Disclaimer: We do not own The Elder Scroll Series
Co-author and Beta: Etheral-23
First meeting
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Miara's steps crunched against the snow as she climbed a new mountain path east of Morthal. She, her trusted housecarls Lydia and Jordis, and her Khajiit friend Kharjo were heading to the cavern Isran of the Dawnguard. As Tolan had said, they paused briefly at the Hall of Vigil, now a smoldering ruin.
The Vampires were indeed growing bold in attacking the Vigil so brazenly.
The Dragonborn bore a grim visage and moved forward with her comrades. While too late to have saved that Hall, they could avenge them.
Kharjo shuddered despite having warm, furred garments over his armor and a hood over his head. "Always a harsh winter in these mountains."
"Why we stocked up for this journey," Lydia stated beside her fellow Housecarl. "How are you holding up, my Thane?"
A low grumble came from the Dunmer: "I don't mind the snow, but the wind is making my nipples hurt." She wore heavy leather mixed with armor portions she felt needed and a bearskin-hooded cloak over her body.
A deadpan came from Jordis, "Does she always have to be so descriptive?"
"Eyes open, I see the crypt," The large cat man of the party rasped.
As they entered the crypt, Miara found it similar to the rest of Skyrim's dungeons. Dark, damp, full of jagged rocks, and had a dreary atmosphere. Not that she'd expect an underground crypt to be anything but. At least it wasn't a dwemer ruin where she wandered around for ages inside the bronze mazes, randomly pressing buttons and pulling levers until she finally found her objective.
They found multiple varieties of undead, lesser vampires, death hounds, and conjured spectres—clear signs of a clan's presence.
Hopefully, Tolan hadn't rushed in without thinking.
Instead, his corpse lay lifelessly on the stone.
His corpse was lying unceremoniously on the ground, his weapon far from his grasp, with numerous slashes and punctures all over his body. Around the circular platform with multiple pedestals were vampires wearing the armor of clan Volkihar, not even sparing his corpse a second glance as they fiddled with the pedestals around the site, trying to activate whatever dormant magics were engraved in the stonework.
"What are they looking for?" Lydia muttered as they crouched behind rocks.
"Whatever it is," Miara replied. "They're not getting it."
The group jumped down to meet the company of vampires, who turned to them, startled and annoyed that more mortals were interfering with their business. Fangs were bared, and hisses were thrown as warnings as they conjured vampiric magics and brandished serrated weapons meant to draw blood.
These undead immortals were surprised when four mortals quickly took them down and slew them.
All the more, they were quickly taken down by holy fire from the fury of Dawnbreaker in Miara's hand—her gift from The Lady of Infinite Energies upon cleansing her temple in Kilkreath Ruins. The sword's gem glowed like a miniature sun the further they went. But still used a Candlelight spell where they could not see where they were going.
And made it easy to dispel as they came across more undead and Draugr fighting the vampires—no doubt infuriated by the unwelcomed visitors of the crypt.
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After taking down more foes and entering a chamber that led into a massive cavern with patches of ruins and a body of water beneath them, the Dovahkiin huffed. "It better be damn important to fight this many vampires and everything else."
"My fur will need a thorough cleaning after this," Kharjo muttered.
Lydia surveyed the opened cavern below through the chamber opening. She saw several torches lit on a bridge connected to a constructed stone island with arches encircling it with stone braziers. Beside her, Jordis narrowed her eyes. "More vampires."
Two at least, as Miara saw coming beside her housecarls with Kharjo.
They were focused on a pedestal at the center of the chamber, some device they were trying to activate. Another Vigilant of Stendarr was dead by the floor, this one looking like he'd been dead for a bit longer.
Frost gathered in Miara's hand as she nodded at Lydia. Her loyal housecarl nodded back, readying a bow strapped to her back and notching an arrow. "Now"
With perfect synchrony, an ice spike and arrow were let loose simultaneously. The projectile struck one of the vampires in the back of the head, while the spike pierced the other in the chest. The former had died instantly, and the latter twitched and flailed on the ground as his heart was pierced, letting out a screeching noise as his body turned to red ash.
"Nice shot," Miara smiled at her friend.
Jordis merely snorted. "At this distance, I could have made the shot."
"But she did not ask you, did she?" Lydia sounded the right amount of smarmy to get under Jordis's nerves.
"You can argue whose mommy's favorite later," Kharjo deadpanned. "We've got a job to do."
The trio of women shuddered at his words. "Don't ever say that again," Miara firmly told him.
