If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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He tapped into his fully replenished Magicka pool, dialing the output to absolute maximum capacity, Incinerate and Grand Purification. "Let them burn," Aerion whispered coldly. Dual, massive spheres of superheated plasma and blinding holy light erupted from his palms, illuminating the entire charnel cavern in terrifying brilliance as the High Elf rained absolute, apocalyptic artillery down upon the blood farm.
The barrage rained down with terrifying, relentless fury. Massive, superheated spheres of Incinerate plasma and blinding white bursts of Grand Purification slammed into the walls of the cavern like falling stars. Aerion did not stop after the first volley. Drawing upon his massively expanded Magicka reserves, he unleashed a continuous, devastating artillery bombardment.
BOOM! BOOM! FLASH!
The cavern shook violently with the concussive force of the explosions. The shrieks of the damned echoed off the damp stone walls. The heavily armored pureblood vampires, lounging arrogantly near their bloody harvest pits only seconds ago, were violently thrown through the air.
The holy light stripped away their unnatural durability, causing their pale flesh to blister and boil, while the intense thermal shockwaves of the fireballs incinerated them before they even hit the ground.
Several of the mind controlled thralls, caught directly in the epicenter of the blasts, were instantly vaporized, leaving nothing behind but scorch marks on the stone.
"Move! Clear the survivors!" Aerion commanded, pausing the barrage so as not to catch his own team in the crossfire.
Jenassa and Aeloria did not hesitate. The Dark Elf assassin and the Imperial clad Dragonborn vaulted over the stone ledge, sliding down the rocky embankment and charging directly into the smoldering chaos of the cavern floor.
Aeloria swung the newly acquired Glass Sword with devastating force. The translucent green malachite blade sang through the smoky air, cleanly decapitating a burning thrall that stumbled blindly into her path. Jenassa flowed like a shadow through the smoke, her Frost Steel Sword plunging into the chest of a severely burned vampire trying to crawl away from the flames.
Up on the ledge, Aerion prepared to drop into the melee. He did not intend to use his magic for this phase of the battle. He needed to ensure his physical combat capabilities continued to scale against the superhuman entities of this world.
But his One-Handed skill had already been pushed to its absolute maximum limit during his intense training and previous battles. If he fought now, the experience gained would be entirely wasted against his level cap.
His transmigrator mind engaged the digital interface, utilizing a mechanic reserved only for the absolute apex masters of Skyrim.
The Legendary Reset.
He mentally selected the heavily saturated One Handed skill in his skill tree. With a sheer exertion of will, he executed the command.
[Confirm Legendary Reset for Skill: One Handed?]
[Confirmed.]
[One Handed Level reset to: 0 (+1)]
A strange, momentary sensation of profound physical lightness washed over Aerion's right arm as the raw, numerical statistical data was wiped from the system. However, the true beauty of his transmigration into a physical body remained.
While the system registered his level as zero, the actual, physical muscle memory, the flawless footwork, and the spatial awareness he had meticulously trained into his nervous system were not erased. He still moved like a blademaster, he simply had uncapped his potential for growth.
With his leveling parameters reset, Aerion reached into his spatial void.
He did not draw a second ebony weapon. He drew an artifact of pure, divine wrath.
With a brilliant, blinding flash of golden luminescence, Dawnbreaker materialized in his left hand. The legendary artifact of Meridia, the Daedric Prince of Life and Lady of Infinite Energies, hummed with a terrifying, righteous frequency. The crossguard of the weapon was forged of solid gold, radiating a continuous, blindingly bright sphere of pure sunlight that cast stark, terrifying shadows across the dark cavern.
Holding the pitch black, quadruple enchanted Black Prism in his right hand, and the blindingly radiant Dawnbreaker in his left, Aerion leaped from the stone ledge.
He landed heavily on the cavern floor, his boots crunching against the charred bones of the pit.
The surviving vampires, recovering from the initial magical bombardment, turned to face the new threat. The moment their crimson eyes landed on the blazing light of Dawnbreaker, genuine, primal terror seized their undead hearts. The blade was anathema to their very existence.
