4E 202, Battlefield outside Labyrinthian
Aela the Huntress
Dragons were prey.
A thought both absurd and undeniable, for she currently had her jaws locked around the throat of a green-scaled wyrm twice the width of Jorrvaskr's mead hall.
Her fangs tore deeper, cracking through scale and bone until the arterial sweetness burst across her tongue. It was hot with a twinge of a metallic taste, yet it was heavenly all the same.
The dragon thrashed once, twice, then went still beneath her massive paws.
Aela inhaled sharply, savoring the scent of death. She could feel Hircine's approval within her, thrumming through her blood like an ancient heartbeat.
With her success, another dragon now prowls the Hunting Ground. Forever prey and toy to Hircine's amusement.
Above her, three dragons clashed in a spinning cyclone of wings. Vermithor, the Dragonborn's dragon, bellowed a Thu'um that split the air. Lightning danced across his maw as he chased down the two smaller dragons.
He had it well in hand. Not only were the other two dragons smaller than him, but their mastery of the Thu'um also paled in comparison to the Bronze Fury.
Aela felt a stab of desire to leap skyward and tear at their throats herself, but she forced her hunger down to focus on the battle at hand.
Her height, easily three times her normal werewolf size, granted her a sweeping view of the battlefield. The scent of iron, old stone, vampire ash, death, and dragonfire rolled across the wind like oil.
To the north, the Dawnguard and her shield-siblings were locked in brutal melee against Harkon's court. Vilkas, with Wuuthrad blazing in his hands, cleaved through a Thalmor thrall as though he were made of parchment. Farkas, in full beast form, hurled a vampire twenty feet into a boulder.
At the center of the chaos, Serana and Isran fought Harkon in a crimson storm of blood magic and sunfire.
Similarly, another such charge happened in the southeast, where the new Jarl of the Rift was leading his men to take down the Dragon Priest mage.
Of all three battlefields, the southwestern one was suffering the most. The Legion lines were collapsing beneath endless waves of snarling Dremora.
While they had some initial breathing room when the Dragon Priest took control of a large number of Daedra, that advantage was lost when Gerron was forced to move to another battlefield.
Legate Taurinus kept screaming himself hoarse as he tried to rally his men, yet it was to no avail as formation after formation buckled.
Well, Aela knew where she was going to go.
"A hopeless front," Aela muttered through her muzzle. "Which should make easy prey."
Her claws dug deep into the earth.
One bound, and a hundred feet vanished beneath her. A second bound, another hundred.
Then she descended into the horde like a falling meteor, her massive paw sweeping sideways and sending six Dremora flying in a single blow.
"It's the Huntress!" a wounded legionnaire cried, blood streaming from his eye. "Hold the line!"
Aela answered with a thunderous howl that shook ash loose from nearby rocks. She tore through the Daedra ranks, shredding armor, breaking bone, and crushing skulls beneath her weight. Each kill fed her, strengthened her, and thrilled her.
But being the largest creature on the field short of a dragon always had consequences.
She became an easy target. Scamps swarmed up her back, their tiny claws digging into her fur. Kynvals formed a semi-circle and unleashed volleys of firebolts, searing her flanks.
Aela snarled, jerking her body violently to throw the vermin off. While most were mere superficial wounds that wouldn't take her down, sharp and stinging pain still flickered across her nerves.
Just as she was about to go on another massacre, she froze. Her nose twitched as an odd smell entered her nostrils.
It was difficult to pick up. Most of the air here smelled of ash, fire, and brimstone due to the presence of Dremora. But she also picked up the odd scene of dusk and twinge of divinity.
She recognized it, it was the smell of someone blessed and the scent of a Champion.
Her ears swiveled toward the mountainside. Her gaze followed.
There, on a narrow ridge overlooking the entire battlefield, stood the robed leader of the Mythic Dawn.
Her enhanced eyesight easily caught the details even from this far away. Mankar Camoran, if she remembered right from the briefing. But it was not him the smell came from.
No. The scent came from the woman beside him, who was bound, wounded, and shivering in the cold. A Dunmer. Eyes sunken but still burning with something ancient, something sacred, clad in nothing more than rags.
Aela felt her hackles rise.
'Another champion… and she's suffering.'
The Dunmer woman moved her head as she met Aela's gaze. Even from this far, their eyes locked for a bare second. And Aela knew what she had to do.
With a thunderous roar, she bounded up the mountain, claws shredding stone as she climbed. The ridge neared. Camoran turned, eyes widening.
Aela lunged for his throat.
…
4E 202, Labyrinthian
Kiera Fendalyn
Her steps echoed through the darkness as she and Savos ran forth without caring for stealth or quietness.
Only one thing mattered now.
