The ancient sarcophagus creaks open, and from within, the draugr rises.
His plate armor gleams with the blue light from the torches, a stark contrast against the grey stone of the crypt. His greatsword, radiating cold steam and suffused with frost enchantments, pulses with a chilling light as it glints in the darkness. The faintest sound of ice cracking follows his every movement. He shifts, rising taller than I had imagined, and the cold air in the chamber seems to solidify around him.
The weight of his presence crashes into me, like the air itself thickens with his rising.
I don't hesitate.
I charge forward, my blade raised, casting Flames as I close the gap. The fire erupts from my hand, a wave of heat designed to scorch and burn, but the draugr raises his sword effortlessly. With a single swing, the flames dissipate in a burst of cold, swallowed up by the sheer power of his blade.
He doesn't even flinch.
Before I can even adjust, the draugr's head tilts slightly, and with an ear-shattering roar—"FUS!"
The shout tears through the air like a whip, the shockwave vibrating in my chest. The ground shakes beneath me. The air ripples, thick with power.
Rugak doesn't stand a chance.
The force of the shout rips through him, his body instantly torn apart like paper in the wind. He's flung backward with horrifying speed, rupturing mid-flight. His body crashes into the wall, a mangled heap. Blood and gore spray across the stone, a grisly testament to the power behind an actual shout.
My blood boils, but I force my focus back to the draugr. I close the distance in a blur, my sword coming down with all of my fury.
But the draugr is unfazed.
With a single dismissive parry, he deflects my strike, the shock of contact sending a jolt of cold up my arm, numbing my fingers. I feel the cold creeping in, but I press forward, undeterred. He's faster than I expected, and my mind races to adjust.
I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye—Inigo's arrow shooting through the air, aimed for the draugr. The arrow strikes perfectly, but the draugr doesn't even flinch. It bounces off his black armor as if it were nothing more than a gust of wind.
The draugr shifts its weight, bringing its greatsword around in an arc that could cleave me in two. I sidestep just in time, barely avoiding the crushing blow. My sword is still in my hand, but it's shaking now, the cold biting into my bones.
I raise my sword in a hanging guard to block the next strike as it winds around, but the draugr's weapon slams down with overwhelming force. The blue light between our blades is blinding as it connects with mine, the force of the blow shattering my sword like glass.
I freeze in disbelief as the hilt of my blade rattles in my hand, completely useless. The draugr steps forward and, without missing a beat, half-swords, bringing the pommel around, and I see the strike coming too late.
I barely manage to raise a lesser ward, hastily trying to infuse it with magic I've been experimenting with—binding the ward's energy with bound energy like my dagger. It's a desperate move, a last-minute trick, and the draugr's pommel slams into me, the ward flickering and almost shattering as the impact sends me flying backward, The cold stone bites into my back as I crash against it, the impact rattling my ribs and leaving my lungs screaming for air. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to move, to get back on my feet. The sharp clatter of the broken sword hilt slipping from my hand echoes in the chamber.
A voice cuts through the oppressive stillness, sharp and desperate: "Melkorn! Catch!"
I glance up just in time to see Inigo's sword spinning toward me, the steel gleaming faintly in the flickering torchlight. My instincts take over. My hand shoots up, fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt. The weight feels good—reassuring.
The draugr is on me in a flash, its greatsword coming down in a brutal arc that could split me in two. I dive to the side, rolling awkwardly on the hard stone as the blade smashes into the floor where I'd been. Shards of ice scatter from the impact, glittering in the blue light.
I snarl, a wild grin splitting my face as I rise to meet the draugr again. My body aches, my chest burns with every breath, but the thrill of the fight hums in my veins. The challenge, the danger—it's intoxicating.
The draugr's eyes narrow slightly, its movements precise and methodical as it raises its sword again. I rush forward, closing the distance before it can bring the blade to bear. Sparks crackle from my free hand, lashing out like serpents as I hurl a burst of lightning at its chest. The energy dances harmlessly across its black plate armor, illuminating the ancient runes carved into the steel.
The draugr swings again, the massive sword carving through the air with a sound like cracking ice sheets. I duck low, feeling the icy wind of the strike pass over me, and lash out with Inigo's sword. The blade clashes against its armor with a resounding clang, but skitters off in a burst of sparks.
Behind me, I hear Inigo's bowstring thrumming as he looses another arrow. It ricochets off the draugr's helmet with a sharp ping, doing nothing to halt its relentless advance.
I'm already parrying another swing with a desperate upward motion. The force of the blow sends tremors through my arm, a sliver of steel flying off my blade as frost creeps along my borrowed weapon.
The draugr steps forward, forcing me to backpedal. I throw another burst of Sparks at its face, the electricity flashing like summer lightning, but it merely tilts its head to the side, unaffected.
I grit my teeth, adjusting my grip. Every muscle in my body screams for rest, but I push the pain down. This isn't just survival—it's deadly combat. It's where I belong.
I growl, stepping forward again, my blood pounding in my ears.
I lunge forward, closing the distance before the draugr can bring its full strength to bear. Its greatsword swings in a wide arc, but I'm too close for it to use its full leverage effectively. I duck under the strike, lunging upward with Inigo's blade. The edge clangs against the black breastplate, sparks flying, but the draugr doesn't even shift.
My bound dagger flashes into existence in my off-hand, glowing an eerie violet. I jab forward, aiming for the gap in its arm, but the draugr's greatsword sweeps back faster than I anticipate. I parry with the dagger, deflecting the blow, though the force of it jars my arm to the bone. I instinctively let the blade dissipate, summoning Sparks in its place.
Electricity crackles in my hand, arcs of lightning whipping out like angry eels. I throw the charge toward the draugr's head. The bolts strike true, causing its movements to stutter for just a moment. I re-summon the dagger in the same instant, slashing at its leg.
