Into Oblivion

31

In due time, the assassins that Broga had control over had found a suitable gate that was ever so near to the Imperial City. The commander and his troop had approached the towering ebony gate with eyes that marveled at its very essence of beauty. Broga had tilted his head back allowing his eyes to glimpse upon the spiked peaks. Flames were spat from the very mouth of the archway causing a few Dremora to step back in fear of being burned. A coiled whip of flame came from the fiery spiral and struck Broga upon the shoulder. The commander stood motionless and merely glanced to his robes. Billowing smoke rolled into the thickened atmosphere and slowly the commander had lifted his hand and patted out the petite yet growing flare. His serene eyes had lifted and he gave his first order to the troop with a strident and daring tone, "... head off into the land and scout the area. Make certain that the path is clear." He lifted his fist and held it up near his face. With a swift movement he had pointed his middle and index finger forward and his assassins sprinted onward. They ran like streams of water around him. Their footsteps were silent and they were shadows upon the ground soon disappearing within the gate.

One of the lead mages had stepped forward and bowed to its leading commander. His hood drawn and all that was visible from his cowl were his fierce crystal eyes. He bared his jagged teeth and snarled, "... what of us, commander?"

Broga held his gaze upon the archway. His eyes were affectionate and the gaze he held upon such a gate was almost a lover's stare. He tilted his head to a side and told the mage. "You shall wait. When the assassins give their authorization then shall we proceed. We must move silently and surely. I won't allow a mistake in Dagon's final plans."

The Dremora had bowed to his superior and stepped back soon taking his position in the horde of mages. Their robes ran black together and their faces hidden from the daylight. Broga heaved a burdened sigh as he pondered silently to himself. Would he truthfully be able to kill Elizabeth?

He could see her unclothed and wriggling against the wall as he nearly choked upon Xilivicus' distinct stench. He remembered her blade nearly striking him down within Oblivion's great gate. He could still feel the twinge of pain as the poison coursed through his body. Surely he was too large and resolute to be killed by the weakened poison; nevertheless, the ache of glass shredding apart his brow and cheek could not be easily forgotten. Broga's blackened claw lifted to his left eye and he caressed his healed face. Sure enough he had been given a new body, but he had grown accustomed to stroking the scar upon his eye when burdened. His eye slowly opened when his hand withdrew and fell back down to his side.

A few minutes had passed and two assassins leapt through the hellish fire and appeared with an Imperial guard in their tightened grasps. Their lips were pursed and they spoke of naught. Together they had shoved the man forward to bow at their commander's feet. The elder guard had gasped and his gauntlets struck the harsh terrain rather swiftly before he had collided with the ground himself. His head jerked up and he looked at the commander; marveling at his immense structure. Broga's unimpressed eyes were cast down upon the man and he stooped down and seized the fabric to his tunic which was sticking out only barely from his worn and undermined steel armor. The commander used only a meager amount of strength when he had lifted himself and even the Imperial. The man had gasped and squirmed in his grasp soon snatching onto his thickened forearm. The guard tossed his eyes across the troop and finally to the black Dremora who spoke, "... you are a guard of the Imperial city, are you not?" His voice was harsh and demanding which made the man cringe.

The guard's brow furrowed sending wrinkles across his vaguely rose-tinted forehead. The man's misty brown eyes were set upon Broga an elder husky voice coming from the pits of the man's stomach, "What do you want with me?"

"You are of little importance to me, really. The only question that I have that you may be able to answer is how heavily guarded is the Imperial city?" Broga had questioned him with a curled arm. His bicep causing the dark fabric of the robes to pull tight across his skin.

"I shall tell you nothing, demon! Martin Septim will be crowned and Oblivion shall be closed. You cannot prevent the inevitable!" The man had spat into Broga's face.

The commander's emotions were not shown through his stern façade. His grip tightened upon the man's tunic and he sighed heavily. With an annoyed tone he had told the Imperial, "The inevitable can always be changed." He jerked the man upwards and let him go into the air. With swiftness, his hands had flown up and gripped his skull. His blackened hands nearly encased the plump man's entire head. With one formidable yank the guard's neck had been broken and as the Dremora let him go the unresponsive body toppled to the floor and lie limp. Broga's eyes lifted to the assassins and he snarled, "Is it safe to move onward?"

The assassins both bowed before him and that was their response. The commander nodded in acknowledgement and he turned to his mages and told them, "Come, it is time."

They were silent and moved like the breeze against the trees. Their claws upon the hilts of their weapons as they predicted an attack. They were unseen and approached a hillside soon waving on the second regiment of Broga's troop. When they all came to the peak of the hill they saw that directly southeast of them lay the Imperial City and all its glories. Broga's eyes narrowed and from where he stood he could easily see two entrances to the sewers. He had traveled those paths and knew that within they were a jumble of pipes and underground rivers whose aroma was more rank then that of the decaying bodies lying behind the dungeon's walls. The commander turned to his mages and pointed to the sewer system upon his left, "Travel through there, and stick together. Follow the pipes to the closest manhole you can find. Become shadows and slither through the streets." He pointed to the right and told his assassins, "You lot shall travel that way. All sewer systems run together, find a suitable position and escape. You shall stalk the rooftops. I'll walk upon the surface and keep a close eye upon the heir and his steadfast followers. When they all are compacted in a secluded place I shall walk into the heart of the city and draw my sword. The mages will immediately anchor the gates and the assassins shall tend to the nearby guards. Neither man nor Mer walks from the Imperial City without restraint. Kill the guards of the heir and even the Champion if you must, but leave the woman Altmer alone, she belongs to me."

The troop obeyed their commander and quickly separated. The assassins remained in the darkness of the trees as they traveled down to the shore of the luxurious river. The mages followed each other in a straightened line. They moved gracefully across the verdant earth knowing if they saw any Imperial witnesses or other such folk they would have to deal with them accordingly before the word had spread. Cagily, the assassins had slipped within the water's grasp. They disappeared completely and only resurfaced when they had come to the mouth of the sewers. One Dremora had slithered from the water and with a forceful kick he had broken the seal to the barred door and the assassins disappeared once and for all.

The mages had honed their skills and learned many spells from the scrolls and other such works that were found within Kvatch. With the help of Sigil stones they had enchanted their items in such a way that they were able to walk upon the surface of the water. They rose and fell with the tide and hurriedly they had scrambled across the surface allowing only the tips of their toes to kiss the smooth and composed stream. When they had approached the gate, two Dremora had stepped to either side of the door and together they placed their hands upon the door. A billowing golden mist came from above the door and rolled down the entire exterior. The gate had been unlocked and the mages vanished within the sewers as well. The only Dremora left was the commander and he lingered to make certain there were no mishaps. His eyes lifted to the Imperial City and his heart swelled with both grief and concern. Soon he would be walking down the paved streets as a human and perhaps he would be graced to pass Elizabeth. She would not recognize him; nevertheless, it made his withered black heart flutter with a sudden delight. Soon after that... he would murder her.

The weight of Oblivion yet again was set upon his shoulders. He did not wish to fail his Prince for the price of such tragedy would be unimaginable, and yet, he didn't want to betray his own heart. Never in his everlasting lifetime had he felt this way about another person. He had been absorbed within himself and now he seemed to possess the need to satisfy another being besides his Lord Dagon. The feeling brewing within his very heart... what was it? He had not thought of the name for it and quickly he discarded the thought. Broga leisurely made his way down the path knowing it would take his brigade more then a few minutes to escape to the surface. He had time to spare for the moment. His eyes closed and he inhaled a deep and crisp breath of the fresh air that swirled around him. It filled his lungs and spiked his energy causing him to feel all the more alive. The darkness was rolling in and night soon fell upon the entire city. Torches were lit and their luminance could hardly be seen over the walls. The little children of the city fell deep within the clutches of sleep and mothers and fathers sat wide awake praising the Nine for such a marvelous night to a marvelous day.

Oh, and what a night it would be.

