4E 202, Labyrinthian
Gerron Ironbreaker
"Hold the line! Reinforce the right flank!" Legate Taurinus's voice cracked through the chaos like a whip, but his command was nearly drowned beneath the cacophony of battle.
Gerron burst from the war tent with the rest of his companions. His eyes went wide at the sight before him.
The mountainside was alive, as if it was moving. A tide of red bodies poured from the high ridges, the air thick with the screams of Daedra and men alike. Clannfears bounded over the rocks, claws clattering, while ranks of Dremora marched in perfect unison, their black armor glinting beneath the cold light of the moon..
Behind them, smaller creatures, Scamps, Spider Daedra, and snarling Kynreeve's howled as they descended upon the encampment like a plague.
"Calixto…" Isran growled beside him, spitting the name like a curse. There, at the head of the horde, stood a single man in blood-red robes, his hood drawn low over his gaunt face. In his hand gleamed a blade of black glass, a black aura of menace emanating from its tip.
"All units to positions!" Taurinus shouted again, but his words were nearly swallowed by the sound of horns blaring from all sides.
"Legate!" cried a soldier from a nearby watchtower. "Movement from the north and eastern ridges! The Draugr and vampires are on the march!"
"Vermithor!" Kiera's voice rang out over the chaos. She leapt, grasping the dragon's scales as the Bronze Wyrm roared to life, wings unfurling in a gust that sent tents and snow flying. With a beat of his wings, Vermithor rose into the air, fire curling in his throat.
"Stick to the plan!" Gerron shouted, turning to the others. "Karliah, get inside the tomb! You're the last line of defense! No one gets in or out!"
The Nightingale nodded once, her form fading into shadow as if the night itself had swallowed her.
The others immediately scattered into movement. Serana and Isran rallied the Dawnguard to go against Harkon and the Vampires.
"Serana, with me!" Isran barked, already signaling his Dawnguard to formation.
"Companions, rise!" Vilkas was only seconds behind them, the other warriors of Whiterun following in his rally.
Aela's form twisted beside them, fur sprouting across her arms, her bones snapping and reforming as she grew larger, stronger, more monstrous. The howl she unleashed shook the sky.
Then, in a blur of motion, she bounded after Kiera, joining Vermithor in the skies as dragons screeched overhead.
Savos turned to Gerron. "Go. The Mythic Dawn aren't a threat that we can let loose on the battlefield. I'll handle Volsung."
"You're certain?" Gerron asked, glancing at the Archmage's lined face.
"I'll manage." Savos smiled faintly, though his eyes burned with resolve. "I can hold him long enough till Kiera finishes Vokun."
"Then I'll trust you," Gerron said, hefting his warhammer. He turned to Renly and the Shor's Guards, each encased in gleaming ebony. "With me!"
He charged forward, snow and ash kicking up beneath his boots. With a single swing, Gerron slammed his hammer into the ground, an explosion of sparks emitting from the impact.
Legionnaires cheered and rallied, their morale rekindled by the sight of the Dragonslayer himself leading the vanguard.
"Come, my friends!" Gerron bellowed, his voice echoing across the field. "Let us show these Daedra the might of Skyrim!"
"RAHHHH!" roared Taurinus and a hundred men behind him, steel clashing as the battle erupted in full.
…
The field was chaos incarnate. Waves of arrows fell onto the back lines of the dremora army. Some legion mages burst spell after spell before quickly being replaced with soldiers into the front lines.
Even in a place with such high winds as Labyrinthian, the air was heavy with the stench of brimstone.
Gerron caved in the chest of a Dremora Lord, sending it screaming back to Oblivion before pivoting to crush a Clannfear's skull. Renly fought at his flank, slicing through a Churl's knee before impaling it with his ebony sword.
They had fought with such ferocity that a whole swath of dremora lay dead around them. They kept pushing and pushing, eventually breaking through the lines of the daedra till a pocket of black was visible in the wide sea of red amongst the daedra.
It was amidst all this that Gerron's instincts flared. He twisted just as a blade hissed through the air, the edge grazing his pauldron. The enchanted ebony melted into ash where it touched, disintegrating as if devoured.
Not half a second later, Calixto appeared from invisibility with a wide grin, Mehrunes' Razor pulsing in his hand, the air around it bending.
