The fifty warriors marched through the darkness, their footsteps muffled against the packed dirt road. The closer they came to the watchtower, the stronger the smell of smoke and charred wood grew, mingled with something far worse—burnt flesh. The glow of the ruins came into view first, flickering like a beacon against the night sky. Then the devastation revealed itself.
The western watchtower stood as a broken silhouette against the horizon, its upper sections completely destroyed. Stone walls that once stood tall had crumbled, leaving jagged remains that jutted out like broken teeth. Flames still licked at the debris, casting long shadows across the bodies strewn about.
The air was thick with the stench of death. It was nauseating, a putrid blend of burnt hair, cooked meat, and decay. Several of the newer guards faltered, one of them retching by the side of the path, while others swallowed hard and forced themselves forward.
Haldar raised his hand, signaling for the group to stop. His face was grim, the flickering firelight casting deep shadows over his scarred features. "Set up a perimeter," he barked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. "I want men at every entrance. The rest of you, start looking for survivors and scavenge whatever weapons you can find. If it's usable, we need it."
The guards moved quickly, their boots crunching over ash and rubble. Irileth stepped forward, her sharp eyes scanning the ruins. "You three," she said, pointing to a group of guards. "Get those ballistae set up now. Use the hill for cover. We'll need them ready before the beast comes back."
Tsun moved with the others, his warhammer resting on his shoulder as he surveyed the scene. The destruction was worse than he had imagined. Charred corpses lay scattered like broken dolls, some still clutching weapons burned to their hands. One body was pinned beneath a fallen section of the wall, its face frozen in a silent scream.
A group of Companions worked nearby, pulling a survivor from the rubble. The man's armor was blackened, his skin blistered and peeling. He coughed weakly, blood spilling from his lips as he was carried to a safer spot. A blonde-haired Companion likely one of the leaders, gave quiet instructions to the others. Tsun joined in, gripping a massive chunk of stone with both hands and lifting it off another trapped body. The body beneath wasn't as lucky, its legs crushed into unrecognizable pulp. He grimaced but didn't let it stop him, setting the stone aside and moving to another section.
The smell clung to him, filling his lungs with every breath. The newer guards struggled with it the most. One of them, a boy who couldn't have been older than twenty, froze as he stared at a body with its chest cavity blown open. The guard next to him shook him roughly, snapping him out of it, and they moved on.
Irileth directed the guards setting up the ballistae, ensuring they were positioned correctly. The large siege weapons creaked as they were pulled into place, their mechanisms checked and rechecked by the soldiers. She glanced over her shoulder at Haldar, who was organizing a group to clear a path through the rubble for easier movement. The Companions were relentless in their efforts, pulling survivors from the wreckage and carrying them to safety. One of them shouted for help as he uncovered a woman whose legs were trapped under a wooden beam. Two more rushed over, using iron bars as leverage to lift the beam while another pulled her free.
Tsun, after clearing several heavy sections of rubble, finally stepped back. He walked a short distance to a nearby hill, setting his warhammer down in front of him. Sitting on the grass, he rested his arms on his knees and watched the scene below. He sat quietly, his grip firm on the warhammer resting in front of him. This wasn't what he thought his second life would be. He had expected something more enjoyable, maybe even thrilling—like a game where he could explore, fight, and grow stronger without the weight of real danger. But this? This wasn't fun. It was messy, brutal, and exhausting.
He couldn't shake the doubt creeping into his mind. Was the power he'd been given even enough to keep him alive here? He thought about what Ultimate Kars could do, the limitless potential of his form. If he ever reached that point, would it even apply to this world? If it was based on his Earth, he'd still be incredibly strong—powerful enough to handle most things. But if it extended to this world, then... maybe he could transform into a dragon, too. And if he unlocked his ultimate form there was Hamon, of course. If he mastered that, it could melt flesh and destroy undead with ease. If he got to that level of strength, maybe he wouldn't have to worry about surviving here. Maybe he could even do something to make things better, fix some of the broken pieces of this place.
