Chapter Text
It started with a burst of energy—an explosion that rocked Ash Mountain. A robed Altmer stood before the cold, formless mass of necrotic energy that writhed over a ring of death. It was done; the Sisterhood of Cold Grief had succeeded in bringing Molag Bal's magnum opus to Tamriel. A storm of undeath would wash over the world, sweeping away the souls of all in its path and leaving their wretched corpses in the Corrupter's thrall. So he has said, and so it shall be done.
The shrieking winds whipped Voria's white hair around her face. She regarded the limp figures on the ground before her, those who fell to spark the storm. The five souls in rags and plainclothes were sacrificed in the name of Molag Bal, but the other seven were some of Voria's own. Sisters-in-arms, casualties to the storm's insatiable appetite. Though their untimely end pained her, she knew they would serve their lord faithfully in death.
Behind her, the muffled gasps of two robed figures rang out, their lungs releasing a final breath before their bodies slumped down to the stone floor. Incompetent fools. Voria turned from her charge, glaring down the stone stairs leading up to her altar. Below her stood three warriors: a soldier in leathers bearing an axe, a knight barded in gold and a mage in white, her staff tipped in a jeweled half-crescent.
The one in leathers raised his axe and charged forward rather brashly. With a simple gesture, the Altmer summoned a Daedroth and a pair of blue, horned Scamps to deal with his friends. Voria stepped down the stairs to meet the charger, her hand outstretched with a flick of her wrist. Static built in the air, and the other two warriors moved to engage the Daedra. Voria threw her arm out towards her bravest assailant, hot lightning manifesting as she made her gesture. She curled her fingers as if to beckon him forth, watching his confidence briefly waver as he was lifted off the ground by the white whip of energy. Voria hurled around and slammed her opponent into the ground, then pulled her arm up, elbow bent, dragging the axe-bearer to her.
Voria caught him in a telekinetic grip as the lightning dissipated. Her fingers curled in towards her palm as she squeezed his throat. She examined his face as he struggled. Breton, male, otherwise average build, eyes full of youth and determination. What sort of life did this man live when he wasn't interrupting Daedric rituals that were far larger than himself? Voria didn't bother contemplating his existence.
Voria raised her other hand, palm facing her captive. The cold, blue glow of necromantic energy danced around her figure as the willful Breton thrashed in the mer's grasp. The laments of the damned whispered in the air as the Breton's body tensed and convulsed, growing louder in volume until the hushed cries swelled into a chorus of regret. A mass of white energy gathered in Voria's raised palm, siphoned from her captive. Soon enough, his flame guttered and was snuffed, the light leaving his eyes as his body dropped to the floor. His stolen soul was swiftly drawn into the storm at the height of the ritual site; what once fueled the light of courage was sent screaming into the hungry jaws of unlife.
A valiant effort, though futile, she thought.
She felt the bonds of conjuration loosen as her Scamps were undone. She turned to face the remaining warriors, and found the knight somersaulting over the Daedroth's head as it bellowed a gout of hot fire. The mage was nowhere in sight. Heat gathered in Voria's hands as robust cold flames flickered into being in her palms. She strode towards her reptilian servant, eyeing its shining quarry.
The knight noticed the oncoming assault just as she raised her shield to deflect one of the Daedroth's thick claws mid-slash, its hand slapping off the reinforced metal worked over wood. She retaliated against the Daedric monstrosity, skewering its throat with her gleaming blade and throwing the beast onto its side with a twist of her sword-arm. The Daedroth gurgled as its form destabilized, then vanished just in time for Voria to hurl hefty balls of cold-fire at the knight in gold.
Hoisting her shield towards the oncoming barrage, the tip of the warrior's sword pointed at the ground in front of her as she knelt to brace for the attack. The knight pulled back when the first two bouts of fire hit, raising her sword over her shoulder. A spear of white-gold light accumulated near the blade, which she hurled towards Voria with a righteous thrust of her sword. The mer stepped swiftly away from the line of fire, then closed the distance between her and the knight. Summoning a short blade of her own, Voria locked steel with the knight.
"The Soulstorm will be unleashed upon Tamriel," Voria hissed. "You are too late to halt its course."
The knight parried Voria's next swing, countering the attack by pushing back with her shield and following up with a thrust, grazing the Altmer's hip. The edge of her blade returned with a thin line of blood coating the edge.
"So you think," the knight replied, an air of unwavering defiance in her voice. "By the sword of my father and the soul of Tu'whacca, your foul master will not have his way!"
Voria growled, retaliating with the butt of her bound dagger. The weapon jarred the front of the warrior's helm, causing her to stagger.
"The will of Molag Bal shall not be denied! Your life will fuel the Soulstorm!"
In that moment, the volcano shook, and the screams from the ritual on the altar peaked. Voria whipped around to see the mage, robes trimmed in gold, calling on golden light in a spell of her own... consecrating the ritual site and purging it of necromantic influence. Enraged, Voria rushed forward, screaming as she turned away from the knight to defend her charge. The mage's hands were upturned and outstretched, coaxing the warm, honeyed light to heed her call.
Voria felt a jolt of pain in her abdomen before she could make it up the stairs to reach the interloper. She looked down to see the knight's gleaming edge jutting out from her stomach, painted with her life's essence. The knight pulled back, and Voria dropped to her knees as the sword slid out. She looked back up just in time to see the mage summon a blade of pure light, piercing the Soulstorm and enveloping the area in a brilliant burst of white energy. Voria's devastated cry filled the air as the ruin was consumed by the volatile weapon's death-throes.