The draugr adapts quickly, recovering from the brief disruption. It brings its greatsword down in a crushing overhead swing. I step to the side, the frost-enchanted blade slamming into the stone floor, ice crystals spiderwebbing outward from the impact.
I press the attack, slashing at its throat. The blow glances off its gorget, but I follow up with a burst of Sparks to its helmet. The crackling energy flickers along its surface.
The draugr's eyes flare brighter, and it twists with a speed that surprises me, its sword cutting horizontally. I leap backward, narrowly avoiding the edge, but the blade's frost magic licks across my pauldron, leaving a shallow cut through the steel. A cold deeper than winter seeps into my bones, making my movements sluggish.
Inigo's voice rings out from behind me, strained but steady. "Over here, you old corpse!"
The twang of his bowstring echoes through the chamber. Another arrow flies past me, striking the draugr's side. It finds a seam in its armor, lodging deep. The draugr lets out a sound—a low, guttural vibration, not of pain but of acknowledgment. Its focus shifts briefly toward Inigo.
"Got you," I mutter, seizing the opening.
I dart in, thrusting with Inigo's sword while summoning my dagger to parry the draugr's retaliatory swing. The impact sends another jolt of icy cold through my arm, but I don't let it stop me. The draugr pivots, forcing me back with another sweeping strike that leaves a patch of frost spreading along the stone floor.
The frost spreads faster now, patches of ice blooming across the ground. My boots slip as I dodge another blow, the icy surface making every movement treacherous.
Behind me, Inigo curses.
I step back, barely regaining balance as the draugr's sword flies through the air where I was, cold steam trailing behind it.
Inigo looses again, his arrows relentless. One strikes the draugr square in the chest, the arrow shattering in a burst of splintered wood. The force staggers it slightly, giving me another opening.
I hurl Sparks again, lightning crackling along its form. The draugr pauses briefly, recalculating its movements. It shifts its stance, wielding its sword in a tighter arc, forcing me to duck and sidestep more than attack.
I growl, slashing at its legs again. The draugr steps back, its greatsword swinging low in a wider arc to force me to retreat.
The frost on the floor thickens, creeping toward me. My foot slips slightly, but I catch myself, grinning despite the danger. The battle hums through me like a song, the rhythm of clashing steel and crackling magic sharpening my senses.
The draugr pauses for a moment, as if calculating its next move, and then it raises its frost-enchanted greatsword high. I step back and brace myself for another swing, but the chill in the air begins to thicken.
A sudden wave of freezing cold erupts from the draugr, rippling outward in a shockwave. Ice blooms across the floor, creeping toward me like a living thing. Before I can react, the frost envelops me, encasing my legs and spreading upward in a thin, unyielding layer. My breath catches in my throat as the cold bites deep into my skin, numbing me to the core.
I struggle, my muscles straining against the icy prison, but the frost holds firm. Lightning begins to crackle faintly around my hand, the energy wild and unpredictable. Sparks arc across the ice, lashing out violently, but it's not enough to break free.
The draugr shifts its glowing blue gaze away from me, its empty eyes fixing on Inigo. The air grows heavier, the faint hum of ancient power filling the crypt.
"FUS!"
The shout tears through the air like a hurricane, the shockwave crashing through the crypt. The ground trembles beneath the force, ancient stone groaning in protest.
Inigo, standing his ground with his bow drawn, fires an arrow. His movements are calm, precise, as if the chaos around him doesn't exist. The arrow flies true, streaking across the room and sinking deep into the draugr's shoulder. The ancient warrior staggers, its left arm going limp as the arrow lodges itself in the joint.
But the shout isn't done.
Inigo leaps, trying to avoid the brunt of the shockwave, but the edge catches him mid-air. The force hurls him across the room like a ragdoll, his body slamming into the crypt wall with a sickening crunch. He crumples to the ground, motionless.
My heart pounds in my chest as I watch his still form.
The draugr turns back to me, its right arm still clutching the greatsword, its left hanging uselessly. I feel the crackle of Sparks intensify in my hand, the energy growing brighter, hotter. The lightning lashes out wildly, arcs of electricity striking the stone floor around me.
I grit my teeth, rage and desperation swelling in my chest. The Sparks aren't just in my hand anymore—they course through me, filling every nerve with electric fire.
I snarl through clenched teeth.
With a roar of defiance, I let the lightning consume me. The energy surges outward, shattering the ice in an explosion of crackling power. Shards of frost scatter in every direction, glinting like shattered glass in the dim torchlight.
The sudden freedom sends me stumbling forward, my legs still heavy from the cold but regaining strength with every step. I catch myself, raising Inigo's sword again.
The fury of Ancestor's Wrath flickers faintly within me, teasing the edges of my vision. It's not fully ignited, but the fire is there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting.
I glare at the draugr, my body humming with residual electricity.
The draugr doesn't wait. Its glowing blue eyes flash, and it swings its frost-coated greatsword in a blurring arc. I lean back, then lunge forward in a thrust aimed at its eyes.
The draugr pivots, its one-handed grip compensating for the arrow lodged in its shoulder, and deflects my attack with a burst of sparks from the point of contact.
I dart to the side, my boots slipping slightly on the frost-slicked floor. The air is bitterly cold, each breath turning to mist as I force myself to stay close, keeping the draugr's reach limited. My bound dagger flares into existence in my off-hand, its ethereal glow briefly illuminating the mist swirling around us.
The draugr swings again, a tight arc aimed at my midsection. I parry with the dagger, the blow nearly shattering the summoned blade. It flickers and fades as the greatsword crashes through its form, but the brief deflection gives me enough time to slash at its exposed side.
