White-Gold Tower, The Imperial City

  Spring

  Year 175 of the Fourth Era (4E175)

  (One month before the Battle of the Red Ring)

  The orb shattered into thousands of glittering pieces against the towering column, exploding and scattering across the floor as a fine dust that began dissolving before their very eyes. All other movement had ceased, their shock overcoming their various injuries and pain. It had been an daedric artifact priceless beyond all measure, but the Orb of Vaermina flickered, sparkling and dissolving even before it reached the floor, returning to Oblivion once more.

  Standing as still as the statues lining the room, Tyr was smiling triumphantly despite the fact that sixty centimetres of flame wreathed blade had impaled him through the chest, the flames licking and consuming flesh, cloth and armour. Despite Kaius's best efforts and intentions that had made him hand over the Orb to Naarifin, the Nordic Blade had made his own choice and thrown himself on the sword that had been at his throat only a minute before. He had snatched the daedric artefact away, hurling it across the room and destroying it before anyone could consciously react, except for the towering Dremora who had instinctively speared Tyr through the chest with its burning, golden katana.

  The grin remained on Tyr’s face, even as he slipped weakly backwards, the weapon dragging itself through flesh and muscle in a dribble of gore. Kaius had moved quickly, but he wasn’t quick enough to catch Tyr before he thudded wetly onto the floor. Only Kaius had been close enough or able to even try to go to his comrade’s aid, as their other companions were too far away, and nursing the various injuries the Dremora had inflicted when he attacked them.

  "You fool!" Standing before them all, close to his daedric bodyguard, Strategeos Primach Naarifin’s expression was one of utter hatred and rage, turning and practically spitting at the creature. "You will pay for your ineptitude!"

  Whatever words growled forth from the dremora's throat were lost to Kaius, his mind closed and grief leaving him trembling as he knelt next to Tyr. His armoured knees pressed into the cold, unforgiving marble stained with a growing puddle of gore, cradling his friend in his arms and looking down at the terrible wound in Tyr’s chest. It was mortal, a killing blow and even a master of restoration would have been unable to tend to such an injury, and Kaius was filled with a deep and sympathetic agony of his own.

  The past months had been a blur, especially those immediately following the death of his daughter in the catacombs of the Imperial City but Kaius had done what he could to move on. It had not been easy, first being thrown into slave pits to fight to the death for the amusement of the Thalmor but, with Tyr’s help they had escaped, not just their executions, but Kaius’s bloodlust and rage at Astonoia’s death. The Nord was a fellow Blade, a comrade in arms, and after a year of journeying together, a close personal friend.

  From the occupied capital, through the forests of County Cheydinhal, the rivers of northern Leyawiin, and the snowy plains of Skyrim, they journeyed, attempting to work against the machinations of the Dominion and their occupation of the Imperial Heartlands. It had been months of travel, vicious battles, intrigues and plots, but they had been successful thus far, even gaining new allies and friends along the way. Laaneth Rolralen; Dunmeri sorceress and scholar of daedric powers. Swims-at-Night; Argonian smuggler, ship’s captain, rogue and scoundrel who had proved to have loyalty to more than just coin, and Cassia Pamitia Urtori, Legate of the depleted VIII Legio Ferrata, that after 4 years of war existed more on paper than with bodies. The five of them had bonded, fought and shed blood for each other, but now, during a mission of the utmost importance they had practically failed.

  Through undead infested sewers and catacombs, infiltrating the most heavily fortified city in all of Tamriel and into the heart of one of the great Towers of the world, the group had been successful. At least, until they had been ambushed by Naarifin and his daedric bodyguard just as they uncovered the means that the Dominion had been countering every Imperial strategy during the war.