The purifying light resonated with the dark curse in their blood, making their skin crawl and blister just from the proximity.
They hissed violently, desperately trying to back away from the High Elf.
But with Jenassa cutting off their left flank and Aeloria pressing them fiercely from the right, the vampires and the remaining thralls had absolutely nowhere to run. Cornered, the predators were forced to fight.
The combat that followed was an explosion of brutal, high speed violence.
Aerion charged directly into the thickest cluster of enemies. Without his magic, he relied entirely on his monstrous 450 point Stamina pool and the devastating enchantments of his dual wielded swords.
A heavy set Nordic vampire lunged at him, swinging a heavy iron mace. Aerion fluidly sidestepped the crushing blow, his physical muscle memory executing the parry flawlessly despite the numeric reset. He brought the Black Prism up, deflecting the mace handle, and simultaneously thrust Dawnbreaker directly forward.
The glowing divine blade pierced the vampire's chest as easily as a hot knife through butter.
The reaction was apocalyptic. Dawnbreaker's unique enchantment, Meridia's Retribution, triggered violently. The vampire did not simply die, it detonated. A massive, blinding shockwave of golden, undead burning energy exploded outward from the corpse, instantly turning the creature to a pile of fine white ash and heavily burning the two thralls standing nearby.
"Fascinating," Aerion murmured, stepping through the falling ash.
The golden text cascaded rapidly in his peripheral vision.
[One Handed (+1) Leveled Up 14 Times! Current Level: 14]
He spun, bringing both blades around in a devastating, crossed scissor strike that decapitated a thrall and severed the arm of another charging vampire.
The cavern echoed with the clash of steel, the hiss of freezing enchantments, and the sickening thuds of heavy impacts. The enemies fought with desperate, cornered ferocity. A thrall managed to slip past Jenassa's guard, leaving a bleeding gash across her shoulder before she gutted him.
Aeloria, fighting like a seasoned veteran with her new Glass Sword, took a glancing blow from a vampire's frost coated dagger that froze the leather over her ribs. Aerion himself took a heavy, glancing strike from a warhammer to his thigh that left a deep, purple bruise.
It was a fierce, grueling, highly physical melee. But the sheer, overwhelming superiority of their weaponry and Aerion's dual wielded swords ultimately shattered the defenders.
With a final, ringing clash of malachite against steel, Aeloria drove her Glass Sword through the throat of the last surviving vampire. The creature collapsed backward into one of the bloody pits, twitching once before lying still.
The charnel cavern was finally silent, save for the heavy, ragged breathing of the three warriors.
They stood among the carnage, surrounded by piles of ash, burning corpses, and shattered weapons.
Aerion sheathed the Black Prism, but kept Dawnbreaker drawn, using its divine light to illuminate the dark corners of the room. He walked to the center of the chamber, his golden eyes scanning his battered associates.
"Gather closely," Aerion commanded, his breathing perfectly steady.
Aeloria and Jenassa stepped forward, clutching their respective wounds.
Aerion raised his free hand, tapping into his Restoration matrix. A brilliant, soothing wave of golden healing magic washed over the three of them. The pain in Aerion's thigh vanished instantly. Jenassa's shoulder knitted together perfectly. Aeloria's frozen, bruised ribs healed in seconds.
And once again, the sheer, reality warping power of the system extended the healing to their equipment.
The sliced leather of Jenassa's armor fused back together. The scuff marks and frost damage on Aeloria's Imperial cuirass completely vanished, leaving the armor looking pristine and freshly oiled.
Aeloria looked down at her chest, still profoundly amazed by the impossible phenomenon.
"By the Divines, Aerion," Aeloria gasped, shaking her head. "I know I saw it happen in the previous cavern, but watching magic mend torn leather and dented steel... it completely defies all laws of nature. It is incredible."
Aerion simply offered a charismatic, highly confident smile. "I told you, Aeloria. You haven't seen anything yet. My magic is bound by vastly different rules than the scholars of Winterhold."