The time of twenty minutes had passed by like birds soaring overhead. Broga had found a suitable bridge to cross the river and he made his way up the steep incline to the entryway to the Imperial City. His blackened claws dug within the rock and earth and his muscles contracted and he pulled himself up. A single bead of sweat rolled down his temple and cheek and soon he arrived to the climax of the mound. He heard the soft ring of metal against metal and Broga quickly leapt forward and hid behind a jutting wall of the Imperial fortress. He silenced his breathing and closed his eyes attempting to calm his nerves. When the commander had turned and looked he saw a single guard passing from the bridge to the Imperial bastion to the city. From his memories Broga had pulled out a single event that had dealings with the bastion. Yes, he remembered now. Xilivicus was imprisoned. He could remember working his assassins into the bastion's fortress which wasn't the easiest of tasks. The guards had certain rounds and they all seemed to flow together. It was nearly impossible for Broga to walk in unnoticed, thankfully one of the assassins knew of a spell to conceal them completely. It had indeed come in handy.

When the Imperial guard slipped through the gapping door, Broga had stepped from his place of hiding. The man breathed slowly trying to calm himself. He wasn't certain how long Xarovica's potion would last or even if it was effective. There was the chance of death as well. But the commander was certain that with his body frame and physical strength that the worst the potion would do was make him ill. One of Broga's hands slowly lifted to the pouch and he dug his hand inside. He kept his eyes upon the paved bridge knowing if he saw another guard he would have to disappear yet again. His heart pulsed in his jagged ears and soon he felt the gentle caress of the glass upon his fingertips. His eyes gradually fell and when he pulled out the potion vial he saw the sinister gleam of the onyx vial. Will this mere potion make an authentic masquerade or will it also bring forth the desires and emotions I have been muffling all this time? He hadn't the time to beckon forth an answer from within. He had wasted enough time as it was and he needed to breach the walls and make certain his brethren were safe. The fate of all Oblivion now lay in his hands. Bile swirled in the deepest pits of his stomach and for a moment he did feel ill. But he wouldn't have any of that. His fingertips gripped the dome cap of the vial and he quickly pulled it off and discarded it. A rising fume came from the bottle and Broga began to worry all the more.

But he hadn't time for that.

He hadn't time for anything.

It was now or never. Yes, it was now or never.

With a swift movement he lifted the bottle to his lips and quickly dumped the contents within his mouth. The poison stung his tongue and he had only nearly stomached the taste. His tongue rolled forcing the vile liquid down his throat. It soon constricted and he felt as if he were to vomit. His once sturdy posture now became hunched. The vial dropped and shattered against a rock. The noise echoed out to him and sounded as if the vial was shattered against his head. Broga's hands lifted and covered his mouth as he choked the wretched drink down. Immediately, he felt his bones begin to twist and distort. He muffled an agonizing scream with his hands as pain shot through his arms and legs. His body fell backwards against the wall and this was the only thing propping him up. The Dremora's muscles convulsed and he finally let his hands grip at the stone beside him. His fingernails were shredding themselves apart as he clawed desperately at the limestone. The once long and curved horns that came from the man's temples now retreated ever so slowly and excruciatingly back inside his head. It tore his skin apart and caused blood to rush down the side of his face. The poison became a purifying peroxide that had burned away the blackness of the monster's skin. His flesh became spotted and gradually the poison that ran through his veins had reached every part of him now. He leaned his glistening sweaty brow against the wall as the ache finally began to subside. He breathed heavily and allowed a moment for his skin to restore itself. His sleeve was hoisted up and with it he had wiped away the sweat and blood that had become of his face.

I... I think it is finished. He had whispered to himself as he weakly pushed himself from the wall. His hands lifted to his hood and he drew it back soon exposing his mask to the world. The sweet breeze of the night blew over his face and he basked within the delight of such a refreshing wind. His heart pulsed madly beneath his chest. He couldn't tell what he looked like; however, he was certain to find out sooner of later. Broga's hands lifted to his hood and he pulled it back up and just as he was to lower his hands he glimpsed upon his skin. His eyes blinked hurriedly and he was almost frightened at it. He had very pale skin, or at least it was much paler then he had been used to. His right hand had forced back the long bagged sleeve of his left and he glimpsed down upon his arm. His eyes scanned the smooth surface of his sallow skin. He flipped his arm over and looked upon the delicate skin of his underarm. Yes, he was positive that the poison had worked effectively. Broga lowered his sleeve and moved out into the moonlight. His head tilted back and he gazed upon the bright silver moon. Its rays fell upon him and nearly blinded his new eyes. He lifted an arm and covered his face as he adjusted to the rays. His arm lowered and his dark blue eyes finally focused.

Yes, what a night this would be.

Broga turned to the doors and he hoisted them open soon walking in as any other man would. He disappeared within the darkness and at last he was within the walls of the Imperial City. Dagon's plan was succeeding efficiently.

The doors to the Talos plaza district were pulled back by two guards who held their heads high as both the Champion of Kvatch and the heir to the Septim throne walked in upon the Imperial City's paved ground. Soon the heir would light the Dragonfires and this everlasting war would soon be over. A few people had collected upon the streets to marvel at the people who have served Cyrodiil by closing Oblivion gates, fighting upon the battlefield at Bruma, and even putting their lives upon the line while protecting the only heir to the Septim throne.

"... It feels so good to be off those horses," Elizabeth had whispered to the Hero who was close by her side.

He grinned down at her and nudged her playfully, "Try riding all across Tamriel, you wouldn't be complaining so much about one horse ride from Bruma to here."

Jerald glanced across the buildings and streets of the plaza soon taking the wizard's staff from his back and holding it tightly within his grasp. He walked forward with the flat wooden end pressed upon the ground, using the staff itself as almost a support for him. "The sooner we get Martin to the Temple of the One, the better."

"For the most part, Martin must go to see Chancellor Ocato prior to heading to the Temple," Jaufree had informed the Altmer wizard while tossing him a glance. "I'm certain that Ocato would be rather worried of us and his anxiety won't cease unless we see him. That and he would be honored to be there as Martin lights the Dragonfires."

Martin chuckled lightly and ran a hand through his light brunette tresses. His worn crystal eyes closed for a mere moment as he had said delicately, "I don't know if I'll ever get used to all this Emperor business, I still can't believe that this is happening to me."

The Hero stepped forward and placed a gauntlet upon Martin's fine royal purple robes. A grin pulled to his lips and he told him, "You'll get used to it, eventually, sire."

Martin laughed and let his shoulders slump as a weak smile played across his face, "Yes, well, hopefully."

As Jerald, Jaufree, and Martin moved forward down the street, Daelon had shifted his way through the crowd and soon wrapped an arm around his sister. Elizabeth's brow rose curiously and right as she turned to her elder brother he had embraced her lovingly. His arms held her tightly and he placed his head against her own with a wide grin. "Can you believe that we are a part of this all? I never thought... all this could happen to the Asquerana family. Mother would love to be here."

When Daelon withdrew, Elizabeth smiled and walked with him down the street. Her younger brother to her right while her older was to her left. It had been a while since she had saw Orrick. When she turned to look at him she felt so much pity and sorrow become of her. His once fine hair now a mess upon his head. Below his eyes were darkened circles and he hardly looked like he had the strength to make this long and trifling journey. Elizabeth had nudged Orrick and when she had caught his attention she asked him, "...how are you holding up, my dear brother?"

Orrick smiled weakly and nodded as he replied, "It is hard traveling without Caldwyn by my side. It is very uncanny that... that I'm alone this often now. But I am certain that wherever he is that he's looking down over us and is so proud."

The Altmer maiden grinned and placed a comforting hand upon her brother's back, "I bet out of all of us, Caldwyn is most proud of you."

Orrick laughed weakly and shook his head, "No, I doubt that." When his eyes lifted he looked to his sister and told her, "He was always amazed at how you went into the Oblivion gates. He found it even more marvelous that... that you fell in love with a Daedra. You were possibly the best sibling he could ever ask for. You've brought honor to our entire family, Elizabeth. I'm so glad that you're here with us this time."

"Yes, I'm glad, too." She had told him.

Daelon and Orrick had moved ahead when the Hero had fallen back in the group. Elizabeth grinned brightly up at the man and with a heaved breath she said, "You've become the talk of all Cyrodiil, my dear friend. You've closed Oblivion gates, you've saved Kvatch and Bruma, and now you walk side by side with the heir to the throne and he declares that he is forever within your debt. After all this, what do you plan to do?"

The Hero had chuckled at her words and one of his arms had lifted and wrapped around her shoulder soon pulling her closer. A few people within the streets that had been watching began to whisper to one another at sight of this. The Imperial man had pursed his lips and for a moment he thought and when the answer had come to him he turned to Elizabeth and grinned, "I plan on recommending you as the new Countess of Kvatch. I'm sure that shall clear up the debt that Martin owes me."

