the Nord Stared With Piercing Blue Eyes Fanfic Skyrim

Quest 23: Attack On Tiber 👊🏼

Affiliate Dedicated to MiCK33T

Word Count: 5,800

Soundtrack of Cyberim: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4zSiOs4keAmfpo6mnJMd1v?si=x_IIpdy3QHywlsdph2z0_Q

Load Previous Save (Dibella, Nord, Quest 22): https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/d/p/4400000000003607799

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1 60 minutes Earlier (At the start of the High Hrothgar Peace Council)…

Krest saturday in the very back, nearest to the get out towards the halls as the politicians bickered and debated at the 'Peace Quango'. A joke. Wearing his lite-stalhrim, he slipped out the back earlier they knew he was there. Akatosh stood with Tsun and Dibella at the caput alongside Eleph and Irdi. Irdi's watery stare eyeballed him for a fraction of a 2d, begging…

Krest shook his head and marched downwards the blue and ivory halls of the palace. Portraits of historical figures passed him on each side equally he filed through. Life is completely meaningless, he decided.

"Tin't believe the Elder Council are here, Mister Skjor!" Meowed J'zargo, who was cooking for the service. "Who knew Talos was such a prick. Does this 1 think they'll really make Tamriel a republic?"

"Hopefully, they will enjoy the Potage le Magnifique you lot and Balagog prepared. Too bad Gianna isn't here though." The bald Nord loosened his jerkin, sweating. The air was a flake steamy for some reason.

Nord dog. Filthy barbarians like you lot ruined this world. The globe would exist better if your influence and race just perished.

Krest grabbed a wine-tray outside the foyer, smelling of shoe polish, and walked into the boring cardinal room, journeying upward the runic-styled stairs before a Penitus Oculatus agent put a tan hand to his chest.

The cease clarion. Kairos.

"Sorry, this room is off limits."

Akatosh's room.

The amanuensis looked away, pursing his lips. Krest slid the blade embedded inside his flesh and shanked it into the human being's belly, covering his mouth. He put the tray of glorified grape juice on a nightstand, dragging his kinsmen's torso into the cupboard and closing information technology. Krest walked back to Akatosh's room and punched the doorway open, locking it behind him. Stretched in the shape of an architectural square, the Elderberry Scroll of Dragons sat in a column of low-cal in the center of the bedchamber. Predictable room design. Through the round glass he could see Akatosh presenting his speech to Tamriel's leaders in peachy detail. Dibella and Tsun were now seated amongst the audience likewise, gathered at the electoral. The chambers were big and had a view of the entire city from the podium, loftier rises sculpted into the mountains. Akatosh's king-sized bed virtually the windows with an open infinite and a gold door on the right-hand corner leading into his bathroom. Dark-red curtains and designs covered the room, giving it an old-style regal feel.

Krest grinned, remembering Irdi's words, as long as you repeat the past your futurity will remain the same.

This better work. Drafting a hand over the Skyrim-styled workmanship, eyeing the stoning of the worktop. Krest plucked the Elder Curlicue from its pedestal-cranny, crossing over the tiled platform, phasing through the Elderberry Scroll's protective enchantments, and ripped out the curl from its pedestal before hopping out. He then dug through a stack of scripts from a chest and dumped them on the tabular array. The mask'south not in hither.

He opened the chest by Akatosh's bed and there it was – Konahrik. His namesake.

If this can let me to speak, it should provide me with the sight to access the scroll.

He tucked his hair behind his ears and secured Konahrik over his head and face. Everything had a sleeky sheen to it. He tried to speak, "hello." His voice came out electrically, like some demon.

Good. He stood upwardly, straightening his posture and untied the curlicue from its sheath. Patterns, scribbles, designs he'd never seen came live and danced in the infinite between. He thought of the time he had to go to, the Dawn Era, during the Get-go War between Shor and Auriel. Green swirls washed and flushed, strengthening, and carrying him abroad to a fourth dimension forgotten.

The world raced by him like errant, skewed strokes on a broken viola.

He marked his return to the Fatherland, laughing insanely equally the portal surged blue and white.

On my style to hell.

