Chapter XV: Battling the Shatter-shield

A devastating mix of crimson lightning and golden fire clashes with salvos of unnaturally cold ice magic, the very air turning dangerous for those without adequate protection as the rebel mage attempts to gauge my defenses, and I attempt to refine my combat spell casting by stealing from the man's experience.

Was it arrogant to use this battle as a training exercise? Yes.

Did I care? Not at all.

I have to admit that I expected the famous Grimnir Shatter-shield to be just another idiot Nord with only a bit of real power but the old war veteran impressed me with his creativity and tenacity during our battle so far.

I held every advantage against him, my combination of clairvoyance and simple mass of power allowed me to batter his defenses without exerting myself overmuch. The moment he realized his wards were getting cracked with insulting ease he switched to terramancy which while more Magicka intensive allowed him to absorb most of my spells and his enchanted shield allowed him to survive what managed to get through.

My clairvoyance told me that the wall was in no real danger of falling so I decided to take my time with observing the tactics used by the Stormcloak mage.

Grimnir, noticing that his situation was not tenable, decided to switch to the offensive, and as he barely held back another spear of fire that cost me basically nothing to cast he swiftly downed a potion and started running right at me with alteration enhanced speed.

I felt him channel a large amount of Magicka and his shield glowed, creating a layered ward in front of him, all the while his weapon arm shimmered as torrents of ice magic gathered within his grasp.

Within what was barely a couple of seconds he had already cast another large scale blizzard in my direction, likely hoping to blind me while he engaged in melee.

The poor fool.

As the spell neared my position I cast a shadow walk and simply appeared to Grimnir's side, a bolt of fire already leaving my free hand and striking him right in the ribs.

I expected the usual result of such a hit, namely him breaking into pieces that did not immediately get disintegrated, but to my great astonishment all my spell did was take a chunk out of his armor and leave a patch of blackened skin.

The old man swerved with skillful ease and immediately launched another spell in my direction, this time a mixture of earthen spikes and telekinetically thrown spikes of steel.

I stopped the earth attack and just to spite him I rose a wall of thick dirt, utterly invalidating his other attack.

I could see frustration grow in the man's eyes as he swiftly drank yet another potion from his large bandolier of vials, a rather potent concoction judging by his rapidly healing wounds.

He seemed to consider something for a moment, costing him yet another painful fireball and a lot of burned hair, and with a deep breath he focused his eyes on me. The next thing I knew the space to my right cracked and he was standing right next to me, his hammer in full swing and his mouth open.

Recognizing the usual sign of the thu'um being used I immediately shouted "FEIM!" just in time to avoid the deadly looking hammer swing followed by a fully charged blast of unrelenting force.

I dashed away from the rebel mage while he refocused and chuckled mockingly "I did not know Ulfric had the guts to teach his underlings how to use the voice. Truly, he shames the very idea of the vaunted Greybeards."

I could see I'd hit a nerve as the old man glares at me "An elf pissing on our traditions by doing the same has no right to comment on King Ulfric's decisions."

Forcing him to dodge with another wave of fire I shrug as if I were having a simple conversation "I never joined the order of Greyberads, nor did I desert them like an honorless coward. Something your 'King' has done to the knowledge of all with ears to hear."

"As if I'd ever listen to your empire-loving slander. King Ul- UGh" I force him to shut up with a sudden flurry of lightning strikes from both myself and above him, a glancing blow taking off a chunk of his helmet along with the man's ear.

"Tut tut." I wave my free hand at him like he was a child "Innocent children should not talk back."

The mix of pain and humiliation seemingly snaps something within the old man as his entire demeanor shifts to one of cruelty "You speak with such confidence, yet I wonder what you would feel if I told you that while you are here your precious little domain in Winterhold is falling into our hands at this very moment?"

I suddenly stop casting spells and stare at the smug fuck while blinking rapidly, a grin spreads on his face when he misunderstands just why I was so stunned and then promptly disappears when I start laughing my ass off, accidentally channeling the thu'um and shaking the ground around me while doing so.

Wisely, the old fucker attempts to smack me with his hammer while I am seemingly distracted but all that earns him is a wide smack to the helmet with the blunt end of my glaive, his life barely saved by an instinctual dodge that turned a decapitation into a glancing blow.

Instead of allowing himself to get stunned by my strike, he carries his momentum into another swing while channeling a cloak of ice at the same time, and as if that wasn't enough the fucker also combines a "Fus!" into his combo.

Using my supernatural agility I duck below the shout and kick out against his hand, redirecting the hammer strike. The ice cloak clashes against my robe's defenses but doesn't penetrate in time as I counter with my own combination of fire and wind, blasting him back yet doing frustratingly little damage.

Old man was built like a tank.