The Khajiit shrugged, his steel-plated armor clicking with each step as they descended to the large platform surrounded by arches. It was very detailed work, from the curves of the arches to the steps descending to the pedestal, with long, thick slots engraved on the floor arranged neatly in different directions from the outer side of the island to the center, all ending on the pedestal. The lines were wide and deep enough to put your hand in them, and given the position of various stone torches scattered at different points through the structure, they were meant to be moved. This was a ritual site; the magic here was subtle but unmistakable.
"Crazy thought, but perhaps the pedestal here is the way to unlock whatever it is the vampires want," Jordis said as they inspected the pedestal with a half-dome on top of it. She was about to reach out when Kharjo stopped her.
"Wait, let me try something." The Khajiit brandished his sword and severed the hand from the vampire whose corpse hadn't turned to dust. He placed the hand on top of the dome, and a spike shot out, startling the group. The spike pierced right through the hand and drew blood.
From there, arcane letters shone over the pedestal with purple light, a mist-like purple substance coming alight over the lines engraved on the floor, and a few torches sparking similarly-colored flames.
"How did you know?" Miara curiously asked.
"It's a vampire ritual site," Kharjo dryly said as though it was apparent. "Did you expect it not to draw blood?"
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How long had it been since she had been asleep in her tomb? She faintly recalled her mother's voice and ordered her to hide the scroll. Serana had obeyed, sealing herself away in a deathless sleep. Her body twitched as the blood from the ritual pedistal came down and dripped into her mouth as she felt her stone coffin shift and soon rise. The lid soon fell forward and cracked into pieces on the ground.
A weathered groan that sounded less than human escaped Serana's lips as her eyes began to open. Their reddish-orange hue glowed, and she could only see blurred shapes before her with muffled sounds. Her body felt stiff before falling forward, barely catching herself from hitting her head with her hands going on the ground first.
By then, her consciousness began to recover, thanks to the drop of blood as her eyes began to see a Dark Elf woman, two Nords women, and a Khajiit man staring at her with weapons drawn.
"My thane!" the blond-haired Nord, greatsword in hand, pointed at her. "The monster has an Elder Scroll!"
Leaning back while sitting on her knees, Serana looked at herself and almost recoiled. Her body nearly resembled a Draugr! Reaching up with her hands, she felt her skin was suken in and almost just hanging onto her skull. However, her body went rigid as she could smell the living blood within the four mortals before her.
But the Dunmer woman...
Serana's fangs grew as she lunged for the elf with surprising speed. She hissed, blocking the sword swing from the wretched holy blade in the elf's hand before knocking it aside. Yet her movements were sluggish, and her strength was sorely diminished, having not fed for so long. She needed blood; this woman's blood smelled like fire and honey. The thirst almost made her feral as she clawed and tried grabbing the Dark Elf.
"My Thane/Miara!" The two Nords and Khajiit cried out.
"Keep back!" Miara growled as she wrestled against the vampire.
She could hear the woman's rapid heartbeat and see a vein bulging on the neck as she strained under the vampire. One bite, just one bite, and she'd be guzzling everywhere.
Hungry... She was so hungry.
"Fus Ro Dah!"
Force, pure force, sent her flying. It was not telekinesis, but like the world pushed against her to throw her off. She was sent flying back to the accursed monolith, where she had slumbered for ages. Bones cracked, and pain filled her weathered body.
Serana struggled to her knees as the nord women helped the dunmer stand up. The Khajiit kept his blade pointed at her.
Blazing eyes glared at the dunmer who lightly panted as she was handed that horrendous blade that seemed to hold a piece of the sun on its hilt. "The Voice... What traitorous clan taught an ash-skin like you the Voice of our ancestors?"
"Oh, so we got a racist vampire here," the Khajiit man jested, yet kept a threatening growl. "Wasn't enough to see mortals as cattle?"
The dark elf glared at her, taking a step forward. "What you felt is mine by right, scion of Bal. I am Akatosh's child; I am Dragonborn."
Lying on all fours on the ground, the vampire could only stare at the woman for a moment in silence. Then she chuckled. A dry heave escaped her lips as her laugh turned into a wheezing cackle. It hurt to laugh with a dry throat, but this was so infuriatingly hilarious.
Serana coughed a few times, feeling no saliva but dust in her mouth. "Oh, the gods are wonderful pranksters, aren't they?" She grinned at the woman who glared down at her. "Skyrim's people must love you. But I guess the nords will swallow their pride so long as it benefits the Pact."
