Bleeding Sun - Interlude: The Betrayal

  • Warning: This chapter contains over-the-top action and sorta graphic violence. There will also be techniques and spell that are not necessarily lore-friendly/canon; I'll put the details at the bottom of the page.

    One of the most popular ghost stories among the locals of Skyrim told of a mysterious island off the northwestern coast of Haafingar. Far away from curious adventurers and unlucky fools, they claimed it housed various beasts of legend. Depending on the source, it could be werewolves, daedra or something as mundane as trolls, but it was tacitly agreed upon that the most likely inhabitants of that island were vampires. Obviously, it was difficult to prove or disprove its existence the straightforward way. The Sea of Ghosts and its waves were unforgiving, to say nothing of the enervating mist that seemed to be omnipresent, but learned individuals could delve into ancient tomes and find that a certain clan of vampires had been known to take residence in that very same area. This was no coincidence, for as with most myths, this particular legend was based on  reality. Since time immemorial, that island truly held an isolated keep, indeed housed by vampires to this day.  

    Castle Volkihar.

    Being one of the oldest vampire clans in existence, the notorious Volkihar had always been content with solitude. The’ve had their share of enemies, even eons ago when the influential clan had been nothing more than a houseful of like-minded vampires. To choose so secluded a headquarters was an understandable decision.

    Besides, with all the lavish parties and orgies taking place these days, detachment from society was beneficial on both ends of the mortal spectrum. The Volkihar had been ablaze with celebration ever since their lord, Harkon, had successfully pulled off his scheme to blot out the sun, creating a safe world for vampires everywhere. All of their planning and subterfuge had been in culmination for this crucial victory. It’s no wonder they’d celebrate with style.

    Predictably, the man with the plan preferred to remain in the shadows, constantly assessing his next move.

    There were countless ways to describe the lord of the Volkihar. Most would say power-hungry and manipulative, cunning and calculative, ruthless and cold. But truly, he was a simple man beneath it all. He preferred not to lie if he couldn’t help it, enjoyed the occasional cheap mead as much as the next Nord and vehemently believed that true, lasting success could only be brought upon by hard work with your own honest hands.

    As was proven when he dealt the decisive killing blows for the Dragonborn and his own daughter, Serana.

    With their deaths, it was easy to enact the third part of his plan: defiling Auriel’s Bow with cursed arrows to blot out the sun, thus enabling him to essentially reign over all of Nirn. Frankly, he had those two upstarts to thank. It was foolish of them to recklessly rush into Castle Volkihar. More foolish still was bringing along the bow, the one crucial trump card to his plan that had eluded his grasp for so long with them The vampire lord had been flabbergasted at their fatal error, but he could somewhat understand the logic behind using the Bow to combat his own dark powers. In a proper world, light was supposed to expel darkness, after all.

    If only it was that simple. While the Dragonborn and Serana had a conduit of Auriel’s wrath in their hands, Harkon’s entire being had become the very embodiment of the sheer power of Molag Bal, the Lord of Domination, thanks to a very intricate ritual with one of the most complex names he’d ever heard; Shadow Path Ritual of Coldharbour: Heretic’s Blood-of-Darkness Impure Reincarnation.

    Only a being of Daedric caliber could conjure up a name like that.

    The ritual involved shattering the subject vampire’s soul and reshaping it again, this time tempered with a mere fragment of the Daedric Prince’s very own vestige, the Daedra’s equivalent of a soul. A taste of a common Daedra’s vestige was powerful enough to utterly break a mortal’s soul; the power within a Daedric Prince’s vestige, even one as weak as Peryite, was beyond comprehension. The process was guaranteed to be lethal for normal vampires and not even most vampire lords survived, but those that do were ‘blessed’ with unholy power like no other, surpassing that of the Daughters of Coldharbour. So far, Harkon had only succeeded in converting himself and six of his chosen vampire lords; Garan Marethi, Orthjolf, Licia, the Argonian twins Swims-In-Blood and No-Shadow, and Cato. He dubbed them the Impurities, after the name of the ritual that brought about their powers. He had originally planned to mobilize them to continue and expand his clan’s influence, should the Tyranny of the Sun plan failed.      

