Lariel had seen me dispatch her daedric bodyguards and was whispering dark words of power into the air, boiling and rippling it around herself with the sheer force of her mind. I could feel scratching and chittering things from the very depths of Oblivion gnawing on the edge of my senses as she drew more and more power into herself. Her fear was almost a physical thing as I strode over the rapidly dissolving bodies of the Xivilai. Their links to Nirn severed, their physical forms were now returning to Oblivion where their immortal souls would slowly regain their strength to be conjured once again. This would take days at least, and Lariel knew this just as well as I did as she called on any and all daedra to heed her summons. Both of her hands seemed to squirm and twist unnaturally as she conjured and traced intricate patterns that seemed to have a life of their own. A merest glance of the motions she was making was enough to make me feel sick and left me feeling as though a migraine was trying to force its way into my consciousness.
Plucking my skinning dagger from the ground as I moved towards her, I twirled it between my fingers and grasped it by the blade that was still dripping with blue-black gore. With a snarl of rage and a flick of the wrist I hurled it between us, moving with such speed that she didn't have time to register my actions before the blade took her in the shoulder. The incantation was cut off in mid syllable, the intricate pattern woven into the fabric of the air collapsing in on itself like a reversed thunderclap as it imploded. In its place was a small spray of blood, and a strangulated cry of pain as the dagger was punched to the hilt in the meat of her shoulder and she was thrown to the ground.
In a half dozen strides I leapt towards her, covering the metres between us in the space of a few seconds. The beast was lending me its strength now and the skin of my face had been pulled taut over my elongating jaw line as my fangs pushed my lips apart. The reek of corruption was a noxious aura around her being and she was now nothing more than a vessel of corruption. Through the blessings of Molag Bal her powers had increased tenfold, but it had not stopped ten centimetres of steel breaking her collarbone and slicing through flesh.
A satisfying crunch of bone was audible as my boot lifted her from the ground, causing the fireball spell she was forming to flutter and die with an inarticulate scream wrenched from her throat. My own pain was slowly making itself felt over the adrenaline and the bloodthirst of the vampire. The flesh of my right wrist was swelling, as was my throat and I could feel the heat burning where the bruising would have already turned my skin red-black and sickly. Despite my armour and clothing, my flesh in places had been shredded by blade, fingernails and the sharpened teeth of the fallen Bosmer. My left shoulder was throbbing where something had stuck me during the melee and I was beginning to limp on a knee that felt like it had been twisted at a point that I could not determine.
She screamed, her breath ragged and wheezing as I dragged her into a kneeling position with a fistful of greasy, braided hair. Bone shards had punched deep into a lung when I kicked her but there was still considerable fight in the Bosmer Sorceress. Hissing and spitting curses through a clenched jaw she dug her fingernails into the gloved hand lifting her upright, writhing in my grasp as I swung the Light of Dawn back for a killing blow.
Hanging slackly by her side from the dagger in her shoulder, I didn't see the glowing magicka in her hand until she slapped it against my armoured stomach. The tingling energies coursed through my veins and I felt myself go stiff as though an electric current was being run through my spine. For a moment I lost all control over my body, being frozen into a statue of pain as she forced the magicka deep into my being.
"The Schemer Prince desires your soul." She rasped, her mouth frothy and pink as the arterial bubbles framed her sharpened teeth. "Give yourself to him..."
The magicka continued to surge through me and I felt a deep, overwhelming presence hovering over me as she poured every last scrap of her magicka into calling upon her patron lord. In the darkness of the ruins I saw a mirage like entity forming from the flickering shadows, condensing into a form that existed only in the depths of my mind. A maw of grinning fangs, a horned, scaled and soulless visage of hate and domination gazed upon me with an emotion akin to recognition. Guided on by the beckoning of its servant, a taloned hand reached out from the depths of eternity with the irresistible nature of an avalanche.
Part of my soul opened itself up to the ethereal visage pressing through the barriers between Nirn and Oblivion, but another part rebelled. A soul portion of iron and fire, hatred and determination shook itself free of the lingering taint and threaded my muscles with surging strength.
The growl that ripped its way from my throat left Lariel's eyes widening in surprise as she felt me resist both her magicka and her master. Judging by the expression on her face, she could see how my face had pushed forward in the mask and my eyes had turned into blackened pools of darkness and horror. The presence roared its hatred and anger at being denied, fading from my mind-sight as quickly as it had appeared. Beneath the surprise and the confusion on Lariel's face there was realisation of what I was and recognition of the similar connection I shared with her daedric master. That knowledge flickered for a moment as she realised and understood where I had gained the strength to resist as I swung the Light of Dawn with naked savagery and took her head clean off her shoulders.
Headless from a blade of extreme sharpness, her torso spurted hot corrupted blood all over my boots as it smacked wetly to the ground. The look of surprise was frozen on her face as I held her head with a grip full of greasy dreadlocks and braids, watching as the light in her eyes died before dropping the grisly trophy with disdain.
The battle was not going overly well. My own injuries were slowing me down despite my vampiric nature and I could feel the level of exhaustion creeping up on me. While not as intense as what had occurred in Glenvar Castle I was tired from a fortnight of hunting and if I was going to be honest with myself; several months of unceasing fighting and travelling. For Malulain and the other Rangers they too were tiring and paying a terrible price for such exhaustion. Their injuries during the battle and the months of hunting their kin had worn them down. Only a single foe was left standing, but Graithlan was proving to be deadlier than Eregor and his fallen clan combined.
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Ancient, and monstrously powerful, Graithlan was slaughtering the Rangers facing him with an almost contemptuous ease. Several had already fallen to the weapon, their bodies pulped beyond all recognition as the enormous weapon howled with every swing. More than one of the Rangers had been hurled through the air as broken and rent corpses, and even as I turned one smacked wetly against a pillar after being flung through the air by backhanded swing.
