Feind

Here I wallow in this excrement, my domicile hypogeum of solitude—a fortress of death and decay. Six feet below ground, walls of rotted wood weeping black moisture, moldy stones, and burial soil crawling with things that should stay buried. The air is thick with the sweet-sick reek of cadaverous rot, so dense it coats the back of my throat like oil. I breathe it in deep. It smells like home.

Hidden behind a deftly concealed entrance disguised as a stone crypt inside an old cemetery outside Crosswych, I chose this abode for its prime real estate: perfect isolation, and a place not too many will come meddling. The living fear places like this. They sense the wrongness in the air, the way silence presses against their eardrums, the way shadows move when they shouldn't. How did I come to find this hidden gem I now call home, you ask? They say dead men tell no tales, but I am not dead—or am I? Maybe something in between. I am stranded in a limbo of existence, neither breathing nor rotting, suspended in the space between heartbeats that will never come. Chasing leads, much like chasing prey, but as you'll find out, not even the undead are safe from my appetite.

A little over five moons have passed since I awoke from the void. Since Namira blessed me with her gift—this gnawing, insatiable hunger that lives in my marrow. Since I first tasted vengeance and the satisfaction of devouring flesh, feeling memories slide down my throat with the meat. I've taken to dwelling amongst the dead and the undead to keep from drawing attention to myself. I've become a phantom of the night, a thing that watches from the dark. Every town has a cemetery, so that became the nerve center of my venture. Over time I learned that everyone has a price for information. Gold is a workable tool to extract what I need, yet I have more persuasive ways for the unwilling.

Which is where this story begins.

In the back alley of a modest port town called Koeglin, thick fog swept through from the Iliac Bay—cold, wet, and tasting of brine and rot. I waited for an orc I'd been tracking for three days—a seafarer who'd finally returned to seaside, staying at the Sleepy Sailor Inn. Three days prior, the Snitch told me: "You can find him at the docks or the Inn. The whereabouts of Adistair—one of the family members of House Geric—may be attained by a smuggler known as Hanz Broken-Tusk. You can't miss him—he's the only orc in town with a partially missing tusk."

I lurked in the shadows, fidgeting with my ring. The fog pressed close, muffling the world into silence.

"Are you going to stand here all night?" a ghastly woman's voice asked—too close, as if her mouth hovered just behind my ear.

"Shhh!"

As if I possessed some hidden foresight, Hanz came tottering toward me. I snatched him up by his collar, lifting him off his feet. My cloak disguised me in complete darkness as my azure eyes pierced through his drunken stupor.

"Adistair?" I demanded.

"What? Who?"

"The sands of time for you are running low." I tightened my grip.

"I-I don't know an Adistair."

"He's lying," the ghastly woman warned, her voice crackling like dry bone.

I threw the orc against the stone wall. He slid down onto his side, groaning. "Please, please," he clutched himself. "I don't know where Adistair is, bu-but I-I know his partner. Azarath, the-the Nightblade. He's been collecting black soul gems for him, amongst other things."

"What for?!" I grabbed him by the neck, tightening my grip.

"I don't know," he choked.

"Where?"

"The-the docks at midnight."

I loosened my grip. He fell to the ground with a thump. I tossed him a small bag of coin and disappeared into the fog.

"You should've killed him," the ghastly woman said. "He's a rat."

"I don't care, Mother."

A massive three-masted sailing ship loomed like a dark ghost at the wooden pier. Its tall masts and furled sails were only faintly visible, the upper yards and spars disappeared completely into the fog overhead. The hull sat low and heavy in the black water of the Bay, its weathered wood almost invisible except where dim lantern light from the dock caught the lower planks. The silence was absolute—no gulls, no waves, no creaking rope. Just the ship, waiting.

I found an obscured view between a building and a tree, where I waited for the porters to leave. When the last of them vanished into the fog, I sauntered down to the dock toward the lonely shadowed figure.

He turned within a blink of an eye as I approached a few yards from him. "What do you want?" he shouted.

I was impressed by his quick reflexes. "Some details on a person I'm looking for."

"There is nothing here for you. Now begone," he commanded.

"Just tell me what I need and I'll be on my way."

"Are you suicidal or dim-witted? There is nothing for you here!" he shouted again.

My ego got the better of me as I chuckled with a sinister grin. "Fine! The easy way then!"

I uncovered a razor-sharp axe from under my cloak—pieced together from the bones of slain members from House Geric and some enchanted Daedric steel I'd looted from a Dremora Kynval with an impish attitude a while back. In a swift, violent swing, I launched myself with my axe held high at the man's head. In a burst of supernatural speed, the man moved quicker than my fastest swing, as if he'd teleported, and at the same time pitched three sharp spectral daggers that flew quick—but could not pierce me as they reflected off my cloak and vanished.

In an instant the man appeared standing on the deck of his ship, staring at me with glowing red eyes, taken aback by the failure of his attack.

"A vampire," the ghastly woman said.

Excitement pulled my face into a rictus, my teeth clenched, and I dropped my cloak, revealing an enchanted armor that clung to me like a smothering mother: a skeleton of jagged plates made of bones taken from my mother's corpse and fused into overlapping segments that followed the lines of ribs, scapulae, and spine. The surface was stained the color of old blood and grave-soil, each plate etched with fortified runes and fractures that seemed to pulse faintly, as if the bones themselves still remembered the agony of my mother's death and the life from which she was torn. Sharp, irregular spines flared from the shoulders and upper back, curving outward like the broken wings of some long-dead eldritch horror. The bones did not envelope me entirely, but they supplied an undetected enchantment that, when joined with my rough ebony skin, made me nearly invulnerable.

Ah yes—Mother's protection.

I leaped forward, jumping onto the ship and swung my axe vulgarly, to no avail.

"You need to be more tactful," the ghastly voice said, and every time I missed my swing, a dagger struck me.

"Dammit, he's too quick!" I complained. "Where in Oblivion is he getting all these fucking daggers?" I fumed.

I lobbed my axe, missing him again as it lodged into the ship's cabin door.

"He is using blood and shadow magic. He will pierce through you eventually," the ghastly woman warned.

"Fuck this!" I shouted, lunging forward, grabbing him with both arms. "I will break you," I taunted, constricting him as he dissolved into a blood-colored mist, escaping my grasp. The mist emitted a poisonous gas, in which I was immune. I summoned my axe and when it returned to my hand I felt a dagger penetrate my side. Its poisonous effects came on swiftly, and I felt my life-force draining, which brought me to one knee.

The vampire, Azarath, stood before me, flaunting his fangs, believing the fruits of victory were ripe for his tasting. I then threw my axe at him again and as I predicted, he dodged it. Then reappeared in front of me again with his arrogance ablaze.

"I don't know who you are, or what you are, but your attempts at harming me are futile. I've seen werebeasts with more finesse than you, creature," he said.

"You'll tell me what I need to know even if I have to rip it out of you," I replied, as I summoned my axe. It returned in a flash, slicing Azarath apart, removing his torso from his legs. He fell to the deck in a bloody mess.

I stood above him, my wounds healed instantly. Licking his blood from my axe, I boasted with a menacing grin, "I taste your fear. It tastes like weakness. If you won't talk now, I'll have to eat your brains." I chuckled, reaching down, grabbing him by his throat as his legless body rained blood out from his torso. "Adistair? Where?" I yelled.

Azarath laughed, as he transformed into a red cloud of mist again, and his entire body disappeared.

"Gone," the ghastly voice said.

"Fucking coward!" I yelled, looking all around me. All that was left was a blood-stained deck and abandoned ship, which I figured I could get some insight from. So I scraped up the vampire's blood off the deck, lapping it with my tongue off my axe. Soon flashes of thousands of screaming victims flooded my mind—faces twisted in agony, throats torn open, children drained pale and discarded.

"Useless," I deduced.

Storming off to raid the hold of the ship for any evidence of Adistair, I unboxed crates of black soul gems filled with dark, malevolent souls and tools for some kind of ritualistic sacrifice. The sight triggered my memory of when I was taken by the mages—screaming as they bound me to the table.

"I curse you all to a ravenous death! Murderers! Murder—ahhhhhh!" while they sliced and pulled my skin off my body bit by bit, speaking incantations and rubbing a thick, powdery, black clay-like substance on me in place of my freshly removed skin. My mother's screams echoed somewhere distant. The smell of burning flesh. The taste of my own blood filling my mouth.

The memories faded. I determined there wasn't much information in the ship's hold, so I left and entered the ship's cabin. My search turned up nothing but a pitch-black stone with a crudely carved symbol of a horned, demonic face. The moment I touched it, a cold sickness crawled up my arm. I took the artifact, retrieved my cloak, and returned to my hideaway as daybreak came.

I laid in this coffin awhile, consuming the hand of a freshly buried corpse that I just robbed of its final resting place. I began biting off each finger as they crunched, popped, and gushed livor mortis in my mouth. The taste was familiar now—rot and copper and the faint sweetness of decay. I'd been giving some thought on what this stone artifact is and what type of scheme Azarath and Adistair were trying to accomplish.

"Familiar," my mother's ghastly voice whispered—so close I felt the words against my ear, though she had no breath.

"I am at a loss, Mother," I replied.