The blade connects but glances off the black plate armor, leaving only a faint scratch. Frost creeps along the edge of Inigo's sword, spreading like veins with every clash. The steel groans under the strain, fine cracks beginning to spiderweb.
I grit my teeth and hurl a burst of Sparks at the draugr's helmet. The electricity crackles across its surface, momentarily disrupting its movements. I follow up with a downward slash, aiming for its neck, but it recovers too quickly. Its frost-enchanted blade sweeps upward, forcing me to disengage.
The cold bites into my legs as I do, the icy floor nearly sending me sprawling. I growl, the warmth building in my chest urging me forward.
Another swing comes down, and I sidestep, the blade smashing into the stone floor. Ice shards scatter from the impact, some grazing my cheek. I retaliate, lunging with both hands on Inigo's blade. The edge catches on the draugr's pauldron, another shallow scratch.
Mist and frost swirl around us, the air thick with the clash of steel and magic. My muscles scream, my breaths come faster, the warmth in my chest grows stronger, pushing me to fight harder.
The draugr's frost-coated blade crashes against Inigo's sword again, sending shards of glittering metal flying. My arms burn with the effort of deflecting its relentless strikes. Each swing chips away at the borrowed blade, fine slivers of steel falling to the floor with every clash.
It feints, I'm a split second too slow. The blade clips my thigh, shattering the armor there and sending a jolt of searing cold through my leg. I stagger, the numbing frost crawling up my muscles, threatening to freeze me in place again.
A snarl escapes my lips, but it's drowned out by the roaring in my ears. The warmth in my chest—the faint flicker of heat—erupts into a blazing inferno. Fire roars through my veins, and the world sharpens, every detail etched in perfect clarity.
Flames ignite around me, engulfing my body in a searing whirlwind. I don't feel the cold anymore. The frost on the floor evaporates in an instant, leaving the stones steaming beneath my feet. My breathing steadies, and the pain in my leg fades to the background, replaced by a surge of strength and speed.
The draugr's glowing blue eyes flash ever so slightly as it readjusts, its movements quick and well timed.
I'm faster.
It swings, the greatsword carving a deadly arc through the air, but I'm already moving. I lunge, flames trailing in my wake, and drive Inigo's blade into its side. The sword sinks deeper this time, piercing the armor. The draugr doesn't flinch, but its movements grow stiffer, more labored.
Sparks crackle in my free hand as I summon them again, the lightning more intense than before as I force it to stay. The energy builds with every passing second, a storm gathering within my grasp.
I growl, my voice a low rumble.
The draugr counters with a burst of frost, icy mist exploding outward. I charge through it, the flames around me melting the ice before it can touch my skin. Inigo's sword arcs upward, meeting its greatsword in a shower of sparks and steam.
The flames burn brighter, and I feel the storm in my hand reaching its peak. The draugr, for all its power, is too slow.
The draugr lunges. Each swing of its frost-coated greatsword sends icy gusts across the chamber, turning the already treacherous floor into a frozen trap that my flames melt away.
I match its ferocity, a blur of flames and steel and crackling lightning. My strikes are faster, stronger, each one landing with enough force to leave cracks splintering across the draugr's black plate armor. Inigo's sword groans with every blow, the web of fractures along the blade spreading further.
Sparks crackle and hiss in my free hand, the storm of lightning fully charged now, begging to be unleashed. But I hold it back, waiting for the perfect moment.
The draugr swings its sword in a wide movement to back me off. I duck low, the blade grazing the top of my helmet as I dart beneath its reach.
The draugr pivots at the last second, its frost magic surging. Ice blooms from the ground, rising in jagged spikes to cut off my advance. I leap back, narrowly avoiding the frozen barricade, and adjust my stance.
The draugr steps forward, its greatsword raised high. I meet its next strike head-on, Inigo's sword clashing against the frost-imbued steel in an explosion of sparks and steam. The force of the blow nearly drives me to my knees, but I hold firm, gritting my teeth against the pressure.
Its glowing blue eyes lock onto mine, its jaw opening slightly.
Before it can act, I twist, locking its greatsword down with Inigo's blade. Sparks lash out from my free hand, arcs of lightning surging across my arm as I press the charged energy into its exposed shoulder.
The bolt strikes like a thunderclap, the electricity coursing through the draugr's body in violent arcs. Its armor glows faintly, the runes etched into the steel flaring as the frost magic falters.
The greatsword slips from its grasp as undead muscles lock up, clattering to the floor. The draugr stumbles, its movements jerky and uncoordinated. It's not finished—not yet—but it's vulnerable now.
The draugr staggers, its hulking form swaying as if the lightning has shattered something fundamental within it. The frost magic that had cloaked it so fiercely now sputters and fades, leaving only wisps of cold mist clinging weakly to its armor.
Its eyes flare one last time, an unnatural, glowing blue that pierces through the haze of the battlefield. It raises its head, and I see its jaw begin to move.
"F—"
I don't let it finish.
In one motion, I toss Inigo's battered sword aside, the blade too fragile to risk another clash, and lunge forward. My hands are empty now— engulfed in the searing flames of Ancestor's Wrath.
My fiery hand closes over the draugr's jaw, gripping it tightly. I can feel the frost-coated steel beneath my palm heating rapidly, the fire spreading across its face like wildfire.
"You don't get the last word," I snarl, pressing harder.
Flames surge down its throat, a roaring inferno that consumes the hollow shell of its body from the inside out. The ancient runes carved into its armor glow a fierce orange, veins of molten light spreading across its torso and limbs.
The draugr jerks violently, its body convulsing as the fire devours it. The crypt falls silent except for the hiss of evaporating frost and the crackle of flames. I hold my grip, the flames burning brighter as I pour every ounce of fury and power into this final act.