  Laaneth was kneeling on the floor, her heavily tattooed face pinched in agony and turning a much lighter shade of grey as she cradled her shattered hand to her chest. Bloody froth wept down the hole in Swims-at-Night's chest despite his best attempts to stem the flow where the towering dremora had stabbed him with a dagger in passing. Even Cassia was down, stunned, groggy and trying to regain focus after being punched so hard that her Legate’s helmet had been dented. Of them all, only Kaius was unscathed and uninjured, having been the one in the process of stealing the Orb of Vaermina when they had been attacked. Tyr also had initially been unscathed from the attack, instead having been grabbed, disarmed and taken hostage by the enormous Dremora as a bargaining chip for the Orb.

  Now instead, Tyr was dying, taking it upon himself to make the sacrifice that Kaius had been unable to do. The Orb, like all daedric artefacts was beyond comprehension in its powers and abilities, providing Naarifin with almost perfect magical intelligence, and the ability to scry whatever information the Dominion’s war effort needed. It had allowed him to defend against every assault, parry every feint, break every ambush the Legions attempted and was an artefact that was worth hundreds, if not thousands of lives to acquire or destroy. Not for Kaius though. There hadn't been the slightest hesitation from him in handing over the Orb to Naarifin in exchange for Tyr's life, but there also hadn't been any hesitation from Tyr to destroy the Orb, sacrificing himself for the Empire, and for his friends.

  Blood bubbled from Tyr's throat and mouth and his cold, blue eyes looked at Kaius as the light faded from them forever, the Nord smiling triumphantly as his soul left his mortal form for the mead halls of Sovngarde. The burning, golden katana the Dremora wielded had seared and cauterised everything it had touched, tearing through his chest and cleaving Tyr’s heart in two. He was dead before he even reached the floor, it just took time for his mind to catch up with his body. Despite it all, Tyr had managed, with his last dying breaths to reach up, pull the amulet from his neck and press it to Kaius’s chest, the handmade, leather loop dangling before his arm flopped to the floor.

  "How much failure can you withstand, hmm?" Naarifin whispered mockingly, turning the rage at the destruction of the artifact away from his minion, and towards Kaius cradling Tyr’s corpse. "You may have stopped me from being able to track the Emperor and his armies, but it doesn’t matter. Nor did we ever need it to track you. We have been waiting for you, and have known where you are at all times."

  There was nothing but silence from Kaius and he didn't even raise his head from Tyr's body. Slowly, and carefully he closed the dead Nord's eyes, reaching out and picking up Tyr’s amulet of Talos from where it had fallen.

  “I don’t see why I really should care about any of your ramblings.”

  “You should care.” Naarifin’s voice was sleek and filled with amusement, taunting the kneeling man, while also taking care to ensure that the enormous, daedric plated creature was between them both at all times. “We have always known where you are, and you are what has allowed the Dominion and I to outmanoeuvre the Legions and break the Empire. You are responsible for everything that has happened.”

  Only now did Kaius look up at the gloating Naarifin, and the expressionless visage of the Dremora at his side. Both were much taller than he was, the Dremora especially, a Markynaz by its size, build and horns was looking down on Kaius as though he was little more than an insect to be scraped off the bottom of his serrated, daedric boots.

  "You are full of shit." Slowly raising himself to his feet and struggling to control his breathing, Kaius spat on the floor at Naarifin’s feet. Behind him he could hear the muted exclamations of his comrades, lost to pain and grief but they seemed so far away. Only Naarifin, and the dremora remained, his world shrinking and being consumed by an all too familiar darkness and rage. “You couldn’t track me. You may have daedric artefacts, and the Dominion may have its magicka, but your intelligence networks aren’t that good.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "How quaint. So typically human, to think about agents and spies when there are… better means to discover what you want to know. Take a look at Reive here. A good look. Is there not something familiar about him? Something recognisable? You have both met before."

  "Yes. In the slave pits."

  "Before that. Long before that."

  The gnawing sensation built and grew within Kaius. There was a familiarity about the creature that transcended anything he could understand, some kind of burning connection that defied cause or reason. He had faced dremora many times before, especially during the Oblivion Crisis and even a Markynaz, one of the most powerful of their kind, had not been unknown to him. Kaius had sent several of them back to Oblivion throughout his life through the destruction of their physical bodies. He had no connections with any of them, especially not the armour plated Dremora that called itself Reive standing before him, smiling through gash-like lips with a mouthful of needle-like teeth.