Then the memories of my bedtime snack's happy childhood flew through my mind—a boy laughing, a woman singing, warmth and sunlight I could no longer remember feeling.

"Ahh fucking shit," I said in disgust, letting out a long sigh. I felt my mother's presence removed. Then I heard sounds coming from outside the coffin. Muffled voices chattering back and forth. I pushed open the coffin lid and emerged, staring at a woman and her child holding flowers. They let out a horrified scream and jetted off.

I burst out in laughter, then jumped out of the interment and set off to find a priest or someone with some answers.

The journey was long, but I reached the city of Wayrest, a wealthy Breton port city in High Rock, known for its grand castle, bustling harbor, and political intrigue. The sun was setting and I'd been skulking just outside the Temple of the Divines, waiting for a priest to pass by. I pulled my hood over me to keep my face from being visible, sitting down on the ground and occasionally asking for spare coin. The people passed me by, some in a hurry and hesitant to acknowledge a beggar. This was part of my plan. While I waited for a priest, I would empower the uncomfortable feeling of seeing someone in need when they have no intentions to help or care. It was a reliable retardant, so I thought.

"Can I help you, my son?" an old man asked.

I kept my head down. "Spare a coin?" I held out my hand.

"How about supper and a warm bed?" he replied.

I stayed silent for some time. I recalled, for a moment, the comforts of a bed—something I could no longer feel, no longer needed. "At the very least I can make a meal out of him," I thought to myself.

"Where?" I asked.

"It's close," the old man said. He reached out his hand and guided me into the temple.

"You're a priest?" I asked.

"Not exactly," he chuckled. "I am a caretaker."

He walked me up a flight of old wooden stairs. Sharp pains started to riddle my head—like needles pressing into my skull from the inside. The longer I stayed inside this building, the more the pain persisted, a holy pressure that wanted to expel me like poison from a wound. The old man stopped in front of a room, opened the door, and ushered me in.

"Here is your room. You can stay till morning."

I nodded my head with no intentions of staying in this anathema.

"Can I show you something?" I asked.

"Uh, sure," he replied.

Reaching into my pocket, I took out the black stone. "What is this?"

The old man was in shock, his face draining of color. "Where did you get this unholy talisman?"

"I found it. What is it?" I said.

"Son, we must destroy it."

"Okay, but what is it?" I asked again.

"The Prince of Brutality. The Corrupter," he said, swatting the artifact from my hand as it shattered on the floor into six pieces.

"Damn you, you broke it!" I shouted angrily. I nabbed the old man up by his neck, holding him high as my hood uncovered my face. The dread he wore on his face as he let out a petrified scream that echoed out of the room and down the hall was marvelous, which also gathered the attention of others in the temple.

Seeing a window nearby was my only exit, I tossed the old man through it, and while he plummeted to his death, I picked up the two biggest pieces of the broken artifact and placed them in my pocket. Then I looked out the window, seeing the city. It was quite a spectacle of lights and sounds.

"Fuck this place," I said as I leaped out the window and landed in a squatted position adjacent to the dying old man. He garbled indistinctly as I robbed him of his coin and fled to the shadows.

Wayrest was highly active on this night, and I found it difficult to navigate the city unseen. In addition, the guards were put on high alert, so I slipped into the sewers and sought out an exit from under the city.

I entered the tunnels thinking my escape was well planned, but to my surprise I discovered in the thick of all this foulness a subterranean city—Wayrest's Untouchables.

I walked past them. Filthy, diseased, starving. Much like myself. I chuckled at the thought and pulled my hood down further to conceal my face. The rancid odors ate at my nose while the large stone walls deprived the sewers of any ventilation, making the air stagnant, hot, and humid. Any normal person would've been drenched in sweat by now. Large patches of mold and puddles of water were strewn throughout the stone floors—my footsteps splashed and squished with every other step. The Untouchables watched me pass with hollow eyes, some reaching out with skeletal hands, whispering pleas I pretended not to hear. Once I exited that large chamber, I found myself surrounded by large, aggressive rodents known as Skeevers. Nothing wasn't edible to them, not even the undead. I should've been appalled by just how much I have in common with those creatures, but I'd rather admire them for being the underdogs of Nirn. They're always on the attack, even to their own detriment.

I traversed the tunnels for some time looking for a way out and found myself lost. I decided to follow the flow of the Buried Sewer River until I approached a large cistern. On top of a wooden raised platform stood a tall man fitted with a light brown leather robe and bistre accents. He swung his arms and hips from left to right as he danced while in the company of rats that mimicked his movements—dozens of them, moving in perfect unison, their eyes reflecting the dim light like tiny stars. The man paused.

"You don't belong here!" he announced. When he paused, the rats scattered, and he picked up a faded light brown staff made of driftwood. Carved at the head was a rustic carved head of a Skeever.

"That's a neat trick," I said sarcastically.

"I am not too fond of trespassers," he snarled.

"I didn't see a nameplate. Who are you?" I replied.

"Some call me the Piper, others the Rat Whisperer. What brought you to my subterranean kingdom?" He peered at me while he leaned on his staff.

"I'm looking for an exit—a way out of Wayrest," I replied.

"Oh you are, are you?" He grinned. "As it turns out, you're not worthy of my kingdom." He stood upright, pointing his staff toward a narrow chamber. "You may leave now," he said in a haughty tone.

I wasted no time and left with haste. I caught a scent of necromones as I made my way through the corridor—the smell of death magic, familiar and unsettling. I slowed my pace when the thought of a trap lingered ahead, but I finally found the exit.

Upon exiting the sewers, I was approached by a man.

"Did you come here for the coin?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"That is a pity. Lord Garron the Returned will pay you generously for your service."

"I don't know who that is and I don't care." I looked at the man for a moment—his attire was unimpressive. "Do you know an Adistair or Azarath?"

He shook his head. I walked past him, heading for a harbor I'd seen in the distance.

I found myself strolling through Farangel's Landing, a small harbor settlement off the coast of Iliac Bay, when—as fate would have it again—I saw a familiar face.

THWACK! I slammed Hanz against a stone wall.

"Holding details from me, Hanz?" I said.

"No, no, no—ahhhh!" He screamed when I forced his head into the wall, crushing it to the point his eyes started to bulge from their sockets.

"Azarath. Who is he?" I grilled, applying slightly more pressure to his skull.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow—okay, okay! A-a vampire! He-he came from Cyrodiil, a-a cultist, ahhh! Ahh! The Shadowed Path, at the Birdsong t-tower, ahhhh!" he cried out.

The force of my hand went through his head, cracking his skull open as it flattened against the wall. Fragments of blood-soaked brain tissue and skull pieces oozed out around my fingers and palm.

"The Shadowed Path?" I said to myself curiously. I let go of Hanz's lifeless body as it slid down the wall. I wiped the slurry off my hand onto my cloak and walked away.

Then, appearing in front of me, was a grotesque figure pulsing with a sickly green light.

"Welcome back, Mother," I said.

She hovered in front of me with a horrifying disfigured face—jaw hanging loose, one eye socket empty and weeping, the other filled with a milky cataract that somehow still saw me. Her grimace I've come to love. Her jaw unlatched and snapped when opened, making a cracking, popping-like noise as her ghastly voice forced out her words in a shriek. "A priest buried outside of Crosswych."

"What of this priest, Mother?" I asked.

The cracking and popping-like sounds continued. "Murdered by cultists. His spirit lingers," she replied.

"Alright, but first we'll visit the old Birdsong Tower." I walked past my mother's ghastly apparition as she faded away.

I remembered the tower was built on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Bjoulsae River and the Iliac Bay—not far from here. It once had a beautiful garden dedicated to some princess, a popular tryst location. I gagged just thinking about it.

A long stone stairwell led up to the tower. As I approached, an ominous feeling overtook me—the air itself felt wrong, thick and cloying, as if something vast and malevolent had breathed on this place and left its stain. Something is wrong here. I looked up at the tower and through the fog saw it was in ruin. I climbed the stairwell, and as I approached the top, I stood confused, wondering if I'd gone to the wrong location.

"Corrupted," my mother said, her voice closer than before.

"Yeah, I can feel the hostility in the air," I replied.

The site was one of complete desolation—the garden long petrified and withered away, the flowers blackened and twisted into shapes that resembled grasping hands. A thick poisonous fog overlaid the ground, and beneath it I could hear faint whispers, as if the earth itself was speaking in a language I couldn't understand. I thought the tower would have been a good location to start my investigation, but before I reached it, I was ambushed by three grotesque figures—two male and one female. Their clothes were tattered and torn, their bodies decomposed with greenish-gray skin, rotted and infested. They ran at me clumsy and disorderly. Two of them lunged at me. I easily sidestepped them and watched them topple over each other. The third followed in pursuit, all stacked on top of each other. I removed my axe and in one fell swoop decapitated all three of them.

A spark of interest and wonder ignited. What happened to this place?

I picked up the head of the decapitated woman. It was bloated and filled with larvae. Her hair was black, thick, sticky, and wet, giving off toxic necromones. Pus-filled sacks littered the circumference of her dome, exuding slime and coagulated blood. I bit into the side of her face and ripped out a chunk of skin. As I chewed on the rubbery, decayed, rotten flesh, I spat out the squirming maggots and swallowed the ground-up skin.