We stare at each other for a split second, and once again as if a signal was given we both strike out with our weapons and magic, our battle turning from a pure clash of magic to one of arms. Grimnir uses both his shield and hammer to force me into being defensive while I focus on keeping my distance and delivering devastating strikes with my extra range.

Seemingly understanding that this is getting him nowhere, the old Nord shifts his position and I feel a different kind of magic flow around him, and within the blink of an eye, I am surrounded by a trio of armored Dremora and a massive white bear.

Unlike most lesser Daedra I had faced so far, these fight together and keep pressing me at a constant and uniform pace, all the while Grimnir takes the opportunity to once again potion up and recharge his reserves.

This was getting a tad annoying.

'Time to stop playing around then.' I decide, and no longer caring about being efficient I start blasting everything around me with overcharged dovahzul-enhanced spells, banishing the summons and forcing Grimnir to pull away with a click of his tongue.

"You know what the funniest part is?" I ask as we once more enter a staredown.

He doesn't seem all that curious but takes the opportunity to recharge whatever Magicka he can and grunts out questioningly.

"I wouldn't have even known something was happening if not for the little revolt up in Winterhold." I say with a snicker "You lot quite literally warned me of your own plans with that stunt."

He blinks slowly as he hears my words and as the information leaves him momentarily stunned I shadow walk right in front of him and make a telegraphed overhead swing with my glaive.

Grimnir immediately raises his shield to deflect but in that moment I let the glaive go from my left hand and summon the Ebony Blade, the Daedric dagger swiftly finding its way through the old man's armor and into his chest.

He recoils with a gasp of pain, his skin looking much paler and his movements greatly slowed down yet before I can finish him off I am forced to duck and teleport away as a flurry of spells comes from behind me, ironically striking the old man but not killing him.

The dozen or so Stormcloak magi that survived their brief and likely traumatic meeting with Serana all rush to position themselves in front of me in an attempt to save who I can only guess is their mentor, all of them sporting signs of battle wounds and spell damage.

And as if that was not enough another force of rebels soon emerged from the pass opposite the legionary fort soon after, a downright frightening amount of the elitely equipped force giving me the feeling of enhanced vitality usually associated with tongues and over a hundred archers positioning themselves atop the large pile of rocks blocking most of the passage.

Yet I do not feel even a bit worried as I stare down the small army slowly emerging to meet me, it was all according to my plan after all.

A somewhat healed Grimnir steps out in front of his magi and looks at me with a frown "Are you so arrogant as to still stand before us?"

I chuckle "Oh no my good man, not at all." My glaive disappears and in its place I pull out the Staff of Magnus "It is you who are arrogant to stand against me."

I offer no further explanation and just for the sake of being dramatic I intone "O Magnus!" a massive wave of bright blue Magicka connected to the eye of the sun flowing out of me in what most would associate with an avalanche.

As my grand spell starts to form all of the magi start bombarding me with spells and many of the presumed tongues direct their half-baked shouts at me.

Yet it is all for naught as my wards and earthen barriers are powered by the father of magic himself and the spells of my enemy feel weaker than rain trying to burrow into steel.

The telltale sign of a Magicka high tingles into the back of my head as I let out a cackle and let the grand inferno descend upon the force of Stormcloaks. I notice some of the mages rapidly burrowing into the ground where they can but most of the force is hit head on.

The screams last for but the tiniest instant before all is quiet.

With the last bit of Magicka left from my ability, I overcharge a shadow step and appear on the wooden walls of the fortified pass, the fires still burning offering me the perfect view of the now glass-covered valley in front of us.

Damn, I am good.

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(General POV, a bit earlier)

"Excuse me ma'am." Serana hears the local 'Quaestor' call her.

"Yes?" She turns to the blood covered Orsimer, none of it his she notes after some minor observation.

"Is the Court Mage going to be alright out there?" Zarok asks "I don't want to question his strength but reports say that the rebels have some pretty strong mages on their own end."

The Daughter of Coldharbour cups her chin momentarily before offering the orc the tiniest of shrugs "He doesn't strike me as someone suicidal so he must have a plan of escape at least."

The orc seems unsatisfied with the answer but seeing as he really can't do much about it he settles with saying "....Right." And walks off to make sure his men are still ready in case of further attacks.

An involuntary shiver suddenly goes down Serana's spine and she spins toward the ongoing fight just in time to feel the massive amount of Magicka roil from her current ally.

The sight that greets her eyes makes the millennia old woman gape in sheer astonishment as the Dunmer mage summons a literal sun atop the rebel forces, quite literally baking their entire position and turning the entire surface into fragile glass.

She blinks a couple of times, forcing her eyes to readjust to the sudden lack of light before a hatefully hopeful thought appears in her mind 'Maybe he really can face my father.'

She takes a drink of her blood potion, utterly disgusted at her own optimism though she fails to remove the small feeling of hope in her heart.

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