This was seven thousand years prior to the 4th Era, known as the Dawn Era, earlier time and the world was fully established, when the gods warred on the world, before their ascent to Heaven. Skyrim was unlike, information technology wasn't as common cold and there were no monsters. All he saw around him was a massive, blackened crater and towering pino trees, a light cover of snow blanketed the land. Dizziness pervaded his skull as he crawled to the border of the hollow, coughing blood. He positioned the Elder Curlicue onto his back, keeping his visage masked with the Mask of Alkosh. He dust-wiped himself and stood straight, reorienting his body every bit the nausea threatened to put him down over again.

Miserable warbles and gurgles echoed from his gullet. He blinked ashes out of his eyes, consuming the spit on his tongue. Gotta detect Talos, but way to end this. If he dies, Saadia lives. And if I can't kill him, I'll weaken him more than than the Divines could. His insides unfilled as he laid back on his elbows, soaking in the surroundings. A few bunnies trampled past, oblivious to his condition. A deer galivanting amongst the snow-ladened hills and winding icy canyons to the due east. He shuddered as he in-took a breath of air, exhaling through his olfactory organ. Something well-nigh this mask was off as it clutched and warped onto his jaw and mentum. Krest cast a few healing spells to repair his various injuries and torn ligaments. The spell conjured effectually him, sewing up wounds and rejuvenating him in a warmth like that he experienced in Dibella's arms when she held him.

She'll never be with you, a vox reminded him, focus on Talos.

As if Kynareth, Talos' wife herself was spitting on him, it began to rain. The teardrops of the clouds showered downwardly on him, freezing the snow into ice, or sloshing it into a mix of glacial waves. Clouds of chaos creatia swooped and body-slammed the ground.

Kyne'southward screams echoed with the thunder and lightning that followed, striking several trees, setting them aflame. He could hear her voice resonate in the wind. Though, now that he thought most it, she was probably upset at Talos' adultery. There was no way she was aware he, Krest was coming. He trudged through the downpour and sleet, his Light-Stalhrim Boots protecting him from the elements. More lightning crackled through the sky; he swore he could see the clouds forming the shapes of the gods. He was taking the course of history into his ain hands, him, a mere mortal with no special vocations. Skyrim stirred in the harsh cries of Mother Nature, the tree branches swiveling with heavy slush and muck splitting beyond giant hailstone lakes. He was soused in the pelting, a ophidian had coiled around his leg to find comfort, he threw it off. The rain fall attacked over and over, but his will was unshakable now that he was and then shut.

Non until he'south expressionless and gone. Krest sighed securely, trying to express joy, merely information technology came out wayward, every bit husky-gasping instead of a perceptible laugh. Each iota pulsed with pain. Every time he tired, he remembered Saadia hanging there, helpless, choking from the lack of oxygen as the rope took her life. Shaken from his introspection when he came upon a large white hall in the heart of the outdoors. It was a tunnel that emptied into a thicket of trees.

Saadia and countless elves and Anu knows who else more. Suffered at that tyrant's reign. And these filthy Nords dare worship him. The Thalmor were correct. The countless Aldmer killed and enslaved by Shor. The genocide and rape Pelinal did to the Ayleids and Khajiit. The Alessians and Dunmer Wulfharth burned. The Imperials even that Zurin got killed in his schemes. Merely most of all the near extinction of Summerset Isle at the hand of Tiber Septim within his Contumely Golem.

Roving through the jumbo window into the small bushel. A mauve bush spoke to Krest, "turn back, for this is the Cannibal Copse."

The meaty grove of copse were bunched together like one big bush-league, snarling lowly in the breeze. Good, I could use some practice. Krest unsheathed his arm-blade and sprinted through the wound, ripping offshoots that whipped and fought back. He cleaved through them like obsidian through mankind, coming out the other terminate of the grouping of plants with a few scratches. The heads of spriggan lurchers tumbling out in his wake. As if some sort of final boss of a dungeon, the biggest tree, a stocky sugar pine approached him from across the rocky mountaintops in the clearing they constitute themselves in. -- Rocks and snowy grass cambered on. The scenery of the glade was pulchritudinous. Clouds split up every bit rays of sunshine shone with a colossal waterfall pouring into a giant basin-lake over the Jeralls that separated Skyrim from Cyrodill. The land between him and the border covered with smaller, regular pine copse. Perhaps ane of the densest forests he'd ever bore witness too. It was mostly devoid of snow likewise.