Not long after, images of the woman's past flashed through my mind. A boy giving her a rose. A horse ride through the mountains of High Rock. Laughter while sparring with swords. Being held captive with her hands tied behind her back. A group of cultists surrounded her in a semi-circle. They chanted words I could not recognize as a dagger impaled her heart and her soul was absorbed into a black gem—her scream cut short, her eyes going wide and empty as something essential was ripped from her body. Her memories ended.

I pushed and turned her body over with my foot and saw plunged into her heart was a black gem.

Before I could get off a single thought—grrrrrraaahhh!—a gargling groan came from the distance. Four more undead creatures stumbled out of the hedges and charged at me. I had a running start toward them, then pelted one of them with the woman's head I was holding. I watched that zombie tumble to the ground, snapping its torso in a way that rendered its legs useless. I dashed toward the other three as five more zombies dressed in Lion Guard attire came pouring out of the ruined tower.

"Shit! They got armor now!?" I complained.

I approached the undead with a swift swing of my axe and lopped off the head of one, then dodged the other as I threw my fist at the face of another, obliterating its head in a burst of blood, bone, and tissue.

Then the ground began to shake and rumble. I stood still and grabbed the last charging zombie by its neck. I held it up high off the ground while it struggled in its attempt to bite and claw at me. I ignored it and focused on the whereabouts of the tremors.

Boom!.. Boom!.. Boom! Loud earth-shaking clomps stirred the gravel beneath me. Boom!.. Boom!.. Boom! In the distance I saw a large man-shaped mountain moving—something that should not exist, something that violated the natural order. I crushed the zombie's neck as its flesh mashed and ripped apart, and the weight of its body pulled it downward, separating it from its head. It fell to the ground. The head continued to gnaw at me, so I dropped it, then smashed it with my foot. The head broke open like an egg and oozed out a goo of festering blood and bile.

"Looks like I have work to do!" I exclaimed. I removed my cloak and ran toward the thunderous sounds.

"What in Oblivion!?" I said as I halted my advance. I was shocked and amazed at this towering colossal monstrosity known as a flesh atronach. I didn't know they came in that size. It galumphed toward me, this mindless walking mountain of reanimated abomination. It looked like a giant, malformed humanoid crudely stitched together from dozens of different corpses—I could see faces in its flesh, mouths frozen mid-scream, eyes that still moved and tracked my movements. It had waterlogged skin from the various bodies pulled taut across its massive frame, held together by an implanted chest plate of dense, crudely carved Daedric steel, thick black twine, and rusted iron staples. Viscous, greenish-black ichor and putrid blood constantly seeped from its opened wounds, staining the ground beneath it, creating a blight that formed a toxic cloud of gas. Its left arm was a monstrous tumor of infused bone—the creature used it for a club. Six blighted zombies and a dark-hooded figure holding a bone-carved staff accompanied the monstrosity.

The five undead soldiers from the tower merged into the group, making a large horde.

"Careful," Mother's voice echoed.

"Looks like they have some answers!" I roared with excitement. As I charged at the horde, my axe ripped through the closest one, and I kicked it into the crowd as they crushed it when they trampled over it. The Colossus swung its clubbed arm at me. It missed me by a hair and destroyed three zombies in the process. I roll-dodged under the Colossus and sliced into its leg with my axe. The creature let out a bellow and swung its arms wildly as it wobbled. That's when I felt a fiery blast that knocked me onto my back. Four of the undead minions grabbed me and pinned me down while they gnawed at my skin. The Behemoth's giant club came crashing down upon me.

Thud! Thud!

For a moment I was displaced, dazed by the crushing blows. I pulled a zombie in front of me, then rolled out of the way as I dragged the others with me. Another got crushed by the club in my place, but I was quickly swarmed by more zombies. I rolled side to side as I dragged the zombies left then right while evading the Colossus's attacks.

"Dammit! Get off me!" I yelled. I tossed the undead away from myself, and they quickly piled on me again and again.

"Fuck this!" I shouted as I grabbed three of them and embraced them on top of me, shielding myself as the club struck down and crushed them into bits, submerging me under a pool of coagulated blood and rotten flesh. I finally staggered to my feet and threw down a clinging zombie, then ducked another swing from the Colossus. A fiery blast shot at me again, but this time I saw it coming and dashed out of the way as it struck a zombie. It was incinerated.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" I yelled as I ducked another swing from the Colossus. I ran underneath it as I sliced its other leg, then darted for the Necromancer. The Monstrosity fell to the ground and caused the earth to shake, which knocked the Necromancer off balance and made him stumble. I threw my axe at him, but his staggering saved him—my axe missed him and stuck into the stone wall of the tower behind him. In a fit of rage I pounced at him, but he summoned a wall of bones that almost thwarted my attack. Because I pounced with enough force, I broke through it. The Necromancer ran behind the Colossus while it tried to stand up from its fall.

The last three zombies charged at me. I summoned my axe, then chucked it at one of them. It sliced through its torso, cutting the thrall in half, and like a boomerang my axe returned to my hand just as the other zombies grabbed me. I used the hook of my axe to pull one of their legs out from underneath it, and in that same swing of upward motion I decapitated the other zombie.

Wham! I was struck by another blast that knocked me to the ground. I landed on my back, and the zombie I tripped started to attack me again. So I kicked it in the face with enough force that decimated its entire head.

THUD! All of a sudden the gigantic club came down on me hard and fast. I blacked out for a moment, seeing my childhood self chasing butterflies in a field of High Rock shamrocks and spring vines—a memory that felt like it belonged to someone else. I snapped back as the club fell on me again.

"Fuck you!" I cried out as I grabbed and held on to the Colossus's clubbed arm. The Colossus lifted me up, not knowing I was attached, but the Necromancer blasted me again, which caused me to fall to the ground. The Colossus stomped on me, pinning me into the earth. Then a raspy, high-pitched voice screeched in my ears.

"You're insufferable!" the Necromancer screamed. "Oh, but yes, yes, you'll make a marvelous addition to my army of the undead." He gawked with a sinister grin. Then he came closer to me. He stopped and analyzed me for a brief moment. "Oh, I know who you are, yes! Missing you are. He will be pleased I found you."

"What the fuck are you going on about?" I yelled.

The Colossal Flesh Atronach applied more pressure on top of me.

"Ahh, dammit!" I yelled as I tried to move its leg from atop of me.

"You're his vestige, my lord's real dark anchor," the Necromancer said.

"You're fucking crazy," I said. "Are you the Shadowed Path? Where is Adistair? Who are you?"

The Necromancer was silent. Then he summoned a portal of blue flame and pulled out a black gem glowing with a purple hue. He held it with a tight grip, whispering incantations as the gem started to pulse. Black lightning started shooting out of the portal as screams cried from beyond—screams of the damned, of souls being flayed and broken. The Necromancer shouted his incantations, and the only word I understood was Coldharbor.

The fuck is this?

Soon a gust of wind picked up, creating a vortex, and in the portal appeared two malevolent glowing eyes—vast and ancient and filled with a hunger that made my own seem like a child's appetite.

My mother's ghastly apparition appeared in front of him, causing him to panic as he dropped the gem. The portal snapped shut. My mother then flew in front of the Colossus. It bellowed in frustration as it tried to attack her before she faded. This caused it to release just enough pressure for me to push its leg off of me. Then I got back on to my feet while the Necromancer ran into the tower, leaving me alone with this big dumb meatloaf of an Atronach.

It swung its clubbed arm at me. I sidestepped its blow and cleaved its arm with my axe. The axe sliced the arm clean off, and the Colossus roared as putrefied gas fumed out of its stump with a torrent of coagulated blood. I stumbled as I slipped on the pool of blood. The Colossus grabbed me and threw me to the ground. I lay there for a moment, winded and dizzy, as I felt myself lifted into the air and once again slammed into the ground. At this point I was unable to move. The Monstrosity picked me up again and crushed me in his hand as it squeezed with all its might. Then it raised me up and attempted to devour me, but just before it could swallow me, I pried open its hand, forcing it to let me go. I fell to the ground and summoned my axe. I took a giant leap and swung my axe, ripping through the Colossus's neck. It stumbled and fell to a knee as it gripped its throat with its hand.

I then charged at it and swiped my axe, which pierced through its skull. It groaned as it fell lifeless to the ground. The earth quaked from the creature's fall, causing the tower to collapse into itself, but not before the Necromancer escaped the rubble. He staggered and fell to his knees.

"You wretched fool! You ruined everything!"

The Necromancer burst into a blue aura encompassed by black and purple flames. The flames grew into a thirteen-foot height, and then the flames quickly dissipated, leaving behind a behemoth of a malformed skeleton with ghastly blue glowing eyes and flame embedded in between its ribcage. A guttural voice with an ash-choked rasp spouted out from its mouth.

"Now you shall face my wrath!" He slammed his staff. Four ghastly skeletal hands shot out of the ground, grabbing and holding my arms and legs. The Necromancer stormed right at me. He launched his fist into my stomach. The force from the blow caused me to retch.

"You hit like a bitch," I said. Then I spat at him.

