A reminder of what most of the Dremora look like.
Churl
Clannfear
Dremora Lord
Kynval
Scamp
Xivilai
…
4E 202, Western battlefield
Gerron Ironbreaker
Volsung's single act of magic had turned the tide of the entire war.
There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the Mythic Dawn had initially brought the largest and most powerful army here to Labyrinthian.
An endless horde of dremora, continuously spilling from the western mountains that would eventually swallow everyone and everything here in the mountain ridge.
But Volsung's magic had changed that. What had once been a disciplined host of Daedra marching in perfect infernal cadence was now a storm of blood and madness. The western mountains, once blackened by the ordered ranks of Dremora, had devolved into chaos.
Gerron could see it clearly even from where he stood. Armored Kynvals and Churls hacking at one another, flame atronachs bursting in uncontrolled detonations, clannfears ramming their own kind in a frenzy of territorial rage.
The smell of brimstone was everywhere as the injured dremora all popped back into their plane, bringing with them the stench of sulfur.
Volsung's sorcery had wrested the control that bound these Daedra to Mankar's will, dominating them to serve himself and Alduin. It was a masterful move, one Gerron didn't think was possible.
The chaos even spilled into the other fronts. He could see flashes of red and yellow far to the northeast, where Harkon's vampires clashed with the Dawnguard and the Companions, and above that, silhouettes of dragons locked in furious combat.
All the dead in the battlefield were continuously raised as draugr, creating a chaotic melee where the field was filled with all kinds of fighters with no semblance of order.
Yet among them, one army still held its discipline, the Imperial Legions.
"Form up! Shields high!" Legate Taurinus roared over the din, his voice raw and bloody. His plumed helm was dented, his red cloak in tatters, but he stood unbroken, barking orders like a man possessed.
Rows of legionnaires tightened formation as Imperial battlemages unleashed volleys of firebolts that tore through the nearest ranks of Dremora. The blasts illuminated the chaos, casting fleeting light on Gerron's hammer as it rose and fell in devastating arcs.
Each swing was an act of annihilation.
When the Mercury Hammer struck the ground, the earth itself seemed to recoil, lightning rippling through mud and corpses alike. Every impact carried a gale of blue sparks, scattering churls like wheat before a storm.
A Champion represented a top-tier combat power that could turn the tide of any battle. With Calixto's defeat, Gerron was now free to wreak havoc amongst the Dremora.
He moved like a god of war, unyielding and unstoppable.
To those who watched, he was a glimpse of the old Atmoran myths come to life: a demigod of strength, Ysgramor reborn in steel and thunder.
Of course, he wasn't fighting alone, for Captain Renly and the Shor's Guards remained ever faithful by his side.
[Shor's Guard Image]
Each one bore a Dragonbone weapon forged by the finest smiths of Shor's Stone. They were not heroes of song, perhaps, but they were soldiers of conviction, men and women bound by oath and steel. Their discipline was their shield, and their loyalty, their weapon.
Together, they carved a path through the infernal ranks, step by bloody step, cutting toward the ridge where Mankar Camoran himself stood. His robes were still untouched, though his expression bore one of clear frustration.
Gerron had seen him earlier right after beating down Calixto. Keeper Carcette's intel on the Mythic Dawn revealed to them that this man, the Altmer, was the true driving force behind the Mythic Dawn.
Gerron's eyes locked on that distant figure. He could feel the pull of the Oblivion Gate somewhere up the mountain, an open wound that continued to bleed Daedra into their world.
If they didn't close that soon, then despite Volsung's action, Mankar could keep swelling his numbers indefinitely.
He drove his hammer through a Dremora's chestplate, lightning bursting from the corpse. But before he could take another step, a sharp flutter caught his ear.
A translucent, silver, nightingale swooped down from the skies, alighting on his pauldron. Its eyes shimmered with faint blue light as Karliah's voice emitted from its mouth.