The black-haired nord woman in armor muttered. "She speaks of the Ebonheart Pact. But... the alliance dissolved in 646, Second Era."
Groggy as she was, she could still do the math. "Over fifty years? Huh?" She got on her knees and shrugged. "It lasted longer than I thought it would. I imagine Cyrodiil is still Molag's playground, then?"
"Far from it," The dunmer snorted. "Legion Zero and the Worm Cult were dethroned, and the Planemeld Crisis stopped. That was fourteen hundred years ago."
Serana fell silent, the weight of the dunmer's words slowly dawning on her. "Hmph, well, that changes things."
Oh, she could imagine her father's mood at the time…
Kharjo moved to Miara's side, glancing at her. Receiving a nod from the dark elf, the Khajiit walks towards the vampire. The dragonborn moves forward with Dawnbreaker glowing brighter, the tip soon coming close to Serana's face. She hissed a shudder, seeing the Nord women keeping their weapons ready for anything. But her focus was on the cursed holy blade before her. The Dunmer's glowing red eyes never left hers.
Coming close to the undead woman, the Khajiit man slowly unclasped the Elder Scroll from the vampire's back. Serana growled, hearing the smugness of the feline. "This will be much better in our hands."
"If you can hold it."
Kharjo's brow cocked from the vampire's cryptic tone but also seeing the smirk on her dried lips. The man soon recoiled in pain, dropping the scroll as he felt intense burning on his armored gloves swearing in Ta'agra.
"Are you alright!?" Jordis came over to the man with concern.
The Khajiit man hissed, shaking his hands, "Might have singed my furr!"
Miara glared at the elder scroll on the ground. She saw the faint glow of sigils around it. She growled, "You hexed it?"
Her mother had. Without asking her, but she didn't want to get into that right now. Instead, she used it to her advantage and smirked, baring her fangs. "You want it? Too bad it's tied to my life force. You'll have to take it from my corpse."
The tip of Meridia's damnable blade was inches away from her cheek, so much so that she could almost feel the blade *desperately* wanting to sink its edge into her flesh. "Easily remedied," The dunmer coldly said.
Serana's heart jumped into her throat, and she quickly thought of a way to save her life. "If you do it, then you kill your only source of information."
Red eyes narrowed. "Explain." She did not move the blade.
Centuries of backstabbing clan politics had long since given her the tools to talk her way out of any situation. How to play with her enemies, deceive, charm, and break them. A confident smile and tone in the face of certain death was one such tool. "A vampire with an Elder Scroll bound to her? Now, that sounds like the start of an interesting book. And from the stench coming off you, I know you've slew your fair share of vampires to come here. You know they were looking for me." She thrust her chin toward the corpse and the pile of ashes. "But you don't know why."
"We'll piece it together on our own," The other black-haired nord woman said firmly, gripping her sword tightly.
Serana quirked the right side of her lips. "Better than having an actual primary source?"
The Khajiit, nursing his hand with a minor healing spell, merely growled softly at her. "And can we trust you to be honest?"
"Hmm..." Serana let out a faux-thoughtful noise. "Well, perhaps I can convince you by letting you know my father wants this scroll."
"And I imagine you're all too eager to return to him," Miara dryly replied.
The scornful scoff coming from her lips was completely honest. "Hardly"
She had agreed with her mother, once, that her father had gone mad. It involves the clan with the Gray Host, promising them a blood-forsaken *Elder Scroll*. If what she heard was true that group was insane enough to hatch a scheme involving the Dark Heart, they did not need to add any more fuel to that fire not when already they were hearing reports of Legion Zero, the Worm Cult, and Bal's daedric hosts losing ground on multiple fronts, Valerica knew where the winds were shifting. It was not on Molag's side, nor would it be the Gray Host's.
But her mother had imposed her imprisonment out of nowhere, saying it was the only recourse. And she had gone along with it.
For fourteen centuries, as it turned out...
Was she ever going to come for her?
If her mother couldn't be loyal to Serana, and if Serana did not want to return to her father, she could be faithful to the clan. It had to count for something.
It was the only thing she had at this point.
She only needed one chance; she had to seize this opportunity and slip away from these mortals.
"But being at your mercy does not look very appealing either, " she continued, playing her scheme.
"So, where does that leave us?" Miara asked.
"Make me an offer." Serana shrugged; she kept calm even if she was still on her knees and at the edge of an anti-undead divine weapon. "And I'll share with you what I know."
