Skyrim FanFiction, Skyrim Erotica, and More
Gods he’s fast. Coming at me like a lightning bolt made from scales and rage. Spear point snake-tonging all over the damn place and fuck if I’m going to get puked up by a massive geyser only to be skewered and killed by a damn lizard one week later.
Mortimer is dead. Kreeves threw his first spear straight through the poor bastard’s chest.
Although I guess the decapitation I was planning for him wasn’t much kinder.
Kreeves doesn’t speak. Just keeps on with his relentless attacks. High-right, low-left, middle, throat slash. It doesn’t have a pattern and it doesn’t let up. The Dark Lord’s First Fucking Apprentice wasn’t as hard to dodge as this coldblooded bastard.
I knock the spear aside with my sword and try to get in close. Get some damage done. But the quick reptile just skips away and jabs forward again, scraping away a good sized chunk of flesh from my left arm.
There is a hissing sound as my blood meets air. And I know without looking down a simple truth: my insides are boiling just like the purple waters that laid ruined to this frozen land. I’ve known since I first woke up and found that stringy-haired fuckup trying to steal my sword. I can feel the heat inside—like my bones are white-hot bits of metal and the rest of me is smoldering meat.
I guess the whole “boiling blood” thing is finally something that gives Kreeves pause. He backs off for just a second before attacking again.
And a second is all I need.
I rush hard. Two fast stabs that he parries, but then I’m inside his spear and I crack him in the face twice with the pommel of my sword. He somehow gets my blade tangled up in the shaft of his spear so I start punching with my left hand. Ribs, chest, ear. Everything I can reach.
I go fast and find a strength inside my boiling blood that sets his bones to cracking underneath my assault. Then I press my palm against his chest and prepare to send a blast of paralysis through his body so powerful it stops the fucking grass from waving for a mile in all directions.
But nothing happens.
I figured I’ve got that finger-up-the-ass look those two Necromancers carried when I hit them with the poisoned darts. But there aren’t any darts in my skin.
There’s just that Dunmer, lips moving subtle-like. Fingers twitching with spell weaving.
Then there’s a clawed foot in my chest and I’m tumbling backwards. End over end. The ground knocks the wind out of me. Kreeves has stayed where he is.
“What’s happened to you?” he asks.
I smile even though my chest feels just about kicked in and I know that Dunmer’s going to make it very difficult to stay alive these next few minutes.
“Rethinking your plan for revenge?” I ask, standing up slowly.
“I came to kill a black-haired Bosmer,” he says. “You are something…else.”
“Let’s just say I’ve been traveling a bit since last we met,” I say.
He grunts. And I notice by the way he moves that his ribs don’t seem quite as broken as they did twenty seconds ago. I threw that fucker off a damn cliff, and somehow I’m the one whose body came out scarred and battered and broken. He looks good as new.
Of all the people I’ve put in the ground during my life, how is it that the fat, sadistic bastard Sujava is the one who earns such a powerful agent of vengeance?
“You should have let me be,” I continue. “Sujava had it coming.”
“I did not choose my master. But the oath stands. One of us needs to die today.”
And now that old question has returned: fight or run? Last time I chose to fight, I got my soul torn out by Akavarin. That was an unpleasant experience to say the least. So I’m not exactly itching to force the issue with Master-of-the-Spear-Kreeves.
“You sharing your oath with the Dunmer?” I ask, moving to my left a bit. Kreeves mirrors me.
“Call it a mutual interest,” the Dunmer says.
“How about I call it a pain in my ass?”
I bolt forward, right at Kreeves.
He’s ready. When I get into range he jolts his spear forward with a kind of speed and precision that’d get my pussy wet if it wasn’t aimed at my heart. I drop and slide along the grass and his spear point follows my dropping, naked chest. I just barely manage to knock it out of the way so the leaf-shaped point doesn’t skewer anything besides the empty air between my left arm and my heart.
And then I’m up on my feet running again. Right at the Dunmer, this time.
He moves fast enough that I can’t just cut off his head. But he’s not as fast as Kreeves. Not by a long shot.
I put my sword right through his liver. In a messy situation like this I always go for the liver because it’s big and only a half-wit can miss it. Kills a man sure as if a pierced heart, too. It just takes a little longer.
The Dunmer crumples down in the grass and I see a bit of black blood seep from the wound. A good sign. Then I go to cast invisibility so I can finished Kreeves off, too.
Except the gray-skin bastard hasn’t dropped his spell.
I frown and raise my sword, planning to see if he can still cast spells with a length of steel through his skull. But then there’s a shadowy flicker from behind and I dive to my left. Feel a bad kind of pain streaking through my arm, then the snapping of wood. Then I land.
Kreeves’ spearpoint is stuck inside my left forearm. One side looks like a bloody dog’s cock poking out of me. The other is a jagged piece of splintered ash. Both hurt like all hells wrapped into one.
I still can’t cast any of my magic, and Kreeves has already darted back and picked up the spear he used to kill Mortimer.
So now I run.