A dozen still fought on regardless, stabbing into chinks of the dread armour and managing to draw the ancient being's blood. Malulain or one of the others had managed to scour a deep cut down the angular, bird like face, and a leg was streaked with gore bubbling from a rent in an armoured knee. Their attempts to stop Graithlan was costing them even more with every second that past as he had more than just his mace to call upon.
Before I had managed to get more than a single step from the headless corpse, another pair of rangers had died horribly. Malulain's casual mention of Graithlan's powers at the campsite were proven horribly inaccurate as he wreathed a fist in glowing energies, reaching out in the direction of one of the rangers before gesturing as though he was grabbing and pulling them towards him. A cut off shriek echoed above the screams and cries of the wounded as the Ranger dropped the bow, shuddered and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. To our horror, an ethereal form in the shape of a bosmer was ripped from the Ranger's body, his spiritual essence being transformed into something terrible and unholy as it flung itself at the laughing Ayleid.
Swirling around him, more and more wraiths were plucked from the depths of oblivion and with so much death around us there was no shortage of fallen souls for him to call upon. They rose from the ground, shrieking with unending torment as they were forced to obey his summons. Fallen bosmer and Rangers alike were ripped from the soil and their mortal remains, the howling of their torment ripping through my mind as they swirled around Graithlan's armoured legs, clawing and caressing the bone-metal armour as he began absorbing the energies.
Some of the surviving Rangers staggered away from the sight, the cries of the damned forcing them back as effectively as a pike phalanx. Others tried to continue their attacks, forcing their way through the swirling wraiths and energies as they swarmed the armoured figure. I saw with my own building horror as one of the rangers stepped forward, his obsidian shortsword held steady as he tried to jam it between plates and into Graithlan's stomach. A spectre swirled around the sword, wrapping itself around his arm like a serpent and forcing itself into his screaming face before he could even react. The cries of pain and agony were short lived as the ghost ripped its way through the hapless Ranger, leaving him to fall to his knees clawing at his throat as the cold touch of the grave froze his tongue into a lumped mass and solidified the blood in his veins.
A second died just as painfully as an armoured fist grasped him by the skull. Slowed from blood loss and his accumulated injuries, the second Ranger's head burst like a ripe melon as the skull engraved digits closed like a vice. The strangulated scream was cut off in less than a second as gore sprayed everyone in a two metre radius, coating the front of Graithlan's armour with the drizzle.
Cackling with a laughter as deep as a grave, Graithlan swung the limp corpse like a bludgeon, knocking some of his opponents down and forcing the others to move away. Blood was spraying through the air, streaming from between his armoured digits, dribbling down over his armour and exploding into the air like a geyser as he stomped down hard on the chest of one of the wounded. The spectres swirled around him in a vortex of death, screaming their tormented cries and begging for release from their new-found hell but suddenly silence fell upon the ruins.
Stopping in place, the armoured wight blinked, scrunching its face tightly in sudden confusion and dropping the corpse with a wet smack. Even the restless spirits had ceased their cavorting and banshee wails and instead hovered near their master, waiting upon him like faithful hounds. For a moment, no one moved as Graithlan lowered his gaze, staring that the emerald green hilt jutting from his stomach.
For the first time in my life I felt regret at being a forester rather than a Legionary. While during my first year's service I had been taught the rudimentary basics as a Hastatii I had gone on to more specialised training. I had thrown pilum on the odd occasions in the years since but it was a skill that I had let grow rusty and dull.
Out of all of us within that ancient, moss covered ruin I was by far the most surprised at the effectiveness of the throw. Malulain and his Rangers were surprised at the sudden appearance of the Light of Dawn spearing the resurrected horror in the torso, Graithlan was surprised at finding himself impaled on the weapon but I was surprised that I had managed to hit him at all.
The peerless edge had punched through the archaic plate with as much ease as it did most things forged in the physical world, but it was far from a killing blow. Blood slowly pulsed from around the hilt, dripping down the lower portion of his breastplate and turning into a flood as he reached up with a brain speckled gauntlet and dragged the sword free.
"Tami Alata?" The ancient being muttered as he gazed upon the gleaming edge of the unique weapon. Lights danced and twinkled in the deep blue edge like the stars in the night sky, matching the cold gaze of the Ayleid wielding it as he directed the force of his hatred upon me.
I was completely unarmed and now the centre of attention of the towering figure as he began to move towards me, ignoring the dozen felled rangers scattered about. The gesture he made was obvious in its intent and the horde of spirits twitched and rolled like a tsunami as he directed them at me with a roar.
The clank of metal and the choking exclamation of pain stopped him in mid breath and I couldn't keep the smile off my face as several centimetres of metal erupted from his mouth. Teeth shattered outwards, a flood of gore rushing out from between his lips as the blood coated length of Sunchild punched through from the back of his neck. Malulain, seeing the moment's opportunity in my distraction had picked himself up from where he had been knocked down, and thrown himself forward with a single, last ditch strike. Sunchild's point had punched through the gap between the back of Graithlan's helm and the armoured collar, breaking bone and not stopping until the hilt was pressed firmly into his nape.
Both the Light of Dawn and the corrupted mace clattered to the ground as the bone encrusted figure reached up with a trembling hand, feeling the metallic blade jutting from his face like a tongue. He was twitching and coughing blood, the terrible wound shredding the back of his throat and drowning him even as his body gave out. The dual clanks of his knees slamming into the ground was followed shortly by a clattering toll of metal as he fell forward onto his face.