Its glowing eyes dim, flickering like dying embers before finally going dark. The draugr slumps forward, the last vestiges of its strength drained.
When I release my grip, its body collapses to the floor, armor clanging against stone. What remains of the ancient warrior is little more than ash and red hot steel, the heat of my flames leaving scorch marks on the floor around it.
I stumble back, my chest heaving with exertion. The flames of Ancestor's Wrath flicker and fade, as I trip and land on my ass.
The draugr is defeated.
The chill of the crypt gnaws at my bones as I push myself upright, grabbing the frost-enchanted greatsword to use as a makeshift cane.. My leg protests with every step, the wound from the draugr's blow sending sharp jolts of pain up my thigh.
The frostbite on my hand added another layer of agony. It stung fiercely, the thawing flesh tingling in a way that was more torment than relief. My breaths come in visible puffs, the cold air burning my throat as I stagger forward. Each step feels heavier than the last, the oppressive chill of the crypt making the air thick and suffocating.
But I can't stop.
Inigo lays crumpled against the far wall, a dark smear of blood trailing down the stone behind him. The blue torchlight flickers over his form, and it's hard to see how badly he is hurt. His arm is twisted unnaturally, the bone jutting out at an angle that makes my stomach churn. One of his legs lies bent at an awkward angle, clearly broken.
Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, bright red against the blue fur of his face. His chest rises and falls shallowly, his breathing faint and uneven.
"No, no, no," I mutter, my voice raw as I drag myself closer.
The sight of him like that hits me harder than I expect. I had still been looking at him as an immortal companion. Now he looks so fragile, so… mortal.
With a growl, I force myself forward, the sound of my boots scraping against the icy floor echoing in the silence. My leg buckles once, nearly sending me sprawling, but I catch myself and press on. The frost-covered stone seems to stretch endlessly between us, each step dragging time out longer and longer.
Finally, I drop to my knees beside him, the impact sending another lance of pain through my thigh.
"Inigo," I rasped, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears. "Stay with me."
I lean closer, fumbling with my pack as my hands tremble uncontrollably. The frostbite makes my fingers sluggish, and the leather straps of the pouch slip from my grip more than once. A snarl of frustration escapes me as I finally wrench the pack open and find the vial inside.
The greater health potion glows faintly in the dim light, its crimson liquid swirling as if alive. My fingers tightened around it as I uncorked the bottle with a sharp pull, the scent of herbs and something metallic wafting up.
"Inigo," I say, my voice hoarse, "come on, don't do this to me."
His head lolls to the side, his breathing still shallow. Blood seeps from the corner of his mouth, darkening the fur around his jaw. I place a hand under his chin, lifting it gently as I press the bottle to his lips. The liquid barely trickles in, and I tilt his head further, willing him to swallow.
"Damn it, Inigo," I growl, my voice shaking. "Drink it!"
For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happens. His chest rises and falls, but there is no change—no sign of the potion working. Panic claws at me, and I tighten my grip on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.
Then it starts.
A faint glow emanates from his chest, spreading outward like veins of light through his broken body. The sound of bones snapping back into place echoes in the chamber, sharp and sickening. I wince as his arm twists, the dislocated bone jerking violently as it resets. His leg follows, the unnatural angle correcting itself with a wet pop.
Inigo's body convulses, his back arching off the floor as his mouth opens in a silent cry. He gags suddenly, coughing violently as blood sprays from his mouth. I turn him onto his side as he retches, his body shaking with each heave.
His eyes flutter open, unfocused and hazy, but there was life in them now. His chest heaves as he sucks in a ragged breath, his hand weakly reaching for mine.
"You're going to be fine," I say, though the tremor in my voice betrays the desperation behind the words. Relief hit me like a wave, my shoulders sag as I realize he's alive.
Inigo turns his head slightly, his voice barely a whisper. "This one… owes you… again."
I laugh weakly, wiping the sweat from my brow. "Owe me? Don't flatter yourself. You're still paying me back for the arrow."
Inigo shifts weakly against the wall, his breaths still labored but steadier now. His usual sharpness seemed dulled, his voice hoarse as he murmurs, "Thank you, my friend. You saved this one's life."
I lean back against the cold stone, every part of my body screaming for rest, and laugh weakly. The sound comes out raw, halfway between relief and exhaustion. "If not for your arrow, we'd both be dead. You've got good aim… even if your dodging needs work."
A faint chuckle escapes him, though it quickly dissolves into a fit of coughing. Blood speckles the stone next to him, and his ears droop slightly.
He lets his head rest against the wall, a wry smile curling his lips. "Touché, my friend. Touché."
For a moment, the tension in the air seems to lift, replaced by a fragile camaraderie. The crypt is still—no more frost creeping along the walls, no glowing blue eyes in the shadows. Just the sound of our ragged breaths and the distant drip of water somewhere in the darkness.
I pull a minor health potion from my pack, rip the cork out with my teeth before I down the contents. The warmth spreads through me instantly, the sharp ache in my leg fades slightly as the frostbite on my hand begins to tingle sharply. It isn't much, but it's enough to take the edge off.
Inigo watches me through half-lidded eyes. "This one wonders if we'll ever face an enemy that isn't trying to kill us in the most painful way possible."
I snort, leaning my head back against the stone. "You'd be disappointed if they didn't."
A faint purr rumbles in his chest—a sign he was regaining some of his strength. "Perhaps. Though this one still wishes for a soft bed and a full meal."
I sigh, glancing around the cold, dark crypt. "Yeah, well… don't hold your breath."