"Gerron, this is Karliah. Something is happening in the tomb. The wards that bind Morokei seem to be failing. I require assistance."
Gerron paused as the message ended, and the owl dissolved into silver mist. His gaze drifted northward, to the ancient ruins of Labyrinthian.
'If Morokei is freed while the situation is as precarious as this…'
Savos' wards had held for decades, the only reason it would weaken is if someone inside is dispelling them.
But leaving now, when the western flank was barely holding, would doom the legions here. He looked around. The battlefield was a sea of fire and blood. The Legate was still screaming orders, the lines holding only by the discipline of desperate men.
Gerron acting as the Vanguard was the sole reason the legions weren't overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Only three thousand legionnaires were here, and even that had been split in two to cover the battlefield against the undead.
Facing a dremora horde numbering over five thousand in an open field…that was a death sentence.
That is until an eruption of golden light appeared on the other battlefield, Kiera having dealt the killing blow to Vokun.
His eyes widened.
"Taurinus!" Gerron bellowed over the chaos, his voice cutting through the din like a warhorn.
The Legate turned, saluting through blood and soot. "My lord!"
"Cover our retreat! Form the second line and hold it!"
"Aye!" Taurinus raised his sword high, turning to his mages. "Battlemages, front and center! Give them the Emperor's fire!"
A wall of flame erupted as Gerron and the Shor's Guard pulled back toward friendly ground, the explosions masking their retreat. Dremora shrieked as they burned, their charred bodies collapsing under the weight of Imperial magic.
Gerron reached the ridge beside Taurinus, his armor streaked with ash and Daedric ichor.
"Are you injured, my lord?" the Legate asked, eyes wide with concern.
"No, but the circumstances have changed." Gerron stated. "I need you to hold the line here as long as you can."
Taurinus's expression hardened. He understood immediately. "Understood, my lord. None of the Dremora shall pass."
Gerron clasped the Legate's shoulder briefly, a gesture of trust, then turned to face the battlefield. He drew a brass sphere from his belt.
With a flick of his thumb, the sphere unfolded into wings and whirring gears, Bronze the mechanical owl coming to life with a metallic trill.
Gerron had added the Homunculus Servants with a few upgrades. The major thing being that Bronze was now capable of independent movement, along with responding to verbal command.
"Find Kiera," Gerron ordered. "Tell her to head to Labyrinthian."
Bronze took flight, streaking through the air.
Gerron himself rushed into a distant battle, where he could see Savos Aren clashing with Volsung.
…
4E 202, Southeastern battlefield
Savos Aren
His initial plan to subdue Volsung relied on limiting the use of planar breaches to prevent the draugr-priest from summoning more Xivilai's.
That plan, of course, was rendered moot the moment the Mythic Dawn arrived, giving Volsung all the bodies necessary to dominate them to his employ without opening his own gates.
So now, Savos's objective had shifted into something far simpler, and infinitely more difficult.
Defeat the dragon priest himself.
A gargantuan ward erupted from Savos's right arm just in time to absorb a bolt of lightning that cracked the earth apart. The blast scorched nearby corpses into ash. He countered instantly, a sweep of his hand unleashed a pillar of flames that surged across the battlefield, meeting Volsung's wards in a roaring detonation that rolled like thunder across the plains.
Volsung advanced through the blaze, his mask gleaming molten red in the inferno's glow. He raised his staff as purple-tinted magicka formed around him. From it, massive spectral blades and chains of bound metal emerged, each one ten times as large as its usual size.
Savos clenched his jaw before letting out a breath. While Savos himself was considered to be a Master Conjurer, he had to concede that Volsung was more proficient in it than he.
Which means, he needed to rely on his other mastered school of magic, Destruction.
He slammed both palms into the ground. A surge of frost magic froze the conjured weapons midair, scattering shards of ice that created a wall which surrounded Volsung.
Yet the Dragon Priest shattered it with a single swing of his bound greatsword, stepping through the mist like an armored wraith. Savos launched another attack, lightning spears splitting from his fingertips, tracing the air in a furious lattice.