    But as it turned out, it didn’t, so the Impurities now served as an all-loyal special force.

    Either way, Harkon was left with six human weapons of mass destruction and a world to rule. Things couldn’t have gone any better for him. He took a sip of blood from his wine glass. The royal lounge was empty and silent, save for the howling of the tradewinds and the muffled commotion from the revelry right outside his door. Cheering, uproarious music, laughter, moaning, any noise you could name, the party had it. He still couldn’t get over the incessant moaning. Oh gods, the moaning…he raised a palm to his forehead. The thought of his own underlings’ promiscuity was sickening, even for him, the mass-murdering, sun-killing magnificent bastard. Sooner or later, the man would have to make a statement to keep the festivities down or else. That’ll show them who was boss around here.

    Suddenly, the sound of glass breaking reached his ears. It would’ve gone unnoticed if the sound hadn’t came from the armory. Harkon was instantly on his feet, breaking into a sprint towards the noise, because if what he thought was happening was happening, then…

    Less than a minute later, he was at the Volkihar armory. The room was a warrior’s paradise. The walls were lined with nearly every weapon known to man and mer. Battleaxes and warhammers hung from the high ceiling like elves’ ear would in a kitchen. There were full weapon racks as far as the eye can see. A grand forge area resided at one end of the room. At the center of the room, floating atop a glass-enclosed lit pedestal was Auriel’s Bow, the holy weapon of the eponymous deity. The glass was untouched. The vampire lord exhaled a sigh of relief. It must have been his paranoia getting to him. No one would dare swindle Auriel’s Bow from under his own nose.  But then, he spotted broken glass. A display case had been broken, one that had housed…

    “You fell for it.” Sharp steel was pressed against his neck. A familiar presence was behind him. One of great power, almost equal to his own. ‘Twas no wonder he barely noticed anything. Garan Marethi, his most trusted advisor, had informed him just a few hours ago that one of his Impurities had defected to the enemy, but the information at hand failed to specify which one. Truly, there was no such thing as a plan that went smoothly.

    Because this one in particular was one even he feared.

    “Cato of the Flash Step,” Harkon calmly said, ignoring the tingling sensation of a blade pressed against his neck. “Only you could so easily pass through my senses. Tell me, are you seriously under the impression that you can defeat me? Here and now?” The one named Cato said nothing as he swung the blade diagonally, but Harkon had anticipated it and shifted into a body of mist. The steel passed right through. His body remaining in its calm poise, he materialized and held up his hand. A giant black outline of a skeletal arm shifted into form next to him, mimicking the movement of his own arm. A ribcage of similar coloring had also appeared around his body. The auras looked ethereal and insubstantial, but both of them knew that they were nothing but real. The hand swung around to backhand the other vampire, but struck the wall instead. Weapons fell to the floor, dented and broken. Cato had moved only inches to the right of his original spot. 

    “Your own strength surprises me, Cato. You’ve forced me to use both Mist Form and Avatar of Darkness in less than five seconds.”

    Again, he remained silent.

    Harkon sighed and beckoned a sword to his free hand with telekinesis, a saber of elegant design. “Fine, then. We’ll settle this the-”. Before he could finish his sentence, the traitor struck his would-be lord with blinding speed. Harkon raised his blade to block it and the resulting force made a shockwave strong enough to make cracks in the wall immediately behind him. As their blades locked with each other, he noticed that Cato wasn’t holding just any sword.

    It was Harkon’s own sword, Beinzii, in its sealed form.