"Oh," Elizabeth gasped while looking up at him, her eyes wide with excitement, "Oh, you shouldn't! I... I wouldn't make a good countess."

"Yes you will," he argued while placing a good-humored glare upon his face. His eyes tossed forward and then he said, "After that... I believe Kvatch will be in need of a head of guard who will be able to care for them appropriately. I nominate myself for that position or possibly," he gave her a side glance as he proposed his next idea, "... a Count... to be by the Countess's side."

The Altmer's lips slowly coiled up in a broadening smile as he had said this. She couldn't exactly help herself even if she had tried. A vague blush came to her cheeks and she teasingly said, "Yes, well I'm certain that you would make a lovely Count, but a Count needs to be well-behaved and intelligent. I don't believe you are either, really."

He laughed and bowed his head, "I didn't know you could be so hurtful, Elizabeth."

The two laughed together and continued walking down the path, side by side. Far before them were the leaders of the group. Jerald had tossed his eyes back and to his daughter. From in front of him he heard Jaufree coo, "... I believe I hear wedding bells in the distant future."

Jerald came to attention and whirled his head around. His thick eyebrows fell over his eyes as he had questioned the Master Blade, "Elizabeth and our young Hero?"

Martin nodded and with Jaufree he had agreed, "It looks like your daughter will be taking one of my best guards away from me, Lord Asquerana," Martin quickly glanced to his side and told Baurus, "besides you of course, my dear friend."

Baurus grinned brightly and laughed, "Thank you, sire."

Martin looked back again to see the Hero and Elizabeth smiling. He then tossed his eyes to Jerald and inquired, "You are the last remaining wealthy family of Kvatch, Jerald. Have you given it any thought that you and your wife would be the next in line for Count and Countess of Kvatch?"

"We've thought over it, but we're getting rather old as it is. Kvatch needs fresh youthful leaders to guide her into glory. Someone like..."

"Like, Elizabeth and our Hero?" Martin had asked with a blissful smile. "We can't truly avoid the plan of the gods, Jerald. From what I've been observing over the last few days is a very strong bond forming between your daughter and the Grand Hero of Kvatch."

"He would make a perfect addition to your family," inputted Jaufree. "I've watched him mature and grow throughout this entire journey, my friend. He has the heart of a true Hero and he is very loyal to the thing he loves the most."

Baurus laughed and glanced back to the Altmer wizard while telling him, "Sure, he was imprisoned before he joined together with the Emperor, but we've all done things we're not proud of."

Jerald lowered his head and with a gentle voice he agreed, "Yes, we have."

"Have they entered the city?"

The mage bowed to his officer and told Broga softly, "They entered through the western side, sir. The assassins have stationed themselves perfectly on the rooftops. The moon is becoming clouded and for that reason the assassins are hardly noticeable."

"Good then," Broga had said as he glanced around the corner. He stood within a petite garden where the mages had surfaced from the sewers. The coast was clear, but he knew not for how long.

The head mage narrowed his eyes and said, "Sir, in which division of the city shall we anchor the gates?" His voice a mere whisper now in the shades.

Broga turned and looked at the mage and told him, "The heir travels to the place known as 'The Temple of the One'; in this district you will station your gates in every street. When I give the signal, you will secure the gates and Lord Dagon shall exude his whole wrath upon this piteous metropolis."

The mage bowed and quickly beckoned forth the rest of his regiment that lay beneath the city. Broga turned and gave a glimpse either way down the narrow corridors. He still saw no guard. By the second he began to wonder how this city still stood. The guard seemed mindless and insignificant. When the mages were all surfaced, Broga turned back to them and told them. You shall use your magicka and make certain that no one sees you. Find the district. Anchor the gates. That is your objective."

The mages bowed respectfully and within a gust of green they all vanished into nothingness. Broga narrowed his eyes and quickly escaped onto the streets of the Market District. The fastest was to get to this 'temple' would be through the center of the city. His head pivoted from left to right and finally he had made his way to the southern door. This would take him to Green Emperor Way.

From the Talos Plaza district, the doors to Green Emperor Way had opened. Baurus and Jaufree had walked in first with Jerald, his sons, and Martin soon following. The last to come were Elizabeth and the Hero. As they walked past the many graves before the Council Chambers, Elizabeth had looked upon most of them and wondered to herself; how many of you lost your lives protecting Cyrodiil? Her hands were folded before her and she stood with elegance and a proper stance. A hand had lifted to her neck and her fingertips meant to stroke the soft glistening golden necklace she used to wear, but, alas, it was not there. Her brow furrowed and she remembered that the necklace was tossed within the magma of Oblivion to rest by her lost lover. Xilivicus... she whispered, how I miss you so.

Her somber eyes were cast forward and Martin ascended the stairs with Jaufree. Pacing before the entrance to the Elder Council chambers was Captain Steffan. His eyes had shifted to a side and he saw Martin and Jaufree approaching. Immediately, he made his way to them and bowed reverently. "Chancellor Ocato is waiting for you inside, sire."

"Thank you," Martin had bid him with a smile.

As Elizabeth and the Hero ascended the stairs, the maiden had closed her eyes for a mere moment. It had been a tiresome journey and she was glad that it was almost at its end. She couldn't wait to embrace sleep in a luxurious and comfortable bed within one of the taverns. Suddenly, when the thought came to her mind she could see a more or less nude Hero lying with her. Her head resting upon one of his arms while the other draped across her stomach.

"Pardon me."

Without delay, the peaceful vision of the Hero and herself had dissipated and she saw those two crimson eyes that scorched her very soul. She leapt in surprise and quickly opened her eyes to see a Nordic man attempting to make his way through. A smile had graced her lips and she laughed quickly feeling a little embarrassed, "I'm sorry."

Broga could hardly stand here this close to her without feeling the need to harm her in some way. He could feel his hand lingered over the hilt of his Dremora longsword which was fastened onto his hip beneath his robes. No, he would have to wait. Killing her here would only result in his own death. He smiled as well and watched as the maiden stepped back to let him through. "Thank you, miss."

Just as he was to pass, Elizabeth frowned and asked him, "Excuse me, sir," the Nord stopped and looked back at her, "have we met before?" She examined his fairly familiar façade with curious eyes. He had a strong chin and a straight hooked nose as well as thick black eyebrows that fell over dark sapphire diamond shaped eyes. From beneath his hood she could see a coiling raven strand of hair; however, it was somewhat difficult to see the precise details of his face.

The Hero cast his eyes this way to see the Nord man for himself. The man had looked like any other Nord passing through the city to get home to his lovely wife. He couldn't really see any familiarity in his face. Broga had chuckled while forcing a charming smile to his lips. He shook his head and told Elizabeth easily, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, miss."

"Oh," Elizabeth sighed while smiling weakly, "Have a safe night then, sir."

Broga waved to her and turned his back with a smirk pulling across his face. Even from the darkness of his hood there seemed to be a crimson gleam in his eyes. A gleam for the massacre and downfall of Cyrodiil that was soon to come. Elizabeth, my dear, may I ask... could you smell my sweat upon you even after the dream? He rounded the corner with a dark chuckle erupting from his coiled lips as he made his way to the Temple District.

The doors to the Elder Council Chambers were hoisted open by two Imperial Palace guards. They both bowed before the heir and watched in amazement as he traveled into the round room where the Chancellor was waiting. The Hero of Kvatch by his right and to his left was Jaufree and Baurus. The Asquerana family had shifted themselves to a side as they watched the events roll out. The Chancellor was an elder Altmer man, just like Jerald, who stood tall and proud of himself as every other High Elf usually did. A grin pulled across his face and he kneeled down before the heir as he approached them, "Martin Septim, by the power of the Council I claim you—"

Elizabeth heard a faint cry from outside the council chambers and she quickly turned to the door with narrowed eyes. What could that possibly...

"Chancellor Ocato! Chancellor Ocato!" A guard had rushed into the chambers nearly slipping upon the marble floor. His face was a pasty white hidden behind a helmet. He saw Martin Septim and nearly had the urge to fall before him and beg pardon for his interruption; however, this was a grave message.