The crypt is eerily silent, the oppressive weight of the battle lingers in the frigid air. The faint crackle of frost from the draugr's icy blasts echoes faintly, and the occasional drip of water from some unseen fissure punctuates the stillness. Every breath I take comes out in visible puffs, the cold gnaws at me even as I lean heavily against the wall for support.
The aftermath of the fight is written in every corner of the room. Frost-slicked stone glistens under the flickering torchlight, scorch marks from my lightning marr the walls, and small shards of shattered steel lay around the remains of the draugr. My gaze lingers on the molten outline where its body collapsed, the stone still faintly steaming from the inferno that consumed it.
My own body screams for attention. My leg throbs with every slight movement, the wound from the draugr's greatsword still a fresh, biting reminder of its power. It cut through steel. I suppose that better material had more advantages than I thought; I would need to get my next sword enchanted no matter how much it cost. The frostbite on my hand burns and tingles, a miserable sensation that saps what little strength I have left.
I fumble for my pack, fingers clumsy with fatigue, and pull out another minor health potion. The glass vial feels cold against my palm, and I struggle to uncork it. When the stopper finally gives, the sharp, metallic tang of the potion hits my nose.
"Bottoms up," I mutter, tilting the vial back and letting the liquid slide down my throat. The warmth that spreads through my veins is immediate and welcome.
The potion works slowly, too slowly though. The sharp ache in my leg dulls to a persistent throb, and the frostbite on my hand begins to tingle even more madly as blood flow returns. It wasn't enough to fully mend me, but it would have to do.
I glance at my hand, flexing my fingers experimentally. The frostbite had left dark, angry patches on my grey skin, and every movement sends a sharp prickling sensation racing up my arm. I clench my fist tightly, biting back a grimace.
The crypt seems to close in around me as the silence stretches. I let my head fall back against the cold stone wall, my eyes slide shut for a brief moment. The faint warmth of the potion is a small reprieve, but my body still feels like it has been through hell—I feel hollow, scraped raw by the fight, on the edge of magical exhaustion. I open my eyes, and look up at the dark, jagged ceiling, and let my thoughts spiral back to the battle.
The draugr had been terrifying in its power, far beyond anything I had expected. The games I once played hadn't prepared me for the sheer force of its Fus. The memory of Rugak's body being torn apart in an instant played over in my mind, the sound of his flesh ripping and bones breaking etched into my skull.
I clench my teeth, hand curling into a fist. That shout… a single word… it was beyond anything I could do now even with magic. But the promise of that power lingered like a distant flame. One day, I would wield it.
My gaze shifts to Rugak's remains. His body lay broken against the far wall, a mess of twisted limbs and dark blood. He'd fought bravely, charging headfirst into the draugr without hesitation. He deserved better than to end like that, unable to even fight.
Dragging myself painfully upright, I limp toward him, the draugr's greatsword still acts as a makeshift cane. Each step is a reminder of my own limits, the ache in my leg and the frostbite on my hand keeping me painfully grounded. When I reach Rugak, I sink to my knees beside him, the cold stone biting into my skin.
"Rugak," I murmur, my voice rough. "You deserved better than this. You all did."
I press a hand to my thigh, the lingering pain throbs beneath my touch. My jaw clenches as a mix of guilt and anger burns through me. I'd hired these mercenaries to help me, but they'd died under my leadership, their lives spent in my service even if they weren't my soldiers.
For a moment, the crypt feels suffocating. The weight of their deaths presses down on me, and I can't shake the thought that I could have done more. If I'd been stronger, faster—if I'd truly known what we were walking into—maybe they'd still be alive.
But that wasn't the reality.
I force myself to take a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs. I couldn't afford to drown in guilt. "I'll honor this," I say quietly, looking at the crumpled body of the Orc. "I'll get stronger. I'll never treat anyone under my employ as disposable again."
The words feel hollow in the emptiness of the crypt, but I cling to them like a lifeline. If nothing else, they give me something to focus on—a promise to the dead and to myself.
The silence in the crypt stretches on, heavy and unbroken, until Inigo stirs slightly against the wall. His breath is still labored, but his chest rises and falls steadily now. I glance over at him, watching as he shifts his weight and lets out a low groan.
"This one wonders…" he says weakly, his voice barely above a whisper, "why the dead cling so tightly to their anger."
The comment startles me. I let my head fall back against the wall, a faint smile tugs at my lips despite the grimness of the situation. "Maybe they're jealous," I say, half-joking. "Jealous of the living, jealous of how good I look when I'm still breathing."
Inigo lets out a faint laugh, though it is tinged with pain. "You look like a half-frozen corpse, my friend. The dead have little to envy."
I chuckle weakly, shaking my head. "Fair. You're not much better off, though."
He sighs, his eyes half-closed as he rests his head back against the wall. "Perhaps they are simply… trapped. Forced to relive their rage again and again, with no release." His voice is softer now, almost contemplative.
For a moment, I consider his words. The draugr's relentless fury had been terrifying, but it was almost pitiful in a way. What kind of existence was that? To be driven by nothing but rage and instinct, bound to a crypt for eternity.
"Maybe," I say after a pause, "or maybe they're just pissed off because people like us keep disturbing their naps."
Inigo snorts, the sound half-laugh, half-cough. "Then perhaps we should be more considerate in the future."
I grin despite myself, the tension in my chest easing slightly. The fight had taken its toll on both of us, but moments like this help to ground us back.
After a moment, Inigo speaks again, his voice low. "This one owes you his life… again. You have my thanks, my friend."
I waved a hand dismissively, leaning back against the wall. "Don't start getting sentimental on me. You'll make me think you actually like me."
He chuckles weakly, his head lolling to the side. "You are tolerable, most of the time."
The crypt was still cold, still dark, but the weight of the battle felt just a little lighter.