Tsun's gaze shifted as shouting broke the tense quiet. Near the rubble of the watchtower, a survivor was screaming, his voice hoarse and panicked. The man, covered in soot and blood, thrashed wildly as two guards tried to hold him down.
"We have to run!" the survivor shouted, his words slurring as he struggled. "It's coming back! We can't stay here! It's going to kill us all!"
The guards grunted as they fought to restrain him, but the man's panic seemed to give him unnatural strength. His limbs flailed, and his feet kicked against the ground as he screamed again, his voice cracking. "You don't understand! It's fire—it's death! We're already dead!"
A young guard lost his grip, and the survivor shoved him back before scrambling to his knees, clawing at the dirt. "Run!" he shouted, his face twisted with fear. "Why aren't you running?"
Tsun rose from his seat on the hill, his warhammer resting on his shoulder as he watched the scene unfold. The man's raw panic was contagious; he could see it spreading through the group. Some of the newer guards exchanged uneasy glances, their hands gripping their weapons tighter. Even the more experienced soldiers shifted uncomfortably.
Irileth stormed over, her face set in a scowl. "Hold him down!" she barked at the guards, who finally managed to pin the man to the ground. He thrashed and screamed, his voice growing shrill as tears streaked through the soot on his face.
"It's coming back!" the man wailed, his voice breaking. "You don't understand—there's no stopping it!"
Irileth knelt down, gripping the man's face firmly and forcing him to look at her. "Get ahold of yourself," she snapped, her tone sharp. "We're not running. We stand and fight."
The man shook his head violently, his eyes wide with terror. "You can't fight it! It's not just fire—it's worse than that! You'll all die!"
Irileth's jaw tightened, and she motioned for the guards to move him away. The man's screams echoed as he was dragged toward the makeshift medical area, where someone attempted to calm him down.
Tsun exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the warhammer. The man's terror gnawed at the back of his mind. He wasn't the only one who felt it. Around him, the other warriors stood tense, their eyes darting toward the sky. Even the Companions, as battle-hardened as they seemed, wore grim expressions.
Irileth straightened, brushing off her hands, but her usual confidence seemed shaken. She glanced at Haldar, who gave her a curt nod before stepping forward to rally the guards again.
...
Meanwhile back in Whiterun the Bannered Mare was alive with noise. The clinking of mugs, the stomping of boots, and the off-key singing of drunken patrons filled the air. Freyja sat at the bar, her back to the lively crowd, staring into the foam at the bottom of her mug. Her jaw was clenched, her hand tight around the handle of the cup. She'd come here to drown her thoughts, to lose herself in ale and forget about the dragon and the Jarl's threats. But the noise wasn't helping.
People were celebrating. Singing. Dancing. Acting like city wasn't on the brink of destruction. It made her stomach churn.
Hulda, the innkeeper, approached with her usual practiced smile. "Refill?" she asked, her tone light and cheerful.
Without a word, Freyja pushed her mug forward, the scrape of the wood against the counter louder than she intended. Hulda's expression faltered for a moment before she nodded, taking the cup and filling it again.
As the frothy liquid spilled into the mug, Freyja's thoughts churned. She brought the drink to her lips and took a long swig, the bitterness coating her tongue. It wasn't enough to numb the turmoil in her mind.
She hated this. Not just the noise, but the pit in her stomach, the way her chest tightened every time she thought about the dragon. A small part of her—the part she had tried so hard to bury—was clawing its way to the surface.
'You should be out there,' it whispered. 'You should be fighting.'
Her fingers tightened around the mug, her knuckles turning white.
"Why?" she muttered to herself, her voice low. "Why should I? What good would it do?"
Her cynical side answered immediately. 'Nothing. It'll do nothing. You'll die like the rest of them.'
But the other part of her, the part that still remembered what it was like to dream of being a hero, refused to stay silent. 'You survived Helgen. You could help.'
"Help?" she scoffed under her breath. She could still see the flames, the soldiers being torn apart, the dragon's roars shaking the earth. "What could I possibly do against that?"
The ale sloshed in her mug as she set it down harder than she meant to.