With her armor repaired, Aeloria's bright blue eyes drifted away from her chest and locked entirely onto the blindingly radiant sword held casually in Aerion's left hand. The weapon was a masterpiece of impossible craftsmanship.
"Aerion," Aeloria asked, her voice dropping to a tone of genuine, awestruck reverence. "What kind of sword is that? I have seen Dwarven metal, I am holding Glass sword, I have used an Ebony thanks to you, and I have heard of Daedric metals... but I have never, in my entire life, seen or even heard of a blade with such a design. The crossguard looks like it is made of solid, burning sunlight. The vampires were terrified of it before you even swung."
Aerion looked down at Dawnbreaker. He knew he couldn't simply tell her he had sprinted to Mount Kilkreath, solved a light puzzle, and communed directly with a Daedric Prince.
"This is a highly unique, deeply ancient enchanted sword I discovered while traveling the most remote, dangerous corners of Tamriel," Aerion lied smoothly, maintaining his aura of mysterious worldly experience. "It harbors a potent, purifying power specifically designed to eradicate the undead. It possesses a very long, very bloody history."
He smiled softly, shifting the blade. "But we can discuss the history of ancient artifacts later. We have a coven to finish."
Aeloria nodded respectfully, entirely satisfied with the promise of a future story.
They pressed forward, leaving the horrific charnel pits behind. The tunnel widened, leading them to a massive, sprawling intersection deep within the heart of the cavern system.
The architecture here grew vastly more sophisticated. To their right, a wide, relatively flat stone path sloped gently downward, leading directly toward a massive, well lit opening that emanated the sounds of clinking goblets and overlapping voices.
To their left, a sturdy wooden ramp had been constructed against the cavern wall, leading up to a secondary, elevated plateau that overlooked the lower sections of the cave.
Aerion consulted his internal, systemic map of the dungeon layout.
"The path to the right leads directly into Movarth's primary dining hall," Aerion whispered to his team. "However, if we engage the main force now, any sentries stationed on the upper plateau will undoubtedly flank us from above. We clear the high ground first."
He gestured toward the wooden ramp.
They ascended the structure, moving with absolute, terrifying silence. Jenassa's footfalls were non existent, and Aerion's Sneak skill rendered his boots completely mute.
They reached the upper plateau. The area was a makeshift, highly luxurious living quarters carved directly into the rock. There was a massive, plush bed covered in thick snow bear furs, a sturdy wooden cupboard filled with stolen silver plates, and a small, elegant dining table with two carved wooden chairs.
Sitting in the chairs, their backs facing the wooden ramp, were two pureblood vampires engaged in a hushed conversation.
"I'm telling you, Alva is taking too long," one of the vampires hissed impatiently. "We have the numbers now. We should just march on Morthal tonight and take the town by force. Why play politics with thralls?"
"Because Movarth commands it, you fool," the second vampire replied sharply. "A sudden slaughter brings the Imperial Legion down upon our heads. A quiet subversion gives us a blood farm for a century. Have patience."
Aerion locked eyes with Jenassa. No words were needed.
They moved simultaneously. Jenassa slipped through the shadows to the left, while Aerion flowed to the right.
They struck with perfectly synchronized, absolute lethality. Jenassa clamped her gloved hand over her target's mouth, jerking his head violently backward while she drove her iron dagger deeply into the base of his skull, severing his spinal cord instantly.
Aerion did not use an iron dagger. He stepped directly behind his target, bringing Dawnbreaker up in a brutal, two handed grip. He drove the glowing, divine blade straight down through the top of the vampire's skull, piercing directly into its brain cavity.
The purifying light flared intensely for a fraction of a second, completely flash frying the vampire's nervous system before it could even utter a gasp of pain.
Aerion caught the slumping, dead weight of the vampire, lowering the body silently to the cavern floor to avoid alerting the massive force below.
"Clear," Aerion whispered softly.
