bolt of frost finished a clannfear, watched as an arrow plunged deep into a dremora's eye.
She called over her shoulder, "Stay alive, old man!" And then she charged.
A lightning quick blur of violet violence, Shez parted the sea of daedra with reckless abandon, scything through the chafe and not looking back. In her wake was Byleth, the Empress moving with her, unreachable by the claws and jaws of the otherworldly invaders. Bringing up the rear were Lysithea and Edelgard, the former casting charms of haste to make up for her shorter stature and lesser athleticism, the latter slamming her axe into enemy kneecaps to hinder the reformation of their ranks.
Although some daedra gave chase, the quartet managed to slip away. And soon, their final destination was in sight.