Her thoughts spiraled. She had wanted to be a hero once. Her grandfather's stories had filled her with hope and determination. She had dreamed of fighting for the weak, of standing tall against impossible odds. But the real world had crushed that dream. Helgen had crushed it. 'There are no heroes, just people trying to survive.'
And yet, that small voice in her head wouldn't stop. It pushed back against the bitterness, the anger. It reminded her of the soldiers at the watchtower, the ones marching off to face the dragon right now. 'They're going, even though they know they'll die. They're doing it because it's the right thing to do.'
She gritted her teeth, leaning forward and resting her forehead against her hand. "The right thing to do," she muttered bitterly. "It's always the right thing to do, isn't it?"
The noise of the inn grated against her nerves. She could hear the bard singing some overly cheerful tune about brave warriors and great victories. It made her want to throw her mug across the room.
Hulda walked past again, giving her a curious look. "Another?"
Freyja shook her head, waving her off. She didn't want more. She didn't even know why she was here anymore.
Her fingers drummed against the counter as the two sides of her mind waged war. The hero she had once wanted to be was clawing for her attention, urging her to act, to go to the watchtower and fight. But the Freyja who had lived through the destruction of her village, the slaughter at Helgen, and the harshness of Skyrim told her it was foolish.
She could see their faces—the villagers from her childhood, her grandparents , the soldiers at Helgen. All of them had wanted to fight, to do the right thing. And they had died for it.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "What's the point?"
The cynical side of her wanted to stay in the inn, to drink until she couldn't think anymore, to let someone else take the burden. But the small part of her that hadn't been crushed by the weight of reality still burned faintly, refusing to go out entirely. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her mug again. She downed the rest of the ale in one go, slamming the empty cup on the counter. She could feel the stares of some of the patrons, but she ignored them, her jaw clenched tightly. Her fingers drifted to her neck, where a simple leather cord rested under her tunic. She pulled it out slowly, revealing a small metal pendant, tarnished and worn with age. It wasn't much to look at—just a roughly etched crest of her family, marked with scratches and dents—but it was all she had left of her grandfather.
She held it tightly, her thumb brushing over its surface. Tsun's voice echoed in her mind. "Heroes do exist."
Her eyes clenched shut, her grip tightening on the pendant. Other voices followed—her grandfather's voice, weaving tales of warriors and champions. "Do you know about Ragnar the Steadfast?" her grandfather had once said, his voice full of warmth as they sat by the hearth. "He was just a farmer when the trolls came down from the mountains. He could've run, but he stood his ground, armed with nothing but a woodcutter's axe. He fought them off until the villagers could escape. He didn't survive, but because of him, they did."
"Or Aelric the Unbroken," he had continued another time. "Captured by bandits and left to die, but he escaped, dragging two other prisoners with him. The stories say he fought his way out with nothing but his bare hands."
Freyja gritted her teeth as the memories kept coming. Her grandfather's stories had always painted heroes as people who didn't just fight for themselves but for those who couldn't. "A hero doesn't need a crown or riches," he'd told her. "They just need the courage to stand when no one else will."
Tears stung her eyes, and her breathing grew shaky.
The memory shifted, pulling her back to that horrible night.
The village had been in chaos. Flames roared through the thatched roofs, and the air was thick with smoke and ash. The sound of screaming filled the air as the raiders stormed in, cutting down anyone who got in their way. Freyja, had been huddled with the others in their small home, watching in terror as her grandfather strapped on his old armor. It was battered and scratched, relics from battles long past, but he wore it with the pride, and his sword hung at his side.
"You can't go!" she had cried, clutching at his arm. "Please don't go!"
He turned to her, his expression calm despite the chaos outside. His silver hair caught the firelight as he knelt down, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder. "Freyja," he said, his voice steady and warm. "You all need time to get away."
Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head. "But you'll die! You can't—"
He silenced her with a soft smile and reached for the necklace around his neck. He removed it carefully and placed it over her head, letting it rest against her chest. "Listen to me," he said, his voice gentle. "The life of a hero can be painful. Our lights burn out twice as fast as others, and that's what we are—lights. But when we burn, we do so brilliantly. It's our light that helps guide the way for others. Promise me you'll keep going, no matter what happens."
