4E 202, Outside the Ebony Palace
Serana
Her hands burned with a pale, radiant brilliance as she thrust them forward once more. Twin tendrils of white light lashed out like living whips, striking the unstable vortex before her. The portal screamed, a high, keening sound that did not belong in Mundus, as the light of Meridia tore into its structure.
The air warped. Reality itself seemed to recoil.
Then, with a violent snap, the portal collapsed inward, folding into nothingness as if it had never existed.
The Lady of Light's hatred for undead was good for one more than one thing it seemed, and Serana was glad to see it capable of mending these tears in the veil.
And yet… it was not enough. Serana had already closed more than two dozen of such portals, yet the tide of undead didn't seem to slow in the slightest.
All around them, Shor's Stone burned.
The clash of steel rang through the streets, mingling with the guttural roars of draugr and the thunderous cries of dragons above. Her vampiric senses worked against her now, as the scent of ash, blood, and death filled her lungs with every breath. Snow melted where fire touched it, turning the ground slick with slush and crimson.
"How many is that now?" Mirabelle asked, her voice strained.
"Twenty-seven," Serana replied, her gaze already searching for the next threat. "Perhaps twenty-eight."
She no longer kept perfect count, there were simply too many.
Another portal tore open down the street with a sickening ripple, violet energy spilling outward as purple eyed draugr began rushing into the crowd.
"Damn it…" Mirabelle muttered.
"Another one." Serana said quietly. "Durnehviir must know what I'm doing."
As if to prove her words, a draugr scourge roared and charged straight at Serana, ignoring the defenders surrounding her.
Before it could, Ranessa moved as her blade intercepted the swing, sparks flying as their weapons clashed. In the same motion, her free hand erupted with fire, engulfing the draugr in a roaring inferno. The corpse staggered once before collapsing into smoldering ruin.
"Keep going, my lady," Ranessa said without looking back, immediately engaging the coming dead to clear a path for Serana, the six Shor's Guard assigned to her followed Ranessa's lead, each one moving quicker and faster from Ulfric's Battle Fury shout.
Serana seized the opening immediately. She raised her hands again, ignoring the strain building in her limbs. The next portal pulsed violently as her magic reached for it and began the tedious process of closing a portal to another realm.
She was forced to stand still each time she closed one, a tremendous amount of focus needed to thwart Durnehviir's magic. It left her vulnerable and exposed, only the tight formation around her of Ranessa, Mirabelle, and the Shor's Guard was what kept her alive long enough to finish the work.
Five seconds. That was all it took, but those five seconds truly felt like eternity.
The portal shuddered, then collapsed. Serana staggered slightly as she lowered her arms, her breath coming faster now.
"This is endless," Mirabelle said, more bluntly this time. "Even if you close them all, that damn dragon will just keep opening more."
"That may seem so, but there's not much else we can do." Serana said, before looking at the tall Ebony Palace behind them, still a flurry of activity as the turrets continued firing into the dragons in the air.
Truly, it was an understatement. Serana had put the portals closest to the Palace as a priority since the underground entrance to the safe bunkers were located within the palace itself.
The Legionnaires were doing a good job in holding the line to make sure the undead didn't gain anymore ground, but the main problem didn't come from them.
Her gaze lifted. High above the city, a decayed shape circled the skies.
'Durnehviir…'
The Kruziik of souls lacked the majesty that the other dragons possessed. His flesh was rotted and his wings tattered. The scales were constantly dripping and oozing, seeming like puss.
But there was no doubt in her mind that his Voice was the cause and anchor as to why all the draugr were seemingly more powerful than the usual ones they fought. They were more akin to the bonemen and wrathmen of the Soul Cairn, a worrying prospect considering they knew almost nothing of what happened to that realm after Alduin destroyed it.
"Durnehviir is content in staying in the skies," Serana continued. "We'd have to ground him before anything else."
Their troubles were answered not a second later, as a humongous roar erupted in the city. A blur of silver fur had rushed past all the conflict as massive claws raked the surface of the Ebony Palace.
Aela, in her werewolf form, continued to climb up the walls as Isran clung to her back.
Just as they reached the apex, the wolf lunged, launching itself hundreds of feet into the air and crashed into the undead dragon with immense force. Claws tore into the decayed flesh as the two plummeted from the sky.
Spears of golden energy rained down that continued striking Durnehviir again and again, forcing him toward the ground.
