4E 202, College of Winterhold
Gerron Ironbreaker
The assassin's dagger missed by a hair's breadth, cutting through air as Gerron rolled to his feet. He was clad only in his sleeping clothes, but he was never unarmed. Never unprepared.
The assassin, still covered entirely in shadows and making nary a sound, lunged again. Gerron's right hand moved, empty and weaponless. The assassin thought nothing of it.
With a flash, his Dragonbone sword appeared in his grip from his inventory.
The assassin's eyes widened—but too late.
Schhhlick!
The blade severed his wrist cleanly. The dagger clattered to the floor, and a voiceless scream escaped his lips. A Muffle spell, Gerron recognized. The assassin collapsed to his knees, the shadows receding from his figure.
An Altmer man, pale gold skin, narrow face twisted in pain, long and sharp ears, black Thalmor armor glinting under the magelight.
"Thalmor," Gerron snarled, grabbing the elf by the throat and lifting him as if he weighed nothing.
Light shimmered around Gerron as he activated his armor through the Inventory. In seconds, he was fully clad—midnight-black Ebony plate overlaid with the shining red luster of Caraxes' dragonscale vest. And across his back, the Mercury Hammer stood ready to be used.
Gerron's gauntlet sparked with lightning as he fed a jolt through his fingers. The Thalmor agent's body convulsed, and the muffling spell was disrupted.
"Talk. What was your mission?"
The agent spat blood and defiance in Gerron's face, which made the Dragonslayer narrow his eyes.
"Fine then."
With a loud snap, Gerron let the lifeless body drop. He released a breath.
"No more hesitation," he muttered, the words from his divine vision with Zenithar still echoing in his ears. He didn't flinch at what he'd just done. He simply grabbed the corpse by the ankle and walked to the Hall of Elements.
…
He entered to find Mirabelle Ervine overseeing Tolfdir's morning lecture, along with Niranye. Students had gathered in clusters, listening to a demonstration on layered Flesh spells. The moment Gerron appeared, fully armored, carrying the corpse, the room went silent.
"Morning, Gerron. Are you—" Mirabelle's greeting halted at the sight of his expression, one set to a fierce scowl.
He tossed the body onto the floor with a heavy thud.
"Where's Ancano?"
"What?" Mirabelle questioned in surprise.
"A Thalmor assassin just tried to kill me in my quarters." Gerron explained as gasps echoed throughout the chamber. "Where is Ancano?"
"He's…supposed to be with the Archmage." Mirabelle blinked, "what is going on, Gerron?"
At that moment, the doors to the Hall of Elements burst open—and nearly fifty Thalmor soldiers marched in. They formed three rows of single file lines. The banners of the Aldmeri Dominion behind them as they took position right at the only entrance, sealing everyone inside without a way out.
Gerron's eyes flared. His Artificer's Insight activated on instinct. Nearly all of their armor and shields were buffed with Resist Magic enchantments.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Mirabelle roared. "What are you Thalmor doing at the College?!"
Tolfdir ushered the other students to stand behind him, Gerron, Mirabelle, and Niranye as the lines of the Thalmor parted, allowing two individuals to stride forward.
Ancano had an arrogant smirk on his face, followed by a haughty-looking Altmer with elaborate armor—a mix of Malachite and gilded Elven plate. Though their faces turned surprised at the sight of Gerron and the dead assassin on the ground.
"Still your insolent tongue, Mirabelle." Ancano sneered. "This charade has gone on long enough."
"What are you doing, Ancano?" Mirabelle narrowed her eyes as the Thalmor warriors behind Ancano closed ranks, sealing the opening they'd made. "Have you finally revealed the true purpose of you being stationed in the College?"
Ancano merely turned his nose at Mirabelle as the other commanding Altmer spoke up. "I am Justiciar Aralor. This institution has been harboring a Moth Priest who has eluded our justice. And you," he nodded toward Gerron, "are now property of the Thalmor."
"Try me," Gerron growled, eyes locked with Aralor's.