I want nothing more than to stay where I am, to let my battered body rest. But then I feel it.
A faint tug grips my chest, like a hand clutching my very soul, pulling me forward. At first, I think it's the exhaustion playing tricks on me, but the sensation grows stronger, more insistent. It's not painful, but it's impossible to ignore.
I glance up, my eyes drawn to the glowing stone wall at the far end of the room. The faint light emanating from the runes shimmers in the cold air, their strange, alien patterns humming with a power I can almost feel.
The pull grows stronger, like a voice whispering in the back of my mind, urging me to stand. My body protests as I push myself upright, the draugr's greatsword acting as a makeshift cane. Pain shoots through my leg with the movement, nearly buckling me on the spot, but I grit my teeth and force myself forward.
Each step is an ordeal. The frost-coated stone floor makes every movement precarious, and the lingering pain in my leg forces me to lean heavily on the greatsword for balance. My breaths come in sharp, ragged gasps, the cold air biting at my throat.
The pull grows more intense with every step, a suffocating force that makes the air seem thicker, heavier. My heart pounds in my chest, not just from exertion but from the overwhelming sense of anticipation—
What would the word wall give me? The glowing wall looms closer, its light reflecting off the frost-covered stone around it, casting strange, shifting shadows.
By the time I reach the base of the wall, my body feels like it's moving on its own. The pull has become irresistible, like gravity itself dragging me toward the glowing runes. My fingers tighten around the guard of the greatsword, my breath catching as I reach out to touch the cold, glowing surface.
The moment my fingertips brush the surface of the wall, a surge of energy erupts from it. The light flares brighter, blinding me, and a deafening hum fills the crypt. I stagger back, but I can't pull my hand away—the pull has become all-encompassing, a force stronger than my own will.
Then it hits me.
A searing wave of light and sound tears through my mind, ripping away the present and replacing it with something primal, something vast. Images flash before my eyes—storms raging across mountains, unstoppable avalanches crushing everything in their path, a sheer, unrelenting force that obliterates all obstacles.
The meaning of the word Fus burns into my thoughts, not as a sound but as a sensation, a force so potent it feels alive. It's not just a word—it's power, raw and infinite, a command that resonates with the very essence of the world.
I gasp as the word carves itself into me, its meaning imprinted not just in my mind but in my soul. My body trembles, the sheer intensity of it overwhelming every sense. It feels like being branded, the fire of its presence leaving a mark that will never fade.
The visions don't stop. I see figures cloaked in shadows, their voices booming with the same force that now echoes in my head. I see mountains split, armies scattered, and cities brought to ruin—all with a single shout.
Unrelenting Force.
The thought of wielding that power fills me with excitement. The draugr's Fus is a mere taste of what this force can do, and I realize just how far I am from truly understanding it, let alone controlling it.
A hunger takes me anew. The word isn't just a glimpse of power—it's a promise. If I can master the Thu'um, if I can make it mine, there will be no limit to what I can achieve.
The light around me pulses, brighter and brighter, until it feels like I will be consumed entirely. My breath hitches as the energy swirls through me, and then, just as suddenly as it starts, the visions cease.
The light fades, and the crypt returns to its cold, oppressive silence. I stumble back, my legs nearly giving out beneath me. My heart races, the echoes of Fus still ringing in my head like the tolling of a distant bell.
The crypt's silence feels deafening after the roar of power that had filled my mind. My legs tremble as I stumble backward, barely managing to stay upright. My chest heaves, every breath feeling too shallow, as if the force of the word has drained the air from my lungs.
I lean heavily on the greatsword, using it to steady myself. My entire body aches—not just from the fight, but from whatever the wall has done to me. It's not pain in the usual sense. It's deeper, almost like my very soul has been stretched and pulled taut.
The word Fus echoes in my mind, faint but insistent, like a distant thunderclap that refuses to fade. I can feel it there, a faint connection to something far greater than myself. But it's not enough. It's incomplete, a fragment of the power I've glimpsed—I knew deep down I still can't use it.
I clench my fists, frustration bubbling up despite the exhaustion weighing me down. The visions have shown me what Fus can be, what it means to wield such power, but I'm not there yet—nowhere close. The power feels totally out of reach.
"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, my voice hoarse.
I force myself to stand upright, ignoring the protest of my leg and the frostbite still stinging my hand. My body is battered, my mind reeling, but one thought cuts through the haze: this is just the beginning.
The wall has given me a taste, a glimpse of what is possible. Now it's up to me to master it.
As I steady myself, the faint hum of the wall fades completely, leaving only the cold, still air of the crypt. My gaze lingers on the runes for a moment longer before I turn away, determination hardening in my chest.
I limp back toward the sarcophagus, my body protesting every movement as I lean heavily on the greatsword. The weapon clinks against the frost-slicked floor with each step.
Pain radiates from my thigh, where the blade has shattered my armor, and the frostbite on my hand burns fiercely, the thawing flesh prickling uncomfortably. I grit my teeth and keep moving. I need to see the Dragonstone in person after this, not just on the screen.
As I reach the sarcophagus, the Dragonstone catches my eye. It lies within, nestled among the shattered remnants of the draugr's resting place. The stone tablet's surface is covered in intricate carvings—runic symbols I can't fully understand but know are important.
I set the greatsword aside, placing it against the sarcophagus, and reach in. My fingers brush the cool surface of the tablet, and I pause, studying the markings more closely. The weight of its importance presses down on me, and I mutter under my breath, "Farengar better appreciate this."
With a groan, I heft the Dragonstone out of the sarcophagus. It's heavier than I expected, its weight straining my exhausted muscles. I manage to slip it into my pack, the added burden making my weak legs wobble as I adjust to the weight.