"Hello, Dragonslayer," he hissed. "You and I haven't had the pleasure of meeting."
Gerron simply narrowed his eyes, his gaze locked on the weapon in his hand.
[Mehrunes Razor]
Known as the Dagger of Final Wounds, the Bane of the Righteous, and the Kingslayer, Mehrunes' Razor is an artifact of great power, crafted by the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Razor as a gift to his followers.
Those struck dead by the Razor shall have their souls claimed by Dagon, any and all cut by the blade turned to ashes upon impact.
"What a vile weapon…" Gerron's tone was pure disgust.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Calixto twirled it lazily between his fingers. "Dagon's own kiss… all it takes is one slice, and my enemies shall forever be in the hands of the great Lord Dagon."
"You're a damn fool if you think Mehrunes Dagon would spare you even when this all ends."
"Who cares about what comes next?!" Calixto laughed, his voice echoing like the cackle of a mad priest. "What matters is right now! Have you heard the prophecy, Dragonslayer? The world dies not by gods or dragons, but by men who become more. And I—" He thrust his hand outward, daedric energy spiraling into armor around him. "—will be the one to bleed you!"
Then he was on Gerron in an instant.
Their blades met with a clang. Gerron swung his hammer in a wide arc, the shockwave tearing up the snow beneath them. Calixto danced back, moving with unnatural speed, the Razor flashing like the bite of a serpent. Gerron blocked each strike with his hammer's haft, the steel hissing where the dagger nicked it.
He countered, bringing his hammer around and slamming against Calixto's shoulder. The cultist skidded across the dirt with a grimace, but before Gerron could press, Calixto vanished.
Gerron scowled. He recognized the telltale signs of invisibility for what it was.
He stood silent, focusing everything on his senses. A whisper of air and Gerron pivoted blocking a downward slash that would've gutted him. Sparks flew as the Razor met ebony. The armor beneath his arm sizzled and turned to ash, the smell of burnt metal rising.
He grunted, tightening his grip as he unleashed a sweeping swing that forced the Chosen of Dagon back.
Calixto's grin widened as he whispered a spell. Flames exploded from his hand that he extended, engulfing Gerron in a storm of fire.
The Dragonslayer roared, the heat nowhere near enough to threaten him. With Caraxes' dragonscale vest and the Crown of the Rift, nothing short of Kiera's flames could ever harm him.
With a stomp, he shattered the ground beneath him, sending shards of rock flying and breaking Calixto's focus. Gerron burst from the flames like a bear enraged, hammer raised high.
BOOM!
The strike connected with Calixto's chest, the daedric armor cracking. The man flew backward, smashing through a mound of snow and sent it all flying. For a heartbeat, he lay still, then began to rise, bones snapping back into place, flesh knitting with horrifying speed.
Gerron's eyes narrowed.
"You can't kill what is already chosen," Calixto rasped, eyes blazing. "Dagon's blood flows through me!"
"Then let's test that claim."
They clashed again, amidst the chaos of the larger battle. All around them, the Legion fought and died, fireballs and arrows streaking through the storm. Gerron's hammer became a blur, each swing breaking through Calixto's guard, forcing him back step by step. The cultist answered with speed and illusion, flickering in and out of sight, never engaging in a direct fight.
Yet Gerron remained an immovable mountain. Whenever Calixto appeared, Gerron would meet him head on, the Mercury Hammer swinging with the strength of a demigod.
Finally, Calixto lunged, overextending, and Gerron slammed the shaft on his wrist.
A loud snap reverberated across the air. Before Calixto could recover, Gerron caught him by the throat. He clenched his fingers as hard as he could, and the Daedric armor shattered beneath his grip.
"Here's the thing about prophecies," Gerron growled. "They all mean jackshit after Alduin swallowed time. So congrats on living on a lie."
With a roar, he lifted Calixto bodily off the ground and slammed his back across his knee. The sound that followed was wet and final, a crack that echoed even through the screams of battle.
Calixto's scream turned into a choking gurgle as the light in his eyes flickered.
"Tell your Prince…" Gerron snarled, tossing the broken man aside, "…Skyrim bows to no one."
And as Calixto's body hit the ground, the Razor slipped from his grasp, its black edge still humming with hunger.
