Within a blue-tinged world, with thousands of wandering souls, Michael announces his entrance by literally tearing a hole into the realm with the help of Tiffania's stolen Dimension Gate spell. "I'm here to get my dragon back! Anyone who gets in my way gets their soul eaten!"
...
The few ghosts who'd been standing in the area instantly scatter, screaming and running from the madman who thought he could endure the wrath of the Ideal Masters. This was the correct decision, as not a moment later a huge torrent of soul energy crashes into the spot where Michael was standing, the blue-purple light searing a wretched hole in reality itself and literally disintegrating any spirit stupid enough to be nearby.
Once the light clears all that is left in the area it struck is a purple boiling cracked ground and oozed a dangerous violet light... Along with a single figure.
Michael wipes his mouth and lets out a burp, "Man, if I knew you guys were just going to shoot soul energy at me, I'd have come much sooner!" he laughs.
The energy they'd fired was an extremely concentrated form of energy they'd extracted from the souls of their victims. To any other being, Daedric Princes included, it would be incredibly caustic and dangerous... But for Michael, who'd maxed out [Necromastery], it was like dunking his head in a pool of cola, very refreshing.
"Oooh, I'm buzzin'!" he says shaking his hands, feeling as if he was on a sugar high. "Alright, come out and fight me or I'll just directly merge my realm with yours! I guarantee that shit won't go well for you!"
...
The world around Michael warps and distorts, turning into a white plain that seemed to go on endlessly. Then, hundreds of figures began appearing around him, each looking like a silhouette made of purple diamonds with no other discernable features.
"INVADER, WHY HAVE YOU COME!?" they all simultaneously demand.
"I told you earlier! You stole my dragon! Give him back or I'll take this place apart, piece by piece!"
"THE SOUL IS OOURRSSSS!!!!"
Michael taps his foot impatiently, "How about we play a game? I'll give you three hours to kill me. I'll do absolutely nothing but stand here and nothing else. If you fail, you'll not only give me back Durnehviir, but I want every single soul you have in your possessions. Every last one... So, how about it? Deal?" he asks, his voice distorting slightly as he asks the last question.
...
"WE REFUSE."
Michael shakes his head, "I don't think you properly understand..." he reaches his arm out and clenches his fist, pulling on the thread that connects his soul to his realm. The air crackles around him and soon shatters, creating a window which reveals The Floating Isles of Providence to the Ideal Masters.
They let out inhuman growls at this but don't immediately make a move, so dangerous were Michael's actions that distracting him now could doom their entire realm... Due to Tiffnia's stolen void spell, he was essentially doing what Molag Bal tried to do to Tamriel all those years ago... Except he didn't require all the preparation, sacrifices, rituals, etc... With a flick of his hand he could do what Molag Bal could not over many centuries of planning.
"So I'll ask again, politely, do we have a deal?"
...
"THE TERMS. WHAT DO WE GAIN?"
"I thought not killing you all was enough but... How about my soul and the souls of everyone in my realm? That a good enough reward for you?"
"YES." they agree to the deal, inadvertently activating Michael's concepts and all jumping into action.
Since their soul energy attack obviously wouldn't work, they begun attempting different methods. Strangely to Michael, they began using Tamrielic magic against him, spells that one could learn. Indeed, the Ideal Masters were far magically stronger than any other mage he'd come across... Even Savos and the Psijic Order mage hadn't had an ounce of the power they were exerting against him now.
His body was incredibly magically resistant, but the deal allowed the Masters to get... Creative. They spent an hour condensing magical energy into what was essentially a bomb, one that had the same power as a couple nuclear bombs... They shoved this down his throat, and detonated it.
He wasn't durable enough to endure a nuclear explosion in his stomach... He died. But... Not really, his concept of death allowed him to recognise the true sense of the word and use it in his agreement, true death was permanent, so the binding snapped back into place when his body reformed itself in the Ideal Master's midst, surprising them all rather severely.
They made a few more attempts to kill him, but quickly realise that they'd been tricked. Then, they began panicking. Their realm trembling as the realisation of the situation hit them. Michael hadn't understood the implications of his deal until after it'd concluded, the fact that the realm of the Ideal Masters was entirely formed from soul energy.
This meant that if all of their souls were claimed, their realm would literally collapse in on itself. It would implode into nothingness, another unclaimed and unattributed realm amongst the other trillions in Oblivion.
Once the deal was concluded the Ideal Mastera all began bursting into particles around him, their own souls being claimed and thrown into the hellish portion of Floating Isles of Providence.
Before the Soul Cairne begins collapsing however, Michael grips it and binds it to himself, unwilling to let an already furnished property to go waste. Not to mention the fact that all black soul gems were linked to it, along with any soul used from said gems... In mortal terms, the realm was akin to a vending machine for Michael, allowing him to occasionally come back and collect the profit of souls.
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With the Soul Cairne and everything within it, including the souls, now his possession, Michael willed a portal into existence and stepped into it, quickly finding himself in the hellish section of his personal realm.
He was underneath the black clouds that lingered just under the Floating Isles of Providence, the landscape wreathed in darkness and a deathly miasma that would instantly kill any who didn't have a way to resist it.