He then lifted his staff in the air and waved it in a circular motion, which created another portal behind me. WHIP! A giant metal chain with a head of a spike shot out of the portal and impaled me in my back. The Necromancer then struck me again, this time across my face. Then the chain started to pull me into the portal. The ghastly skeletal hands unbound me, and I fell to the ground as I was being dragged. I summoned my axe and stuck it into the ground to use it as a lever to resist the chain and to get myself back on my feet. As I stood up, I threw my axe at the Necromancer and turned, then I tugged back on the chain. My axe struck the Necromancer in the sternum, causing the blue flames to burst out, transforming the Necromancer back into his human form. I pulled the chain with all of my might.

PING! The chain snapped.

CLANG! It fell to the ground. I ripped the spike out from my back as the portal closed, then I pitched the spike at the Necromancer. The spike flew with such power and speed he didn't see it coming. It struck him in his shoulder, knocking him backwards, flinging my axe to the ground. That's when I snatched him up, holding him by his robe as he dropped his bone staff. I shouted angrily, "Who are you!"

Then he pulled out a black jagged dagger with a head of a demon at its hilt and with horns that formed as the guard from his belt and attempted to stab me with it. I caught his arm in mid-flight and tore it from his body, then dropped it to the ground.

"Ahhh!" he yelled in pain. The arm submerged in a puddle of blood had a death grip on the dagger.

"Please, please, I only serve my lord," he pleaded.

"Fuck your lord!" I replied. Then I bit into his face as I ripped out a huge chunk of his flesh and swallowed it. He cried in pain, and again I took another bite. His blood poured down his face and was smeared across mine. The bones from his cheek and jaw were exposed. Slowly his memories started to flood my mind as I continued to devour his face.

A dark underground cellar made up of ancient mossy stone walls that slowly dripped cold water, paved with wet and unkempt stone floors. A room void of anything but a statue of a malevolent horned demon highlighted by a cobalt fire in a basin etched with a rune of Oblivion sat in the center of the room. The subterranean air was stagnant with the smell of malodorous fumes—sulfur and decay and something else, something that made the back of my throat burn. In walked Azarath, followed by the Necromancer, and then Adistair. They stopped adjacent to the statue.

"The horde grows," the Necromancer said.

"Very good!" Azarath replied.

"The black gems?" the Necromancer asked.

"They'll arrive tonight," Azarath replied.

Suddenly the blue flames from the basin erupted, and a deep, commanding voice dripping with malicious authority shot through the room as they bowed before the flames—a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once, from the stones themselves, from the air, from inside their own skulls.

"The wretched mortals glee in their tower of purity. I have opened a vein to Coldharbor. Use it to seed the corruption of their purity and raise forth my army of the undead."

"As you wish, my lord," the Necromancer responded.

"I grow impatient. Where is my vessel?" Molag Bal said.

"Ye-yes, sir, we've run experiments with the Soul Shriven you've sent us, bu-but there hasn't been any progress. As for your vessel, it has gone missing," Adistair nervously replied.

Adistair's body began to levitate, then burst into blue flames.

"Ahhhhh!! Ahhhhh!!" he screamed as his body charred—the smell of burning flesh filled the chamber, and his screams echoed and echoed and would not stop.

"Useless mortal. You toy with a power beyond your comprehension."

Adistair fell to the floor, barely alive—blackened skin with deep fissures carved throughout his body, burning like hot coals. He moaned with intense pain. Two men entered the room, draped in black robes, and carefully carried Adistair out. While Azarath held still like a bowing statue, he did not produce a single sound or movement. The room was quiet, and the blue flames subsided. Azarath stood up, followed by the Necromancer.

"Go to the Birdsong Tower," Azarath said.

The Necromancer nodded, and the memory ended.

"The fuck was that?" I exclaimed, my mouth full of flesh. I devoured the skin off the Necromancer's entire face. He'd long since been deceased. Once I had my fill, I felt restored. Then I noticed my hands and armor had a glowing aura of a ghastly blue hue around them.

Interesting. I observed the glow. I wasn't sure what this meant, but it wasn't a threat, so I didn't give too much attention to it. I decided it was time to go. I've always preferred not to linger too long in any given place. Adistair is somewhere dying. Azarath is hiding. And I have questions.

So I slipped on my cloak, then took the Necromancer's dagger, breaking it out of his cold dead hand. I was just about to pass by the Flesh Atronach when I decided to carve the chest plate out of its chest as well.

"I need a blacksmith," I said to myself, and I knew just who I was going to visit. A detour before I head to Crosswych to see an old acquaintance.

Some distance away from the ruined tower and still carrying this oversized chunk of metal over my back, I spotted a pitch-black horse lying on its side off the edge of the path I walked. I dropped the chunk of metal and stood by the horse.

"Hey, boy, what happened to you?" I said. Then I began to pet him. I noticed it contracted a toxic blight from the nearby area of the ruined tower, and underneath was decayed flesh and its exposed innards. It chose this place to die. So I comforted him until he passed away—something I hadn't done for anyone in a long time, something that felt almost human.

Then all of a sudden my hands started to glow again, which lit up the horse in a spectral blue glow. The horse then began to move. It soon rose to its feet, knocking me on to my behind.

"Whoa, whoa!" I yelled out. The horse stood idle and stared at me with undead obedient eyes. I picked myself up from the ground and was curious as to what happened. We just stood for a moment and stared at each other. I wondered what this glow was.

"Newfound power," my mother said in her ghastly voice.

"You think I did this? Or did I contract something that made a zombie horse?" I replied. "I'm sure I'll find answers at the Arena," I insisted. Then I picked up the heavy plate of metal and returned down the path toward Hammerdeath Arena. I took a few steps when the horse began to nudge me.

"What is it?" I asked. Then it neighed and nudged me again. I put down the metal plate to pet the horse, and it used its hoof to tap on the metal plate.

"You want this?" I asked. The horse nodded.

"Okay." I shrugged, then I lifted the metal plate on his back and fastened it with a thread I cut from my cloak. "There. Looks like you're one of us now." I paused for a moment. "You need a name." I took a good look at the horse and studied his beautiful blood-soaked black silky fur, his shiny black mane, his half-exposed skull, and decayed patches of skin riddled across the left side of his body.

"Hmm. Doombringer?" I said. The horse just stared at me.

"No?" I said. "Okay, how about Bubbles?"

The horse turned and started walking in the opposite direction.

"Wait! I was joking!" I laughed. Then I paused for another moment, thinking hard, and all of a sudden an aha moment gleamed through my mind. "Night Rend!" I shouted. The horse paused, then he started to prance and returned, walking by my side.

"Okay." I patted his head as we continued down the path.

It was about daybreak when we were approached by three soldiers on horseback from behind us. A Captain, who rode on a white Daggerfall Dapple—a tough endurance breed of horse from the Glenumbra region. A Sergeant to his left and a Corporal on his right, both who rode on brown Iliac Bay Horses. The horses were relatively small but highly compact, muscular, and a sturdy breed.

The Captain wore heavy plate with a lion rampant on the chest, a full-visored helm, and his iron suit was polished steel with golden accents. He carried a pompous demeanor that reflected his arrogance, while the Sergeant and the Corporal both wore brown and black leather armor topped with a black leather cowl and bearing the insignia of their ranks. The Captain lifted his visor.

"You, boy! What is your name?" the Captain ordered.

"I'm just a beggar," I replied.

"A beggar? Why are you not at the warfront fighting for your King and Covenant?" the Captain asked.

I stayed silent.

"Do you hear me, boy!" he shouted.

"If you call me boy again," I replied in irritation.

"You'll do what? Boy!" the Captain retorted.

Then the soldiers dismounted their horses and drew their swords. The Captain stayed mounted and began to shout, "If you will not fight for us, you are the enemy. Now, boy, you will d—"

The Commander's words fell short and were interrupted by his death rattle when his face split open, spraying out a mist of blood as my axe lodged deep into his skull. His horse reared, neighed, and stormed off as the Captain's body dropped from the horse. The two soldiers charged at me with a battle cry as my axe returned to my hand. The Corporal swung first. He was slow and weak, but he worked in unison with the Sergeant, who aimed immediately for my head. I countered the Corporal's attack as I slid on the inside of his blade in a half spin. My axe bit into his chest. The Sergeant's blade clanged and rattled as it hit my skin like hard stone. I pried my axe out of the Corporal's chest as he let out a cry of pain. He fell to the ground, bleeding out. Then I did a half spin back in the other direction, which made some distance between the Sergeant and me.

"By the Eight, what are you?" he yelled. This time he took a harder swing at me.

His sword sliced through my cloak but shattered on impact when it hit my skin. Then I grabbed his arm, which was still holding the hilt of his shattered sword, and with a twist I broke his wrist.

"Ahhh!" the Sergeant cried.

I then brought my face close to his. I let him look upon me. As terror filled his eyes, he turned and looked away.

"Your stupid wars, your entitlements, your entire kingdom is NOTHING to me," I yelled. Then I let him loose. The Sergeant fled with impeccable haste as he mounted his horse and rode off. The Corporal's horse closely followed.

I stood watching him flee for a moment as my focus was snapped by Night Rend as he partially consumed the remains of the Corporal.