But Gerron did not look down. His gaze was already fixed higher, towards the man he knew to be the truer threat behind the Mythic Dawn.
Mankar Camoran looked back at him, his face turning to a sneer.
…
4E 202, Labyrinthian
Mankar Camoran
From above the ridge, the chaos below looked like an orchestrated battlefield. Here in this Night of Convergence, where Champions of all deities coincide.
Waves of red and silver clashing against an endless black tide. Legion banners swayed in the air from the pikes of the Imperials, the sunbursts of the Dawnguard gleaming in the moonlight, before being swallowed by the Daedra, who surged like an ocean of fire.
"That fool, Calixto," he muttered, eyes narrowing at the man's crumpled form further down the slope. "Always too eager and reckless to prove himself."
He could see the battle even from this distance. Calixto with the Razon in hand, and against him, the hulking form of the Dragonslayer, Gerron Ironbreaker.
He was like a giant amongst men, a bastion of black ebony, wading through the ocean of daedra like it was shallow water.
"Reckless child," Mankar said again, voice tinged with irritation and—faintly—with concern. "The plan was patience. Attrition. Not this… display."
The one advantage they had against their enemies was the endless number of daedra they had in their command.
The Legions, the Vampires, the Draugr. They all paled in comparison to the forces of Oblivion. Even the other so-called Champions; the Dragonborn, the Dragonslayer, the Dawnguard heretic. Powerful as they were, not even they could take on an entire army of Dremora and live.
Yet Calixto had ignored it all entirely and charged on ahead with reckless abandon. They didn't know what the objective was in coming here, Azura's prophecy had been vague.
The air shimmered beside him as his daughter, Ruma Camoran, approached and knelt. The crimson light of Oblivion reflected off her glasslike armor. Her tone was calm, measured. "Shall I call him back, Father?"
"No." Mankar shook his head slowly. "Let him learn the price of arrogance. But his failure cannot compromise us. The tomb beneath Labyrinthian is what matters. The rest of this—" he gestured toward the valley, where dragons wheeled in the distance and Dawnguard trolls tore through vampire lines—"is noise."
He turned to his children. "Take the best of our acolytes. Go below. Find what power sleeps in those ruins. Whatever Harkon, or Alduin, or that accursed Dragonborn seeks, it shall be used to further the plans of Lord Dagon."
Ruma inclined her head, the faintest smile gracing her lips. "It shall be done."
Her brother, Raven Camoran, merely grunted in reply. While he had largely recovered from his wounds in the event of the Hall of Vigilants, his throat bore the scars of his communion with the Mysterium Xarxes, the burns black and veined. He could no longer speak, but the gesture alone carried the weight of his will.
Mankar watched them depart, red cloaks whipping as they led two dozen of their finest acolytes down the jagged slope, each accompanied by summoned Dremora Lords. Their silhouettes vanished into the fog curling above Labyrinthian's mouth.
Then, Mankar looked back down to the battlefield.
Calixto was still alive. For now. With Dagon's blessing, killing him remains to be an impossibility, though he wouldn't put it past the other Champions in figuring out a way.
Even now, the injuries he received from the Dragonslayer were slow to heal. The hammer-wielding brute had his men lock Calixto up in thick chains before bringing him back towards the camp.
Mankar frowned. He was still the wielder of the Razor and the Champion of Dagon. They couldn't lose Calixto as of yet.
His gaze turned to the Dragonslayer far below in the battlefield, their eyes locking for a second.
"Zenithar's Chosen…" he murmured.
The man was much more powerful than Mankar had originally realized. Everywhere he moved, the Daedra broke and fell. Even Mankar's elite Dremora Lords hesitated, unwilling to draw too close.
Mankar felt his lip curl slightly. "It will not matter," he said to himself. As long as the Gates remain open, his army shall never end. For every Dremora slain, two more take their place. Mortals will drown in their tide.
He looked towards the bound woman to his left, whose body was shivering through the cold.
"Tell me, Priestess," Mankar said softly, stepping closer, his voice a cold, curious whisper. "Was this what your Lady showed you? My armies blotting out the light, the so-called heroes broken beneath Dagon's wrath?"