Her small hands clung to the pendant as she stared at him, her vision blurred by tears.
"Promise me," he repeated, squeezing her shoulder.
She nodded, unable to speak, her throat tight with emotion.
He stood, giving her one last look before turning away and walking toward the door. She screamed for him, begged him to stay, but her grandmother grabbed her, pulling her back as the door shut behind him.
Through the haze of her tears, she saw him step into the flaws, sword in hand, his back straight and unyielding.
And then he was gone.
The memory faded, and Freyja found herself back in the noisy tavern. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, tears streaming down her face. The pendant was clutched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white around it.
She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming. Her grandfather's words echoed in her mind, over and over. "When we burn, we do so brilliantly."
Freyja stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. The noise drew a few curious glances, but she ignored them, her focus set on the door. She shoved her way through the crowd, her fists clenched tightly, the pendant still gripped in her palm. As she stepped out into the cool night air, she didn't stop to think. Her feet moved with purpose, carrying her away from the tavern and toward the gates of the city.
___________________________
The night was filled with the sounds of shouting and the clash of steel against stone. The watchtower was a broken ruin, and the soldiers who had come to defend it were scattered, their lines disorganized as the dragon descended from the dark sky. The massive creature roared, the sound vibrating through the rubble and shaking loose bits of stone.
"Archers! Keep firing! Aim for the wings!" Haldar's voice was loud and steady as he barked orders from the base of the tower. His sword was drawn, his other hand pointing toward the creature as it swooped low, its dark form barely visible against the night sky. Arrows shot upward, disappearing into the darkness. Some hit their mark, bouncing harmlessly off the dragon's thick, scaled hide. Others missed entirely, falling back to the ground uselessly. The archers, their faces pale and tense, scrambled to reload as quickly as they could.
The dragon roared again, its wings beating with enough force to kick up dirt and ash from the ruined ground. It descended sharply, its glowing eyes fixed on a cluster of soldiers trying to regroup near the base of the tower.
"Scatter!" Haldar shouted, but the warning came too late. The dragon opened its jaws, releasing a stream of fire that engulfed the group. The heat was intense, the flames lighting up the night as men screamed and fell to the ground, their bodies consumed by fire. The air reeked of burnt flesh and smoke. On a nearby hill, Irileth stood beside the ballista crew, shouting commands. "Get it aimed higher! It's circling back! Quickly!"
The guards manning the ballista struggled with the weapon, their movements clumsy in the dark. One guard cranked the mechanism while another loaded a massive bolt into place. "It's too fast!" one of them yelled, panic creeping into his voice.
"Focus!" Irileth snapped. She scanned the sky, her sharp eyes trying to track the dragon's movements. But the creature was difficult to see, its dark form blending with the smoke and shadows. The dragon swooped low again, its massive wings stirring the air as it skimmed over the ground. Its claws raked through a group of soldiers, tossing them aside like ragdolls. One man was lifted into the air and thrown against the crumbled wall of the tower, his body hitting the stone with a sickening crack before sliding lifelessly to the ground.
Haldar gritted his teeth, rallying the remaining soldiers. "Hold your positions! Don't let it break the line!"
But the line was already broken. The soldiers were scattered, some trying to regroup while others ran to help the wounded. The dragon roared again, its massive body rising back into the air before circling for another attack.
The ballista finally moved into position, its heavy bolt locked in place. "Ready!" one of the guards called out.
Irileth raised her hand, waiting for the right moment. The dragon turned sharply in the air, its glowing eyes focused on the ballista crew. "Wait," she said, her voice firm.
The dragon dove, its jaws open and fire building in its throat.
"Fire!" Irileth yelled.
The ballista launched its bolt with a loud crack, the massive projectile hurtling toward the dragon. It struck the creature's wing, piercing through the membrane and causing it to roar in pain. The dragon veered off course, crashing into the ground a short distance away.
"Keep firing!" Haldar shouted, urging the archers to take advantage of the moment.