"You dare enter sacred footing," rasped the rex tree, having uprooted itself. "For your transgression, you shall pay."

Krest sprinted into the dense forest, blinking frantically for escape.

The towering monuments of nature swayed; the ground covered by their shade with only a few beams of sunlight breaking through. Krest had the singled-out feeling that the trees were watching his movements... waiting. The King Tree rumbled afterwards him.

Krest raced as fast as his legs would let him. The sentient tree chasing after him, taking long strides. He made out cleaved reflections in the rain puddles. The tree used its thick branches as arms to fling a narrow-beaked bird like a dart at him. The bird smacked against a maple ahead, crumpling on the ground. Eventually getting smushed entirely by the Ent's foot. The overgrown slice of vegetation was nigh upon him before he took a precipitous left and saw a crystal-white fountain ahead in a deeper expanse of the shade, a golden beam of sunlight radiating it in holy light. Krest jumped into information technology, shocked at how deep it really was. Cooling and fresh, the liquid a translucent turquoise-type blue. He bobbed his head to the top and saw the hungry Ent cease dead in its tracks before the magnanimous curiosity.

He wasn't sure if information technology was h2o in his lashes or eyes. But the tree seemed to... smirk? Before turning effectually eventually and retreating.

Well… at least I didn't go eaten by a fucking found.

He watched it go until it was shrouded past leaves and no longer visible. Swimming effectually he gazed at the fountain he was floating in. In the eye there was a silvery-sandstone station with a gilt faucet in the shape of a fish's mouth sprouting the brilliant-hued liquid into the pool of the well. Peering around the woods, it was actually quite peaceful hither. Something coiled around his ankles and jerked downward. Krest whirred, needing to become out, to be saved. An underwater bush had entrapped him, trying to eat his calve. He didn't demand to suffer through being some stupid tree-wannabe'due south meal. Ii strong easily clasped themselves around Krest'south armpits and drummed upwardly, freeing him from his potentially watery grave and placing him gently down on the grass.

He spit h2o to his side and looked back up, squinting through his eyes at the figure whose face was lit up past sunlight. – Some sort of argent, clay monster, similar it belonged in a Black Marsh swamp.

"Maaster," it gurgled from the opening in what would be its head.

"Who are you?" Krest stood, shaking water off him.

"You make me." He pointed at Krest's mask.

It dawned on him then and everything suddenly made sense. The puzzle was solved. "Listen, become to Lorkhan's village. Tell someone to evacuate all the citizens and children, but to leave the soldiers. Go, as fast equally y'all can."

The cacciatore shifted, slithering into a nearby stream. The water here was a deep, ethereal blue. Infilled in between stone chasms and caverns. Krest saw a thin passageway total of water, a waterslide. He got in as the grayness of his intent-created-monster flew away downwardly the stream and permit the currents take them abroad. The slimy course resorbed itself in the azure-coloured liquid. The stream was moving insanely fast. The water slide spun and twisted down into some caves, cascading off various wharfs until eventually descending under the surface and into the falls of the caverns below, curving back upwards and spitting him off a massive waterfall.

Krest submerged in the great pink lake, an influx of water submitted him deeper and deeper in. This was the way. This was the Peach-Pink Lake. He sequestered his way betwixt an inlet, into the glowing-ruddy bounding main deep beneath Skyrim. Mermaid songs echoed and reverberated off every nook and cranny of the bewitching caverns here, the Dragon Priest mask assuasive him to breathe underwater.

This mask really is a divine artifact made past Akatosh himself.

Krest paddled later on a hammerhead shark he summoned, he took ahold its back fin as it rocketed them through the h2o at an unfathomable speed, burrowed through the open gates into an underwater hamlet. Warm and welcoming, like a whole other realm, he could hear the distant melody of pearls and saw a few mermen flying around as well. It felt like another earth - detached from all the hubbub of the one he was used to living in.