I take a moment to steady myself, leaning heavily on the edge of the sarcophagus. The crypt seems quieter now, the oppressive silence settling like a blanket over the room. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps, visible in the cold air as I straighten up.
The Dragonstone is secured, but the weight of what it represents lingers. This isn't just a prize for Farengar—it's a step forward, another piece of the puzzle I'm a part of as the Dragonborn. I grab the greatsword again, using it as a cane, and turn back toward Inigo.
I barely take a few steps when Inigo's voice cuts through the stillness.
"My friend," he calls out, his voice echoing sharply in the cavernous chamber. "This one has found something."
I freeze, startled by the sudden noise. The sound reverberates off the cold stone walls, carrying an urgency that sends a jolt through my exhaustion. I turn my head toward the source, my grip tightening on the greatsword as my pulse quickens.
"What is it?" I call back, my voice hoarse.
There's a pause before his reply, as though he's studying whatever he's found. "Another door," he finally says.
The weight on my shoulders seems to grow heavier– this should be the way out but with everything else being so different I can't be sure. I mutter a curse under my breath and begin making my way toward him.
Each step is a struggle, my body screaming for rest. My injured leg throbs relentlessly, and the frostbite on my hand makes every grip on the greatsword a fresh wave of pain. The scrape of my boots against the stone seems unnaturally loud in the silence.
Inigo stands near the far corner, hidden in the shadow of one of the warriors that line the room, his sharp golden eyes catching the faint light of the torches. He leans heavily against the wall, still battered from the fight but steady enough to stand. His tail twitches slightly as he gestures toward the door.
I follow his gaze and see it. The door is stone, its surface intricately carved with symbols that seem to shift subtly in the dim light. Ancient runes line the edges, and its hinges are rusted with age.
"Well," I say, forcing a grin despite the exhaustion, "let's see what's behind this one."
I limp closer to the massive door, each step feeling heavier than the last. The carvings on its surface seem to twist and writhe in the flickering torchlight, as though they're alive. The faint hum of power I felt earlier is back, subtle but unmistakable, radiating from behind the door.
Inigo leans against the wall, watching me with a mixture of curiosity and caution. His ears twitch as he glances between me and the door. "Do you think there are more of the dead waiting behind it?"
I snort, resting against the doorframe as I catch my breath. "With our luck? Probably." I gesture toward the door. "You see any traps?"
Inigo's sharp eyes narrow as he inspects the edges of the frame, his whiskers twitching slightly. "No obvious ones. This one thinks if there are traps, they are likely on the other side." He tilts his head, a faint grin playing on his lips. "Should I let you open it first?"
"Funny," I mutter, resting the draugr's greatsword on my shoulder, cold faintly seeping past my armor.
The door's surface is rough under my fingertips as I lean in to examine it. The hinges are rusted and ancient, but the door itself feels solid, as though it's been untouched by time.
"Alright," I say, bracing myself, "let's see what's behind door number two."
I press my weight against the door, the hinges groaning loudly in protest. Dust and bits of debris fall from the frame as it slowly gives way, the sound echoing through the crypt like the groan of some ancient beast.
A faint rush of stale air spills out as the gap widens, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of age—dust, stone, and something faintly metallic. The flickering light of my Candlelight spell as I cast it spills into the darkness beyond, catching on something that glitters faintly in the distance.
My breath catches as the faint gleam of gold coins comes into view, scattered across the floor like spilled water. More light pours in as the door swings fully open, revealing the room beyond.
I step forward cautiously, the treasure hoard slowly coming into focus. The flickering light dances across piles of gold, gemstones that sparkle like stars, and jewelry that shimmers faintly with magical auras. It's like something out of a legend, a dragon's hoard brought to life. So that's where everything was.
Behind me, Inigo lets out a low whistle. "This one thinks we will not need to worry about money for many years."
The room is breathtaking. Gold coins are scattered in uneven piles, catching the torchlight and reflecting it in a warm, radiant glow. Gemstones, each one seemingly more vibrant than the last, are nestled among the coins like stars in a night sky. Necklaces and rings, their metals untarnished and their stones gleaming, are strewn across the hoard as if they'd been left in haste.
I take another step inside, the sound of coins shifting beneath my boots breaking the silence. Each movement seems to disturb the air, as though the room itself is holding its breath. The faint hum of magic hangs over everything, subtle but unmistakable, emanating from some of the more intricate pieces.
Inigo limps in behind me, his sharp eyes darting over the hoard with a mix of awe and disbelief. He lets out another whistle, this one softer. "This one has seen many things, my friend, but never a sight like this. It seems the dead were hoarding more than their anger."
I can't help but laugh, the sound raw and tired. "You think this is enough to pay off your tabs?"
Inigo smirks faintly, leaning against the wall for support. "This one thinks we could retire early, buy a nice little house in Elsweyr, and live like kings."
I chuckle, though my mind is already racing. The hoard is impressive—enough wealth to last a lifetime for an ordinary person—but the practicalities nag at me. How much can we carry? What will we have to leave behind? The thought of leaving even a single coin here feels like a betrayal of the effort it's taken to get this far.
Still, the sight of it all is a temporary balm for the exhaustion weighing me down. For a brief moment, the aches in my body fade, replaced by the sheer wonder of standing in a room that looks like it belongs in Smaug's lair.
Inigo nudges a small pile of coins with his toe, watching them scatter across the stone floor.
As the awe of the treasure hoard begins to settle, my gaze drifts to the back of the room. Among the glimmering piles of gold and jewels, another door stands, partially obscured by a mound of coins. Unlike the first, this one is smaller, less ornate, but no less significant.
Inigo follows my line of sight and lets out a groan. "Another door? This one was hoping the undead had run out of surprises."