They moved past the opulent bed and the cupboard, following the upper plateau as it curved around the cavern wall. The path narrowed, leading them directly to a natural, jagged stone overlook that provided a flawless, unobstructed view of the massive chamber.
They crept to the absolute edge of the wall, dropping to their stomachs on the cold stone. Lupin crouched beside Aerion, his tiny ears swiveling to catch every sound.
Aerion raised a finger to his lips, signaling for absolute, breathless silence.
The chamber was magnificent and terrifying. It was a massive, naturally formed cathedral of stone. In the center of the room sat an enormous, beautifully carved wooden banquet table, piled high with roasted meats, stolen sweetrolls, and massive silver pitchers filled to the brim with thick, dark red blood.
The room was swarming with enemies.
Aerion's eyes rapidly scanned the chamber, conducting a cold, terrifying headcount. There were heavily armed thralls standing at attention near the tunnel exits, acting as sentries. Several more thralls were moving around the table, submissively pouring the thick blood from the silver pitchers into the crystal goblets of the vampires.
The vampires themselves were lounging in ornate wooden chairs, laughing arrogantly, their faces flushed with the stolen lifeblood of Morthal's missing citizens.
Twelve purebloods. Eight heavily armed thralls. Total hostile count in this immediate cell. "Twenty," Aerion calculated grimly.
But his attention was entirely drawn to the head of the massive table.
Sitting in a massive, throne like chair carved from dark mahogany was the ancient master himself.
Movarth Piquine.
He did not look like a feral monster. He looked like dark, terrifying royalty. He wore a set of immaculate, incredibly expensive royal vampire armor, the dark leather and silver accents catching the torchlight.
His face was pale and gaunt, but his glowing red eyes burned with the profound, chilling intelligence of a creature that had survived for centuries.
A tall, elegant vampire standing near Movarth raised his goblet high into the air.
"To Lord Movarth!" the vampire declared loudly, his voice echoing in the cavern. "The architect of our coming feast! Alva's reports are flawless. The Jarl suspects nothing, the guards are compliant, and soon, the entire town of Morthal will be ours to bleed!"
A loud, raucous cheer erupted from the assembled coven. They slammed their silver goblets against the wooden table, the sound of their unnatural strength echoing off the stalactites.
Movarth raised a single, pale hand. The entire room fell instantly, terrifyingly silent, demonstrating the absolute, unbreakable authority he held over his brood.
"The scheme succeeds not because of Alva's brilliance," Movarth spoke. His voice was incredibly deep, ancient, and raspy, carrying the weight of centuries of bloodshed. "It succeeds because mortals are inherently, pathetically weak. They cannot control their lust. They fall so easily to the simple, base prey of seduction magic. They hand us the keys to their own cages because we smile at them in the dark."
Movarth picked up his own crystal goblet, swirling the thick, dark blood within.
"Do not worry, my brethren," Movarth promised, his ancient eyes gleaming with immense, terrifying ambition. "It will not be long now. Morthal is merely the foundation. Once we have the town firmly in our grasp as our dedicated blood farm, we will feast. We will gorge ourselves on the pure, untainted blood of the Nords. We will empower ourselves beyond the petty limits of this swamp."
Movarth stood up from his throne, his presence dominating the entire cathedral.
"And from there," Movarth roared, his voice filling the cavern with absolute defiance, "we will show those arrogant bastards at Castle Volkihar what true power is! Lord Harkon sits on his crumbling island, obsessing for millennia over an ancient prophecy! He wastes centuries searching for Auriel's Bow while his clan starves in the shadows! Their way is too old. Too slow! By farming the mortals, we will make our coven vastly stronger! We will grow an army, and we will drag Harkon and his Vampire Lords from the sky!"
The cavern absolutely erupted. The vampires screamed and cheered with manic, bloodthirsty frenzy, intoxicated by the promise of challenging the legendary Volkihar clan.
On the back of the wall, Aerion lay perfectly still. His Gamer mind was completely blown away by the geopolitical implications of the speech.
