Chapter 40: Way of the Voice: Part 9
I gritted my teeth. Are you kidding me? Teleportation? The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I stood frozen, every instinct screaming at me that the Dunmer could blink behind me at any moment, burying a dagger in my spine. In front of me, the Draugr Overlord groaned, clawing out of its tomb.
A bead of sweat slid down my brow as I braced for the attack, the piercing pain in my spine, but nothing came.
Instead, a snarky voice rang out, echoing from the far edge of the burial chamber. "Did you really think that I'd try such a cheap trick on you?" Vals Veran's tone was needling, yet edged with a grudging respect.
"You really shouldn't underestimate your skills like that…" There was a pause, like he was searching for his memory. "Um.. right, I never got your name?"
I didn't answer or try to find where he was.
The weight of my sword shifted in my hand. And with a flex of will, I swapped the sword with my warhammer—cold steel settled in my grip, heavy and sure. I took a step forward.
The Draugr Overlord straightened fully, his eyes burning blue behind its rusted helmet.
Before it could swing or even utter the Shout, I lunged and brought the hammer down with both hands.
Bone and iron caved in with a crack like shattering ice. Rot and fragments of ancient bones spattered the flagstones.
I exhaled through my nose, shifting the warhammer up onto my shoulder, and turned to find the real threat.
"You're right," I said, scanning the half-lit chamber with narrowed eyes.
"I should probably…" My hand flicked forward, my shoulder eased off the warhammer's weight as a dagger whistled through the gloom, biting the stone wall a few inches from Vals, close enough to cut a ragged line in his robe.
"...stop underestimating myself."
The Dunmer's gaunt face twisted in an ugly scowl. Now it was his turn to grit his teeth. But then—he suddenly sat down, crouching, palms pressed to the ancient stone tiles.
Zzzz!
The chamber trembled as a deep, resonant hum echoed from the stone. A red glow exploded outward from beneath his hands, spreading like a spider web across the chamber floor.
The runes carved in each stone tomb flared sickly crimson.
One by one, lids of the ancient tombs trembled, stone grinding on stone.
Of course. He was already finished awakening them. The overlord wasn't the beginning; it was the end.
The sword shimmered back into my hand, my focus snapping sharply as my heart pounded for the second time.
From the shadows of their tombs, dozens of rotting Draugrs staggered free, Agna's disgraceful ancestors, as she had described them, clad in blackened iron and faded mail, their eyes blazing unnatural fire of red and purple, though slightly dimmer than the one I had plummeted moments ago.
"Let's see if you're as strong against a dozen dead as you are against one," Vals sneered, eyes bleeding a terrible crimson, not the natural Dunmer cursed eyes, they were bleeding, literally.
Can't handle a bit of necromancy?
I smirked, voice low but mocking. "I can fight a hundred if they're all as weak as you." It might've sounded arrogant, seeing I was scared shitless for a moment there, but I'd just crushed their strongest, and the rest were nothing but cannon fodder.
Vals's lips twitched before he closed his eyes. And suddenly, the draugr surged with unnatural haste, their eyes set on me, their groans turning into roars.
"Now!" I shouted as the first Draugr stepped up the stairs.
Veran spun, startled by the sudden cry, his head snapping left and right, confused, before the chamber door burst open with a thunderous crash.
Two women burst through.
One donning a scar on her cheek, the other, a worried expression, both clad in gleaming steel armor that caught the flickering torchlight. The one with the scar wielded a massive greatsword; the other held a steel blade fitting her size and a shield.
Lydia's eyes found me before Uthgerd's, as relief flickered back to her face.
Vals turned and snorted, followed by a mocking laugh, "Hah! Is this the best you could spare? Two women?" His contempt was sharp, almost childish, "Come now, surely, someone of your caliber earns better company." He glanced at me.
Uthgerd frowned, biting her lower lip, but before she could charge, Lydia brought her shield arm to Uthgerd's chest, stopping her from doing anything rash, "Try not to fall for this trick again," she said, voice exhausted but steady, her mind flashing the memory of the night at the tavern—Where Darius had baited her into a beat down.
Uthgerd exhaled through her lips and gave a small nod, tightening her grip on her sword.
Lydia smirked slightly before she, too, adjusted her grip on the sword. Both of them stood ready, tension thick in stale and musty air, but Vals did not stay to exchange blows.
Just like before.
In a shimmer of purple light, a dome of Magicka engulfed him, and in a heartbeat, he vanished, teleporting into yet another unseen corner of the chamber.
Uthgerd and Lydia scanned everywhere, sweat accumulating on their brows, fear of a surprise attack rising in their chests, but their eyes remained sharp.
"Coward," Uthgerd spat, her eyes focused and angry.
"Find him!" I shouted, slashing through two Draugrs snarling up the stairs, with a wild swing before being silenced by my blade.
Lydia and Uthgerd exchanged a look, but before they could move, I shouted again, "Don't lose sight of each other!"