Aralor smiled coldly. "You are an asset too dangerous to remain independent. We have heard all about you Gerron Ironbreaker, the so-called Dragonslayer. Your peerless talent in the creation of magical artifacts has spread far and wide. I can already see for myself that this statement is the truth." He eyed Gerron's armor and weapons. "This power shall serve the Dominion well."
"And what of the assassin who tried to kill me?" Gerron raised a brow. "One of yours, no doubt."
"A failure that he has repaid with his life." Aralor stated dismissively. "We originally planned to kill you and grab those items from your corpse, but capturing you would serve us better in the long run."
"The Moth Priest is not a criminal that you can arrest randomly." Mirabelle spat. "And Gerron is now a member of the College's faculty. Are you truly foolish enough to threaten us?"
Ancano laughed. "You call us fools? Oh Mirabelle, you have no idea the true power that the Thalmor wields."
"It can't be much, considering you're salivating over Gerron's creations…" Toldfir muttered, earning muted chuckles from the students.
"Mind your tongue, Tolfdir!" Ancano whirled.
"Ohhh…I'm so scared." the aged Nord rolled his eyes. Gerron found himself liking the Alteration master more and more.
"Enough!" Aralor shouted. "Your Archmage is already cornered in his office with over twenty of Thalmor's elite. Two of your Professors and a large number of your students are in Saarthal. You are not equipped to resist the might of the Thalmor."
"How did you even sneak so many of these warriors inside?" Mirabelle asked. Gerron noticed the attempt to stall for what it was.
From what he can see, there were a little under fifty of the Thalmor here. On their side was Gerron himself, Mirabelle, Tolfdir, Niranye, and ten other students. Among them was the Hagraven.
She knew a mere twenty warriors wasn't a match for the Archmage, which was why she's attempting to buy time for the man to come to their rescue. Something which was very much unneeded in Gerron's opinion.
"Wouldn't you like to know, Mirabelle." Ancano sneered. "Enough talk, give up the Moth Priest and lay down your weapons, Dragonslayer. Do so, and Shor's Stone shall be spared."
Gerron stilled.
Did these pointy-eared bastards just threaten his home?
"Oh dear…" Mirabelle sighed. "Are you prepared, Tolfdir?"
"Of course, Mirabelle."
Gerron moved.
In a blink, he was in front of Aralor, the Altmer bearing a look of surprise on his face. The Mercury Hammer descended. With a loud crack that echoed through the hall, Aralor's head twisted unnaturally, his face in line with his back as the neck shattered. Blood and teeth went flying.
"Justiciar!" Ancano shrieked.
Tolfdir immediately acted, slamming both fists on the ground as the stone floor beneath the Thalmor all turned to sand. Swinging his hands to the side, the stonework of the College followed his command as walls were raised in a triangular formation, shielding the students.
The walls came just in time as the Thalmor warriors retaliated. Sunk into the sand as they were, that didn't stop the arrows or the magic that collided with the stone walls.
"Hold the line!" Mirabelle cried, already floating inches above the ground. A clap of her hands—and six Thalmor collapsed, minds shattered by an expert-level Illusion spell that Gerron didn't recognize.
Explosions rocked the chamber as the Hall of Elements devolved into chaos. The Hagraven student cackled madly as she threw exploding fireballs continuously onto the Thalmor lines.
The Thalmor proved their elite status as they reorganized quickly. Despite the sudden death of the Justiciar, they quickly formed into smaller groups before entering their Phalanx formations. Mages at the front locking their shields and stacking wards to hold against the magical barrage.
But none of this mattered to Gerron, for he only had eyes on Ancano.
"You beast!" the Altmer snarled, lightning crackling between his hands. "How dare you defy—"
Gerron just walked, slow and unbothered. Mercury Hammer in hand, his horned ebony helmet casting a fearsome look towards anyone who saw him.
Piercing lightning bolts flew through the air from Ancano that Gerron met without even flinching. Whenever the lightning impacted his armor and his dragonscale vest, blue lines were seen alighting like veins that flowed to his Mercury Hammer, recharging it.