Serana allowed herself the smallest of smiles.
"Well… that's one way to solve the problem."
Mirabelle let out a breath. "I'd say that helps."
With Kiera busy with Alduin, and Gerron handling Odahviing somehow, Aela and Isran were definitely the best choice in taking the last Kruziik.
Serana certainly didn't know yet what Gerron did, but everyone had seen the crimson dragon fall from the skies moments ago. She didn't know if that meant Odahviing was dead, but at the very least, one of the Kruziik was out of the picture, at least temporarily.
It gave her peace of mind to continue her duty, because still the portals remained, and the dead continued marching.
A sudden volley of bolts cut through the street ahead, tearing apart a fresh wave of draugr before they could advance.
From the opposite end emerged Sorine Jurard, flanked by Dawnguard knights, their crossbows already reloading with practiced efficiency.
"Move!" Sorine barked. "We'll hold them, get those portals shut!"
Serana nodded once as she and her retinue turned towards the other street. They only took a few steps before Serana's skin tingled, the sclera of her eyes widening.
Her newfound senses screamed at her, every instinct honed by the mingling forces within her. The vampire, Meridia's divine light, and Potema's necromantic power recoiled at once.
The few days of meditation she had spent balancing each one within had bore fruit. Not only did her magicka levels increase by several magnitudes, but she also grew a new sensitivity to magical energies, probably the result of the mix between her vampiric senses and Meridia's sight.
But it was that exact reason that she froze. There was a pressure in the air, a presence. Something vast was approaching.
She turned slowly, only to see a figure floating a few inches above the ground, gazing at her through a silvered moonstone mask.
His head was tilted, the two azure flames for eyes gazing at her with interest. But what caught her attention was the long staff in his hands, already glowing with power.
"How… intriguing," he murmured, voice ancient and hollow. "What manner of vampire are you?"
Serana's hands lit up as frost began forming on her fingers, Mirabelle was likewise the same as Ranessa took up a position just in front of Serana.
"...I see." Morokei said lightly. "One of the chosen…the so-called Champions. Meridia's light is strong within you, and…something far darker. Under different circumstances, you would have been a worthy candidate for the Nine. But here, merely a threat. So perish."
Serana's instincts screamed. A titanic ward was instinctually formed in between them and Morokei, and yet she did not know what happened next.
In the blink of an eye, the world turned white.
A beam of pure, annihilating force erupted from Morokei's staff, tearing through the street with apocalyptic fury. The stone beneath it was vaporized instantly, whatever poor soldier or draugr that found themselves in its path disintegrating within seconds.
Serana grit her teeth, the ward was the only thing in between them, and she could only pray that it was enough.
Then, a crystalline barrier erupted into existence before her, a few inches outside Serana's own ward. The beam crashed into it with catastrophic force, sending shockwaves tearing through the street.
The barrier cracked on impact, yet it held. Serana raised her arms against the storm, strengthening the ward with layers and layers of ice through gritted teeth. Mirabelle and Ranessa joined in beside her, casting their own wards to strengthen the crystal one.
The cracks became more prominent, though the beam visibly thinned and weakened every second.
Then, the beam vanished, and the crystal barrier shattered into a thousand glittering fragments.
And through the settling smoke, Savos Aren was there, sweat marring his brow and panting lightly as he remained stalwart in the face of Morokei.
"Are you alright Serana, Mirabelle?!" Savos stated.
"Yeah, "Serana nodded once. "Thanks for the help."
Mirabelle exhaled in relief.
Truly, surviving that spell with only superficial injuries was a miracle. Serana's gaze went back to the Dragon Priest, who regarded the newcomer with quiet interest.
"Aren, my old friend." While it seemed like a natural greeting, Serana detected a hint of bitterness in there.
"You have grown," Morokei continued. "Only one power could counter the Staff of Magnus. You are the holder of the Eye."
"Indeed I am." Savos didn't deny it, "and it is this power that I will use to cease your existence."
"Amusing…" Morokei said, "Indeed, not prioritizing the Eye was Lord Alduin's mistake, one I intend to fix."
Serana stepped forward beside him, her magic rising once more. "I can say, fighting Morokei seems to be the best use of my time. Let me help you, Archmage."
Mirabelle moved beside her as Ranessa raised her blade. Around them, the Shor's Guard tightened formation as the draugr began gathering across from them.