"He can blink in and out. You need to watch each other's backs."
They nodded briskly, before turning in opposite directions, their backs pressed against each other's, moving like a reflection of one another.
But before they could take more than two steps, the Draugr's attention shifted from me, and they dashed toward them.
I watched as Draugr's at the foot of the platform I stood on rush toward them, Damn It! I couldn't move past the horde swarming the stairs to help them.
Uthgerd and Lydia held their ground, their backs still locked, facing opposite directions. They could afford to break that formation, not with that necromancer lurking in the shadows.
I gritted my teeth, Fuck it!
FUS!
The shout thundered out of me like a roar of a giant, tearing through the front line of the undead. The leading Draugr were oblitereted where they stood, flung backwards by the invisible force, bones cracking and splintering against stone columns and the cold floor. The stairs themselves trembled under the sheer force.
But the excessive use of the Thu'um came with a toll. My throat flared with pain, like something sharp clawing at the flesh, but I couldn't stop. I leapt the platform, landing hard with empty hands, and charged into the chaos.
Steel rang against the rusted iron.
Lydia parried a rusted axe with her shield and buried her blade into a Draugr's neck. She spun, cleaving its head clean off, her breath ragged and fast, but her eyes remained focused. She adjusted her stance, barely sidestepping a second attacker as her shield intercepted its claws
Uthgerd took a more brutal approach, like a berserker. With a snarl, she cleaved a Draugr diagonally from shoulder to hip, dark blood splattered her face, but she remained unflinching; if anything, she welcomed it.
Meanwhile, I barreled through the line to their side, slashing an undead in half with a downward strike from my sword, spraying bone and rot across the floor.
The three of us formed a triangular formation, defending one another's flanks as the horde surged around us.
But there were far too many.
For every corpse that we felled, two more surged forward, crawling over the torn and shredded body parts of their brethren. Our blades, covered in putrid filth, continued to swing.
I had stopped counting.
..
…
….
Time became a blur, or maybe it was the exhaustion.
But it might've been a few minutes, since we continued in the triangle formation, there was still no sign of them stopping, but then—
I drove my sword deep into a Draugr's chest, only for it to dissolve into white ash, crumbling to dust at my feet. My eyes widened for a moment.
I turned and struck another—again, it burst into white ash.
He can't keep reviving the dead, I realized. Their bodies aren't strong enough to hold the magicka he's pouring inside them.
My lips curled into a grin, sweat rolling down my face as I shifted the weapons in my hands—swords, axe, hammer, mace—cycling with every kill like a spin of a roulette wheel.
"This is their last death," I muttered, before raising my weapon. "Let's end this!"
I brought it down, changing it for a warhammer mid motion, killing another dead.
Lydia exhaled a sigh of relief, and so did Uthgerd, who had gotten bored and tired of the weaklings, and with renewed vigor, we continued.
The horde was thinning, finally.
***
We stood in the aftermath, three figures still forming a worn triangle, now exhausted, surrounded by the wreckage of the battle. Bones crunched underfoot, mounds of rotting flesh covered in flakes of white ash.
My arms hung empty and limp at my sides, every muscle strained. Lydia hunched forward, her shield bent and fractured, its wood frame bitten through by claws and rusted iron, but her eyes remained focused, scanning.
Uthgerd leaned on her greatsword like a crutch, shoulders heaving, her matte black hair soaked in sweat and blood.
The silence was deafening. Like the tomb had held its breath, something was wrong.
"Where's the necromancer?" Lydia broke the silence with a low, hoarse voice. Her gaze flicked between the shadows of the chamber.
I shook my head, "He's gone." The words tore from my throat like broken glass. The shout had shredded my voice, again.
I growled, straightening my back. I need to breathe. I quickly changed my armor for something light from the inventory, the shirt clung to my skin, quickly soaking in the sweat and blood.
"Fucking coward," I muttered, exhaling.
I stepped out of the circle of corpses and ash, boots crunching as the floor tried to swallow my back into the fight.
A flick of my hand, and a surge in my palm, [Flame] I swept the spell in an arc across the chamber, lighting the scattered torches and incinerating the more intact and not turned-to-ash Draugr corpses along with the Broodmother. The smell of charred flesh filled the air, making it thicker and acrid, but the light brought a sense of safety.
My magicka had fully recovered during the fight that went on for a bit too long.
I pressed a palm to my chest and let the golden warmth of [Healing] pour through me, mending torn muscles and restoring my voice. Then I turned to the others. Lydia's lip was split and her shield arm bruised. Uthgerd had a shallow gash across her thigh.
One by one, I laid hands on them—cough! The glow enveloped them for a moment, leaving them healed and relaxed. We still looked like hell, but that was mostly the clothes.
I exhaled, stepping half a step back from Lydia, "Thanks," she said.
I nodded before I remembered something, "Where's Agna?"
.
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