This mask Akatosh made, named after Konahrik, tin emulate all of his abilities… my abilities?

They glided through the underground ocean seamlessly. Swam into the old Dreugh city of the previous kalpa and saw how it was marked with homes congenital inside reefs, flowing through a coral forest now, magically summery aqua. In that location was sort of an underlying chill to the water. One that prevented ane from relaxing and kept them on alert, though information technology wasn't exactly a chilly feeling. Finally, through a hole, they rose through a normal lake, landing in the yellowish tundras of prehistoric Hrothgar plains.

Great-horned owls and cockatrices he conjured flying overhead.

Krest approached the ancient city of Drakefell, located near where the modern-day Rose-River Lodge was. The Skyforge and Idavoll palace sat here near wooden buildings and farmhouses contained within massive grey battlements that had big wooden posts. A drove of painstakingly stilted huts on a small loma, elevated in a higher place the residual of the tundra bowl, nigh the monument of the Western Watchtower. The Skyforge; giant smithy for blacksmithing in a corner, a carved form of an eagle presiding over it. Despite his warnings, most of the locale remained. A woman was carrying buckets of water upwards a loma as a fire burned through chimneys of some other hut. An old man rocked back and forth in his wooden chair. Krest stood there as he came to the outskirts, reeds of grass and wheat flipping his way. Sugarcane and more.

These were the Wandering Ehlnofey, the ancestors of mankind. If we kill them all, peradventure Talos will die out without worshippers, Krest contemplated. Why should they live. Humans intendance for only themselves.

His acrimony edifice up within him. He shook with rage. Every step burning into the basis, melting the snow.

Yes. I see at present. Elven supremacy is the only truth. They were right all along.

"A stranger comes, beware," the one-eyed quondam man forewarned. "Flee from united states of america, devil."

Whispers circulated through the miserable customs. "He might be a demon, careful. Wait at its face."

"Leave or die, Lorkhanic sheep," hissed Krest as his artillery undid themselves. "Nord beasts! Both your lives and lands are now forfeit!"

"Truthful Nords never dorsum—" the Nord's torso hit the frost before he finished, a bolt splat in the center of his brain, claret spraying out as he convulsed, painting the dirt.

"Bjorne, NO!" Yelled some other proto-atmoran, rearing on Krest.

A woman shot iii successive rounds from her bow at Krest, one of which got him in the shoulder. Krest glared and summoned something with his mask.

A behemothic ten-legged spider erupted through a hovel and swallowed the woman whole. A puce-shaded Helangeri, its pincers at the ends of its arms snapping and opening violently, eight eyes examining curiously.

A kick sent Krest flying into the snow. He looked up. Another woman, this 1 smaller, was slamming her dagger at him. He grabbed her wrist with both his arms, but she socked him right in his forehead, flight his chin upwards. Krest hissed, as a viper sprung at her. She kicked information technology aside with a articulatio genus-cake and pounded Krest's cheek with a difficult fist. A knee went upward his chin, she brought his head down upon her leg next.

"Nice job, Lyla! Go him!"

Krest hissed and rocked her upside the chin, smashing his fist into her neck bones. The daughter vicious apartment on the ground and Krest bankrupt her spine with repeated welts of his rock-hardened fist. Crashing information technology over and over until the Lyla was paralyzed.

Her father howled, tears pouring from his blackened eyes. He pointed a finger accusingly, stuttering, "y-you lot are the D-devil."

No. HE IS. Shor.

"Where is Shor?" Krest threatened.

"In his palace, Idavoll, at the acme of the hill," the elderly agent cried, holding his dead daughter in his arms. "Why did yous kill Lyla? She's just a girl."

"Y'all people aren't man, that'due south why. Nothing but disgusting, piggish animals. I'll kill every unmarried 1 of you." Krest kicked the one-time man upside the caput with i foot into the clay. "Behold, the futurity. Behold, the Thalmor," whispered Krest, looking down on the Nord's groveling course in the mud, sputtering and spitting.