Sometime later, as I approached Hammerdeath Arena, unbeknownst to me, the bodies of the slain Corporal and Captain started to reanimate—their eyes opening with a milky white glow, their limbs twitching and jerking as something dark and hungry filled the empty vessels.

If ever was a place in High Rock for misfits, the weird, and the strange, Hammerdeath Arena would be it. Some of the most dangerous and forsaken creatures—creatures like myself—come here to find answers, a purpose, or make a name for themselves. Bargo Hammerdeath runs this lucrative, commercial enterprise built into a rocky gorge. He knows the inner workings from once being a gladiator champion himself. He was undefeated in the Imperial Arena long before hell broke loose in Cyrodiil. Now he fosters great wealth and elite fighters from all walks of life.

I stood before two large wooden gates guarded by the Arena Enforcers, who were heavily armed as a specialized guard to enforce the rules and protect the operations of the Arena. The guidelines were stated by the Enforcer at the gate, and the oaths were pledged before anyone could enter. A small crowd gathered around an Enforcer. I stood at the rear of the crowd. As the Enforcer began to speak, reciting the guidelines from a scroll:

"All debts are paid in gold or blood.

All bets are final.

Ludus—the way is victory or death.

Munera—private duels or street brawling outside the arena between two champions is strictly forbidden.

Virtus—fighters are required to display maximum bravery.

Summa Rudis—all fights are monitored by a referee.

Succumbo—to formally signal submission, drop your weapon and kneel or be knocked unconscious."

The Enforcer closed the scroll, and the crowd, including myself, accepted the guidelines. The guards opened the gates and allowed us through.

Upon my entrance, I studied my surroundings, which outlined this rocky gorge that opened into a rough wooden outpost perched among the cliffs. It had elevated platforms and walkways of weathered timber risen on stilts and stone foundations, connected by wooden bridges that spanned into a central dirt path. Tattered banners were hung from poles sewn with the logo mark of Hammerdeath. A colorful striped tent sheltered a makeshift market, and there were three open-sided structures that overlooked three separate arenas. The arena was bustling with the sounds of metal clanging, crowds chattering and cheering. The aroma of blood, dirt, and roasted meats filled the air.

I hitched Night Rend to a post and gave him a gentle pat. He just stared at me as I walked away.

I heard howling in the distance and the interjections of the crowd. "Ooh!" CRASH! "Ah!" A tense battle engaged in one of the arenas. As I approached the fight, I saw three makeshift canyons dug deep into the ground. At the center was the main arena, which encircled the fighters. I stood from above, resting against a wooden pole, watching the fight. A werewolf swung its claws as it clashed against its opponent's shield—a Nord Raider. The Nord spun into a low slash, striking the werewolf in its leg, as the wolf bit at the Nord's face, who blocked the attempted maw with her shield.

I heard laughter in the distance, which broke my attention. It was Bargo Hammerdeath, and he appeared to be enjoying the fight. This is my chance to get some answers, I thought to myself. I crossed the creaking bridge and arrived at the table where Bargo was sitting.

"You placing bets?" he asked, wearing a slightly irritated look on his face.

"No," I replied.

"Are you looking to sign up?" he said with haste, as his eyes kept shifting to the fight below.

"No," I said again.

"Why are you here? Get out of my sight!" he yelled.

"I'm looking for someone, an old friend. He frequents this place," I said.

"Look here, I'm running a business. Pay me in gold or blood, and I'll tell you what I know."

I put my hands in my cloak as they shuffled around in my pockets. I pulled out a small bag of coin that I'd taken from the old man in Wayrest, then I threw it on the table in front of Bargo. He picked up the bag and poured out the coins from within it onto the table. He looked with disappointment.

"Not enough!" he said.

"How much do you need?" I responded. I had a suspicion at the time he was trying to cheat me.

"Look, I had a fighter quit on me, and I need a replacement. You look like you got something to ya. If you fight this round for me, I'd consider your inquiries paid."

"When is the round?" I asked.

"Sundown," he replied.

I stood silent for a moment and thought about his request. "So I fight, you tell me what I need?"

"Of course! Do we have a deal?" Bargo extended out his hand.

I paused for a moment, then grabbed his hand and shook it. I then immediately seized my bag and coins off his table and walked away.

"See you at sundown, haha!" Bargo shouted.

I spent most of the day familiarizing the area, and I asked some spectators and guardsmen of the whereabouts of a Dremora that went by the name of Nef, but it seemed as no one knew anything or was unwilling to tell me anything. Willfully ignorant. Fucking bastards!

Sundown was approaching, and I figured I would check on Night Rend. When I got to the post where I'd left him, I noticed he was gone.

"Ah, fuck!" I complained. I then began searching for him, and that's when I heard a horn bellow. An Arena Enforcer from atop a wooden lookout announced, "Hear ye! The Champion Challenge will begin momentarily. All fighters report to your stations."

I looked around, hoping to find Night Rend. "DAMMIT!" I yelled. I returned to the main arena. Standing at the entrance to the pit was Bargo.

"Ah, good, good to see you did not turn tail." I stared into his eyes.

"Remember our deal," I said with a serious tone, just as another horn bellowed.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Verrik," I replied.

"Good luck," he said with a chuckle as he walked away.

I walked out and stood at the center of the arena alone. My opponent had not yet arrived. Then the crowd started to chant. "Grimhorn, Grimhorn, Grimhorn, Grimhorn."

From within the darkness came a thunderous roar. The ground shook. The gates swung open, and through the darkness emerged a slight silhouette of what appeared to be a massive bull. Flames fumed out of its nostrils. A flick of light barely revealed its body as it pounced into the arena right in front of me. Raging, it let out another roar that silenced the crowd. It stood towering over me—a giant man-beast, a minotaur. It lifted its arms in the air as the crowd continued to chant. I smirked, because I thought this would've been an easy fight. As the beast pounded its fists together, a herald started to speak.

"Welcome, welcome to this evening's main event! Brought to you by the one and only Master Bargo Hammerdeath!" The crowd erupted into cheers. Bargo stood up from his chair in his tent overlooking the arena as he waved with his hand held high to the crowd. "It is my greatest honor to announce the Undefeated, Undisputed Champion, Gal-rus Grim-horn! And his opponent, in his virgin fight, Verrik!"

The crowd cheered and continued chanting Grimhorn.

GGGUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOONNNN!!! The blast from a ceremonial bell signaled the fight to begin.

Galrus charged at me. He moved quick—too quick. How is it possible for something that size to move that fast? I thought to myself. He slammed his fist into my gut, then his other arm came crashing down like a hammer onto my back. Then he grabbed me by the back of my neck and lifted me up. I punched him in the nose, and he dropped me. I then shot forward toward his legs, grasping my arms around them. I was looking for a takedown, and that's when he leaned forward and grabbed my waist. Then he dropped his knee as he rolled me onto my back. I rolled like a log out of the way as I only just missed his pounce. I then shot up to my feet and charged at him as I launched my fist at his chin. He grabbed my arm, turned his body around, and tossed me to the ground. Then in a swift dash he slammed his knee into my chest while I was attempting to get up. He followed up with a series of hammer fists. The last one I caught in mid-flight. I shoved it to the side, then fired an uppercut into his gut. He backed away, creating space between us. I knew the blow hurt him, but he looked at me with an unblinking, predatory death stare and a bloody nose. I figured I couldn't beat him in hand-to-hand combat, so I grabbed my axe from within my cloak, then threw it at him. To my amazement, he caught it, and then he threw it back at me with impossible speed as the axe lodged into my shoulder. He followed up with a punch to my face that knocked me down. A cloud of dust covered the arena. The crowd watched with anticipation.

I grabbed my axe from my shoulder and stood up. The minotaur charged at me like a raging bull. I dodged it with a sidestep like a matador and launched my fist into a counterattack to its side. He roared, then turned and bucked with both his legs, which hurled me into the air, and I landed hard on my back. Galrus stood watching through the dust cloud, and once I got to my feet, he charged at me with tremendous power and speed. I was again knocked into the air, but before I hit the ground, Galrus grabbed me from my flight and slammed me into the ground. I lay there dazed for a moment, and my body would not move. The minotaur leaped on top of me and pounded me with its fist until everything turned black.

I awoke in a field as a young boy, just outside the Geric family home back in Camlorn. A carriage arrived—three hooded figures greeted by Edwane, the first Geric I killed. He walked them into the manor. My childhood curiosity stirred, and I snuck inside.

I crept through a hidden corridor and down dim stone steps into an ancient subterranean chamber. The air grew colder with each step, thick with the smell of old parchment and something else—something rotten beneath the stone. Once the door shut, I peered through a small keyhole at a room full of old books. At its center sat a large table surrounded by six chairs—each occupied. Three for the members of House Geric: Edwane, Adistair, and Marcel. Three for the others: the vampire Azarath, a Dremora from Coldharbour named Y'kal, and an elven woman necromancer named Vastarie.

"We are honored to have you all join us," Marcel said.

The room fell silent but for the flickering flames of torches. Shadows writhed across the walls like living things.

"The Lord is intrigued by your concept of a vessel," Y'kal replied in a deep, guttural, otherworldly resonant tone that seemed to vibrate through the stone itself.