"We could take her to the Dawnguard," The blonde nord proposed. "Get the info there, put the Scroll in a safe place."
"The Dawnguard?" Serana's voice dripped with disgust. "With a name like that, I can already tell that place will not exactly be 'safe' for me."
She could see the gears spinning on the dunmer's head. Come on, come on, take the bait...
"If you promise to keep your fangs to yourself, I'll handle Isran."
Yes.
She put the blade away and motioned for the vampire to stand up. Ahhh, that felt better; her knees were starting to hurt.
"This is a bad idea," The Khajiit flatly said.
"Maybe. I'll take responsibility." She looked up at the taller woman. "Your name? Calling you bloodsucker is gonna get tiresome fast."
She put a wrinkled hand on her chest. "Serana Volkihar, at your mercy." She grinned. "I'm glad we could understand each other."
Miara gave a noncommittal grunt. "My name's Miara; These are Lydia, Jordis, and Kharjo. Hurt them, and I send you to Coldharbour."
Now, here came the trickier part.
"Hmm," Serana hummed in thought. "This 'Dawnguard', where is it exactly?"
"Beyond the mountain range on the Rift"
"Ah!" She clicked her tongue. "You see, that's going to be a problem."
Miara sighed tiredly. "And why is that?"
"As you can see by my... withered state." Serana motioned to her wrinkled, emaciated, and dry form. "I will not be able to make the journey, much less survive when the sun is up. And traveling only by night will cost us time, not to mention the vampires that will still come after me."
Red eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And how do you intend to fix that exactly?"
"Well, I need to feed. Obviously"
"And turn us into a vampire or your thrall?" Jordis scoffed, keeping her greatsword at the ready.
"Thralls don't need be vampires." Serana droned, "And yes, you risk Sanguinare Vampiris, but at least one of you is depth at alchemy for diseases?"
Clenching his healed hands, Kharjo snarled, "Say we offer you our blood. Who is to say you won't try to use that person as a hostage against us?"
"You have me outnumbered, and I am barely at my peak strength." The vampire dryly points at Miara, "You have a gods damned Dragonborn and that wretched holy sword that could turn me to ashes." She let the group process those words. "I know I am at your mercy and cannot fight back. Or wait long enough, and I turn into a Bloodfiend. Your choice."
The housecarls glanced at each other and then to Miara, who never wavered her gaze from the undead woman.
A low growl came from the Dunmer, blending with her thu'um and shaking the surroundings. "Very well," Miara declared, "But you will feed from me and no one else." She took a single step forward, "But you try anything. Dawnbreaker will be the last thing you see."
The Nordic vampire raised her hands placatingly. "Fair deal."
She gave her holy sword to Kharjo, who held the blade ready. Miara took off one of her bracers. "Are you sure this is wise, my Thane?" Lydia questioned with concern.
Adjusting her leather sleeve, Miara grunted, "If we want that Elder Scroll and find out what is going on, I don't see any other way."
"She can have my blood." Jordis stepped forward.
Her selflessness and concern brought a light smile to the dark elf before she shook her head, "Best she gets her blood from me."
Serana's eyes were fixed upon the elf's exposed wrist skin as she pulled out a dagger.
It'd sound like an Orcish war song if her heart could still beat. The moment the edge cut skin and drew a trickle of blood, she smelled it. Ohh, the sweat nectar of life, she thought as her fangs came out instinctively. It's been so long...
And her blood! Oh, she could feel it was special. Even if she hadn't been told the dunmer was Dragonborn, she'd know it when her nostrils were filled with the scent.
"Take what you need," Miara sternly warned as she offered her arm. "And not a drop more."
She was almost trembling as she approached, holding the gray limb with both hands as she drew her lips near the self-inflicted wound.
After one thousand and four hundred years, Serana fed.
And it was the *most extraordinary* meal she had ever tasted.
She had tasted altmer who carefully cultivated their lineage through the eras—sampled the fierce blood of werebeasts and even the rich, cursed blood of other vampires.
But none of them held a candle to the inferno that was dragon blood.
Her eyes widened the moment the blood made contact with her tongue; its flavor was exquisite. There was the fiery aftertaste dunmeri blood was known for, and they had fire in the veins, after all. But the dragonflame in her veins dwarfed that sensation by a magnitude. It tasted like gold, like the sky, like heaven.
Dragonborn! Her fangs cried out. Child of the gods!
Godblood. Were she a lesser vampire, she would have been turned to cinders. But as a vampire lord, as a Daughter of Coldharbour, she could relish the finest meal of the ages.