Volsung deflected one with his sword, the rest exploding around him, flinging debris and corpses alike skyward.
Screams of pain echoed from his allies on the other battlefields, and Savos had to clench his jaw in frustration.
Volsung had no qualms on letting his spells deal overwhelming damage, massive area of effect spells that could impact the battlefield at large. His forces were mere undead, creatures that neither tired nor felt pain.
A fight between two master-level mages was one that warranted destruction, it was an inevitability that Savos had accepted long ago. But back then, he was a man who was content in walking the lands of Nirn by himself, content with the isolation that came from a life that pursued knowledge above all else.
He had changed since then.
Copious amounts of ice were released from his fingertips that surrounded both he and Volsung, forming a massive dome that should lessen the casualties of his allies.
At least he hoped so.
Volsung studied the new cage around them, no expression could be seen from that corundum mask. Their gazes met once more then, and their battle continued.
Every spell was met with a counter, each one cracking the dome of ice they were in further and further.
Fire, ice, lightning. Each element was used by Savos to masterful degrees as he proved to the world why his title of Archmage was not one to be trifled with.
Yet his current opponent was not one that he could finish off quickly. Savos' robe had been scorched by the edges, and the same could be said for the hood of Volsung's mask.
It was then that he felt a massive shift. There was a pull at the edge of his consciousness, it didn't take long for him to identify it.
His wards, the ancient ones placed to seal Morokei, had shuddered like fraying strings. His concentration faltered for a second.
But that second of distraction was enough, Volsung's eyes flared, and a conjured Daedric blade the size of a carriage hurtled toward him.
Savos' eyes widened.
Before it hit, something large clashed with it, shattering the conjured blade midair with a resounding clang.
A storm of sparks and conjuration residue scattered as Gerron Ironbreaker stepped between them, his hammer in his hands.
"Gerron!" Savos gasped.
"Savos, I need you to get to Labyrinthian." Gerron stated over the din.
"What—?"
"Karliah said something's happening with Morokei. You would know what happened better than anyone."
Savos grimaced. "I figured. The prison is crumbling, though I won't know how till I see it."
"If Morokei gets free, then we're fucked. I've notified Kiera. She'll clear a path for the both of you to get in the tomb." Gerron's eyes darted to Volsung, who was watching them silently. "I'll handle things here."
Savos turned to face the dragon priest, noting how still he stood, merely gazing at them and allowing them to have this conversation. 'He's conserving his magicka,' Savos realized. 'That earlier exchange drained him as much as it did me.'
He inclined his head toward Gerron, jaw set. "Very well. Be careful, my friend."
"And you," Gerron replied, lifting his hammer. "Good luck, Savos."
The archmage turned, his cloak billowing with the wind of the battlefield. He sprinted across the torn earth, weaving through bolts of magic and stray arrows, following the mechanical owl in the sky.
It swooped down, landing on Kiera's shoulder as Savos saw her amid the chaos.
Dawnbreaker in hand, her white armor was slick with blood and soot, she let out a shout.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The wave of force cut through a whole swath of the enemy armies. A furrow forty-feet wide was carved open by the power of her Thu'um.
"Come on!" she shouted. "Path's open!"
Savos followed without hesitation, the ground trembling beneath their feet as Gerron's hammer met Volsung's conjured weapon in a shockwave that rippled across the battlefield like thunder.
…
AN: Here we go, another update!
In a battlefield as large as this, having the ability to communicate and coordinate is a game changer. The upgraded version of Bronze can do just that, allowing everything that happened here to happen.
More developments in the other battlefields as well, with Karliah saying something happened in the tomb of Labyrinthian as well the fight between Savos and Volsung.
Anyways, we'll catch up with Serana again next chapter as well as see what the hell is going on inside the tomb.
Hope you guys enjoyed this one!
More chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 87 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
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Cheers guys and see you next time!