"W–What?!" Ancano claimed in surprise, before switching tactics and bathing Gerron in copious amounts of flames. There was something different about them however. Instead of the orange flames that most mages could create, this one was a strange yellow color. They were much hotter than the usual, more malleable as well.
Somewhere in the Hall of Elements, Gerron heard Niranye gasp. "It was you, Ancano! You're the one who stole my research!"
Despite the clear power behind it, Gerron can't help but think how pathetic these flames were compared to a Dragon's fire.
He let himself be washed by the flames, continuing his stride unbothered as Ancano visibly panicked at the sight.
"H–How?!" Ancano cried as he started stumbling backwards. "You were supposed to be—"
Gerron lunged.
His gauntlet closed around Ancano's throat. With one fluid motion, he lifted the Thalmor mage into the air and slammed him against a stone pillar. The stone cracked from the force as Ancano gasped.
He lifted his hand to try conjuring a spell. Gerron responded by slamming his forehead into Ancano's face, breaking the elf's nose in a spray of blood.
He dropped the Mercury Hammer, letting it thud onto the ground before grabbing one of Ancano's hands and squeezing. Every bone snapped as the Thalmor let out another unholy scream of pain.
"NO! PLEASE—"
"Shut up," Gerron muttered.
Gerron wasn't one for meaningless suffering, but breaking a person's hands was one of the most surefire ways to prevent them from doing magic, so it was necessary. It helped that Ancano was also a twat.
He turned as the last of the battle reached its peak.
Mirabelle, Tolfdir, and Niranye were quickly showing why the College Professors were forces not to be trifled with. Toldfir was a master Alteration Wizard, with his specialty being the Transmute spell.
An arrow that flew in his direction was grabbed out of the air and turned it into a solid block of arrow-shaped gold. A simple tap of his foot to the floor had the stone under the Thalmor's feet to turn into an oily substance, making them slip and break formation.
Just in time for Niranye to unleash yellow flames—not unlike the one Ancano created previously—bathing them in the fire, alighting the oil beneath them.
Mirabelle herself was a master Illusionist. She didn't need to do anything else but stand still as the Thalmor around her busied themselves killing one another. Half were already unconscious from the burst of force she had unleashed previously.
It seems that whoever enchanted their armors weren't good enough to resist spells from master wizards.
Seeing that they were fine, Gerron rushed to the ones that were harassing the students, who he could see had already sustained a few injuries. He slammed into the Thalmor's lines like a bull, his hammer annihilating anyone that was unfortunate enough to be in his way.
Despite their numbers and obvious skill, the Thalmor couldn't overcome the fury of three master wizards and the Dragonslayer himself.
By the time Gerron looked back at the center of the Hall, the floor was strewn with black and gold corpses.
Only six Thalmor still lived, who had dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. Ancano moaned in pain by the pillar, bloodied and broken. Gerron intentionally left him alive, for there were questions he needed answering.
…
4E 202, College of Winterhold
Savos Aren
Oh dear, he was in quite the conundrum.
Savos Aren had barely stepped out of his chambers, intending to stroll along the bridge for a moment of air before going to the meeting that Ancano requested, when he was greeted with an altogether more unpleasant surprise.
A full cadre of golden-armored Thalmor stood before him in the courtyard. Not just soldiers—no, this was something far more organized. Their formation was precise: a blend of warriors with glass swords already drawn and battle-mages whose hands crackled with magicka. Even now, they began spreading out, forming a net, spacing themselves enough to negate area spells or chained lightning.
He counted twenty. No—twenty-two.
"Which one of you is the leader, might I ask?" Savos said lightly, clasping his hands behind his back as if speaking to unruly students rather than hostile invaders.
A tall, narrow-eyed Altmer stepped forward, his jaw angular and voice clipped. "I am Merendil. I act in accordance with the will of the Aldmeri Dominion. You are under arrest for aiding traitors, harboring heresy, and trafficking with Daedric forces." He lifted a gauntleted hand. "Come quietly, Archmage, or the College of Winterhold shall fall today."