The Chancellor stepped forward and told the man to calm down and take a breath. The Guard had done so and when he had compiled himself he told the entire group hastily, "Oblivion Gates have opened inside of the city, Chancellor Ocato. Daedra are running the streets! The guard is overwhelmed."

"Be still, soldier," Ocato had said very serenely. He folded his arms and told the guard, "The emperor stands before you," The Altmer turned to Martin and asked him, "What are your plans, sire?"

"I am not emperor just yet," Martin had corrected with a furrowed brow. "The only hope we have is getting to the Temple of the One..."

"It must be done fast, milord," the guard had wheezed with a solemn face, "for I do not think the guard can hold them much longer."

"Madman!" the fallen guard snarled, "H-how... can you betray Cyrodiil like this?!"

Broga grinned ever so vibrantly while taking his stretched sleeve and wiping his sword free of blood. The sinister spikes of the longsword caught hold of the dark toffee fabric and tore it. This hadn't bothered the commander much, "Dear man," Broga had said in a singsong way, "who ever said I was with Cyrodiil in the first place?"

The fallen guard had struggled to reach his weapon, but Broga hadn't given him much time to do so. The heavy boot of the Nord lifted and fell upon the man's chest soon pinning him to the ground. Broga lifted his sword and with a great thrust he sent his sinister fang through the steel of the guard's helmet and the sturdy frame of his bone. Blood erupted from the guard's head and he lie limp. This bittersweet liquid collected in a pool around his body ever so quickly. Broga forced his foot down upon the man's head and jerked his sword which was wedged between brain and splintered bone. A splatter of blood had struck his face and the man only grinned more vividly. His human heart raced beneath his chest and he never felt more alive then now.

His assassins had leapt from the buildings and picked the guards off rather simply. Severed heads and limbs lie in the streets as the mages anchored the gates. The paved streets quaked and twin spines erupted from the earth soon forming an archway. Hellfire swirled within and before the guard could do much of anything the Daedra had poured out upon the streets. A few men ran in fear of the towering onyx bodies of the Spider-Daedra who leapt upon their prey and with their long dark claws shredding their armor as well as their skin. The Daedroth feasted like kings upon the straggling plump Imperial men who could not make it to home. Broga watched the carnage unfold and he felt ever so pleased to be the one to deliver the first strike. Cyrodiil would fall before his feet this day, and soon the new kingdom for Mehrunes Dagon would arise from its ruins.

Just as the Elder Council chamber's doors were opened, the Hero and Martin were greeted with a bombardment of Daedra. The dark warriors had attacked the Imperial Palace guards who could hardly hold their own against such brute force. The strength and stance of the guards slowly crumbled into nothing. Their armor was penetrated by the wicked blades of the Daedra and soon the guards began to fall. Everyone fastened their eyes upon such a mortifying event. The Hero had glimpsed up and immediately saw a Spider-Daedra. He ripped his sword from its sheath and just as the wicked arachnid had leapt over the combating Daedra and guards; he had stepped forward and swung his sword before her soon slicing through her neck. Muscles and ligaments were torn and bones were shattered within her neck. Blood had erupted from the open gash and fell down upon the Hero like crimson rain. He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he ripped the sword from her and allowed her bleeding carcass to fall lifelessly to the soiled pavement.

"How are we going to get to the Temple of the One? These Daedra seem to be everywhere!" snarled Chancellor Ocato who had torn his enchanted staff from his back.

Elizabeth tore the katana from its sheath and rushed forward soon embracing a fight with a Kynreeve. The Dremora was taken by surprise when the Altmer had shoulder blasted him down the granite steps. He toppled down easily having the weight of his armor to toss him off balance. When he had risen he had thrusted his sword hastily into the air for the maiden gave him no time to resituate himself. The Akaviri and Dremora swords clashed together sending a chime ringing throughout the air. The arms of the Altmer and even the Daedra shook as they could hardly hold off one another. Suddenly, Elizabeth had lifted a foot and kicked the Daedra harshly upon the chest. He fell over yet again and this time Elizabeth did not let him move an inch. She leapt forward and buried the tip of her sword in his armor. With all her strength applied it had pierced the strange metal and soon pierced his heart. The Dremora lie in defeat.

Daelon gasped and sprinted forward soon ripping out his own sword. He called out his sister's name and just as she turned around she could see a great bulk overwhelm her. Her eyes widened and she stumbled back soon seeing a great battleaxe heave through the air ready to split her skull in half. Just as the axe came down, Daelon had leapt between his sister and the Daedra and he held his blade up and struggled to block. The impact of the axe had sent a ring through his arms nearly making him let go of the sword. However, before this tingling sensation had overpowered the Altmer, Elizabeth had ducked below her brother's raised arms and thrusted the sword upward; just between the small gap of the helmet and armor. A sickening slice had sounded off and blood rolled from the gap of the helmet and down the sword. Daelon withdrew his arms and stood back soon watching the Dremora fall.

The Hero, Jaufree, and Baurus had submitted themselves to combat as well. They stood as a barrier protecting Martin. Orrick had pulled back the string of his bow and shot an advancing Clannfear straight in the head. He grinned and soon was attacked from behind. The Altmer fell to the ground with a grunt finding that a second Clannfear was upon his back. The monster lifted its claws to tear within the man, but soon a brightened blue shock of lightning erupted through the air and struck the Clannfear. The mere power of the magicka had forced the Clannfear forward. It was a critical hit.

Orrick whipped his head around and smiled soon seeing his father with the magic staff pointed his way. His eyes were livid now with the sense of war. He had been within war long ago and for so long he hadn't even picked up a weapon. Its power seeped into his skin and coursed through his veins. He smirked and whipped around soon knocking the bulbous part of the staff against a Daedric mage's head.

Daelon and Elizabeth stood side by side in battle. One protected and the other one had attacked. They moved systematically and were precise with their swords. Soon, the area of Green Emperor way had been cleared. But for how long, they did not know. Everyone had joined back together and they made a formation soon leading Martin to the Temple district where the Temple of the One awaited them, as well as Broga and his troops.

Broga wrapped a hand around a guard's mouth and forcefully he had jerked his head back and plunged his sword through the man whose back had faced him. An entanglement of organs and skin dangled upon the sword soon falling off to the ground. Certainly this would be a feast for another Clannfear. The crazed Nord dropped the body and let the sword fall to his side. The man's hood had fallen now and his long waved raven locks fell around his face. Most of them were drenched with another's blood or even his own sweat. His face glistened in the fire that had consumed most of the buildings surrounding this spiritual sanctum that the heir would attempt to hide within. Dagon soon would walk upon Cyrodiil's earth. Lighting the Dragonfires would soon become useless.

Two doors were nearly burst from their hinges and Broga gradually shifted his eyes over to see just who he was waiting for. From the darkness of Green Emperor Way came the heir and his loyal zealots. A smirk coiled over his lips and a plan had unfolded ever so sweetly within his mind. It poisoned his thoughts and for a moment it was all that he could think about. His narrowed crystallized eyes fell to the stained tip of his sword and swiftly he lifted it to his unoccupied hand. With one gentle caress he took much of the blood off the sword and put it upon his fingertips. He rubbed this bittersweet crimson liquid over his face causing him to look dirtied, startled, and even to go as far as injured. With his mighty hands he tore apart the fabric of his robes. The shredded fabric screamed out into the air. His eyes fastened upon Elizabeth who stumbled onto the broken pavement of the street. Her eyes were wide with sorrow and defeat as she saw the great and beautiful Imperial City fall before Dagon's feet bloodied and broken. Her shoulders had fallen and her lips parted as she could only muster an inquiry to the gods. Broga was certain that she asked them; why did you betray us?

The once-Dremora chuckled as he slipped away down the street unharmed by Daedra and human alike. For the humans were ignorant enough to think he was a Nord. Luckily, the Daedra had known of his plan and could easily distinguish him from this human lot of waste. Broga slipped down a side passage and hurriedly rounded the corner seeing Septim's troupe standing befuddled and astonished that the great walls of the Imperial City could not keep the Daedra out. Upon his way, Broga had consumed the mere essence of a mortal. His eyes were large with unanswered questions, his teeth were gritted and he even went as far as to make himself look like a gimp. He stumbled with every step. His breathing rash. His eyes shifting. And his façade terrified. One of the troupe members had given a glance down the corridor and quickly advanced into a fighting stance. As the commander had drawn nearer he had wondered to himself if he had been figured out. Could they have seen past this sheep's skin? Could they see the wolf that lie beneath all these lies?