  Teeth. Fangs. The taste of sulphur and the transformation from mortal to undead. It had been so long ago, literal lifetimes in fact, but the realisation hit Kaius like a run away wagon.

  "Kvatch. It was you at Kvatch.”

  "Yes." It growled, the smile growing further and revealing that its maw was a mass of vampiric fang appearing teeth. "You defeated me then. Closed the portal and Lord Dagon banished me from the Clans for my failure. For my… desecration. You took from me, stole my power but you never claimed it all."

  "If your mind wasn't so enfeebled you would be amazed at how much information you can glean when you have access to beings with a connection such as yours.” Naarifin's Altmeri features twisted into a mockingly hideous smile at the sight of Kaius growing pale at the realisation. “Two souls bound together through vampirism. How many times have you been present during war councils? Meetings between members of the Elder Council and the Emperor? Discussions with the Grandmaster of the Blades the whereabouts and identities of every agent within Tamriel? How much information has reached your ears regarding everything in the Empire? Troop dispositions? Supply chains? Materiel shortages, famines, political intrigues, waning morale, the exact whereabouts of the Emperor at every given moment. Your connection with Rieve has shared everything with the Dominion."

  Kaius' felt his entire soul break and knew that Naarifin was speaking the truth, no matter how hard he was trying to deny it. For the past four years of war he had been present at almost every meeting of the Generals and Legates and numerous times there had been discussions of how the Dominion seemed to be able to eerily predict and counter every deployment, every manoeuvre and tactic the Legions offered. No explanations beyond some kind of magical scrying or technique mastered by the long-lived, magically attuned Altmer had ever been sufficient enough to explain their truly uncanny abilities. Numerous failed attempts to find the spies, agents and traitors that the Empire believed was feeding priceless intelligence from even the most secret of meetings. Nothing had ever been uncovered because there were no such traitors or spies. At least, not the sort of spy that they could ever find.

  Rieve had been the first that Kaius had ever fed upon, drinking the daedra’s life essence when the vampirism finally claimed his body and soul just as he attempted to close the Oblivion Portal at Kvatch. The first feeding of a vampire was the most important and at the time Kaius had succeeded in doing something that no vampire had ever done; feed upon the eternal, immortal blood of a creature of Oblivion. It had changed him, even beyond the curse’s usual mutations and changes, rendered him immune to sunlight, and made him as powerful as a vampire ancient, but he hadn’t finished the dremora off. Daedra were truly immortal, impossible to truly kill and could, and would, regenerate from fragments, even a fragment of a soul not consumed by a vampire.

  Through such a link, a permanent, unbreakable link, the Dominion had a source of intelligence and information that couldn’t be matched. The Blades had been devastated, hidden operatives having their cover inexplicitly blown and most had been killed outright, others like Tyr had appeared to simply vanish as they were caught in the impenetrable web of espionage and intrigue that was the Aldmeri Dominion. Even his own son, a vampiric Blade over a hundred years old, had been one of the first Blades discovered and murdered before the war truly began. His daughter and he had been ambushed because the Dominion knew where he was at all times.

  So many dead. Untold thousands. Blades. Imperial Citizens. Legionaries. Friends. His children. All dead because of his daedric blood. His curse. Kaius knew, possibly better than most, the true capabilities of Blood Magicka, and through the grief and rage he tried not to vomit.

  “Kill them.” Flicking his cloak over a shoulder Naarfin took a pair of steps away from his Dremora bodyguard, his expression hardening, despite the smile he wore from relishing in Kaius’s pain. “Put them all out of their misery.”

  Grief, sorrow, agony, and rage were boiling through Kaius’s veins, his teeth gritting tight and grinding together, his hands clenched into fists as he looked down over the still, cooling body of his friend. The rage especially was growing more and more pronounced, his blood, and the daedric taint he shared with the creature wielding the golden katana standing in front of him, pulsing in time with his racing heart.