The sunday basked the countryside in orangish hues, blood staining the water ice. Though judging by the stars and glistening aurora of the bright, blueish nebula, information technology was safety to say information technology was setting, or rising, as time was nonlinear here. The alley of free space reeked of gore and decaying flesh. He heard half itch noises shuffling in the pale country ahead of him. Krest ran upward, ignoring the sites, and snuck into the Idavoll. Rock walls and duping shadows stealing through. He saw a stylized "L" encircled by an oval with a steel greyness finish, and a coat of arms with two swords crossed littered on the basis. They didn't seem like they belonged in this kalpa.

"No, he's not going to go in," Talos or rather, Lorkhan was saying, "if just that bitch Mara hadn't escaped. She had quite the pair of breasts."

Talos Lorkhan'south palace in Skyrim held golden walls with high ceilings, hanging crystal chandeliers, cherry-red-velvet rugs draped on marble corridors and breathing portraits, flower-filled vases amidst other decorations on the alcoves to the sides. Krest came into the primal dining chamber that held a big white table in the center with thrones lining the length on each side. Light seamed in from the cosmos outside and a fine assortment of foods rested on the countertop. 4 of the gods were here. Talos, he looked largely the aforementioned though with less scars and wrinkles and wearing Nordic gear though his goatee was longer, and pilus freshly cut. Tsun seemed a lot younger, with a shorter bristles and dark-brown hair virtually every bit long equally Krest's goldilocks. Kynareth was there too. Dibella was younger too. She seemed innocent merely also driveling, as marks marred her face and her eye-sockets reddened. Her hair was as well much longer hither than it was in the modern day.

Krest unobtrusively sat downward at the table side by side to her.

"I suppose you're correct, milord." The young Tsun ate a bite off a lambchop.

"I am always." Lorkhan downed a pint of ale, gluttonously slopping information technology upwardly and wiping his oral cavity with his hairy forearm.

Gods, everything about you makes me retch you miserable, stupid fuck. Krest bit downwards on his lip with so much acrimony claret spilled out and downwards his neck.

"I gotta tell ya, you're an ever bigger prick hither than where I'k from," Krest whispered with seething rage. Lorkhan glanced around merely he didn't run into him.

Talos clenched his jaw beneath his goatee-bearded mien only didn't say annihilation.

"Talos," Krest annunciated. This time anybody in the throng looked at him, optics alert. Krest glanced down and noticed he was seated in Shor'southward Throne.

This dumbass doesn't even enchant his throne so anybody can sit in it.

"Who are y'all?" The younger Talos rose quickly from his seat, fists tightening.

"Just some other error of yours, Talos." Krest crumpled his ain fist, groovy his neck.

"Who in blazes is Talos?" Lorkhan raised a thinning brow. "I am Lorkhan, god of men and this globe."

Krest removed his hood, showing his mask. "It's a good matter you're also mute in the future because your voice is annoying. Did you think you could rape, kill, and do whatever you wanted without repercussion," he said. "Do you similar my mask by the way? It'due south called Konahrik; after me now that I think about it.

Tsun mumbled something he didn't quite pick up.

"Just what's this all well-nigh?" Talos rammed his fist against the tabletop. His fingers coiled like a cobra around the fork on his plate.

It'S ABOUT EVERY ELF YOU SLAUGHTERED, EVERY Adult female YOU RAPED, EVERY MAN YOU WRONGED. At present I'LL Testify YOU HOW It FEELS.

"I'grand going to kill you lot now." Konahrik close his insets as electrical surges crackled over his peel. The mask warped and tightened like an entity feeding off bacteria.

If Akatosh uses this mask to plow into a Golden Dragon… let'south see what it does to me.

A gasp sounded around the hall. Platters clattered to the flooring. White light enveloped his vision.

Now I am get decease, the destroyer of worlds.