"Look there, it's no enemy to us," Jerald had scolded his youngest son, "Lower your weapon."

Orrick narrowed his eyes and done as his father had commanded. The Hero and Elizabeth had both tossed their eyes over to see the Nord. Elizabeth had shifted herself through the crowd and quickly made her way over to him. As Broga had tossed his eyes down her body he had seen the blood of his brothers stain her clothing. The aroma of death lingered within the fragrance of her silver tresses. True that the commander was slightly unnerved at this; however, he kept true to his appearance. He held the mask tightly to his face forcing all to believe he was what he had pretended to be. Elizabeth had held securely upon the hilt of her blade as she tossed her eyes up to Broga. They searched his own and he could see the horror and terror that was hindered within those sapphire pools. "Are you alright?" She had asked him desperately as if his matter of health was actually important.

Pace yourself, Broga had whispered within his own ear with a snarl, pace your words. Keep true to your image. Don't lower the veil. He tossed his eyes across the group then back to Elizabeth soon nodding frantically. He masked his voice with grief and strife, "... I... I'm fine. What of you?"

The maiden nodded and glanced back to her family and friends, "We're all accounted for." She had said elusively.

Not for long, my little whore. He snarled. He felt the hand on his sword begin to quake and he quickly suppressed the urge. Oh, how he longed to finish this. With her death he had hoped all these wretched feelings for her would cease. Elizabeth had turned her back to Broga and the commander and this urge was aroused all the more. The faded wildflower aroma of her locks had fluttered through the air and struck him callously in the face. He succumbed for a moment and closed his eyes soon inhaling slowly. When he had opened his eyes he had watched Elizabeth cautiously even though the Hero spoke.

"There is no way we can get to the Temple of the One without risking someone's life. We must clear out the streets as much as we can before we proceed." The Hero had told Martin stridently soon turning to face the Temple whose walls were mercifully still in tact.

"Our friend is right," Martin had wheezed while glancing to Jaufree. Sweat dampened his brow as he told the Grandmaster Blade, "A reckless move to plunge ourselves through these streets will leave to a very unfortunate ending for us all. We must make haste, but step with caution."

"Yes, sire," Jaufree had bowed discretely and turned to everyone else, "Daelon and Orrick, you two shall stick together. Wonder the western end of the backstreets. May your blade strike true."

The Asquerana sons were quick to obey and hurriedly they had made their way to the western street where Broga had arrived from. They rushed past him without a glance. Their weapons clutched tightly in their hands and their feet trudging across the ground very lightly. The commander watched them and bid them a sweet farewell as he knew that his assassins would make short work of them.

"Jerald and Baurus, I am certain you both have had your dealings with war and do not want to submit yourselves again into its horrifying events; however, I shall need you two as well as the Hero of Kvatch to travel forward in the main streets. Station yourselves accordingly and hold back the hordes as much as you can. If needed I shall join you."

"What of me, Jaufree?" Martin had purred with desperate eyes. "I cannot just stand here and watch as you all throw yourselves into death's hands!"

"We've gotten this far with you, Martin; I won't allow them to kill you now. If you fall then all of Tamriel falls with you. You're too important, I'm sorry, but you must hide for now."

Martin was reluctant; nevertheless, there was not much he could do. Jaufree's plans had never gone astray in the past and the heir to the throne was smart to stick to them. With a bowed head Martin had agreed.

Jaufree had turned to Broga and told him, "You are lucky to have escaped death, my friend. I know it is not of my place to ask you; nevertheless, I believe your assistance might aid us. Travel forth with Elizabeth down the eastern backstreets. If all is well will you help defend the main streets?"

Broga's heart was racing beneath his chest as he had heard this. A maniacal laughter had burst out within him as Jaufree had spoke. He could hardly stifle a broadening grin upon his pale lips. He bowed humbly and told Jaufree with a tone coated with lies, "I would be honored to serve at the command of the heir to the throne."

Martin weakly smiled and said, "Thank you for your troubles—I know it is much to ask you to fight but..."

"It is no trouble, sire," Broga had said respectfully. He could hardly believe how incompetent and naïve they all were. Mere specks of wastes walking before him. He knew of their ending. He knew that it would not be long until they all fell down before Dagon's feet. Oblivion would rise from the bloodied ashes of old-Tamriel. Make no mistake of that, Broga chuckled.

The Hero felt envious of this strange Nord for he had wished to walk and even fight beside Elizabeth. He had only savored the astounding swordsman skills of the Altmer for a mere moment. He wished to observe her combat ability even more. Jerald and Baurus beckoned the Hero and he swiftly made his way into the main street knowing the risk was far greater then he had ever encountered. Jaufree had bid luck to the Altmer maiden and quickly he had left with Martin to find him a place to disappear until it was time for him to make his way to the Temple of the One.

Elizabeth turned to the Nord and heaved a burdened sigh soon asking him with a meek smile, "May I inquire your name before we head off?"

Dammit! He cursed while looking upon her with the same painted smile. All this time and I hadn't fashioned myself a name. I know naught of any human names. Think swiftly. Think. Damn you, wench... He cursed her name many a time over wondering if he should simply kill her now. A single bead of sweat rolled down his temple and from the depths of his mind he could hear an Imperial woman call out for her husband. Yes, they were in Kvatch. He had attacked the man and heard his wife pleading his name. What was it then? What was... "Gaston..." he had answered her after a moment of silence.

Elizabeth grinned and quickly walked to the eastern street soon telling him her own name, "Elizabeth—I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances..." her eyes fell to his side and she questioned, "Do you have a weapon?"

Broga nodded and replied while gripping onto the hilt of his sword, "Yes."

"Good," Elizabeth and the commander disappeared in the darkness.

The eastern streets were unoccupied by either guard or Daedra, the buildings that stood and overwhelmed the Nord and Altmer had taken most of the noise from the main streets. All that was heard now was the distant crackling of a fire and the devastated cries of human and Mer. Broga followed silently behind Elizabeth, his eyes fastened upon her sweat drenched hair. For every step he took she only needed two instead of three. Broga narrowed his eyes and slowly the memory of her dream had flooded his vision. He saw her beautiful elegant figure glide down the castle bridge and from her shadow he rose like a phoenix from its ashes. The only question upon his mind now was this;

When do I kill her?

Elizabeth's eyes shifted in front of her as she waited for an invisible force to strike. As they walked onward the crackling of fire became much more thunderous. A roar of thunder sounded off above them and a blazing buildings side finally gave in to death. The limestone and wood crumbled into nothing soon plummeting through the air. Sparks flew into the atmosphere nearly blinding the night as the remnants plunged down overhead. Broga was aware of this and his eyes leapt up. The shine of fire glistened in his eye's reflection soon alighting his soul. "Look out!" he snarled while wrapping his arms around Elizabeth and jerking her backwards. He turned her to a side and closed his eyes as the wood and rubble tumbled down. A vociferous bellow of breaking limestone sounded off as well as billows of ash and fluttering embers rolling away from the scene.

Broga held the maiden tightly to him. He felt her back heave against his chest and for a moment the Imperial City had melted away and he was in the Watch Keep with her. The night had lingered and watched as the maiden fell asleep upon the Dremora's chest. Broga could feel his lips kiss hers when he had laid her to rest upon that sleeping slab. His heart began to race in his chest as his movement was hindered by these thoughts. His mouth was slightly agape as he breathed watching Elizabeth intently. His feeling to murder her didn't seem all excessively potent at this precise moment. The Altmer turned in his arms and looked at the massive collision of fire and earth. Her eyes widened and she looked up to Broga and smiled, "You saved my life!"

Gaston saved your life. The Dremora had snarled to himself. He felt guilt and dishonor pull at his heartstrings making him become weak. He lied to himself many a time until he had forgotten about the incident. But Broga... will end it. The man frowned and told her solemnly, "... I... I presume I did."

Elizabeth slipped from his grasp and frowned soon seeing that the way was blocked. Her shoulders slumped and she said, "Neither human nor Daedra would travel back here now. I suppose the eastern streets have been purified."

"Shall we now regroup now?" Broga questioned.

"We must," said she, "I'm certain that my family and the Hero would need extra help. Let us hope that Dagon does not have more in store for us."

Oh, if you only knew. Broga hissed as he once again followed Elizabeth.