    The two shared cold glares and before long, a blurry clash of steel ensued. Their movement was like a deadly dance routine; monotonous and rhythmic. One struck and the other dodged, blocked and parried, all taking place in speeds that blurred their forms. Cato fought with a ferocity that betrayed his silent demeanor, his slashes swift and strong. Any other opponent would have been mince meat when faced with him. Harkon, on the other hand, was on the defensive, almost effortlessly parrying the other’s strikes and counterattacking at every opportunity. There was no pattern in his movements; any move his opponent made would be easily reacted to. If Cato was a raging rapid, he was a calm stream.

    The standoff seemed fruitless and the two mutually stepped back. Neither of them looked visibly wounded or fatigued, despite the intensity of the skirmish. Such is the power of the Blood-of-Darkness, the Volkihar patriarch thought.

    “You think to defeat me with my own blade?” he scoffed at the upstart. “Pure arrogance. The sword you hold answers only to me, boy. Not even someone like you could hope to wield Beinzii to its full potential.”

    “I know that, my lord. This is why I needed to draw your blood. Have you not noticed how my strikes have been aimed at your vital arteries?”

    Harkon let out a dark chuckle. He didn’t really notice it, but no need to give him the satisfaction. “I knew you were trying to draw as much blood as you can. Your movements are quick, but predictable. But it is useless! You cannot hope to break my defense, for in my hands I hold countless years of-“. Something wet trickled down his cheek. He slowly brought his hands to wipe it off and found that a small cut had been made, leaking a steady stream of his honorable blood out. I-Impossible…

    He looked back at Cato and found a red stain on his sword. His lips curved into the faintest of smirks. Suddenly, a crimson aura circled around Beinzii, the red stain growing to completely envelop its blade. Beneath the aura, the blade begun to change form, from a straight-edged shape to a curved and slender one. Its hilt also transformed into a more intricate shape with a guard resembling an equilateral cross with four bent prongs. Soon, the aura expelled itself and Harkon knew that Cato had successfully awakened Beinzii, a cruel katana of black steel.

    “It’s checkmate.” In the blink of an eye, Cato was in front of him. Flash Step! The speedy vampire lord slashed vertically downward at his ‘master’s right side and Harkon’s right arm flew off, spinning while blood drips from it until it fell to the stone floor with an anticlimactic ‘thud’. An eerie silence filled the room. The traitor offered his former lord one last smile before his body dispersed into a swarm of bats, flying past him and most likely out of Castle Volkihar.

    He couldn’t believe what had just transpired. One of his most trusted agents had betrayed him and used his own sword to slice off his arm. Never had he felt so…humiliated in all his life. Voices whispered in his head. Undoubtedly Molag Bal’s. The voices wanted vengeance. They would not let this travesty go unpunished. Harkon would obey.

    With a guttural roar of fury, he recklessly unleashed his dark energy, a pitch black Avatar of Darkness forming around him, this time a full upper body of a colossal Daedra with ethereal flesh and muscle and not just bone. The sheer concentration of power sent tremors all throughout Castle Volkihar. The armory could not withstand it and the opposite side of the room collapsed, weapons and bits of shattered stone falling into the cold Sea of Ghosts. An Avatar of Darkness typically kept its own power in check despite its menacing appearance. When its user’s psyche was explosive, however, it could become out of control and cause wanton destruction out of its own volition. Harkon’s was no exception. Its massive hands flew around aimlessly, as if swiping at some unseen enemy. More of the room, destroyed.  

    Meanwhile, his wounds began to heal. The cut on his cheek closed itself. Dark tendrils sprung from his severed arm, connecting with his bloodied right stump. Slowly, it begun to reattach itself to Harkon, tissue forming along the wound and even the ripped fabric was regenerating. In a matter of seconds, it was as if Cato did nothing to him.

    Then, for some reason, it stopped. Slowly, the flesh of the avatar faded, revealing an intricate Daedra skeleton, which faded as well. The patriarch of the Volkihar had regained his composure successfully. I cannot let this happen again, he mentally scolded himself. I am only baiting myself into his trap. He wants me to act rashly. I won’t give him the satisfaction. How I deal with this loose end must be well thought out, lest I burn down the garden while rooting out the weed. Motioning his right palm towards the sea, he focused his powers for another purpose. As if pulled by some godlike power, weapons from the destroyed armory rose from the water and then gathered to one single point, creating a ball-shaped clump of armaments.