Marcel nodded.

"Wine?" Edwane offered as he helped himself to a glass.

Adistair placed a book at the center of the table and opened it to a page showing notes from his past experiments. "We've had promising progress with our subjects—both with the vessel's enchantments and the essence transfer."

"How does one make these essence transfers successful?" Vastarie asked, leaning over and peering down at the book.

"Ah-hum. Well, the black soul gems work as the main conduit. The corrupted bones and Azure Plasm form a powerful clay that, when enchanted, becomes rigid," Adistair replied.

Vastarie sat back, lost in thought.

"And what will you do with the mortal's soul?" Y'kal questioned.

"They'll be sent to Coldharbour," Marcel replied.

Y'kal nodded. "Where is the vessel now?"

"He is here," Adistair said. "He's not of age yet, but he will be ready in time for the Planemeld."

A chill ran through me—through the child I had been. The word vessel echoed in my skull.

Edwane helped himself to another glass of wine.

"We are thankful for the Lord's generous donations of black soul gems," Adistair said.

"The Lord has little patience for failures," Y'kal said, and the torches flickered as if responding to his words.

"Oh, we have it under control," Edwane said as he raised his wine glass to the three guests, then took a drink.

"Yes, and who better to lead the Planemeld here than the Lord himself? Victory is assured," Marcel said, sitting aplomb in his chair.

"We will need a healthy supply of Daedric bones and Azure Plasm when the time comes," Adistair said.

"The Shadowed Path will deliver your cargo in time," Azarath said.

"Good, good." Adistair closed his notebook but kept it at the center of the table.

Vastarie's eyes kept looking at the book. She looked up, noticing Marcel and Adistair staring at her. She quickly shifted her eyes to Y'kal. "I was told that our Lord is raising an army of the undead. The Worm Cult and I are overstaffed, and I have a partner who may be of assistance to you."

Y'kal looked back at her. "Who are you offering me?"

She smiled. "His name is Sevus. He is an accomplished necromancer."

Y'kal looked at Azarath. "The Shadowed Path will work with the Worm Cult."

Azarath nodded. "As you wish."

Edwane drank another glass of wine, then looked at Y'kal. "You promised sanctuary in Coldharbour," he said in a drunken stupor.

Marcel stood. "Please excuse my idiot brother." He escorted him out of the room just a moment before I ran up the stairs and back to the field.

The memory dissolved like smoke.

I woke up in a bed at the Hammerdeath Bungalow. The room was dim, lit only by a single candle that cast long, trembling shadows across the walls.

"What the fuck happened?" I said, sitting up at the edge of the bed.

My ears still rang. Until today, I've had no real memories of my childhood. Sure, a few bits and pieces here and there, but nothing like this. I pondered some more. Maybe it was just a dream? Do ghouls even dream, though?

The feeling of being lost only excited my anger more. I stormed out of the room. As I left the bungalow, an Argonian woman stopped me. Her eyes were golden yellow, her scales emerald green with a plume of feathers—white and metallic blue—that flocked backward from the top of her head down to her neck. She wore a sky-blue dress and a cream-colored apron.

"Coin for your stay," she said in a raspy voice.

Annoyed as I was, I carelessly grabbed my coin pouch from my pocket, opened the bag, and pulled out three coins. I handed them to her.

"Thank you," she said, her golden reptilian eyes looking right into mine. "I thought you were dead when they brought you in. You still look dead."

"Fuck off," I replied, giving her the cold shoulder as I walked past.

It was mid-day, so I must've been out for a while. This was the first time I'd blacked out since my death, and I felt strange about it. The idea that I could lose—that I was weaker than someone else—just irritated me. Yet even so, I still needed questions answered, and Bargo owed me. But when I got to his tent, he wasn't there.

Instead stood Galrus.

"You're alive!" he chuckled upon seeing me arrive at the tent.

I found his enthusiasm a bit strange and off-putting from the last time we met. He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in tight.

"I hope you didn't take your beatdown personal. It's all for the love of entertaining the crowd," he said in a low tone as he pointed out to the empty stands.

I took his arm off me. "I'm alright," I replied.

But I lied. I really wanted to kill him—break his bones, rip out his spine, and parade around with his head as a helmet.

"Where is Bargo?" I asked.

He just looked at me and shrugged.

I gave Galrus an evil eye for a moment, then walked off.

"Come back if you want a rematch!" he yelled out, followed by a peal of laughter.

I arrived at the main gate and approached an Enforcer. "Looking for—"

My eyes interrupted my question as I saw Night Rend walking up to the post where I'd left him.

"Fuck it," I said to the guard as I rushed over to Night Rend. "What the fuck! Where did you go?" I asked with a tone of disappointment.

He just looked at me with his pitch-black eyes. I got the impression he was bored of waiting for me and left.

"How'd you get untied?" I investigated the area, looking for his missing rope. "I'm glad you're back!" I said, patting him on his head.

It's unusually strange how intelligent this undead horse is, I thought. Was he this bright in his life? I then wondered if he belonged to any of the zombies I destroyed back at Birdsong Tower.

What does it matter anyway? I told myself out loud.

I heard a chuckle coming from near the entrance. Yeah, I knew that sleazy sound—unmistakable.

"Bargo!" I yelled.

I ran off, leaving Night Rend at the post. Bargo was being escorted by three Enforcers who stopped and drew their swords as I approached.

"You set me up!" I yelled.

Bargo laughed. "Verrik! Welcome, welcome." He signaled the guards to sheathe their weapons.

"You're a tough one—one of very few fighters to have not gone down with a single blow from the Champ and to have maintained the fight for long and not be dead proves you have true merit. With proper training, you could be better. You could be a star! Hahaha! You've made a name for yourself. They're calling you Verrik the Undying."

"You didn't tell me I was fighting the Champion, nor a fucking Minotaur!" I exclaimed.

"Now, now, I am an entertainer. I have a business to uphold, and with someone like Galrus Grimhorn's reputation, I've been having troubles finding fighters. But you did turn over a pretty penny, so I'll tell you what you want. The being you seek—Nef—was here not too long ago, but he left for Crosswych at my request. Some folks skipped out on their debts, and I sent him to collect."

I started to walk back to Night Rend.

Bargo yelled out, "You've got potential! Come back and we'll train you how to fight!"

"Go fuck yourself!" I replied as Bargo laughed while he walked away.

I returned to Night Rend, patted him on the back of his neck, then untied the fabric strung across him and lifted the chest plate from his back.

"Let's go see the blacksmith," I said.

We strolled through the arena looking for the forge. I heard the pounding of heavy metal in the distance. A plume of smoke marked the air, lingering long enough for us to follow it to the blacksmith. A Nord man stood drenched in sweat, pounding out a red-hot piece of metal. He took the metal and quenched it in a barrel of liquid.

"I can use your service," I said to him.

He looked at me for a second as his eyes widened. "Praise Shor, it's you!" he said.

I looked at him questionably. "I don't know you."

"No, I suppose not, but I know you! You're the Undying. You made me a lot of money. My name is Ulren."

I stared at him, annoyed. "I need some work done." I dropped the chest plate to the ground in front of him.

"That's a big chunk of metal. What do you want with that?" he asked.

"I need a shield, and with the scraps, armor for my horse," I replied.

He studied the metal for a moment—measuring it, weighing it, checking its quality. "Hmm, okay."

"How long and how much?" I asked.

He looked lost as he calculated in his mind. "I can have this done for you by the morning of the next sun, and because you were a fair bet, I'll do it for you quit of toll."

He stared at me for a moment with a smirk on his face—the type of smirk that portrayed itself like he had a grand scheme in the works.

"What the fuck? I'll see you soon," I said.

He continued to wear the smirk as Night Rend and I left the forge.

On the way to the Bungalow, we stopped to watch the fights. We stood by a wagon that had a pile of corpses inside—bodies twisted and broken, limbs bent at unnatural angles, faces frozen in their final expressions of agony.

"This must be where the losers are," I said.

I reached into the wagon and ripped an arm off one of the corpses. The flesh tore with a wet sound. I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings till I heard a gasp followed by gagging sounds.

"Disgusting!" a voice exclaimed from behind me.

A woman watched me snap the hand off the arm as I fed it to Night Rend. She ran off when I started eating the arm in a logrunner fashion, the meat sliding down my throat cold and rubbery. I'd gotten so comfortable with the way I eat that I'd forgotten that consumption of dead bodies is a crime.

Night Rend and I looked at each other silently, then turned back to watch the fight.

All of a sudden, the crowd roared, then broke into a series of chants: "Valik! Valik! Valik!"

A swarming black cloud of bats circled the arena, forming into a twister in a downward spiral motion. At the center appeared a figure. Each bat morphed into a part of his body, and when there were no more bats, there stood a tall vampire suited in dark steel armor that reflected light like a mirror and featured an inseparable cowl which hid his face, revealing only two glowing red eyes. He started playing to the crowd with his hands raised up, showboating. One hand held a sword, the other a shield.

Then the Herald spoke.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, bowing to each of the crowds in the stands. "Tonight's main event—we have a battle for the ages! The ancient feud between beast and blood, fur and fangs, the wild and the undead!"

The crowd cheered.