But the dragon was far from defeated. It rose to its feet, its massive form towering over the soldiers. Its injured wing hung at an odd angle, but that didn't stop it from lashing out. It swung its tail, smashing through a group of men and sending them flying.
Irileth drew her sword, shouting for the guards to hold their ground. The archers continued firing, but their arrows were little more than an annoyance to the beast. The dragon roared again, releasing another torrent of fire that swept through the battlefield.
Tsun stood atop the hill, gripping his warhammer tightly as he watched the dragon wreak havoc below. The soldiers were falling back in disarray, their formation crumbling with every sweep of the dragon's claws and tail. Flames lit the battlefield, consuming men and melting weapons into useless hunks of metal. He ran forward, the warhammer in his hands feeling heavy but steady. The sounds of screaming and roaring grew louder as he closed the distance. His sharp eyes tracked the dragon as it turned, its tail swinging toward a group of guards trying to regroup.
Tsun clapped his hands, the sharp sound cutting through the chaos. One of the soldiers vanished, replaced by a nearby piece of broken stone. The guard reappeared a few feet away, stumbling but alive as the dragon's tail smashed into the rock instead of his body.
Another clap. A soldier frozen in fear disappeared, replaced by a scorched piece of wood from the wreckage. The soldier reappeared behind a fallen wall, his breathing frantic but unscathed.
Tsun moved fast, his body weaving between the scattered guards. The dragon's head turned sharply, its glowing eyes locking onto him. It roared, and fire erupted from its maw, spreading out in a deadly wave. He clapped his hands again, switching himself with a broken spear lying to the side. He appeared behind the dragon's flame, the heat singeing the edge of his cloak but leaving him unharmed.
The dragon lashed out with its claws, tearing through a makeshift barricade where two soldiers had taken cover. Tsun clapped again, replacing one of them with a discarded helmet. The guard reappeared on the other side of the battlefield, his face pale but intact.
"Keep moving!" Tsun shouted at the soldiers, his voice loud and commanding. "Don't stand still!"
The dragon reared up, its massive wings spreading wide as it prepared to dive down. Tsun didn't wait. He clapped once more, switching places with an arrow mid-flight. In an instant, he was above the dragon, the arrow continuing its harmless path toward the ground.
He brought the warhammer down with all his strength, aiming for the creature's back. The impact was loud, the hammerhead cracking against the dragon's scales. The force of the blow sent vibrations up Tsun's arms, and the warhammer snapped in half, the handle splintering in his grip.
The dragon roared in pain, its head snapping back as it bucked violently. Tsun stumbled, barely keeping his footing as the creature twisted beneath him. The dragon's tail whipped around, the massive appendage aiming straight for him. Tsun clapped again, switching himself with a chunk of rubble. He reappeared several feet away, landing hard on the ground and rolling to his feet.
The dragon turned its head toward him, its glowing eyes filled with rage. It lunged, its jaws snapping inches from Tsun as he clapped again, replacing himself with a piece of shattered wood. He reappeared farther back, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. The dragon roared once more, its injured wing twitching as it pushed itself into the air. It struggled to gain altitude, the damage to its wing making its movements sluggish. Tsun watched as it climbed higher, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. The dragon was slower now, its movements less precise. But it was still dangerous, and he knew it wasn't done yet.
The dragon hovered above the battlefield, its massive form silhouetted against the darkened sky. Its wings beat heavily, ash and dust swirling around it. Its glowing eyes scanned the ground below, filled with contempt. Then, in a deep, rumbling voice that seemed to shake the very air, it spoke.
"Faal kreh... joorre." The words dripped with disdain, a mixture of Dovahzul and something almost understandable. "You dare strike me? Injure me? Such an insult from creatures so beneath me!"
The dragon's voice rolled over the battlefield like thunder, silencing the screams and shouts for a moment. Its massive head turned, focusing on the scattered soldiers. "You should be thankful. To die by my hand is an honor you do not deserve."
It roared again, its mouth opening wide as it gathered its fire. The sound built, like the rumbling of a volcano about to erupt, and then flames poured out in a wide arc. The fire blanketed the battlefield, consuming everything in its path.