The Hero snarled and jerked his head away as the Daedroth upon him attempted to bite off his head. Its ghastly mouth hoisted open and an aroma emitted from its jaws nearly causing the Imperial to gag. His eyes clenched and he pushed even harder upon his sword which was the only thing holding back this monster. After a moment or two, Orrick had run up. He swung the bow onto his back and removed two identical Elven daggers from his belt. These daggers had formerly belonged to his fallen brother.

The Altmer leapt up and slammed down the daggers into the monster's shoulders. The Daedroth had bellowed in agony as Orrick had took his feet off the ground and allowed his weight to force the daggers to rip through the thick hide of the monster. Blood oozed from the freshly torn scales. The Monster stumbled backwards which in turn had given the Hero time to leap to his feet. With one mighty thrust the Hero had sent the wicked tip of his blade through the monster's agape and gruesome jaws. The sturdy tip had slipped between the roof of the Daedroth's mouth and into the brain of the beast.

Orrick had lifted his feet and placed them upon the beast's back. With a great kick the Daedroth fell forward and the daggers were no longer wedged in its back. Orrick fell to the ground with a strident thump. The Hero sheathed his sword and offered his hand to the young Altmer with a grin, "Thank you."

Orrick weakly smiled and took his hand soon standing. He brushed himself off and welcomed the knight. From afar he had heard the hoarse voice of his father, "If you don't mind... we would like some help over here!" bellowed Jerald whose staff had nearly been shattered from a Dremora blade.

The Altmer and Imperial charged over hurriedly helping the wizard. Baurus had laughed triumphantly as he had spun around soon slicing a thin line in a mage's neck. He grinned and sighed, "There's nothing like the sound of gasping enemies falling in defeat!"

"Yes, well, don't allow arrogance to encase you," Jerald had hissed while swinging his staff around to knock a pursuing Clannfear off its feet. The Blade and wizard became back to back as they fought off more then just one horde of Daedra.

"Duck," Baurus had demanded.

Jerald hurriedly hunched over in time for Baurus to whip his arm around slicing a Clannfear within the eyes; blinding it. Jerald had raised and with a great surge of magicka he had blasted the Clannfear backwards. The elder Altmer smirked and glanced over his shoulder with a furrowed brow a single silver strand of his hair falling before his face, "... Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Baurus had managed to say before a Spider-Daedra had leapt at him.

All of a sudden, a great tremor had run through the pavement of the Temple district. Many Daedra and human had nearly fallen from such a great quake. The paved streets were rippled and the limestone shattered easily. The once midnight blue sky had turned a sinister maroon lined with bloodied streaks. Thunder cried out and lightning rained down upon the Imperial City fracturing the buildings and starting untamed infernos. A sweep of coldness ran over the back of Jerald and as he heaved a breath he saw a billowing puff of mist. His eyes narrowed and he turned around; curiously. Darkness had encased most of the Temple district as Dagon had stepped from an Oblivion gate. His immense structure towered into the air; his horns piercing the heavens. The gods anguish sounded off in the distant roll of thunder. Jerald felt himself go weak in the arms, his staff soon falling from his once tightly clenched hands. His eyes widened and his gaze shifted before him as he stared up; enthralled. "God's blood..." Jerald managed to utter.

Suddenly, he gasped and his body convulsed as the wicked blade of a Dremora longsword was plunged through his back; the tip protruded through his chest. Jerald's mouth fell open and with a final breath he had coughed up a spurt of blood. The sword was ripped backwards and more blood was forced through the Altmer's mouth. He attempted to turn to see his attacker, but he had no time left. His body toppled over to the ground; lifeless.

Elizabeth and Broga had rounded the corner and just as she was to exit upon the street she had caught sight of Dagon.

She stopped.

A petrifying shiver ran down her spine hindering her movement. Her eyes widened and the white of her eyes was ever so vast. With this sudden newfound fear, her shoulders had fallen and her skin ran of color. Appall had overcome her and her mouth fell open as she could only stare in awe. As Broga had saw his Lord standing upon the streets, he had ripped out his sword and quickly approached Elizabeth. His sword lifted and he wrapped his arm around her soon holding the sword to her neck. His unoccupied hand had seized her arms and held them forcefully behind her back. A gasp had escaped her lips and she cringed in pain as she could feel her muscles pull in her arms. She shifted and snarled, "...Gaston—what is the meaning of..."

Broga had gripped her arms tighter allowing the façade to fall. His mask had fallen to the ground and shattered. His deep ruthless voice had snarled into her curved ear, "Can you sense it, Elizabeth? Does it still linger upon your thighs and chest?"

Her attempts to struggle this crazed Nord had stopped and slowly she became motionless. That divergent voice—it had seemed so fallacious now that she thought of it. Chills ran through her skin and she whispered to him with a voice that dreaded the answer, "...what are you talking..."

"Castle Kvatch at midnight..." his slithering voice had infested itself within her mind, "only you and your shadow and no one was around." Elizabeth's face grew hardened with dismay and a sob began to awaken deep within her as he snarled hatefully into her ear, "you told me to stop... you pleaded, and perhaps if that doesn't jog your memory," the hand which had seized her arms had freed itself and slid across her side and down to her abdomen.

"B-Broga," she wheezed reluctantly. She wished it wasn't true. She wished it was someone else. Let it be a reincarnate of Mankar Camoran, or maybe... maybe something far worse. Her heart had feared this. It nearly shattered at his name. His touch sent needles within her pores. "Broga... it... it can't be—you."

The Nord glanced at her silver tresses. Oh, how beautiful they looked in the firelight. His deep cobalt eyes fell to her curved sallow ear and he grinned while rolling his tongue out of his mouth and licking it delicately. She cringed at this and he chuckled and whispered into her ear, "Elder-Xarovica can make more then one Elixir of Death, my maiden."

"Why are you here?" she snarled while slowly turning her head to a side. She took the endeavor to glimpse his way; however, it had appeared that the sword's jagged blade was held far too close to her neck that if she had turned her head even the slightest bit too far she could sever herself. "Is it not very clear that Tamriel shall win the war that has been waged between your planes and mine?"

Broga chuckled at her insolence while forcing the blunt side of his Dremora longsword even tighter against her throat. Elizabeth's neck had stretched and her eyes clenched shut as the Nord had snarled most crossly, "Look before you, Ms. Asquerana, and tell me what you see."

Elizabeth steadily opened her eyes and feasted upon the sight that lay before her. Her eyes shifted across the horizon as she could undoubtedly see what Broga was yearning for her to see. As more Daedra crawled from the foulest pits of Oblivion, the guard and more who served Cyrodiil humbly began to fall. Their cries echoed out into the night. Their blood rushed the streets turning the entire pavement to a sinister crimson. Elizabeth's eyes grew misty at such a sight. With each sword plunged into her fellow humans her heart had torn. Broga leaned his head closer to hers to get the same vision which she could see.

Before her, there upon the street she saw Jaufree. As he desperately fought off a Spider-Daedra, a mage had appeared behind him. He seized the old man's neck by one side and from the other he had plunged his dagger. The Grandmaster Blade's face grew grave and his body plummeted to the ground lying there uselessly as he drew his last breaths.

Upon the side, she could see a Daedroth feast upon the fallen body of Baurus, the Redguard Blade who was so compelled to serve under the emperor. The bodies kept piling, and the blood ran even thicker. Elizabeth's eyes shifted furiously before her as she watched this, tears slipping one by one down her rosy cheeks. Suddenly, she saw her younger brother, Orrick. Her heart had shrieked his name and from its cage of bone it had attempted to reach out for him. No, gods please, no... not him... not my brother! But it was too late for her prayers and pleas. A Dremora Kynmarcher had seized his arms from behind allowing a fellow Kynreeve to plunge his fang within his stomach. Their mocking laughter heard on high. Elizabeth had pulled forward allowing the blade of Broga's sword to pierce her skin. A few droplets collected upon the rapier and Broga saw this and wondered why. When he looked up he saw the answer. The twin of the boy he had murdered at Bruma. Yes, he was Elizabeth's brother. Younger, no doubt. Broga held fast onto his blade and whispered into her ear, "... from what I see... Tamriel might have won the battle... but Oblivion shall win this war."

"Elizabeth!" snarled a voice from behind Broga.

