The death of a Daedric Prince shook more than just the realm of Oblivion.
The moment Molag Bal perished, the sky that should have been at noon plunged into darkness. Meteors rained down, and two full moons hung high in the heavens, as if declaring some cosmic truth. At the same time, nearly every believer of the gods received a revelation from their deities.
Molag Bal was dead.
Only his own followers heard nothing. Or rather—they would never hear anything again. At the instant of his death, every devotee of the Prince of Domination felt their minds explode. His final death-scream shattered their reason and sanity, leaving all of Molag Bal's faithful as raving lunatics.
Across the continent, every statue built in his name crumbled to dust.
Panic spread through the land. Priests everywhere fell to their knees, begging their gods for answers. But the heavens remained silent.
For the elves, however, worse troubles loomed.
The fortresses in Skyrim had been swept clean. The Thalmor were furious, demanding the Empire explain. The Empire claimed ignorance. Now, the elven host massed on the borders, warning: unless the Empire accounted for the assaults, they would march to war once more.
And at that very moment, the High Elves' own capital received an uninvited guest.
Summerset Isle.
The home of the Altmer, a land of mountains and lakes, rivers and bays, lush forests and vast vineyards heavy with purple grapes that shone like pearls.
At its heart rose the shining white city of Alinor, capital of the Dominion—spires stabbing the sky, wrapped in wards of the strictest magic, gryphon riders patrolling the peaks day and night. The most fortified sanctum of elvenkind.
So one can imagine their shock when a towering man in white battle armor strode unchallenged into the royal court, halting before the queen herself.
"Who are you, unbidden guest?"
Queen Ayrenn sat upon her throne, lifting a hand to stay her guards. Her voice was calm, though her eyes were cold.
"What business brings you to my court in such a manner?"
"Greetings, Your Majesty."
Duanmu Huai raised his head, meeting her gaze. She was slender, regal, beautiful, but it meant nothing to him.
"I am an Inquisitor of the Tribunal. I have come to present you with a gift—and a decree."
He unrolled a scroll and read aloud.
The elves could not believe their ears. It was no proclamation, but an order. The Tribunal declared that the elves endangered mankind's very existence, and demanded the following:
First, the Dominion must return all lands beyond Summerset to humanity and abolish the White-Gold Concordat.
Second, they must pay reparations to the families of humans slain in the Elven Wars.
Third—
"Outrageous!"
The furious elves cut him off. The arrogance of this order was beyond belief. That a human would dare, in the very capital of the Dominion, to speak such treason!
"Silence, xenos!!"
The Inquisitor's roar crushed their outcry.
"This is the Tribunal's command. You will obey, wretched alien breed! This is the price for daring to raise your hands against mankind. Refuse—and the Tribunal's wrath will erase Summerset from the seas, and wipe your long-eared filth from existence!"
He hurled the scroll onto the floor, then lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Queen Ayrenn.
"Before the Tribunal, neither you nor your gods can withstand. This is your final ultimatum. Oh—and here is your gift."
He produced a massive chest and smashed it to the ground. The lid split open—hundreds of severed elven heads rolled across the marble floor, bloodied eyes staring.
"That—that's General Brifis! How could—"
"Your host gathered beyond the Empire's borders has been annihilated. Consider this a token."
Duanmu Huai's sneer cut like a blade.
"Listen well, long-eared mongrels. The Tribunal's mercy has limits. This is the first, and last, offer of surrender. Refuse, and Summerset will drown in the sea. Your souls will burn to ash in the Tribunal's stellar forges. No god will save you. Think carefully."
His eyes flashed crimson—feral, violent, filled with killing intent.
"Cower in your rat holes, awaiting the end… or choose survival like the dogs you are. The choice is yours."
"Blasphemer!!"
A shadow leapt from the crowd—a lithe Altmer woman, swift as a hunting cat, twin daggers gleaming with enchantment.
"I'll cut out your tongue and take your head, see if you still dare prattle!"
In a blink she was upon him, blades poised for his throat—
—only for a steel gauntlet to fill her vision.
The giant hand seized her delicate skull and slammed it to the floor. Her beautiful face twisted in agony—then, with a wrench, Duanmu Huai tore her head and spine free in one brutal motion.
Her green eyes dulled, mouth gaping, tongue lolling, as her head dangled lifeless in his grip. He tossed it aside, crushed it underfoot.
"Compassion is for humans. Xenos earn only contempt."
His voice was low, cold. He raised his gaze to the pale, bloodless face of Queen Ayrenn.
"You have one chance, alien queen. There will not be another."
With that, he turned and strode away. None dared bar his path.
The court fell frozen, as if time itself had stopped. Only long after did Queen Ayrenn rise, descend to the broken corpse of the elf girl, and lift the bloodstained ultimatum.
"Your Majesty…"
"Send word at once. Find out what truly happened to the expeditionary army!"
The tale of the Tribunal's intrusion spread swiftly across the continent. A mysterious order had walked into Alinor, demanding the Dominion retreat to Summerset—or be destroyed. The news struck like fire on dry tinder.
Imperial citizens roared with joy. They had not forgotten the elves' invasion, their occupation of the Imperial City, their pillage and arson. They hated the Thalmor with unquenchable fury, longing to see them exterminated.
The elves, meanwhile, boiled with rage. Many flocked back to Summerset, vowing to live or die with their queen.
And the Tribunal had proven its strength. Investigations confirmed the seventy-thousand-strong elven host outside Imperial borders was utterly destroyed. The land was blackened, corpses charred, not one left intact.
Locals whispered of a city in the clouds raining fire like a meteor storm, erasing the Dominion army.
The Tribunal's power was clear.
Would the elves surrender? None knew. The Dominion withdrew all its armies back to Summerset. Was it surrender—or preparation for a final war?
For Duanmu Huai, it made no difference. Whichever path the Thalmor chose, their fate was already sealed.
(End of Chapter)