    Mass Telekinesis. A personal favorite of his.

    After a few moments, two of his Impurities, Licia and Orthjolf, barged into the armory, evidently confused as to what happened to the armory and why there was a ball of weapons floating right by.

    “M-My lord?” Licia, the ever-inquisitive Imperial asked. “We heard fighting and then the earthquake…what happened here?”

    Harkon slowly turned his head towards the three, a solemn expression on his handsome and slightly gaunt face.

    “Garan was right. A traitor had been among us, in the form of Cato of the Flash Step. He has now fled like the coward he is. We must step up our plans to adjust this development. Orthjolf, assemble the thralled generals as well as the rest of the Paths. Licia, have Garan meet me in the Cathedral at once. Tell him to ‘bring the arrows’ and nothing more.”

    They still had the look of confusion on their faces, but clearly understood the order. “It shall be done, my lord,” the two loyal Paths said in unison before going off to carry their respective orders. Harkon was glad they had been the ones to answer to him first. Had it been the twins and there could be a full-on discussion in his hands, which was far from what an angry Harkon needed.

    With a swipe of his hands, the mass of weapons crashed into what was left of the armory, clattering onto the floor. He looked at the sky. The moon, partly covered by storm clouds, was a faded crimson, an unexpected side effect of the eclipse, but one that was negligible. Thunder rumbled across the blackness.

    “Cato…you will learn how foolish it is to cross Lord Harkon.”

    Lightning struck down as if to answer his words. Heavy rain fell soon after.

    ***

    The Bleeding Sun Spellbook

    Avatar of Darkness: A lesser power possessed by vampire lords who have been mystically enhanced by the Heretic's Blood-of-Darkness Impure Reincarnation ritual. It conjures a corporeal being made of the user's dark energy that forms around the user and becomes an extension of their will, though always anchored around the user's body. It has varying forms, its most basic form being composed of only skeletons and more suited for defense. Further development unlocks more complete avatars with increased combat versatility. Its strength and ability to shield against attacks of physical and magical origin are determined by the form of the avatar and the willpower of the user.

    Flash Step: Developed by Cato the Breton during his mortal days, it is a movement technique which allows the user to move short or long distances faster than the eye can follow. The basis and main factor of effectiveness in this technique is speed. Training and skill determines the speed at which a utilizer of Flash Step moves; extensive use and practice causes them to move considerably faster than other users, thus requiring less steps to move the same distance and becoming fatigued in a larger amount of time. So far, the only confirmed practitioner of Flash Step is its creator, Cato, though he is willing to teach it to others given the opportunity.

    Mass Telekinesis: One of the simplest spells bestowed to vampire lords, it pretty much speaks for itself. It allows telekinetic control over several objects in a given area, which includes but not limited to: attraction, repulsion and levitation. A versatile technique, it can be used for a wide array of uses given the user has the insight to apply them.

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Comments

4 Comments
  • Castle
    Castle   ·  November 14, 2015
    Still really enjoying the vampire centered Skyrim. Flash step kind of makes me picture whirlwind sprint without the "voice".
  • ShyGuyWolf
    ShyGuyWolf   ·  September 24, 2015
    Edit: Orc, stupid auto correct
  • ShyGuyWolf
    ShyGuyWolf   ·  September 24, 2015
    Great piece lazy. Harkon is lucky that he didn't met Jake the Or. And his "Righteous Might" Greatsword that is imbedded with silver and forged in the full moons at the Skyforge. :P
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  September 24, 2015
    Interesting. I really liked this. Very cool departure from the lore, but lol, man, to see Auri-El's bow defiled like that. I shudder. It's such an important weapon in my narrative, but kudos to you for making Harkon really menacing and smart for once. The...  more