Morokei must not be freed. And the Mythic Dawn must not claim the weapon that was bound with him.
As they ran deeper, the stale air tasted of old magic. Gerron's words rang in her head with every stride.
"Morokei's staff is linked to the Eye. If he breaks free, the Eye stirs. If the Eye stirs… everything changes."
Kiera had felt the Eye's presence ever since the College unearthed it out of Saarthal. Like a cold, humming heartbeat beneath the world, pulsing in ways only a Divine-touched soul could sense.
It was most likely how most of the Champions knew to converge in Labyrinthian at this point in time.
Gerron's theory on it basically stated that the Eye of Magnus was not just a relic. It was the font from which Skyrim's magic flowed.
Its power seeped into every forest, every river, every living thing. Continuously strengthening them. Feeding them. Elevating them.
That was why in ages long past, there existed warriors that could break mountains with their bare hands. Warriors that could match a dragon's strength. Warriors like Ysgramor, Olaf One-Eye, and Gormalith Golden-Hilt.
The Eye's sealing had caused the magic within the land to be reduced and the strength that men wielded to wane.
It was the same for mages. An era where mages had commanded storms as easily as breathing were now missing.
There was a time when Archmages could be found plentiful across the land. Now, they were considered to be a rarity. Even an institution as grand as the College of Winterhold could now only boast four masters.
The age of such power had passed.
The only people that could now boast a similar level of strength were the Champions. Divine blessings had forged them into the last remnants of that lost age.
If Alduin or the Mythic Dawn gained control of the Eye's tether through Morokei's staff, the world would end screaming.
Kiera and Savos continued unabated. The realization of how important their current task was making them proceed with haste.
They sprinted past another chamber where they were met with corpses of Draugr strewn about. What was interesting was that each one was not slain by magic nor blade, but with sleek, black arrows that punctured their skulls with eerie precision.
"These must be Karliah's doing. We must be close." Kiera stated. Not wanting to be caught off guard, Kiera shouted. "LAAS YAH NIIR."
The shout came out in nothing but a whisper. The world lit up in her sight, blooms of red and white souls burning like lanterns behind the stone walls. She counted fourteen.
She warned Savos as such, who nodded in understanding.
They passed through an opened iron wrought door and stepped into a massive chamber. Their arrival had every head snapping toward them.
But Kiera's eyes went immediately to the far end of the room, where Morokei hung suspended in a fading bubble of blue energy that was quickly losing its luster.
The bubble was thin, straining, and on the verge of breaking. Two spectral figures stood upon high plinths, each channeling shimmering tendril of magic into the barrier.
"Atmah… Hafnar." Savos quietly whispered from beside her, his voice nearly breaking.
Kiera glanced at him sharply. "Who—?"
Before she could finish her question, her eyes were locked on a creature that stood beside one of the spectral mages.
Across the chamber, beside the spectral mage on the right plinth, stood a tall figure in decaying robes, golden iron mask gleaming like a dead sun.
Krosis, the Dragon Priest responsible for the attack on Whiterun all those months ago.
The masked figure had one hand gripping a wicked staff, the other hovering over the spectral mage as if in some deep ritual.
In the central floor were the members of the Mythic Dawn, a dozen of them filling the chamber. They all looked tense and weary, as if what they found here was not what they expected to see.
Beside the woman Kiera recognized was Ruma Camoran was another high elf whose entire body was a tapestry of burns, scars, and molten flesh. Yet despite that, Kiera knew enough to recognize him as Raven Camoran. Mankar's other child and older of the two.
He clearly recognized her, for he stared at Kiera with eyes that had seen Oblivion's fires and lived. A low growl coming from his throat.
Kiera dropped to a fighting stance. She whispered to Savos. "This is it. We have to stop them here."
Krosis had paused whatever it was he was doing as his gaze whirled between Kiera and Savos before moving towards the Mythic Dawn.
The atmosphere thickened as everyone tensed, waiting for the first move to be struck. It felt as if magic itself was tightening around the chamber like a noose.
That was until a faint twang came from the darkness above.
Kiera's eyes snapped up, recognizing the shape instantly.
A black arrow, gliding through the air like a shadow given form.
It struck Krosis straight in the neck.
The Dragon Priest staggered, and the chamber lit up.
Mythic Dawn mages unleashed fire, frost, and Daedric conjurations in a single blinding wave. The spectral bindings flickered violently. Savos threw up a ward as the stone beneath their feet cracked.
Kiera drew Dawnbreaker as the chamber erupted into utter, apocalyptic chaos.
…
AN: An update on Aela as well what's happening inside Labyrinthian itself. We'll come back to Harkon right after this, before continuing with the battle within the bowels of Labyrinthian.
I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, I had a great time writing this one.
More chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 90 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers guys and see you next time!