She suckled and licked with wild abandon, letting out less-than-dignified sounds as she did so, leaning deeper into the arm to taste more blood as the warmth rushed down her neck. The vitality of the living filled her long-dried-up body and returned the vibrant beauty of her youth, when she had turned, in a matter of seconds. Skin stretched and erased all wrinkles while her gaunt muscles filled out again with lean and healthy mass.
The warmth filled her gullet and spread through all her extremities as the ravishes of a thousand years of thirst were undone, thanks to this glorious blood.
But it wasn't enough, no. Serana kept feeding with ravenous hunger; the ecstasy of the godblood was incomparable, and she *needed* more. She kept feeding with grunts and pleasured moans, and hidden by her chest piece were two pinpricks of pain that rose as droplets fell from the corners of her mouth, trailing down her neck...
She was vaguely aware of a hand pushing her shoulder. She had shut off the outside world entirely, and there was only her and the blood: her hunger and the satisfaction, the feelings of fulfillment, of pleasure.
A much harder push separated her from her treasure, and she hit her back with the monolith coffin once more.
She stood there, head arched back while her bosom rose and fell with rapid breaths, eyelids half-closed as she rode the aftershocks of the finest meal of her unlife. Serana slowly looked back at her generous 'donor', who had healed the wound and stared at her anger, concern, and perhaps a touch of... interest?
Yes, with her actual looks restored, it was a natural response.
She smirked, showing her fangs and still bloody mouth. Serana spoke again with full vigor, finally restored, her voice clear and musical. "Was it good for you, too?"
Serana's smirk faintly grew, seeing a faint flush to grey cheeks from the elf before shaking her head. Watching her lowering her leather sleeve, the vampire almost moaned in disappointment as the Dunmer put her bracer back on and retook her holy sword. Her tongue moved out of her mouth to savor the remaining blood, licking her lips clean.
"Well, are you an interesting one, Godling." Her words had the expected response when the Dunmer growled, pointing Dawnbreaker at her with fury in her glowing eyes. Her companions also looked ready to strike Serana down as she smirked. "Was Akatosh being gracious he sired a child with a lowly mortal dark elf?"
"None of your damn business." Serana heard finality in Miara's voice.
The Nordic vampire raised her hand placatingly, "Alright. Shall we leave then? Lead the way."
"You don't know how to get out of here?" Jordis spoke incredulously.
"Fourteen hundred years changes a place if you have not noticed. This was a crypt for a Warrior called Zvala back in the day before it was modified for me." Her reddish-orange eyes glanced around. "The place looks even worse than it did before my nap."
The dark elf let out a disgruntled groan. "And we had to seal the way we came in. We press forward for an exit."
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Serana closed her eyes as she felt the winter winds of Pale rush her body upon finding another path out of the crypt. It led to the Draugr form of Zvala and an actual Word Wall connected to an arena where more Draugr was with their lord. The fight was swift, and Serana felt the rush of battle once more. She had missed as much as her thirst for blood.
The vampire smiled while the wind rushed around her, moving her hair and clothes. Opening her eyes, she stared at the glorious sight of Masser and Secunda glowing in the night sky. "It felt like an eternity since I felt fresh air."
"We are kind of pressed for time, you know?" Miara deadpanned with a glare.
Serana's smile widened. "Hmm, don't worry."
Her hands clenched in a claw-like gesture.
"This'll be over soon."
Too late, they realized her intent.
Ice flowed through the Volkihars' blood; it was their line's blessing, after all. Frost magic came to them naturally and with great potency.
And Serana was a caster who had forgotten more about magic than mortals had seen in their entire lives.
Her arms spread to the sides, and she cast a powerful blizzard around them. Deafening winds rushed at high velocity in a circle, picking up snow as icy mist with the force of a gale swirled around them. Frost gathered over their forms, coating their armor as the searing pain of pure winter forced them to their knees.
In the middle of it all, immune to her spell, Serana grinned down at her 'rescuers.' "I've no intention of being interrogated by a group of vampire hunters. Much less, sell me, clan." She leaned down with her hands resting on her knees as she looked at the dunmer she held on with Dawnbreaker stabbed to the ground, shivering and grunting against the icy winds. "My father may be extreme... but blood still has to count for something, right?"
Miara glared at her with unending rage.
"I'm sure you understand."
The dunmer burst into flames.
Serana backed away, startled by the coat of fire covering the dunmer and battling the frost. Some Dunmers could call upon the fiery magic in their veins, and under their ashy exteriors, they burned the fury of their ancestors like Red Mountain.