Krest unleashed hordes of demonic beasts beyond Skyrim, commanding them to slaughter every soldier of Lorkhan-Talos, or anyone who got in the manner. Razing thousands of his troops situated in the food-grounds outside. His elongated dov grade combusted the palace, littering treen everywhere and crushing the souls reeling below. Krest's dragon class shrieked like a banshee at the heavens, a victory cry over his enemy. Krest's dragon form was a behemothic blackness dragon with a pale underbelly, half-dozen-limbed with devilish horns. Broods of servants were swallowed past him when his snout came down and dragged over the floor, swallowing down the demon spawn Nords, chewing and mulling their flesh, marrow, and organs between his teeth. Various hordes of self-proclaimed innocent civilians fled the scene, but he engulfed them all in his flames, charring the countryside.

I'll impale them all, filthy barbarians.

"Soon, ALL NORDS WILL BE THRALL TO THE THALMOR."

He smashed his massive fist into a closet where a group of the vermin hid. Reducing them into sticky guts. A state of war-master'south limbs ripped individually from his ligaments, scattering his skull fragments into oblivion as rivers of claret cascaded down the plains. Monsters swarmed Skyrim, resorting information technology to a fiery hellscape. Thunder resounded as the clouds choked the sunlight'due south grasp. Lightning blinded Krest's right eye, the ichor and whiteness oozing off his scaly face. A giant werebear jammed his ribcage, Krest flung it across the mist single-handedly, breaking the jaw of a large wolf-hawk who'd foolishly challenged him. A massive blue whale scrap down on his face up, appearing from nowhere.

Konahrik melted the inside of the cetacean'due south brains with his flame-jiff, devouring his way out, and shaking off its corpse. He screeched into the heaven and widened his wings, knocking over the terminal remaining wall of the ruptured mansion, stomping on all fours, wings flaring, toward a hamlet where children played. His wingspan wide enough to dwarf the palace.

Those aren't children. They're the spawn of Talos. Demons, Krest told himself.

"Servants, heed my command, encircle this dwelling in your fury. Kill Shor's people," Krest rasped every bit beasts conjured, formulating from seemingly zero and enveloping Lorkhan's homeland into the hell the 9th Divine belonged in. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" A whole contingent of Talos's soldiers were fried to char under Krest'south fire-breath, their blood becoming tar. Similar ink, the ebony-droplets spattered the tundra every bit if the land itself begged for mercy he'd never supply. He was done with mercy. Never once more. No one gave him any mercy, after all.

He descended on the miserable village, something hit his side and knocking him astray, ash blinding his remaining left eye. A massive, forty-foot armored basilisk-python hybrid coalesced before him. "You sshalt dice by my fangss!" Lorkhan-Talos hissed venomously. His colossal body and tail swirled coilingly on the hill, green and blackness roves ridging the stripes on him, optics of poison and a forked tongue. A violet body.

Krest cleared his head.

They both got into battle stances, pulling back. Lunging as one. Lorkhan struck at him, fangs agape. Krest maneuvered, shrieking and rammed his claw into Talos' windpipe, smashing his enemy into the burnt bowl atop a minor colina of corpses.

"Your will is pathetic, god of men." Krest turned his draconic framing to sneer at the lamentable alibi of a savior writhe every bit he shrank. "Every word that exits your mouth is as pathetic as your prevarication-filled legacy." Krest flapped his wings as dust clouds gathered. He took off, coming dorsum downwards to dive in imperial arcs, reigning down more fire upon Talos' ground forces. As a Dragon, he streaked through the heaven, air sailing past him as he breathed, soldiers toppled over up and down the vast expanses of Skyrim.

Krest noticed ane of Talos' primary chieftain's defending his hut with some concubines. Time for some fun. He curled into a ball, spinning into the log cabin, splintering it into the dirt and reverting to a human being, folding out his blade and slicing it down the burly Nord polygamist's dorsum, ripping out his spine with his other hand, crushing his skull with his palms and savoring the lifeblood. The women, now free, ran off.

"Men similar y'all raped my mother. Now I'll make sure men like you don't exist."

Krest, however high on adrenaline, secured his mask and grew back into a massive black dovah, razing more than farms till something caught him in the wing, dragging him. Someone latched onto his shoulder-blade.

Talos clutched his horns, trying to steer him away from his army. Talos grunted when Konahrik acquired his horns to burn.

"Shor, Hero to all!" Cried several Nords beneath. "Save us from the Evil One!"