Just as the Nord had turned he was greeted with the steel hilt of a blade. Broga's head ripped to a side and his grip upon his blade had ceased the ringing of pain had reverberated off the walls of his mind filling him with a throbbing twinge. Elizabeth tore herself away from the Nord's grasp and turned to see the attacker. A grin had pulled across her lips as she had whispered with such a loving breath, "... Hero..."

She swiftly had abandoned Broga's side sprinting to her dearest friend. Her heart had called out to him and as she saw him she had felt a rushing emotion of happiness and love mix together in a grand stream. She had felt like she was a mere child running to Bromus after a spat between her father and herself. The Hero had fastened his eyes upon Broga feeling his hate being aroused ever so easily. He hadn't recognized the Nord's true self; however, he had attempted to hurt Elizabeth.

In the Hero's eyes, he was just like Broga in every way.

The Imperial's gaze had only hindered when he saw the tearful eyes of his Altmer friend. His heart had lurched in his throat and he quickly averted his attention to her. He held a hand against the soft skin of her arm, unable to feel its texture through his hardened gauntlet. "Are you alright?" He had questioned her with a furrowed brow. His head had slightly bowed when his voice had called out to her.

Elizabeth had nodded frantically while pushing away the importance of her state. Her eyes were misty and red as all those deaths had finally taken their toll against her ever breaking heart. For through this entire war it had seemed she was affected the most. Her lips had rubbed against one another and she had told the Hero with a delicate voice which lingered upon a whisper, "... He's Broga... He's a Dremora in disguise. He uses the same trick that Xilivicus had used. Don't let him fool you."

More hatred had swirled within the Hero's heart as he heard this. His gauntlet became tightly wrapped around the hilt of his sword and slowly but surely his arm began to quiver. The man who had caused him and even Elizabeth all this pain, the man who had callously raped Elizabeth, the same man... who destroyed and murdered all those people- stood before him now. His immortality had vanished with this human façade and the Hero had thanked the gods of this. Once and for all he could end this heinous man's life and all the sinful deeds he had committed. He would cease existence and he would haunt Elizabeth, no more.

"Fetch Martin from the backstreets, Elizabeth." The man's voice; so ruthless.

She dared not question him at this point. With a simple not she had moved behind him allowing a hand to fall upon his shoulder. He glimpsed at her with darkened woodland eyes. His mere glance had sent sickening chills up her spine. "Be safe." She had told him simply while retreating into the darkness.

A chuckle came before the man and unhurriedly he had refocused his gaze to Broga. The grinning crazed Nord now stood at his full height with a trace of blood rolling from his coiled lips. The Imperial's posture had stiffened and he held tight upon his weapon soon narrowing his eyes. He stepped forward and prepared for an attack as he had snarled, "I won't allow you to hurt her anymore, Broga."

"I believe my maiden is none of your concern," the Nord had swiftly leaned down and scooped his sword back into his grasp. He stood tall and unmoving like a great oak with his eyes fixated upon the bloody gleam of the Hero's armor. It gave a hazy golden luminance from the blazing infernos that came from the buildings surrounding them. Broga had made his way forward with no rush. His sword hung by his side as if he was not intimidated by the knight at all. His smile had lessened and he only smirked now as he told him, "You're really none of my concern, so if you please—step aside."

The Hero had jerked his sword to a side and snarled most hatefully, his livid eyes fastened upon Broga's and he couldn't look away even if he had tried. He took long strides towards the Nordic man while hissing, "Elizabeth does not belong to you, Broga. Leave here."

Broga scoffed at his idiocy. He shook his head and glanced away. Even if the Hero had assaulted him he was certain that he could hold him back. When the Nord's eyes had rejoined with the Hero's he had told him, "... you intimidate me not; you're only an insignificant middling human. I am here for Elizabeth and her alone."

"She's never been yours; stop trying to fool yourself with such an imprudent masquerade of lies." The Hero felt his muscles tense even more. His anger had massaged through him and whispered into his ear provoking his blossoming antagonism. He wanted ever so much to rid himself of this Dremora who has continuously resurfaced in his life and planted the seeds of many burdens.

Broga had stepped back from this. It was almost a blast of reality that had shredded away the fantasy that had glossed his eyes and made him see only what he had wanted to see. His body had straightened completely as if he wished to stand to a height which might overawe the thought of him never being able to own Elizabeth. "Your life means little to me, Great Hero. You have done nothing to me that I can truly hold you accountable for, you are vindicated from the wars you have waged in the shores of my land. I will not murder another innocent unless they interfere with my work."

"Then you must take my life, Broga." The Hero had told him straightforwardly. "As long as I live and breathe, I will protect Elizabeth from harm."

Broga shook his head of his insolence. He had given him the chance to walk here free. With his words he had washed the Hero clean of his past sins with Mehrunes Dagon. However, the Hero only thought of the welfare of his bonny lass. When would the Imperial see that she belonged to Broga and not him? "... then let me free you of that inconvenience, dear friend." The Nord had said composedly before charging forward hastily; sword drawn.

Thump-bump, thump-bump, thump-bump.

Her heart rang like chiming tower bells within her chest. They pounded against her ribcage sending her forward along the backstreets. The pads of her feet were gentle upon the surface of the shattered limestone as she went. A fire raging in her legs for she had never ran this fast before. Her mind was beginning to disintegrate. The once onyx-façade of the Great Black Dremora now fell. It was just a mask and hiding behind that masquerade—those crimson jewels—was the real monster. A Nordic man whose dark eyes cut through her. Whose guttural tone had shattered the fortress of her withering heart. At moments like this her mind had fallen within a chasm of deep confusion. Had Broga come to whisk her away back to Oblivion or get rid of her once and for all? If he had come to do the latter, then he would have finished her by now. All that time stalking within the shadows of the backstreets could have been used to his advantage; even more so, he could have allowed the raging smoldering remnants to fall upon her. He had not needed to save her. But then if he had wanted to take her back to Oblivion, why would he have wasted his time with all this pretending? Knowing the Broga that she had known for all this time, if he had wanted her he would have merely launched her up and over his shoulder and stalked back into Oblivion with his hordes of guards protecting his heels. His actions contradicted one another.

But for now there were other things to think of like the safety of the heir to the throne. She was certain that he was fine; however, the hellions of Dagon roamed freely. Her stomach churned and from the corner of her eyes she caught an unfurling royal purple robe tainted with droplets of blood flutter. Elizabeth hurried. She didn't know just how much time was left.

The Nord grunted as he was nearly blasted back off his feet. He hadn't known that the Hero obtained such raw power. His eyes shifted back and forth across his figure. His posture was unbroken. His hands still clenched the blade ever so tightly and his eyes... they attempted to burn a hole through the man's soul. But Broga wasn't easily shattered like human men. The once-Dremora leapt forward giving the knight no time to retaliate his used force. Their blades were swift and passionately they rang together. Beads of sweat dripped down the faces of either opponent with only one question looming in their heads: Who's going to take the first fall?

They moved faster now knowing the stakes that they would need to take. Sweat burdened them even more as well as billowing mists of breath for the atmosphere of Oblivion had seeped through the gates along with the Daedra. Broga's foot had slipped from its stance and that was all that the Hero had needed. His arm was straight and his precision was dead on. The blade had slipped through the fabric of the man's robe soon piercing his right shoulder. An agonizing grunt had been given off through the gritted teeth of Broga's lips and he had focused his gaze upon the Hero as he continued to force the sword into the bone. The Nord hadn't moved and inch in fear of sending even more pulses of pain up his arms. The Hero's eyes twitched as he put his muscle into it. He heard the sickening hiss of Broga's skin ripping and his muscles being divided. Blood rolled down the silver sword and it was a beautiful sight for the Imperial man. He felt a rush of ecstasy as he could see the Nord beginning to weaken.

When the blade had pierced more of his bone, the Nord had winced but quickly smiled soon breathing steadily. His sword was still gripped tightly; however, it had quivered with his tattered nerves. The Hero stepped forward swiftly. He had known rather clearly that the blade of his sword was wedged between bone fractures and other such bodily materials. His steel boot had lifted from its place on the ground and swiftly he had kicked the gut of the Nord. Broga, who had been overwhelmed by his weakness, had been blasted off his feet and after leaving a fluttering trail of blood in the air he had fallen harshly to the ground twisting his body and breaking his fall with his forearms.