Miara stood up and held Dawnbreaker in both her hands. She let out a loud, hateful warcry and charged at the vampire. No, not a warcry, a Shout.
"Wuld!"
She dashed, propelled by the power of her Voice.
If Serana hadn't turned into mist at the last second, the golden sword would have cleaved her from shoulder to armpit.
She backed away from the dunmer who slashed with manic anger, desperately seeking to kill her for her betrayal. Her form was still shrouded in flames, doing a good job at countering the blizzard's effects, but it wasn't enough to nullify it entirely; her movements were still a touch stiff.
Fine, Serana thought with frustration. If the Dragonborn brought to bear the power in her blood, then it was only fair that she responded in kind.
Her cursed blood sang to her, coating her figure in a darkened red cocoon…
Soon, the blood exploded, showering the frost-covered companions of the Dragonborn. What came to hit the dunmer only burned away by her flaming cloak. Miara saw that the human form of Serana was gone, replaced by drawings she had seen in some of the dawnguard tomes of Vampires.
Standing a foot or two taller than her human form, her skin was now pale white and leathery. Elongated bat-like wings protruded from her back with ornate armor and cloth over portions of her body. Horns adorned her head, giving her a bat-like face and glowing eyes with fang-like teeth. "I am a daughter of Coldharbor. A pure-blooded vampire sired by Molag Ball himself."
The flames on Miara's body only grew while Dawnbreaker glowed brighter. "And you'll be a pile of ashes I can send back to dear old daddy while Bal takes your rotten soul!" The Dragonborn charged with a roar.
Serana angrily hissed, charging at the elf. The two flowed against one another like water. They moved faster than Lydia, Jordis, or Kharjo could see, save the swipes intended to kill their comrade and the fire cloak from their friend and Dawnbreaker's swings.
Frost formed on the Vampire Lord's right hand as she sent a wave of ice spikes at the dark elf. Much to her annoyance, the Dragonborn dodged them or allowed her fire cloak to melt them enough that Miara cut them in half, falling to the ground. "Is that all you got?!" Miara called out, "I faced more dangerous trolls than you!"
"I had expected better fighting from a Godling Dragonborn!" Serana taunted with her voice more gutteral.
Jordis gnashed her teeth as she tried breaking free from the ice covering her body. Her effort was slow, as it was for her fellow Housecarl and Khjiit friend, who growled, trying to move his sword arm. They had to get free! Even if Miara was skilled, a Vampire Lord was still extremely dangerous for anyone to face alone!
"Yol!" Fire bloomed from the dunmer's lips.
But the vampire had jumped over it. Those tiny wings that barely looked like they could lift someone aloft flapped, and she ascended to the sky high enough to evade the flames. Serana dove like a hawk about to catch its prey, only for Miara to raise her hand and strike with a bolt of lightning emerging from it, making the Vampire Lord's body seize and twitch, losing all control and leading their bodies to collide, sending the two tumbling over the snow.
Miara quickly tried to stand on shaky legs, raising Dawnbreaker high over her head to deliver a chopping strike on the vampire while this one still recovered. Serana snarled, quickly rising on one leg and lashing out with a long, sinewy arm. Sharp claws cut through the leather over the dunmer's midsection, drawing blood in an arc.
Miara gasped, a pained groan escaping her lips as Dawnbreaker fell from her grasp, her hand instinctively going over the wound to cast healing. She fell on one knee, pressing her hands tightly over her wounded core while blood spilled between the shining fingers as she cast Restoration.
Serana panted, rising to full height as she looked down at the Dragonborn. "You're such an easy prey right now," She muttered, licking her blood-coated fangs. "But... I guess I still owe you my freedom. And I do not forget my debts." She backed away, for though she was unarmed and wounded, the woman still had her Voice. "So I'll spare you."
Cracks formed on the frosty ice covering the housecarls and Khajiit warrior as they finally broke free and charged at the vampire. But their strikes were met with only mist, and Serana's body vanished in it. She reappeared in human form, floating into the air. Lydia knelt beside Miara while the Dunmer glared daggers at the vampire woman. "I will find you. And I will kill you."
The undead woman laughed as she flew away into the night. "Was a pleasure!"
"I WILL KILL YOU, YOU UNDEAD BITCH!" Miara roared with fury.
Serana merely kept laughing as she flew back to Castle Volkihar.
Back home.
…If it a place could still be called such.
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