"Everyone, witness the tenacious, the tactical, and the formidable runner-up for Hammerdeath champion—Valik!"

The crowd roared as Valik clapped his hands and waved.

"Introducing another new fighter to the Hammerdeath Arena from the moors of Glenumbra—the wild, the ferocious Savage-Claw!"

The crowd cheered.

A werewolf pounced into the arena and stood towering over the vampire as it let out a long howl.

"GGGUUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOONNNN!"

The ceremonial bell rang, and the wolf launched at the vampire, snapping its jaws as it just missed Valik. Valik spun in a semicircle and smashed the side of the wolf with his shield.

The wolf stumbled but then swiped its claws at Valik, which was countered by Valik's sword as his shield struck the wolf in the face. The wolf snarled and then pounced onto the vampire, who used his shield between them to block the wolf's vicious claw attacks. Valik then turned into bats, escaping the onslaught of Savage-Claw. He reformed just feet away from the wolf.

Savage-Claw pounced again, this time ripping the shield from the vampire, but Valik flipped his blade upward, cutting off Savage-Claw's hand. The werewolf whimpered.

I looked at Night Rend and nodded. Then I continued to study the fight, all the while chewing on the last bit of meat from the corpse's arm.

Valik slashed at Savage-Claw with his sword, and with each slash the wolf dodged the attacks. The last attack was a thrust, and Savage-Claw caught the vampire's arm, then slashed through Valik's armor with his foot, clawing down Valik's chest and knocking him to the ground. Savage-Claw then grabbed Valik's leg and bit into it. The werewolf's jaws chomped down hard, crushing Valik's bones and severing his leg. The blood from the werewolf and vampire turned the sand into mud.

Valik was on his back. As he crawled backward away from Savage-Claw, he swung his sword sporadically. Savage-Claw let out a heavy breath, then pounced again on top of Valik. Valik lifted his leg and blade; the leg caught the wolf as it crashed down on him while the sword impaled it. Then, following the wolf's momentum, he launched it forward, but Savage-Claw grabbed Valik in flight. As they both rolled, Savage-Claw was able to counter the attack with a throw. Valik landed hard on his back.

Savage-Claw stood tall and terrifying with Valik's sword still plunged through him. Savage-Claw staggered to Valik as he lay idle, and as Savage-Claw stood over him, he let out a howl. Valik then morphed into bats that swarmed Savage-Claw. He swatted at the bats, but he was outnumbered. The bats left him disoriented, and then a red mist grew from under him. Within the mist appeared Valik, fully intact. In a flash of speed, he grabbed his sword embedded in Savage-Claw, and in an upward thrust sliced him from his stomach up and out of his shoulder. Savage-Claw fell to the ground, motionless, with a sanguineous rush that formed a pool of blood from underneath him.

The crowd was silent; anticipation filled the air. The fight had only fueled my appetite, but I continued to observe. Then the loud ceremonial bells rang. The Herald stepped up to the podium.

"Valik wins!" he announced.

The crowd roared into an applause and chants. Valik bowed, waved. Then he turned and faced my direction. He stood idle and stared at me. The crowd went mute as Valik lifted his sword and pointed it at me. Then he threw down his gauntlet. The crowd erupted into more chants: "Undying, Undying, Valik, Valik!"

"What the fuck?" I said.

"Valik has chosen his next challenge!" the Herald said.

The crowd still chanting.

"Fuck this!" I said as I walked off toward the bungalow.

The crowd catcalled, booed, and hissed as I disappeared from the arena.

"You're back," the Argonian woman said with a resentful hiss.

I just looked at her. I did not acknowledge her emotions. I gave her a coin and walked to my room.

"Your horse isn't allowed. Take it outside," she said.

I stopped at my room. I thought about the satisfaction of ripping her head off, and then I turned and walked to her. When my eyes met hers, I could see the fear trembling from her scales. My lips tingled as my tongue slithered in my mouth, longing for a taste of her. The hunger was always there—patient, insistent, whispering. I moved close to her, my face almost connected to hers. She was paralyzed as tears ran down her face. I sniffed her scent—salt and fear and something sweet beneath the scales. Then I walked out with Night Rend.

"No use for tying you up, but I would appreciate it if you didn't wander off again," I said.

He just stared at me.

"Obedient," a ghastly voice echoed.

"Where the hell have you been, Mother?" I asked.

I didn't get an answer, just silence. The air felt colder where she'd spoken.

"Well, now that you're here, keep an eye on him. Thank you."

I walked back into the bungalow, down the hall, and into my room. I noticed that the Argonian woman was gone, but I didn't care.

"Wake up," my mother said. Her disfigured face appeared in front of mine as I opened my eyes—jaw hanging loose, one eye socket empty and weeping, the other milky and staring.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The men you killed have turned."

"Turned?" I replied with a scowl on my face. "Like the horse?"

"Yes," she replied.

I lay silently on the bed. I thought about the zombies, then the necromancer, and about the glowing energy that emitted from my hands. Something was changing in me. Something I didn't understand.

"We need to talk to Nef," I said as I walked out of the room.

I arrived at the forge with Night Rend by my side. The blacksmith was blasting the flames of the hearth.

"Ulren," I said, making my voice loud and clear so he could hear me.

"Ah, yes, you're back. Too soon, I regret," he said, turning to look at me.

"I'll be gone awhile, so take your time and hold my things till I return." I threw him my bag with the last few coins I had inside it.

"Thank you," he said. He then went back to work.

We exited Hammerdeath Arena and departed for Crosswych.

It was close to midnight when a thick cloud of fog crept across the farmlands and swallowed the house where a girl named Annie lived. Her mother put her to bed only hours earlier, but most nights Annie liked to sneak from her bed and climb to the window, standing on the tips of her toes to gaze at the stars. The moment the fog rolled in, so did the ominous feeling.

Annie lowered herself from her toes until her eyes barely met the windowsill. The fog completely shrouded her view—thick and gray and moving like something alive. She stared into it for a moment—then a grotesque, ghastly face of a woman appeared, blending into the fog. Skin hanging in strips, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes hollow and accusing. Annie let out a scream and fled to the safety of her bed, submerging herself beneath the blankets. Her heart raced, but she stayed silent, holding her breath, listening for the slightest sound.

Silence filled the room.

Then, from beyond her door, came a piercing, high-velocity screech from her mother—followed by multiple heavy thuds and wet, squelching sounds. The sound of tearing. The sound of breaking. Tears cascaded down Annie's cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut as a chill raced down her spine and warmth spread beneath her, soaking the sheets.

The house fell silent once more. The only sounds were a soft wind brushing the wind chimes outside and a slow, steady trickle of liquid dripping somewhere nearby. After a long while, Annie forced herself to lift her head from under the covers. The room was pitch black, broken only by a dim gleam of moonlight through the window.

At last she mustered the courage to leave her bed and go to her mother's room. She stepped into the hallway, each footfall heavier than the last. The dripping grew louder with every step—drip, drip, drip—like a metronome counting down to something terrible. She walked slowly, one hand outstretched, fingertips trailing along the wall for guidance. The wood felt damp. When she reached her mother's door it was shut, yet a light burned within—flickering, unsteady. She stopped, pressing both hands and her ear against the wood.

Drip... drip... drip...

Annie pushed the door open.

Blood dripped from the ceiling, the walls, the dressers. A vast pool formed at the center of the room, feeding from the bed. On top of that bed lay Annie's mother—dismembered. Her head was snapped backward, face locked in an expression of pure dread, eyes rolled white, jaw ripped free and hanging by a single shred of skin. Her torso was contorted and twisted, huge hunks of flesh torn away. The ribcage was broken open, bones jutting outward in jagged, haphazard spikes. Guts and intestines spilled from the gouged wounds, glistening in the candlelight. Both arms were ripped off and partially eaten, the bones gnawed clean in places. The left leg was broken backward at an unnatural angle; the right was torn away and mostly consumed.

Behind her, the wooden floor creaked.

Two azure eyes glowed in the darkness and fixed upon her. She shrieked—

Annie turned.

I stood there, my mouth still wet with her mother's blood. The girl's scream died in her throat as I stepped forward. She tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. I was faster. I was always faster.

The fog dissipated, and I left with it.

I entered Crosswych just as the sun was rising. This small mining town—made up of small rundown buildings and homes—carried a kind of eerie sadness to it. The streets were empty, the windows shuttered. Smoke rose from a few chimneys, but no one stirred. The folks here are distant and shy, but also suspicious of outsiders. That's okay, though. I'm not a people person either, so they can just keep away from me and everything will be fine.

I thought to myself as I entered the Crosswych Inn. I took a good look around the empty pub, then approached an older man whom I believed to be the barkeep. He was cleaning a wooden mug.

"I'm looking for someone that goes by the name Nef," I said.

The barkeep put down his rag and the mug, then walked over to me. He leaned in and looked directly into my eyes—unflinching, measuring.

"Look, I don't want no trouble here. We're struggling enough as it is."

I got the impression he's not the type of man to scare easy. I gave him a nod, understanding that if he can look at me, he must've seen some crazy shit.

"I'm not here for trouble. I'm looking for an old friend," I replied.