Talos gripped Krest under the jaw and wrenched up, to block his maw from spewing anymore fire upon his enemies. Krest folded his wings in, descending rapidly, breezes deflecting. They crashed into the ground beneath, spattering rocks and dirt, trashing Drakefell, sending Talos flight twenty feet ahead into the woodworks and tenements of the housing arrangement. Konahrik reared, called-for. He clasped an enemy, skewering and powdering its spine with his taloned-claw, gouging fire at the vermin. His fist smashed the one with fancy furs, lopping its arms off. A whole house crushed beneath his fist.

So he saw The Enemy, groveling on the ground.

"Talos," Krest gnarled, picking his teeth with a gratis nail.

Talos laid back, cradling his breast with ane hand, using the other to support his weight, talking to one of his troops and giving them a mercy-kill. And then, Talos, the supposed Hero of Tamriel, rotated to look at Krest. "Did Akatosh send yous?" He quaffed blood into his fist.

"I sent me," Krest warbled. "These are the consequences of your sins, Talos. Your pointless greed, clamorous lust, obsession with power and fame."

"Again, with that fucking name, Talos. I'm Lorkhan, too known as Shor. Hero-god of mankind," Lorkhan groaned, getting upward on his knees. "Your scales will make decent armor." The smoke from the fires burned the city and ascended from all corners.

Krest propelled himself into the air, choking dust storms in every management. He screeched insanely, his natural language slogging around as his callous skull convulsed similar a bobblehead. Talos' arms and legs expanded, conjoining, unraveling into a forty-human foot violet and green snake. Scales with jewel-edges. Talos lunged afterwards him. Striking into the air. The new holes in Aetherius lit up the world in a haze of colour, magenta mixed with a pink-white aurora borealis. He reveled in his victory. Krest fanged at him in the air, clawing for his neck.

Talos' behemothic snake course tried to clamp Konahrik'due south snout in betwixt his venomous tusks. They spun around, swoop-bombing. Shaking loose of The Enemy's grip. Krest moved in a sweeping arc and hailed fire upon Talos, just information technology didn't faze him through the armoured scaling of his basilisk. Talos glided lower, over the burned buildings of the city, surveying screaming citizenry beneath. A human's torso cutting in half, another crushed under rubble.

"Shoot the dragon!" Tsun shouted, directing his infantry to assault Krest.

Talos threw himself at Krest before he could roast the soldiers, peachy him into the mountainside. Krest cruel into the abyss equally an avalanche of boulders vicious on top of him, hitting Lorkhan with such hate they both collapsed. The ice permeated over his scaling, twinkling. Swimming around, he backed up and friction erupted against Talos' snake to get back through to the sky. Talos wrapped him with his tail and torso, squeezing hard as Konahrik shot them into the smoke clouds.

White light and a portal shone, swallowing Krest back. "I unleash hordes of monsters and evils onto your state. Then, your people may always live-in fearfulness backside walls!" Krest cursed as he was returned to his own time…

Woods thrashed everywhere equally Krest erupted like a volcano through Paarthurnax's palace, dorsum in his own time menstruation, a hole through Akatosh's room, his shrieks wailing in the mount ranges, echoing for hundreds of miles, searing the clouds, shattering windows.

"The Evil One returns," croaked a bloodied Skjor from beneath.

"He has risen," Elenwen said in awe.

Talos held a sword in the air equally if he were a Smashing Hero. "EVERY ELF SHALL Die."

Krest screamed, "EVERY NORD SHALL Dice."

Krest swooped down to meet his quarry as his hellfire ate the Thu'um clouds. The metropolis of Hrothgar laid destroyed in Konahrik's wake. Talos was there, having murdered Paarthurnax. The Sons of Septim having joined him and a battle broke out between them, the Thalmor, and anyone who joined in. The clanging of spears and swooshing of blades resounding every bit fires and screams echoed. Tsun, Dibella, and Akatosh trying to get things under control and keep the civilians safe as all hell bankrupt loose.

Talos looked up from the ash covered hall in the night sky without the moons at Krest with recognition.

"KONAHRIK!" Talos screamed. He had regained his ability to speak somehow.