Their backs were secure with Sorine and the Dawnguard holding that side. Knowing that, Serana didn't hesitate in starting the volley, white lightning erupting from her fingers.
…
4E 202, Northwestern Walls of Shor's Stone
Ulfric Stormcloak
"Watch out!"
Ulfric ducked instinctively as the wounded dragon tore past the battlements, its ragged wing flapping unevenly, trailing smoke and blood. It clipped the edge of the wall with a sickening crunch before crashing into the city behind them, its roar shaking the very stones beneath their feet.
It was still alive, roaring in pain as fire spilled from its maw in a torrent, catching carts, timber, and men alike in a hungry blaze.
"Kill it quickly!" Ulfric barked, already moving. "Don't let it burn the city!"
Galmar was at his side as they thundered down the steps, the Snow-Hammers following close behind. Arrows and bolts rained down upon the beast, but the dragon thrashed wildly, its head snapping from side to side, denying them any clean strike nor a clear target for the eye.
Ulfric planted his feet, "FUS RO DAH!"
The shout exploded from his chest, slamming into the dragon's flank. The beast was thrown sideways, sending it sprawling and dispersing the closest flames, though that did nothing to stop the sudden rise in heat that appeared from the dangerous fire.
That was all the opening they needed.
Galmar was first, as always. His axe bit deep into the joint between wing and body, tearing through scale and sinew. Blood sprayed in a steaming arc across the snow.
The dragon roared, loud enough to make lesser men falter. But not them.
A tail lashed out, but two of Ulfric's battleguard braced behind their tower shields, catching the blow with grunts and holding fast.
The rest of the Snow-Hammers followed up with their spears and poleaxes, the steel finding gaps between the dragon's scales.
Surrounded by the best soldiers that Windhelm had to offer, the dragon could only roar as Ulfric moved. He leapt from the final step, Elegance held in both hands, and drove the blade straight through the dragon's eye.
The resistance was immense, before it gave out and the blade sank deep.
The dragon shuddered once, twice, before slumping as it let out a final gurgle.
Ulfric wrenched the sword free as he landed, boots crunching against blood-soaked snow.
Galmar joined him, breathing hard, eyes scanning Shor's Stone at large. "The city is in chaos. Whatever broke the southeastern gate made the defense scramble. Tullius'll be choking on his own orders trying to contain it all."
"Send some Stormcloak reinforcements to the city." Ulfric stated then, "We're lucky enough to be able to hold the tide on this end, but none of it will matter if the city falls."
Galmar grunted in agreement as he began to shout out orders, three groups of thirty Stormcloaks led by the Bone-Breakers began splitting from Ulfric's main contingent and rushing to aid the city.
"What about the Dragonslayer?" Galmar asked, glancing skyward. "That thing we saw fall…"
Ulfric frowned. Truly the sight was too strange to the point of disbelief. Everyone had seen Odahviing writhing in the sky. Gold and steel spilling from his jaws. A man falling after.
"I've learned to not ask questions when the Champions do their business" Ulfric said, shaking his head. "If anyone could survive such a fall, it's him."
He turned to ascend the battlements, and nearly lost his footing as a sudden, biting wind tore across the northwestern walls.
It was not natural, for it carried a cold so deep it gnawed even Ulfric to the bone,
Screams erupted above as Ulfric surged forward, climbing the steps two at a time.
What he saw froze even him for a heartbeat.
The siege weapons—ballistae, magicka turrets—were encased entirely in ice. Thick, glacial layers that looked like small icebergs.
Around them, more than two dozen men stood frozen where they had been. Some mid-motion, some mid-scream. Their forms all locked in frost.
The sudden change of temperature had Ulfric's skin tingling as a soft mist began rising to the ground.
Standing at the center of it all was Krosis. The Dragon Priest stood unmoving, robes completely untouched by the storm he himself had wrought. Frost clung to him like a second skin, an aura of biting cold that seemed to warp the very air around him.
"Dragon Priest!" Galmar roared.
Krosis raised his staff and slammed it down. Ice erupted outward in a violent wave, blasting men from their feet. Some were thrown from the battlements entirely, their screams cut short as they vanished below.
Ulfric did not hesitate. "ZUN HAAL VIK!"
The Disarm shout ripped through the air, tearing the staff from Krosis' grasp. It clattered across the stone, spinning uselessly away.
Krosis turned, those hollow blue eyes settled upon Ulfric.