"Hmm, I don't recall ever doing any of that." Savos smiled faintly as he tilted his head. "You certainly rehearse your lines well. Did you practice them in the mirror?"
Merendil did not reply. The threat was clear.
Savos' calm expression darkened slightly. "I do not think you quite understand where you are, Merendil. This isn't Cyrodiil nor are you in the Summerset Isles. This is my College. Every ward, every stone, every enchantment woven into these halls—answers to me. And I do not take kindly to threats."
He lifted his hand. Power began to swell around him, the air itself growing dense with arcane pressure. A high-pitched ringing hummed in the ears of every Thalmor present. Sparks leapt across the cobblestones like lightning waiting for permission to strike.
The Thalmor raised their weapons.
Savos tilted his head—and tore open a violet portal with a vicious sweep of his hand.
It hissed and spun in the air like a torn hole in the very fabric of Mundus. The ground shuddered beneath their feet as something stirred on the other side. A deep, guttural growl echoed from the portal's depths.
"Kill him!" Merendil shouted.
The Thalmor let fly.
Arrows whistled through the air. Fireballs, spikes of frost, and lightning surged toward him in a blinding wall of elemental fury.
Savos raised his left hand, muttering a single syllable taught to him by Collette herself—the foremost expert of Restoration at the College.
The air shimmered, and a glowing blue ward burst into being. Unlike traditional wards, this one formed a crystalline barrier—a shimmering dome of magicka that refracted light like a prism. It withstood both physical and magical force in harmony.
The arrows shattered. The spells scattered like droplets against a shield of glass.
And then the portal screamed open.
Six towering figures emerged from its depths.
Dremora Lords.
Clad in dark, twisted armor forged in the fires of Oblivion, each stood over seven feet tall. Their crimson eyes glowed beneath horned helms. Greatswords the size of grown men rested against their shoulders like toys. The air turned to ash and brimstone as they stepped forward, snarling.
The lead Dremora bared his jagged teeth in a grin. "Ah… fresh meat." His voice was guttural, feral—dripping with glee. "Are these mortals your enemies, my lord?"
"They are," Savos said coolly.
A few Thalmor took instinctive steps back, clearly surprised by his casual show of power. Though to their credit, none broke rank or tried to run.
Savos's voice rang with authority. "Scour every inch of the College. Anyone bearing their armor or colors is to be purged. You may do as you will—except to the students or faculty. They are not to be harmed."
"With pleasure." The Dremora Lord let out a monstrous laugh as he charged forward.
What followed was not battle. It was butchery.
The Dremora Lords carved through Thalmor ranks like hounds let off the leash. One swung his blade in a wide arc, cleaving two warriors in half in a spray of red. Another hurled a mage into the air and bisected him before he hit the ground. The courtyard turned into a scene from a Daedric war. The scent of scorched flesh and sulfur filled the air as screams rose and died by the second.
Savos didn't bother watching the massacre.
He strode toward the Hall of Elements, his robe trailing behind him. He passed Merendil's twitching body without a second glance—the Thalmor commander now a mess of broken bones and flesh, having been severed into two clean halves.
With each step, Savos's face remained impassive, though deep within, something stirred. Satisfaction, perhaps. Vindication. There was something oh so satisfying in cutting loose once in a while.
He had changed plenty from the man who so easily betrayed his friends long ago. Though it seems there was a good in that. He could still sense the magic he had interwoven into Morokei's prison still holding strong.
If what Gerron Ironbreaker said was true and Alduin was reviving the Dragon Priests, then those protections should at least serve to slow down the World-Eater. Savos Aren couldn't even begin to imagine what destruction that Morokei could unleash had he risen back to his full power, especially with the Staff of Magnus in hand.
Either way, the Archmage of Winterhold walked through fire and death, unflinching.
…
AN: College Professors are OP. I swear these mages aren't to be trifled with. Especially Savos Aren, dude tumbled with Morokei of all people.
Anyways, the Thalmor fucked up. The consequences of this will be touched on in the next few chapters. We'll return to Kiera and Serana next.
More chapters on my Pat_reon! A whole 10 chapters ahead! Chapter 56 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!