He isn't just trying to conquer a town. He's actively preparing for a civil war within the vampiric hierarchy, Aerion realized with absolute awe. He wants to challenge Lord Harkon. This is an entirely unscripted, massive expansion of the lore. The timeline is terrifyingly deep.
But the reality of the room across them was vastly more pressing than the lore.
Twenty hostiles in the main hall. And if a battle breaks out here, the noise will undoubtedly draw the attention of the remaining sentries in the outer tunnels, Aerion calculated rapidly.
If they simply charged down the stone ramp, they would be instantly surrounded and ripped to pieces by the overwhelming numbers. He needed to execute a massive, devastating opening strike that would instantly obliterate half the room before the melee could even begin.
His first thought was stealth. "I could utilize my high level Sneak skill to slip down the ramp and place a dozen highly explosive Fire Runes around the perimeter of the table."
He immediately discarded the idea. "No. It takes too much time to cast and place that many runes. The ambient magicka flare would eventually alert Movarth's ancient senses. One wrong step, and I am standing in the center of twenty vampires alone."
He needed something vastly more powerful. Something instantaneous, apocalyptic, and capable of covering the entire massive dining hall.
An idea, brilliant, incredibly dangerous, and entirely unbound by the standard of Skyrim, suddenly popped into his transmigrator mind.
Fire Storm.
It was the absolute pinnacle, master level spell of the Destruction school. It was an apocalyptic release of thermal energy that incinerated everything within a massive radius.
However, in the game and also in this reality, the spell possessed a massive, highly inconvenient flaw, the massive explosion always detonated with the caster as the absolute epicenter. To hit the vampires, Aerion would literally have to walk into the middle of the table, charge the spell for three seconds, and explode himself.
"But I am not bound by the limitations of a game engine and the magic construct of this reality," Aerion smiled, a look of pure, terrifying ingenuity crossing his face. "I possess a system, that could help me in creating magics. I understand the fundamental, arcane coding of the fire. I can rewrite the parameters of the spell."
Aerion slowly pushed himself up from the stone overlook, dropping into a tight crouch.
He closed his eyes. He didn't just summon fire to his hands, he reached deep into his mind, visualizing the highly complex, swirling, mathematical equation of the Fire Storm spell.
He isolated the specific arcane variable that anchored the explosion to his own physical body. With the sheer, overwhelming processing power of his system engine, he forcefully, violently rewrote the equation. He changed the targeting parameter from [Self] to [Target Area].
He opened his golden eyes. They were practically glowing with contained, catastrophic power.
He aimed both of his hands directly at the table, focusing his gaze perfectly on the exact, dead center of the massive wooden banquet table where Movarth and his twelve purebloods were cheering.
"Prepare to go forward," Aerion whispered to Jenassa and Aeloria, his voice trembling slightly with the sheer volume of magicka pooling in his palms.
He didn't just cast the spell. To ensure absolute, apocalyptic annihilation, he engaged the dual cast multiplier.
He fed every single drop of his massive 620 point Magicka pool directly into the newly visualized spell. The air around him crackled with static fire, the sheer thermal displacement causing the temperature on the cave to instantly skyrocket.
A tiny, blindingly bright, condensed spark of pure, white hot plasma materialized in the empty air directly to the center of Movarth's dining table. Movarth paused mid cheer, his ancient eyes snapping to the side as he sensed the sudden, catastrophic buildup of arcane energy. It was too late. Aerion released the constraint. "Burn."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 440/440 Stamina: 450/450 Magicka: 620/620
Level: 111
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+2)/Lightning(+1)/Frost) (Level 85/41/MAX), Restoration (Healing/Purify(+1)) (Level 91/71), Alteration (Level 35), Alteration (Level 20), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/10), Persuasion(+1) (Level 60), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 48), One Handed(+1) (14 Level), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim (Fade), & Su (Air)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Dragonstone, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Garnet, Sapphire, Ruby, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), & Potion of Minor Magicka
2x Potion Of Ultimate Magicka, Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Elven Sword
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
4x Spider Eggs & Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Black Soul Gems (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 68.62 KG / 525 KG
Septims: 77,093