Everyone in the room gasped at the swirling mass of darkness that encompassed the entirety of the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several people bringing out weapons from all the groups, with Garan signalling to Ysmir's assassins to bring out more.
It was a bit too late though, as dozens men and women in strange robes and masks fell from the mass of liquid shadows.
"KILL THE FALSE DRAGONBORN!"
"FOR LORD MIRAAK!"
"END THE FALSE ONE'S CLAN!"
Summoning a Daedric Sword, Ysmir rushed through the first one to land.
"YOU B STARDS RUINED MY WEDDING DAY!"
Suddenly, the sword in the cultist woman's hand split into tendrils of darkness that tried to wrap around Ysmir. He cut through them, noticing that they had burnt his skin and that every aggressor possessed similar blades. He saw several of them preparing to wield magic that he didn't recognize.
'Well, this just got hectic.'
He had no idea how right he was.
//Break//
Ysmir cut through another cultist, and sent an overpowered Paralysis towards another. Everyone was dispatching them or knocking them out before moving on to the next, but more just kept coming from the ceiling.
Ralof was suddenly by his side.
"Well, Ysmir, your life just doesn't have any average days, now does it?"
"Certainly not. Now keep fighting!"
Together, the two greatest warriors in the Stormcloak army began tearing through the cultists as one, falling into a familiar flow.
Theirs was a bond forged in both battle and similarities. Each had faced similar hardships in their early lives. They understood each other more than anyone else. Ysmir could say with pride that Ralof was like a brother to him.
Which is why what happened next struck so hard in Ysmir's soul.
Seeing a yellow spell hurtling towards his brother in all but blood, Ysmir used Telekinesis to push a cultist in the path of the spell before throwing a Daedric Dagger into the neck of the caster. He turned back towards Ralof just in time to see the cultist explode in a shower of gore, guts and blood flying everywhere.
Ralof turned towards Ysmir, shock evident in his eyes at the manner in which the man had died.
"Dear Talos, that was close. Thanks, Ysmir."
Ysmir nodded mutely, looking Ralof in the face just in time to see shock and fear engulf his features.
"NO!" was all the man said before shoving Ysmir to the side. Ysmir turned his head in time to see a yellow light hit the man in the face.
"RALO-!" but it was too late.
Surrounded by his best friend's remains, Ysmir fell to his knees as his emotions swirled chaotically, both within and without.
A voice within his Dovahsil called out then.
'QAHNAAR PAH.'
And he saw red.
He summoned a second sword and began to slaughter each cultist he saw, moving faster and faster with each kill. He was a blur they could not catch.
But even in his haze, he could still pick out a sound that made his blood run colder than it already did.
Turning towards it, he saw one of the cultists' blades flying straight towards Sofie.
He ran, but some part of his mind already knew he wouldn't make it in time.
Just when the blade was a second from hitting Sofie, a form shimmered in front of it...
And Mjoll the Lioness fell to the ground, never to get back up.
And his rage grew.
//Break//
Ysmir Stormblood looked at the carnage around him. After half an hour, the cultist cloud had disappeared, and the cultists had been taken down, but not without casualties on their side.
Imperials and Stormcloaks, Tribesman and New Blood.
But none hit harder than Ralof and Mjoll. A man who had become his brother, and the woman who was willing to give him a second chance, even after he had betrayed her trust.
With the rage gone, he simply felt...
Empty.
"Ysmir!"
He turned towards Serana, noting the fear in her voice.
"It's Lucia!"
Her hand was gone.
Her entire right hand was CUT THE F CK OFF.
"We've tried all the healing spells we could, but the wound's not closing and the blood is flowing faster than it can replenish."
Ysmir knelt down next to his pale, sobbing daughter. Everyone gathered held their breath, not certain what to do with Ysmir's blank expression.
"Lucia, moni, do you trust me?"
Lucia looked up at her father through her pain. She saw that despite his expression, he was holding his grief in. He feared, just like he had with his vampirism, that what he wanted to do could lose her trust and love.
Putting on as determined an expression as she could, she nodded.
Focusing Grand Healing into his left hand-even as his undead flesh smoked and cooked in protest- he placed it on her arm and began channel the Magicka into her.
Ulfric spoke up. "Stormblood, they already said that wo-"
Ysmir channeled red hot flames in his off hand.
"Wait, what are you-"
Ysmir thrust his right hand directly into the open wrist. No matter what he said to the contrary, Lucia's screams cut through his heart and soul.
When he removed the flames, there was a charred stump where Lucia's wrist once was. After continuing the healing until his body couldn't take it anymore, he placed his now-unconscious daughter in the hands of one of the surviving New Bloods.
"Put her in bed. Keep her safe. If one hair is out of place, I'll slice your head off."
He turned to Serana, the look on her face showing she understood. Somehow, it made the knots in his veins tighter rather than looser.
"You alright, Serana?"
"I am. But are you?"
"I'm not dead."
"You know what I mean."
Ysmir swallowed the lump in his throat. "I've lost friends today. Almost lost our daughter. When the shock wears off, I'm likely to go into a rage. But I'm trying to focus on more important things. We can mourn after we've found out who attacked us, and why."
Serana gave a strained smile. "Good."
A cough drew their attention to Garan. The vampiric Dunmer had a stonier look on his face than usual.
"My Lord, our forces and those of Alinor have taken the surviving assailants to the torture chambers. Would you like us to begin questioning?"
Instead of answering, he turned towards Lydia, who had walked up holding one of the masks in her hand.
"Lydia, please keep Sofie and Lucia safe."
She nodded. She didn't like to talk much anymore. He could only hope to regain enough respect from the woman who was technically his slave now.
Turning towards Garan, he gave a sinister grin. "You know what, Garan, I think it's about time I administer the questioning MYSELF."
//Break//
Looking at Miraak's naked skeleton, and the large hole In the ribs where Hermaeus Mora slew him, Ysmir Stormblood couldn't even find it in himself to pity the fallen Dragonpriest.
He looked out at the surroundings, seeing endless stacks of books. Every book that had been written, every book that would be written, and even books that would never be written, if you could wrap your head around that.
He remembered the looks of fear that had formed on his daughter's faces when he told them he was going to fight a foe with abilities like his Thu'um. A foe that could be his superior. They were scared they were going to lose their father.
Stormblood, on the other hand, was scared of what would happen to them if he failed.
It was when he realized that he would die only of he knew they were safe. He would die if it meant they lived. But they couldn't defend themselves from the likes of Miraak. He had only survived because Mora was sick of his toy.
Looking at the books around him, he saw a way to even the playing field. To bridge the gap between himself and those he cared for. And a way to strengthen himself so nothing could threaten the ones he loved again.
Ralof and Mjoll would be the last people to die for him.
Looking at the approaching Seekers, he said the first thing to come to mind.
"Time to hit the books."