Soldiers screamed as they were caught in the inferno, their bodies engulfed in flames. One man fell to his knees, his armor glowing red-hot as he crumpled forward, motionless. Another ran, his body ablaze, before collapsing in a heap.
Tsun gritted his teeth as the heat slammed into him. He clapped his hands, switching a soldier with a piece of rubble just before the flames reached him. The man appeared to the side, gasping for breath, but another nearby wasn't so lucky. The fire swallowed him whole, and his screams echoed in Tsun's ears.
"Move! Get out of the open!" Tsun shouted, his voice hoarse. He clapped again, switching himself with a piece of debris to avoid a stream of fire that tore through the air where he had just been standing.
Another soldier, pinned beneath a fallen beam, cried out for help. Tsun ran toward him, gripping the beam and lifting it with his enhanced strength. "Get up!" he yelled, pulling the soldier to his feet. But before they could move, the dragon's tail smashed into the ground nearby, sending a shockwave that threw them both off their feet.
The soldier hit the ground hard, his neck twisting at an unnatural angle. He didn't move again.
Tsun cursed under his breath, picking himself up. His cloak was singed, his skin stung from the heat, but he pressed on. He clapped again, replacing a group of soldiers with a stack of fallen timber just as the dragon's claws slammed into the ground. The wood shattered under the force, but the men were alive, stumbling to their feet.
"Keep moving!" he roared at them.
The dragon hovered above, its voice booming once more. "Pruzah vokun—glorious death awaits you all!" It dived suddenly, its claws raking through another group of soldiers. Blood sprayed into the air as the dragon pulled up again, leaving behind broken bodies and screams of agony.
Tsun's chest heaved as he scanned the battlefield. The watchtower was little more than rubble now, the scattered survivors trying desperately to regroup. But for every life he saved, another was lost.
A guard sprinted toward him, his face pale and streaked with soot. "We can't hold it!" the man shouted, his voice trembling. "It's too strong!"
Tsun clapped his hands, pulling the man out of the way as the dragon's fire ripped through the ground where he'd been standing. "Then we make it bleed more," Tsun growled, his eyes fixed on the dragon as it rose again, fire flickering from its maw.
The creature circled, its contemptuous laughter echoing across the battlefield. "Joorre. Your efforts are meaningless. Zeymah do vulon—brother of the night—has come to claim your pitiful lives!"
Tsun's chest rose and fell heavily as he stared at the dragon circling above. Despite his enhanced body and abilities, a part of him—a deep, primal part—felt fear. This wasn't just a creature. This was a force of nature. The dragon roared, its massive form descending from the sky and landing with an earth-shaking thud. The ground cracked beneath its weight, the air filling with dust and ash. Soldiers scattered, but they weren't fast enough. The dragon's fire burst forth again, a searing torrent that engulfed everything in front of it. Screams echoed as men fell, their bodies consumed by the flames.
Tsun didn't hesitate. He sprinted forward, weaving through the chaos as the dragon's claws tore through the rubble, scattering debris and bodies alike. He leaped onto a fallen piece of the tower, launching himself toward the beast. His fists slammed into its side, each blow landing with the sound of cracking stone, but the dragon barely flinched.
Its scales were like iron, unyielding under his strikes. Tsun's knuckles bled, but he kept hitting, aiming for weak points—its joints, the softer flesh around its neck. The dragon snarled, twisting its massive head toward him.
It spun suddenly, its tail whipping around with terrifying speed. Tsun barely had time to react before the massive appendage slammed into his chest. The force sent him flying, his body hurtling through the air like a ragdoll.
He crashed through the crumbling ruins of the watchtower, the stone and wood collapsing around him. Pain exploded through his body as he felt his ribs crack, his arm twist unnaturally, and his legs buckle under the impact. For a moment, everything was still, the world blurred by the rubble and dust surrounding him.
But then, the familiar sensation began. His body twitched, bones snapping back into place, muscles stitching themselves together. His vision cleared as his lungs filled with air again. The pain faded, replaced by the eerie sensation of his flesh knitting itself back together.