Krest breathed fire onto a quarter of the Sons of Septim and relished every bit their flesh melted off their bodies.

"Permit MY PEOPLE GO!" Talos cried, lunging a spear right at Krest'southward ribcage.

"Salvage the states Talos!" Several Nord children screamed. "You're the Chosen One! Beat the Nighttime Lord!"

Krest streaked downwards, cocking his dragon-fist back far. Talos violet irises glowed as Krest's justice neared. Talos spun into a basilisk and tied around Krest like a wet string.

Krest felt his dragon bones vanquish and pulse as Talos choked him within his serpent grip. Krest heated up his body, singeing Talos underside, bravado fire and throwing Talos off him. Body slamming the Ninth Divine into a building, shattering the roof and walls utterly.

Talos transformed into a human being and narrowly dodged Krest's jump which wrecked the remainder of the building and smashed the members of the Blades, splattering them into guts. Delphine and Esbern lay dead, crushed beneath Krest's dragon form. A staff in Talos' paw was up. Krest'southward massive draconic fist smashed Talos into smithereens confronting the boulder as a staff pierced Krest's dragon heart. Everything ruptured. Snow and organs thrashed everywhere. Krest'southward soul drained away like an hourglass. Violet cones slithered as his dragon-body slipped off like snakeskin, leaving Krest back in his human being course, but his soul was gone. Talos had cleaved information technology from him with the soul-return staff.

Ebony smoke every bit dark equally the burnt edge of torches wafted everywhere and Krest coughed. His brain scrambled as his databanks crashed. Talos rolled over and got upwards, violet ichor streaming out of him. He's however not expressionless. Why didn't anything change? I went back in time and all…

Krest's right eye was gone, and he could only run into through the left at present, some weird, distorted scratches betwixt his eyebrows. He withal wore the Konahrik mask.

" TIID KLO UL EREI GAAR ," the Thu'um of Akatosh vibrated through Krest'due south basic and brain.

He slithered over as a blinding white light consumed him.

Krest was still on the mountaintop, though everything felt crisper, isolated, as if he were in some sort of limbo in his dying moments. Time was slowed and nothing was moving exterior him and Talos within a circle. Krest stood upwards and healed himself the all-time he could while dusting the smog off his iced armor while Talos watched him, though this time the glint of fright was in Talos' optics.

"It was you… you were the Konahrik all along…" Talos' gaped when Krest removed the mask to reveal himself.

"I AM the Thalmor." Krest's knuckles bled ruby-red equally his fingers curled into fists. He'd retained the ability to speak from the mask it seemed.

"You moron." Talos shook his head, speaking from his human oral fissure. "YOU STARTED THIS! Cypher CHANGED BECAUSE You lot WENT INTO THE Past AND FULFILLED WHAT HAD ALREADY OCCURRED. INACTION WOULD'VE BEEN A BETTER COURSE OF Activity!"

So, I was the Dark Lord and didn't fifty-fifty know it… and they just turned my quest for revenge into some make believe myth virtually a Night Lord.

This makes no sense. My, how. How can this be and then damn stock-still?

Information technology doesn't matter. I tin kill him now.

"Long live the Aldmeri Dominion." Krest sprinted at Talos, picking up the Nord and slamming them both into the crud whilst screaming fanatically. Krest swiveled his whole body and rammed the weight of his punch straight into Talos' face. Once more and again and again, alternating hands. Remembering his mom. Remembering Saadia, Dibella. Every horrible moment that led to this. Talos' head slammed back and up as Krest'southward duke dug deeper and deeper with every slam he did. "Dice Die DIE," Krest caucused before he was flung across the room with a light spell.

"Nosotros've got some talking to do, you hypocrites." Akatosh glared daggers at them both.

~ § ó § ò § ~

Loading Screen… Do you know the ancient Nord word for war? Season Unending…

A/N: I hope the prologue makes more than sense now. As you can meet, there is no right side on the man vs. mer / Lorkhan vs. Konahrik argument. The wrong is the mindset they both have.

Lorkhan (Left) & Konahrik (Right)

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Source: https://elderscrolls.fandom.com/f/t/Skyrim

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