Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
I knew right away Divayth Fyr was a dead man. The wizard didn’t have the bones for what was coming.
Akavarin came to meet us at the mouth of the cavern.
I had never seen him before—just heard the myths and legends of old. But I have seen gods. And in that moment, as he walked towards me with a chilling kind of grace, he reminded me of Vivec and Almalexia—the deities that I had murdered—more than any necromancer.
His skin was bone-white, eyes glowing with the purple mists of the Netherworld. Robes flowing all around him, as if they were an extension of his body.
For a creature so infamous for his work with the dead, I’m not sure I have ever seen someone look so alive.
Behind him the remaining ranks of the Falmer army were chanting in unison.
Hum-Ha. Hum-Ha. Hum-Gorah.
It sounded eerily like a heartbeat. Repeated over and over. The twisted Snow Elves hadn’t done anything with one another besides fuck and kill for hundreds of years. And now they were singing in unison.
“We’re too late,” Divayth whispered.
“What do you mean?” I asked, drawing my sword.
“He means,” Akavarin said—his voice echoing and reverberating across the walls of the cave, as if the rocks themselves were speaking—that I’ve already activated the Orb. You were too slow.”
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Divayth said softly. “Nirn will rot down to its core if you if you use that power. You’ll—”
Divayth stopped talking. I glanced over at him, thinking he’d begun casting a spell.
Instead, I saw his head implode.
Flesh and bone and blood were crushed and squeezed into a tiny lump, as if an invisible hand was pressing on him. His limbs went rigid, and I caught a foul smell on the air. I guess something like that would make me shit myself, too.
Then every part of Divayth seemed to go limp and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. His Daedric armor made a metallic clang.
I turned back to Akavarin. He studied me with those purple eyes. It did not appear that it required a great deal of his effort to murder the greatest wizard I had ever known.
“He was fond of exploding heads in his youth,” Akavarin explain. “I thought it fitting.”
I couldn’t exactly disagree, but I said nothing.
“That wouldn’t work on you, would it?” he continued.
“You think that I can’t defeat you?” His voiced continued to reverberate off the walls. It made my vision blur a little around the edges.
“You would be the first one,” I said.
He smiled. “Nerevarine. Savior of Ashlanders. Hortator of the Great Houses. Slayer of Gods. You carry the burden of so many names, it must be…tiring. Why is that you summoned the energy to come all the way down here?”
“What does it matter?”
“I understood Divayth, but I don’t understand you. I find that irksome.”
“Well, Akavarin,” I said, taking a step forward and drawing back my sword. “When the bards write a song about this, I’ll have them call it the Irksome Swordsman.”
Akavarin was smart—he didn’t try to use magic on me. But as I brought my blade down upon him he seemed to fade out of this world. Lose his corporeal nature. My sword cut through his wispy form as if he was nothing more than a puff of mist.
I cut at him three more times—all within the space of a single heartbeat. Nothing.
He disappeared, forming up again behind me and attacking with a twisted claw of a hand. Razor-sharp talons had grown from his fingernails out of nowhere. I dodged him easily, but Akavarin had to materialize to try and strike me, and on his third attack I managed to shear off two of the talons with a counter-riposte.
I moved in to attack again—figuring I’d be able to slip past the sliced nails with a quick thrust—but they’d somehow already regrown.
I bulled forward and kept attacking, slashing and thrusting at his arm. I must have cut it off fifty times in half a minute, but each time it regrew before I could come around for another stroke. After a while, Akavarin seemed to grow bored of the game, and he disappeared entirely. Teleported to the top of a stalagmite about thirty feet above my head. I could have jumped up there, but decided to be patient. Let things play out some more.
“It seems we are at impasse,” Akavarin said. He wasn’t the least bit out of breath. But, of course, neither was I.
“Magic and physical violence may not work on you anymore,” he said. “But that doesn’t make you invincible. Let’s try something else, shall we?”
He closed his eyes and began to chant along with the Falmer. That same strange heartbeat song. The rocks around me began to shake and crack. A rushing sound filled the cave. It was as if there was an ocean below my feet that had suddenly begun to boil upwards.
And then it came—purple water streaming through the cracks and chutes of rock. It smelled like brimstone and carried its own strange light as it rushed around my ankles. Already, the current was strong enough to put me on my heels.
Akavarin was smiling.
“If you survive, you best bring more than a sword and some jokes when come for me again.”
The necromancer disappeared. The water continued to rise.