Tsun groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, shaking off the debris that clung to him. His clothes were torn, blood streaked his skin, but he was alive. He turned his gaze back toward the dragon just in time to see it looming over Irileth.
The dark elf stood her ground, her blade in hand, but it was clear she was outmatched. The dragon's jaws opened wide, its teeth glinting in the firelight as it prepared to devour her.
Tsun clapped his hands, the sharp sound cutting through the chaos. Irileth disappeared, replaced by him in an instant.
The dragon's jaws snapped down, but Tsun was ready. He threw his hands up, grabbing hold of its upper and lower jaws. The force of the bite pushed him back, his feet digging into the ground as he struggled to hold it off. The beast growled, its strength overwhelming. Tsun's muscles strained, his arms trembling as he pushed back against the crushing force. Its breath was hot and foul, flames flickering at the edges of its throat as it tried to snap its jaws shut around him.
"Not today," Tsun growled through gritted teeth, his voice low and strained. He planted his feet, his fingers digging into the dragon's jaws as he forced them apart inch by inch, every muscle in his body screaming in protest.
The dragon roared in frustration, its claws raking against the ground as it fought to overpower him. The dragon's jaws pressed harder, its immense strength starting to overwhelm Tsun. His muscles trembled, his arms quaked, and the heat from the dragon's breath scorched his skin. His teeth clenched as he pushed back, but he could feel himself losing ground. Just as the dragon's jaws began to close, a loud, piercing thud cut through the air.
A massive ballista bolt slammed into the dragon's neck, punching through its thick scales. Blood spurted from the wound, dark and steaming as it poured down the beast's chest. The dragon roared in agony, the sound deafening. Tsun was thrown backward by the force of its thrashing, landing hard on the ground.
His chest heaved as he pushed himself up, his eyes tracing the path of the bolt. He saw her—Freyja—standing behind the remaining ballista, her hands steady on the controls, her face illuminated by the firelight.
The dragon's roar turned into a deep, guttural snarl as it turned its head toward Freyja. Blood streamed from its neck, staining the ground below. Its glowing eyes locked onto her, and its massive chest began to swell.
Tsun's eyes widened. He could see the flames building in its throat, the light flickering in its open maw.
"Damn it," he muttered, grabbing a handful of stones from the ground. He hurled them at the dragon, his aim deliberate, before clapping his hands. In an instant, he was where one of the stones had been, directly in front of the dragon. It snarled, momentarily startled, but its rage quickly shifted back to Freyja as she moved to reload the ballista. Flames began to spill from its mouth.
"No," Tsun growled. He clapped again, switching himself with a massive piece of rubble. The fire burst from the dragon's jaws, slamming into the debris and scattering molten fragments across the battlefield.
The dragon roared in frustration, its tail whipping out and sending several guards flying. Tsun darted forward, his feet digging into the scorched earth. He threw another handful of stones to divert its attention, clapping and switching with one to avoid its claws.
Each time, the dragon's focus wavered, but not for long. It spun toward Freyja again, its chest swelling as it prepared another torrent of fire. Tsun clapped, replacing himself with a pile of broken timber just before the flames reached her position.
The fire engulfed him instead, the heat searing his skin. He cried out as the flames licked at his arms and chest, the pain sharp and unrelenting. He stumbled, his vision blurring as he tried to recover. His body, which had healed so effortlessly before, now struggled. The burns didn't fade, the pain didn't subside.
The dragon roared again, its jaws snapping inches from Tsun as he barely rolled out of the way. He swung a large piece of rubble at its snout, the impact causing it to rear back momentarily, but it wasn't enough. The beast lunged, its claws tearing through the ground as it closed in on him.
Tsun was on his knees, his strength fading, his breaths shallow. The dragon loomed over him, its bloody neck glistening in the firelight. Its chest swelled again, the unmistakable glow of fire building in its throat.
And then it stopped.
A second ballista bolt pierced through the dragon's left eye, the sound of the impact reverberating through the battlefield. The beast froze, its head jerking back as blood gushed from the wound.