Apparently, this also included the Ideal Masters, who were now idly floating around the place like haunting spirits, with no perceivable goal in mind other than to give a contrast between their glowing white/purple forms and the darkness surrounding them.
Michael does a couple checks to make sure they stayed down there permanently, then teleported to one of the floating islands above the clouds. Ignoring the quickly supplicating crowd, he looks up and spots a large winged silhouette making its way down to him.
"Master..." Durnehviir rumbles as he lands.
Michael shrugs humorously, "Guess that contract isn't needed now? So, about that task..."
--------------------------------------------------------------
Flashback end :
Michael had thought everything had gone perfectly considering the situation, but even then he still got shouted out. Valerica was angry because he'd essentially ruined the entire mystery of the place, it was no longer attuned to the ascended former-human necromancers and was now directly linked to his realm in Oblivion. This, of course, altered a few aspects of the Soul Cairne.
The main problem for her was the slight changes to the plants and other materials, at the macro level it wasn't a big deal, but at the micro, it essentially rendered all of her research over the past millennia useless. He could see why she was mad, but did she have to be such a bitch about it?
The other, less important people who were bothered by his actions had letters delivered to him via Sheo-express... Almost every Daedric Prince barring Meridia and Sanguine was pissed that he'd essentially started an interdimensional conquest.
Though, it was plain to see that they were angrier at their own inability to start one than anything else. The stench of jealousy and envy was overwhelming, at least, that'd what he said in the reply letters he sent back to them.
"I wonder how mad they'll be when they read them, heh..."
-----------------------------------------------
Surtr hops off of his dragon and steps onto the courtyard of High Hrothgar, doing his best to not sneer at the Greybeard novices failing to use even the simplest Thu'um. They all make way when they notice him, allowing him to enter the temple unmolested.
"Arngeir!" his voice echoes as he enters the dull grey halls, summoning the master from his responsibilities.
The old bearded man arrives and bows deeply, but isn't able to hide the slight scorn in his tone, "Dragonborn, how magnanimous for you to visit our humble temple..." he drawls.
Surtr crooks a brow but ignores it, instead electing to point a finger at the center of the main hall, "Who's that?"
Arngeir glances over and firms his lips, "Our talented and esteemed guests, Illococoo and Charlotte."
"-Illucooco?" Surtr parrots incorrectly, "One of Michael's companions?"
Arngeir slowly nods, "Indeed, we should proceed with what you are here for, however, they are currently deeply entrenched in their own studies." he says, ignoring the fact that the duo was playing UNO...
"Right..." Surtr mutters, making a note to pursue this later, "I have need of your expertise... Have the Greybeard's ever encountered a shout that can brainwash both men and dragons?"
Arngeir's eyes squint in apprehension, "Why have you need of this, 'Shout' Dragonborn..."
...
The duo make their way to a private room within the temple so Surtr can begin explaining. "I am sure you have heard news of 'Miraak', the upstart in Solstheim who wishes to bring Skyrim and the rest of Tamriel to its knees?"
"Yes, but I don't see-"
"It's THAT Miraak. The First Dragonborn." Surtr presses, not buying Arngeir's ignorance on the subject.
"... Are certain?"
"I met him face to face, he's an ugly sod but proved far stronger than I. Brainwashed the dragons accompanying me too. Gol Hah Dov, were the words."
"Earth Mind Dragon, the Bend Will shout..." Arngeir cautiously mutters under his breath.
"So you do know it?"
Arngeir nods, "It is one of the few shouts Paarthurnax refused to teach us. We only learned it through vigorous study, none of us attempted to master it either." he sighs, "To enslave a being goes directly against the Way of the Voice. I am aware you don't follow our tenets, but hear me, Dragonborn... The path of domination serves no one but yourself, you will be alone, deservedly too. None of your allies will be true, and you will never escape the pit you find yourself in, so cautioned Paarthrunax..."
Of course, Surtr ignores this warning. Even as High King his allies were very limited, and he could trust almost no one. Even Ralof, one of his closest friends was fraying, and he could see the glimmer of rebellion in the man's eyes.
Besides, the path of domination suited him well, he was a dragon, he was born to command the very earth he walked upon. Now that he'd defeated Alduin it all belonged to him, he wouldn't let Miraak ruin what he'd gained...
"I will take your warnings into consideration. Now, as High King of Skyrim I order you to teach me this shout."
"You threaten us now, Dragonborn? After all we've done for you? After everything you owe to us?" Arngeir asks with barely hidden scorn.
"I owe you nothing. You invited and taught me on your own volition, Paarthurnax's death is not on my hands either. Be glad I allow your 'Way of the Voice' to continue existing too, not many rulers would allow traitorous scum to build up enemy forces in their midst." he growls while jabbing his finger at the man.
...
Arngeir lets out a reluctant sigh, "Very well... But once this is done, I ask that you leave these grounds, never to return."
Surtr sniffs at him dismissively, "I own the very mountain your crumbling temple is built upon, don't anger me further, Arngeir."
...
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