I snort, glancing at Inigo, who is already watching me with a wary expression.
"You're thinking about opening it, aren't you?" he asks, his tone accusatory.
"Of course I am," I reply, smirking faintly. "A door like that? It's likely another way out."
He shakes his head, his tail flicking in irritation. "This one thinks you are far too optimistic for your own good. Treasure rooms do not usually have second doors, my friend. Whatever is behind that one… this one does not think it will be friendly."
I clap a hand on his shoulder, forcing a grin despite the unease twisting in my gut—what if I'm wrong? "Let's hope you're wrong. But if not, we'll handle it—like always."
He sighs, his ears drooping slightly. "If this one dies, you are not allowed to complain about carrying him out."
The faint hum of magic in the treasure room settles into the background as Inigo and I begin sorting through the hoard. The initial awe wears off, replaced by the practical reality of what we can actually carry.
Gold coins spill in chaotic piles across the stone floor, their gleam enticing but impossible to take in full. I kneel carefully, my battered leg protesting the movement, and begin separating gems into my pack. The Dragonstone already weighs heavily inside, making each addition feel like a compromise between wealth and mobility.
Inigo crouches nearby, his sharp eyes darting over the treasures. He plucks a gleaming necklace from the pile, the gemstones catching the light in a kaleidoscope of colors. Inigo's ears twitch, "this one still wishes we had a cart to carry the rest. So much gold… left to rot in a crypt."
He isn't wrong. For every handful of jewelry or gem we tuck away, dozens more remain scattered across the room, their faint shimmer a taunting reminder of what we can't take.
"We'll mark the exit," I say, examining a ruby ring that glitters faintly. "Come back later when we're not half-dead and dragging a fortune on our backs."
Inigo nods, his tail flicking in agreement. "A sound plan, my friend. Though this one suspects more restless dead will take issue with our return."
"We'll deal with that if it happens," I say, my voice firmer than I feel.
As I cinch my pack closed, its weight a constant reminder of our struggle, my thoughts turn to what lies ahead. The treasure room feels like a brief respite, a momentary reprieve from the looming threats beyond. But the victory here has come at a cost.
My gaze drifts toward the crypt's entrance, where the faint outline of the draugr's molten remains is barely visible in the flickering torchlight. The memory of its Fus—the sheer, unrelenting power that had ripped Rugak apart—still echoes in my mind.
If that had been the strength of one draugr, what could a dragon do?
The thought settles over me like a weight. I've seen dragons before, of course, in the game. They'd been challenging but predictable, their fire and flight a known quantity. But this isn't a game. The draugr's shout had been visceral in a way nothing from the game could have prepared me for. The idea of facing a creature capable of using multiple full shouts… it's enough to make my chest tighten.
I glance at Inigo, who is busy securing a few choice pieces of jewelry in his pack. The Khajiit's calm demeanor is a balm, but it isn't enough to chase away the growing knot of unease in my stomach.
Would we even stand a chance against a dragon?
I shake my head, clenching my fist tightly around the hilt of the greatsword. No. Doubt isn't an option. Fear isn't an option. I've already survived more than I thought possible. I've stared down death, wielded fire and lightning, and stood against an unrelenting force.
But if I am going to face a dragon—if I am going to fight it and win—I need to be more. Stronger. Smarter. I need to understand the power that has been seared into my mind back at the word wall. Fus. Unrelenting Force. My resolve hardens as I adjust the straps of my pack. The fear is still there, lingering at the edges of my mind, but it's tempered now by excitement.
Failure isn't an option. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to endure, I will face the dragons and come out alive. Not just alive—victorious.
"We ready?" I ask, glancing at Inigo.
The Khajiit nods, his grin faint but steady. "As ready as this one can be. Let us hope the next door does not contain another… surprise."
I smirk faintly, the weight of my thoughts still heavy but tucked away for now. "If it does, we'll handle it."
The treasure hoard shimmers softly behind us, the light from my Candlelight dancing over the piles of gold and gemstones. I adjust the weight of my pack, the straps biting into my shoulders, and turn toward the door at the back of the room.
Inigo stands beside me, his tail flicking lazily but his sharp eyes betraying his unease. "Do you truly think this is the way out, my friend?" he asks, his voice low.
"I hope so," I mutter, limping toward the door. "Because I could use a warm bed and something other than stale bread and salted meat."
Inigo chuckles faintly, his whiskers twitching. "Perhaps even the pleasant company of a lady, yes?"
I grin, the thought briefly lifting the oppressive weight of exhaustion. "That would be welcome. Very welcome."
I rest my hand on the door, the rough wood cold beneath my fingers. The air feels different here—not stagnant like the rest of the crypt. It carries a faint hint of freshness, the promise of open space beyond the suffocating stone walls.
With a grunt, I push against the door. The hinges groan loudly, protesting years of disuse, but they hold. Dust cascades from the frame as it slowly creaks open, revealing a dark passage beyond.
The first thing I notice is the air. It isn't just fresher—it's alive, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. It rushes past me like a gentle breeze, cool and invigorating, sweeping away some of the oppressive chill that has clung to us in the crypt.
Inigo steps closer, his ears perking up as he sniffs the air. "Fresh air," he says, his voice carrying a note of cautious optimism. "This one thinks you may have opened the right door for once."
The passage stretches ahead, narrow and uneven, but at the end of it, I can see the faintest glimmer of light. My chest tightens at the sight, the thought of finally escaping this tomb filling me with a cautious sense of relief as I step forward.
AN
So, another chapter, if you didnt realize this is AU this should make that clear
oh I have a patreaon - www . c/MandTeKad - it is currently 2 chapters ahead and i hope to have all the tiers filled out content wise by next Sunday at least
I am hoping to release 1 chapter every week