The dragon turned its one remaining eye toward Freyja, who stood by the ballista, her chest heaving as she clutched the controls.
"Dovahkiin," the dragon hissed, its voice guttural and strained. "No... noooo!"
Its massive body swayed, its wings twitching weakly before it collapsed onto the ground with a thunderous crash. The earth shook as its lifeless form stilled, the once-mighty beast reduced to a broken, bleeding carcass.
Freyja didn't wait. She jumped down from the ballista and sprinted across the battlefield, weaving through rubble and bodies. She dropped to her knees beside Tsun, her hands reaching out to steady him.
"Tsun!" she said, her voice sharp with worry. Her eyes darted over his burned and battered body, her breathing quick as she tried to assess the damage.
He looked up at her, his face twisted in pain, but there was still a faint smirk on his lips. "I'm okay," he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You don't look okay!" she shot back, her hands hovering over his burns, unsure of what to do.
He chuckled weakly, wincing as the motion sent pain through his chest. "I've looked worse."
"Stop joking," she said, her tone wavering. Her eyes glistened, her hands trembling as she pressed them against his shoulder to steady him.
Tsun reached up, his hand brushing against hers. "I knew you'd come," he said.
Freyja swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as she nodded. "I want to be a hero too," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
As the words left her lips, a strange glow began to surround her. At first, it was faint, barely noticeable against the flickering flames of the battlefield. But then it grew brighter, the light intensifying and emanating from the dragon's corpse.
Freyja froze, her eyes widening as she turned to look at the massive creature lying lifeless nearby. The light seemed to pour out of the dragon's body, swirling in the air like smoke before streaming toward her. She gasped, her hands clutching at her chest as the energy hit her, flowing into her like a raging torrent.
Tsun watched in silence, his eyes narrowing. He had seen many strange things since coming to this world, but this... this was something else entirely.
Freyja staggered to her feet, clutching her head as the light enveloped her. It wasn't just light—it was something more. Something powerful. She could feel it coursing through her veins, filling her with knowledge, strength, and something ancient she couldn't quite describe.
Her breathing quickened, her body trembling as the energy surged through her. She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of the strange images flashing through her mind—words, symbols, sounds. They felt both foreign and familiar, like they had always been there, buried deep inside her.
Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. She didn't think. She didn't plan. She just felt the word, burning in her mind, demanding to be spoken.
"FUS!"
The word tore from her throat, raw and powerful. A massive shockwave erupted from her, blasting outward in all directions. Dust, rubble, and debris were hurled into the air, the force shaking the ground beneath them. The surviving soldiers nearby were thrown off their feet, shielding their faces from the sudden burst of energy.
Freyja fell back, landing on her rear with a thud. She clutched at her throat, her breathing ragged, her body trembling. Her voice felt raw, her throat burning from the sheer force of the shout.
Tsun, who had finally begun to heal, pushed himself to his feet. He dusted off his torn robes and looked around at the stunned faces of the survivors. Unlike the others, his expression was calm, though his mind raced. He knew exactly what had just happened.
The soldiers began to rise, their eyes wide as they stared at Freyja. Murmurs rippled through the group, their voices hushed but filled with awe.
"The legends..." one of them whispered.
"She's the Dragonborn," another said, his voice trembling.
"The Dragonborn is real," someone else muttered, his tone reverent.
Freyja looked up, her face pale and her hands still trembling. "What... what just happened?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Tsun stepped forward, his gaze steady as he looked down at her. "You absorbed its soul," he said simply, his voice quiet but firm.
Freyja blinked at him, her mind reeling. "Its soul?"
Before Tsun could answer, a faint rumble echoed across the battlefield. It wasn't the dragon—it was the sound of something distant.
"DO VAH KIN!"
___________________________
AN: The Battle is over and now it's time for the rewards, for Tsun It means a shiny Stone Mask and for Freyja it means another quest, kinda long. Anyway this is where they'll both be parting ways, it wouldn't be fun for Tsun to be her sidekick and him following her around. Nah. But they will meet again and he'll show up to help for the more important parts. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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