  “You couldn’t defeat me at Kvatch," Memories, of fists pulping flesh and muscle and bone and a mouthful of burning, sulphuric blood were fresh in his mind now, and Kaius stared at Rieve with a snarl. "What makes you think you can now?"

  Burning with ethereal energies, gleaming in all the richness of the purest gold, the katana that had taken Tyr’s life rose until it was pointed at Kaius’s face, with less than an arm’s reach separating him from its wicked point.

  “I may have been cast out by Lord Dagon, but I have a new master now; Lord Boethiah. She has rewarded my efforts, granting me Goldbrand; her greatest weapon. I will end your miserable life, tear my soul back from your remains, and reclaim what is mine."

  When Rieve had appeared and ambushed their group he had been a juggernaut of destruction, shrugging off Laaneth’s spells, wading through Swims-at-Night’s thrown daggers like summer rain, and practically ignoring Cassia’s skills and experience as one of the greatest Extraordinarii to nearly punch her unconscious. He was too powerful, too fast and dangerous and to their horror, Kaius’s friends couldn’t do anything but gasp as Rieve slashed Kaius’s throat with one of the most powerful daedric artefacts in all of creation.

  There was the sound of metal striking flesh, a ‘thok’ of an impact, and then silence, surprise, and shock. Not all of it was from Kaius’s comrades either. They were watching in horror, quickly transforming into confusion, emotions that were mirrored by the enormous Dremora Markynaz staring at the way how Kaius had caught the daedric artefact in his hand. Even for regular swords, such an action could have resulted in a broken hand for someone wearing plate gauntlets and chainmail, but Kaius was wearing nothing more than the shredded remains of leather gloves. There was however, little of the man remaining as his rage and anger took a new form.

  Six centimetre long claws as black as obsidian had erupted from his fingertips as his bones grew through his flesh, his teeth were growing long and tapered in a vampiric mockery of Reive’s, and all over his body his flesh was writhing with change. Veins like corrupted, black treeroots pulsed with horrific vampiric power, and his eyes had changed, turning as black as the daedric armour and the soul of the creature wielding Goldbrand.

  With a hand twisted into blackened claws, Kaius held Goldbrand in an unwavering, unbreakable grip and confusingly the flames in the daedric weapon were fading, dying and disappearing. What had once been perfect, gleaming, fire wreathed metal was turning dark and tarnished, the enchantment vanishing in moments, and the peerless, almost impossibly sharp edge dulling worse than even a wooden training blade.

  Surprise was absolute, not only for Kaius’s comrades, but the hulking daedric monstrosity holding onto the rapidly fading blade as it lost all of its daedric power. Rieve was stunned, an immortal creature of Oblivion shocked by something he had never seen throughout his impossibly long life, and unable to react as Kaius glanced between the sword and him.

  “Looks like Boethiah likes me more than she likes you.” Thick, and inhuman, Kaius’s words growled and slurred out of a jaw distended to provide space for the enormous maw of pointed fangs.

  Daedra didn’t fear death. They couldn’t. Death was a true impossibility and Rieve was a literal example of how being killed and having most of their soul consumed by a vampire wasn’t enough to permanently kill them. They could feel fear for other reasons and for a moment, the creature that had once been a champion of the Daedric Prince of Destruction felt it deep within a soul it shared with Kaius. It was terrified, seeing the horrific changes as Kaius revealed his true vampiric form to the cries of shock and fear from his friends, but it didn’t last long.

  Fists struck home, armoured, blood-forged daedric gauntlets slamming into flesh as Kaius leapt upon him. Bones crunched, teeth were broken, but the vampire was relentless, and was drawing on the strength of other souls it had fed upon through its life. An arm was pulled from its socket, being tossed aside before Rieve’s roars of hatred and fear of defeat and subjugation were replaced with bloodied gurgles as the vampire ripped his jaw away as well. Death would not be temporary this time, as fangs sunk deep into the ruined hole that had once been Rieve’s jaw and throat, fastening tightly and drinking down the last portion of his soul that had been missed over a hundred and seventy years before…