Aranea Ienith didn't even look back at him, her eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
Her lips parted, but her voice was steady. "No. That was not what I saw."
Mankar's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
She smiled, a small, knowing smile that unsettled him more than any curse could. "The stream of time is always ever changing, Mankar. Any Priestess of Azura would know this, more so for me as the Champion of the Lady of Twilight. But did you know what I realized?"
Her eyes turned toward the sky, where two dragons clashed amid lightning and fire. "Alduin, the son of the Dragon God, broke it long ago. Now, all those threads of fate that bind him had snapped. None of us can see the end."
Mankar's eyes narrowed. "Then your visions—."
"Are meaningless, as long as he's involved." She continued, finally turning to meet Mankar's gaze. "But blind as I am, I can still hear them—the hum of a power that should not be touched."
Before Mankar could reply, the mountain beneath him shook. The air vibrated with an otherworldly pulse, deep and resonant, as if the world itself was drawing breath.
Mankar turned sharply toward the western ridge.
There, within the ranks of the undead, something stirred. The Draugr parted like water, letting a single figure pass from the center of their ranks. A tall being, his face fixed with a corundum mask, his staff aglow with crimson sigils.
"Volsung…" Mankar whispered, his expression hardening.
He watched as the Dragon Priest raised his staff to the heavens.
Savos Aren—Mankar recognized him instantly—raced toward the lich, hurling spells of containment, but it was far too late. The staff came down like a hammer, striking the frozen ground.
A shockwave of red energy burst outward, expanding in all directions. It rolled across the battlefield like a tidal wave, consuming friend and foe alike. Mankar shielded his eyes as it passed through the ridge, its power so immense he could feel the air burn around him.
The wave moved through thousands; Legionnaires, Dawnguard, Daedra, passing through them all harmlessly.
The only thing that could be heard was Savos Aren's scream, "NO!"
Then, Volsung snapped his bony fingers, and all of the Dremora within the crimson field convulsed. Their bodies twisted violently, red sigils crawling across their skin like brands. Then, one by one, they turned, eyes burning not with Dagon's fire, but the same pale blue visible in the slits of Volsung's mask.
They fell upon their brethren without hesitation, slaughtering them with eerie, unified purpose.
Mankar's hands trembled. "What is this?!"
Volsung, standing amid the carnage, raised his staff once more. The red glow intensified, and when his voice rang out across the mountains, it was ancient, echoing, and absolute.
"Your armies are mine."
Mankar watched in frozen horror as one-third of his daedric host, the very backbone of the Mythic Dawn's invasion, bent the knee to the Dragon Priest.
Below, the balance of the war shifted in an instant.
The Daedra turned their blades on each other, their screeches merging with the howls of undead and the roaring of dragons. And high above it all, Mankar could only stare as the tide of Oblivion slipped from his grasp.
For the first time since the Hero of Kvatch, the Prophet of Mehrunes Dagon felt fear ache through his bones.
…
AN: I would like to iterate truly just how powerful the Dragon Priests are. They were considered to be the best of the best amongst thousands of Dragon Priests, worthy of serving the dragons at the height of their power. And remember that this was a time when the Eye of Magnus was still actively pumping magic into the environment.
They are no joke. The reason why Hevnoraak was so weak when Kiera killed him in chapter 39 was because the man had just reawakened from his tomb.
The ones who have time to re-orient and regain their strength are the ones they'll be facing in the coming chapters.
Mankar had chided Calixto a lot of times for being arrogant, only to suffer it himself, thinking the dremora army was unstoppable.
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was really fun to write. The beatdown of Calixto by Gerron was also really satisfying.
I truly debated in my head whether or not Calixto actually could prove as a troublesome opponent to Gerron. After all, they both got chosen by a Divine/Prince at the same time didn't they?
But in the end, it was their previous lives that truly determined the outcome of the battle. Calixto was an owner of a museum, a man who had been a serial killer that only hunts down defenseless women. You could see it in his fighting style, using invisibility and ambushes the whole time.
It's different with Gerron, a man whose whole life had been one of heavy physical labor and living a warrior's culture.
I hope you're happy with the fight, it's one I am deeply satisfied with.
More chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 85 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
The special End of the Year sale on my Pat_reon is still up! Make sure to check it out!
Cheers guys and see you next time!