A wave of frost followed from his remaining hand but a Snow-Hammer stepped in, shield raised. The impact rang like a bell, frost racing across the metal as the man staggered back.
"Forward!" Ulfric roared.
The remaining Stormcloaks charged, but the battlements were narrow, and the cold turned the stone slippery. One wrong step meant death.
Krosis did not even move like a warrior, he floated a few inches above the ground, and frost surged from his body that formed a whirlwind of cold that surrounded him before reforming into a shimmering armor.
Arrows and crossbows bolts struck him from all sides, only for the missiles to shatter upon impact, clanging uselessly off the armor.
"Damn it!" one of his archers cursed.
Ulfric grit his teeth, 'He is no mere mage.'
He had believed they had the advantage when Ulfric rid Krosis of his staff. But even without it, the Priest remained dangerous despite having only one hand.
As if to prove his thoughts, Krosis raised his hand as jagged lances of ice formed in the air. With a single wave, the lances launched and men screamed as they were impaled, thrown backward by the force.
Ulfric himself would have been skewered had he not deflected it at the last second. He closed the distance then, weaving through the chaos, Elegance flashing as he struck.
The blade connected, and cut a long line off the frost barrier with a shriek of steel.
Krosis flinched, which sent small amounts of satisfaction to Ulfric's head. Regular steel could do nothing, but dragonbone forged by the Dragonslayer seemed to do the trick.
Another wave of frost had Ulfric skidding backwards, his blue eyes gazing at Morokei's form.
"He's going for the staff! Stop him!" Ulfric shouted.
Galmar answered with a roar, charging from the flank. His axe came down in a brutal arc towards Krosis' neck. But the Brown Bear of Windhelm was slow, too slow.
Was it the cold that hindered his movements? Or the slipperiness of the floor? Whatever it was, the axe was stopped as Krosis' remaining hand closed around Galmar's right arm.
Frost exploded outward.
Galmar's roar turned into a snarl of pain as ice raced up his limb, freezing the flesh and blood within it.
"Galmar!" Ulfric barked.
For a moment, it looked as though the old warrior would be taken whole. Yet, quicker than a fox, Galmar drew a small axe from his belt and hacked his own arm off at the elbow.
The frozen limb shattered as it fell.
Galmar staggered back, blood spraying across the snow, but he was still standing.
Ulfric did not waste the opening. He surged forward, rage burning in his chest.
Elegance sang through the air and struck. The blade slammed against Krosis' mask with a ringing crack, the force of it sending the Dragon Priest skidding backward across the battlements.
Ulfric did not give him time to recover. Once again he was upon the Priest, eyes darting to keep Krosis' arm within sight. Another swing carved a good horizontal line on the armor, but Ulfric tilted his head right as a spike of ice scored a cut on his cheek.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, Ulfric slashed at the mask once again with Elegance before following up with another cut to his leg.
Krosis roared in anger at the indignity, his arm thundering upward to Ulfric's face, only for the Jarl of Windhelm to get Elegance in between them, using the hilt to redirect the arm back towards the Dragon Priest as he launched himself backward with an explosion of frost.
Roaring as his blood sang in his chest, Ulfric lunged and stabbed Krosis straight through the chest as he put his face right onto Krosis' mask.
"FUS RO DAH!"
His throat burned as the shout exited his mouth, an audible crack ringing in his ears as Krosis' neck tilted backwards, the neck tilting behind him as the body remained straight.
Panting heavily, Ulfric pulled his sword away as the body dropped lifelessly, his breath steaming in the freezing air.
…
AN: The dragon priests make their move!
With Otar in Zenithar's Square, Morokei outside the Ebony Palace, and Krosis in the Northwestern walls, that only leaves Nahkriin, who remained back in Skuldafn.
A quick look at what Serana's doing in her attempts to close the portals, which are yielding some results. Aela also finally made her move alongside Isran, as the chad couple dragged Durnehviir's sorry ass down from the skies.
Ulfric and Galmar prove why the Bears of Markarth and Windhelm are not to be trifled with, though at the cost of Galmar's arm.
This entire Shor's Stone battle has been fun to write, though I won't deny how difficult it is considering we have so many named characters in play.
Anyways and as always, more chapters are available on my P-word. Chapter 131 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
If you don't want to pay anything, then two chapters are free anyways on that site, feel free to give it a look!