Blood gushed from the fresh wound taking much of the strength away from him; he gritted his teeth from the impact feeling the jolt of pain shoot up his arms and mix with the sensation of the wound. He closed his eyes tightly and stabled his breathing to hamper his blood flow.

The Hero had whipped his blade back to him and stared upon the man who would bleed to death from that wound. His eyes narrowed and he had wished secretly to himself that he could bask within this sight. However, he had heard his name called from behind and hurriedly he had turned to see Elizabeth and with her, Martin Septim. A grin had spread across her face as she waved to him from afar. Beauty was the mere essence of the Altmer. Even with dirt lingering in clumps of sweat upon her brow and a tangled silver mess upon her head she had looked ravishing. The Hero had grinned brightly and sheathed his sword and as he took two steps forward the façade of the maiden fell into despair. Her mouth fell agape and the Hero could hear Martin scream for him. The Imperial's brow furrowed as he hadn't understood their screams over the roaring of the infernos that surrounded him. Before he could answer their pleas with a confused call—he had saw the answer.

His eyes had fallen for a mere second and that was all that was needed. A great black shadow had been cast over him and with just a glance a shivering chill ran down the man's spine nearly sending his armor to quake. His muscles had released their tension and he didn't think he had the strength to turn. Curiosity got the best of him and the man had slowly turned to see what had casted such a shadow.

The first thing that the man saw was a great black body whose muscles were hardly held back by a tattered robe tainted with blood. As the Hero's eyes lifted he could see crimson eyes fixated upon his own eyes. Fear had tickled his heart and his throat had contracted. He couldn't even beckon forth the monster's name. Broga stood with narrowed eyes as he looked over the human. Now as he was within his Dremora state, he no longer felt the concern or twinge of fear that had consumed his despicable Nordic heart. He only felt anger. He only felt betrayal. He only felt dominance as he towered over the man. The Dremora had lunged a great black claw forward and seized the man by the shoulder of his steel armor. His fingertips had nearly crunched together the very metal. He jerked the Hero forward bringing him closer and with a snarling voice that had been let off through jagged gritted teeth, "... my turn."

With his other hand he had sheltered his great wicked Dremora longsword. Even through its quarrel with the mortal-made steel sword, it had kept its intensity. With all his muscles forced into this certain thrust, he had driven the uneven tip through the steel of the cuirass. Chips of the sword had come off when forced within; nevertheless, the man hadn't shown mercy. Broga's lips coiled into an eerie grin as he saw the Hero lurched back into his armor as the sword was driven through his flesh.

Broga would not give up just yet.

His muscles contracted under the robe as he forced the sword deeper. The Hero coughed and blood contaminated his parted lips. His eyes shimmered as for a moment he couldn't feel the pain. Reality began to dissolve into blackness and finally Broga had pushed the Hero back and with it came the fractures of muscles and skin that the Dremora had hoped to see. His grin broadened and his eyes narrowed deviously and he pulled the Hero closer while snarling into his ear, "... be thankful in the knowledge that Elizabeth's new Hero... is stronger then her last." The Hero winced as Broga chuckled in his ear and with a shove he had pushed him backwards and watched his body topple to the ground.

... Dibella... Mara...

Elizabeth had stood motionless before the scene of the crime. Broga's hunched body stood over her friend and he watched lustfully as the blood seeped out onto the concrete and flooded the cracks of the boulevard.

Thump bump... thump... bump. Thump...

Her heart seemed to grow faint as she could practically see the spirit raise from the Hero's parted lips. Her breath grew uneven and the next thing she knew she had unsheathed her sword and charged forward. Tears stung her eyes which were now glossed over with hatred. Her cries blended in with her hateful screams as she lunged at Broga. The Dremora had been taken off guard and stumbled back hardly forcing his sword up in time. She moved swift. So much faster then the Dremora had seen in Ganonah, the realm of Oblivion he had fought her in. She was reckless. She no longer cared for stances or damned strategies. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she moved faster. Her sword had broken through the air and rang against Broga's weapon. The vibration had shot up his arms and he moved even further back with steady steps making certain not to trip over the fallen body of a guard or Daedra. His eyes followed her blade and he warded off each blow she had taken to him. Elizabeth heaved back her sword and screamed as she brought it down. All this building hatred towered within the darkness of her heart. Her mind hadn't known mercy and she knew not of her own limits. All she knew was that Broga would pay. All she knew was that he needed to lie dead upon the ground and she would deliver this to him. Broga held up his sword to deflect this blow and just as Elizabeth's sword came down all her directed anger pulsed through the katana and with the blow, Broga's sword had shattered. Onyx and maroon shards of a Dremora longsword had exploded and rained down in the air. Broga watched in amazement as he had never seen Elizabeth this way. She was so fierce. She was so detestable. She was the true Hero.

Elizabeth whipped her sword across Broga's chest slashing away the fabric of the robe. The Dremora cringed as he felt the chilling tip of the sword rip through his skin and draw a thickened line of blood. He stumbled back and ceased his chest wondering as he glanced down if he bled black or crimson. His head jerked up just as Elizabeth swung her sword for the final time. The Dremora had gasped and nearly drew back. The gleam of the tip was noticeable in the firelight and it had swung around like a fireball and finally came to the crook of his chin and neck. He tilted his head up and waited for it to slice his throat; however, the blow had not come. Broga's pupils disappeared in utter fear of this murderous maiden. His hand had released the remains of his own sword and he slowly raised his arms in defeat, but he knew that the only way to surrender was to die.

The Altmer breathed heavily with piercing eyes locked upon Broga. One move. One single move forward and he would fall dead. One blow. One single blow and he would burden her no more.

Her arm was tensed and did not move at all. Broga swallowed a lump in his throat soon allowing his lips to part as if he was to ask her, 'what are you waiting for?' Unhurriedly, Elizabeth had let the tip of her katana fall. Her body heaved with her profound breaths and soon she closed her parched lips and merely watched the Dremora who stood in befuddlement. Suddenly, Elizabeth had bounded forward and with both hands she had lifted her sword up in one great sweep. Her knee had bent and the other one had trailed behind her as she moved. The blade licked through Broga's onyx skin digging a shallow slice. Elizabeth held the hilt of the katana near her head with the tip pointed downwards as she watched Broga stumble back and seize his face. As he withdrew his hands a long thin cut had been carved into the left side of his face. His eye had closed tightly desiring not for blood to get within it. The Dremora held the hand up to his eye and with his other eye he had looked at the maiden in trepidation.

"... Runaway, Broga." Elizabeth had demanded with such a cold tone. Her eyes; unyielding. "Runaway... and never look back." Her words were beginning to become hindered by choked sobs. Tears stung her eyes and she glared hatefully at him.

The Commander had stood motionless watching as the power began to escape her. She now became the little Altmer that he had known. It would have been easy to overpower her now if he had wanted to...

But her demands could not be ignored for she sat upon the throne of his heart, not his Master Dagon.

Broga slowly bowed before the girl with a coiled smirk. "You never fail to surprise me, Elizabeth." He rose to see her continuous glare. He could only grin broader at this. "It had brought me honor to defeat your friend," her glare hardened and he swiftly added, "... and fight such a swordsman as yourself. It would be rather cliché," he had said as he turned around and walked, "... if I had told you this wouldn't be the last of me. But no, I think our time together has ended." He glanced back with that same eerie grin that made Elizabeth shiver. He chuckled and nodded, "... I assume that a confession of my heart wouldn't alter your mind of coming with me, would it?"

"Broga..." Elizabeth sobbed as her shoulders fell and she began to cry, "...please."

He understood. He understood the conditions and memories that he had brought up when he was around her. It wasn't easy for her to live without him. Xilivicus, that was. Broga's eyes fell and he only smiled. If only it had been him who had shown her that comfort and love that his brother had. Possibly, it would be Xilivicus standing here fighting to the death and he—who lied within the lavas of Oblivion. Broga chuckled and turned around seeing an Oblivion Gate looming before him. He bowed his head and whispered lightly so she couldn't hear his farewell, "... I'm proud of you."

Elizabeth watched eagerly as Broga had walked forward to an Oblivion gate. He was untouched by the battling guards and Daedra which clouded the streets and effortlessly he had walked onward. He was unnoticed as he slipped through the gate and within its fiery hellfire he had vanished and with him he took all the weight, burdens, and soon all the memories of Oblivion with him.