The barkeep changed his posture. "Well, you look like his type, and you ought to know that your types don't care for daylight. Maybe come back tonight," he said with a wink.

I gave him a grin and exited the inn.

"Mother, let's find that priest," I said.

She appeared in front of me and led the way to Cath Bedraud—a large, millennia-old burial ground arranged in a series of concentric circular bands. When we arrived, I noticed a dark cloud that lingered overhead, almost like a permanent fixture to this area. It smelled like death and rot—thick and cloying, the kind of smell that clings to your clothes and skin. The undead stirred in this place. I could feel them beneath the soil, restless and hungry.

I followed my mother up a hill of wet grass and soft grave soil. Then my mother stopped, hovering above the area where the priest was buried. As I approached his grave, I clutched my axe in my hand, holding it with a firm grip.

"Where you at, priest?" I said out loud.

I didn't get an answer after some time, so I started to dig up his grave with my axe. The soil was soft and gave way easily, as if it wanted to be disturbed. It wasn't long till I hit a wooden casket. I knocked on the wooden lid.

"Knock, knock," I said.

Then I looked up at my mother with a confused look on my face.

An apparition appeared—adorned in a golden hue with a priest's garb. The light he gave off was warm, but it made my skin crawl.

"Thank Mara, I need your help!" he said in a concerned voice.

"Shut up!" I rudely replied. "Just tell me what the fuck this is so I can be on my way!" I tossed the demonic dagger in front of him.

"How rude," he replied, then he looked at the dagger. "You know, if you just let me speak, I could have told you everything already."

"Make it quick, dead man," I replied.

"Yo-you don't look too alive yourself." He then looked at my mother. "Neither does she."

"Get to the fucking story!" I growled at him.

"Okay, okay. I am a priest of Mara, and I have been tasked to expel the undead that haunts these burial grounds. I heard rumors of a necromancer and cultists cursing holy sites and creating a horde of the undead. So I went looking, and I found several desecrated sites that not only housed the undead but emitted an awful blight. I discovered the cult is actually a group of cults. The Shadowed Path, the Worm Cult, and the Bloodthorn Cult are all working hand in glove."

I stared at him with a bored look on my face. "Go on."

"Well, after watching them for some time, I discovered they're working for the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. I captured a cultist by the grace of Mara, and after some strong persuasion, the cultist told me about something called the Planemeld—and how the Prince of Brutality wants to merge our worlds together."

The word Planemeld echoed in my skull. The memory of the underground chamber. The conspirators. The vessel.

"It wasn't long till the cultists found out about me exorcising their unholy sites and putting the undead to rest. They sent out assassins. I have a letter that goes over all the details of this vile conspiracy. Please, can you deliver it to the Benevolence of Mara, or any of the Maran Knights, so I may finally rest and they may prepare for the war to come?"

I let out a sigh of chagrin. "Is this all? Do you have anything more?"

Then he started to ramble off different details. "This dagger belongs to the Worm Cult. I was killed by an assassin from the Shadowed Path, but not before hiding my letter at the Crosswych Inn—uh-under the mattress. A man dressed in black with a burnt face—they called him Adistair."

My eyes perked open. "Adistair, where is he?" I shouted.

"I don't know!" he replied.

"What are you trying to hide? Where is he!" I yelled louder.

"I am not, and I don't know, but he was looking for something called the Vessel. He was headed toward Aldcroft. He said something about a man named Faolchu. Please, please take my letter—it's of the most importance," he pleaded.

"Where did you come by this information?" I asked.

"Just north of here I discovered a secret passage in a mausoleum that descends into a refuge. I'd been stalking it for some time. That's when I eavesdropped on a conversation between Adistair and a man named Angof."

A rush of annoyance overcame me. "How much do I have to pry to get useful information out of you?! Anything else?" I yelled.

"Please find my—"

I mounted Night Rend, purposely ignoring the priest's plea, and rode north to find this mausoleum.

I stood upon a hill overlooking the burial grounds—hundreds of tombs, crypts, mausoleums, and grave markers encircled the area. The dark cloud overhead cast everything in shadow. The air was still—too still. No birds sang. Only the undead stirred. I studied the site, looking for clues to which of the many places to investigate first. In the distance, a cloaked figure caught my eye. I kept my eyes on him as he entered a black wrought-iron gate and disappeared into a stone mausoleum.

"How convenient," I said to myself, then looked to Night Rend. "Stay here."

I crept down the hill—stealthy and catlike—till I arrived at the black gates. The gates were old with a bit of rust and were not secured. I pushed them open with ease.

Skree-clank.

The gate snapped shut once I passed through it. The area was deathly quiet—only a gust of cold air and the "ooooo" sounds of the mausoleum's Aeolian harmonics broke the silence. The sound was mournful, like the building itself was weeping. Inside the mausoleum was a large stone sarcophagus that laid at the center of the room. I thought it was odd that there were no offerings around it, which gave me a suspicion that there wasn't even a person inside it. But before I could even open it, the cap of the sarcophagus started to slide open.

I sprang back and pushed myself flat against the wall. The cloaked figure from earlier came out from a secret passage hidden within the sarcophagus. With a surge of adrenaline, I seized him with a fierce grip. His cowl fell back, revealing a severely charred face—skin melted and twisted, one eye milky and blind.

"Adistair!" I roared.

"Verrik!" he cried.

My anger erupted into rage as my grip tightened. "I've been looking for you!" My voice was rigid with fury.

"I have too, Verrik. You're my masterpiece."

"Masterpiece? Fuck you!" I yelled and threw him to the other side of the mausoleum against the wall. Then I charged at him, throwing my fist. It slammed into his gut. He fell forward, clutching his stomach.

"You're so angry. I was only trying to help you," Adistair cried.

I punched him again. "You're a fucking liar!" I shouted. My voice echoed off the walls. "I know what you did. I know who you did it for. But why? Why did you do this to me? Why murder my mother?"

My cold hand wrapped around his neck as I lifted him off the ground. He frantically tried prying my hand off his neck, but I only tightened my grip.

"Soon Nirn will belong to him. Soon the armies of Coldharbour will enslave you all," he said in a choking voice.

"What does that have to do with me?" I argued.

"You—you're not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be dead. The body you inhabit is his vessel to Nirn, but my work—it didn't go as planned. Someone sabotaged it," he complained.

The words hit me like a hammer. Vessel. I was supposed to be a doorway for Molag Bal himself. My body—my flesh—was meant to be worn by a god of brutality and domination.

"You wanted to trade my body for a fucking safety guarantee? From Molag Bal? You fucking fool?!" I slammed his body against the wall again. "Tell me where Marcel is!" I demanded.

"I-I don't know!" he replied.

"Wrong answer!" I yelled as I ripped the burnt skin off his face.

Adistair let out an agonized scream that echoed through the mausoleum.

"You cannot keep secrets from me, Adistair!"

"Ahhh-ahhh!" he screamed.

"Your efforts only fuel my rage!" I shouted as I forced my finger into his freshly skinned face, digging into the raw meat beneath.

"P-please, Verrik, I am sorry. I can fix you. I can make this right," he pleaded.

"First, you say I am a masterpiece, now you want to fix me? You just can't help yourself, can you? I want you to know all the torture and suffering I endured—the days of torment, hours of agony. My body flayed, my insides poisoned. Left to rot in darkness! I WANT YOU TO KNOW IT ALL!" I yelled as I grabbed his forehead. Through my hand streamed all the memories of my torture, and through his body echoed all the pain I suffered. Every cut. Every burn. Every moment of suffocating darkness.

"Ahhh-ahhh-ahhh!"

Adistair's eyes rolled back. His body went limp. Death came for him too quick, I thought, but his death was not peaceful, and that was enough.

I carried Adistair's body down the secret passage, which led into a large wooden bunker. The air was stale and smelled of mildew and old parchment. It wasn't impressive—it housed three rooms: a bed, a hearth, a few chairs and a table, along with sconces hung across the walls. I dropped Adistair's body onto the floor, then walked over to the table where upon it sat a large dagger and a letter. I opened the letter and it read:

Dear Adistair,

I hope the search for the vessel turns up, but just in case it doesn't, I have made preparations to start again. I have been awarded an estate in Coldharbour, which will allow us to work undisrupted by those pesky Maran Knights. Ever since they raided our home in Camlorn, we've been on the run. I know it has been hard for us—first losing Edwane and then our home—but we still have the upper hand. Y'kal ordered Azarath to dispatch the priest found meddling in our affairs. The Benevolence of Mara will be dealt with soon enough. I do hope you enjoy your bunker. I know it's not home, but it is a safe place. Find our vessel and join me in Coldharbour soon, brother.

Sincerely, Marcel.

I held the letter for a moment longer, then threw it into the fire. As the letter burned, I grabbed the dagger from the table, walked over to Adistair, and ripped off his head. The vertebrae separated with a wet crack. I then stuck the dagger through his mouth, mounting his head above the hearth. I stared at it for a moment; he still wore the horror on his skinned face—eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream.

My mother's apparition appeared, but instead of her grotesque disfigured usual self, she appeared as the beautiful woman she once was. Whole. Alive. Smiling.

"We finally got him, Mother," I said with a smile.

She stood beside me with her arms around me, her head on my shoulder and a soft smile on her face.