Chapitre 687: Mir'AGHK!
Miraak allows the golden dragon to disperse and falls to a knee, vomiting up a small bucket's worth of blood onto the floor in front of him. He certainly hadn't expected the attack he'd been hit with... With how 'honourable' the monk presented himself, the thought of him using his own ally as a suicide bomb hadn't ever occurred to him.
Worse, his complacency and allowing his new slave to be thrust at him allowed the explosion to hit at point-blank range. He wasn't sure how much internal damage he'd suffered, but he knew both of his arms were broken, along with one of his legs. His skull throbbed and he was pretty sure it'd been fractured, if not cracked entirely. With how stiff his neck was as well, he wouldn't be surprised if it was broken.
"Maste-" Louise starts as she's released from the ephemeral dragon's wing, trying to run over when a blue blur appears before she can reach him.
*SLIK!*
Wei's glaive-dagger cuts through the crippled Miraak's neck, dropping his head onto his knees as the shocked Joseph and Louise watch.
The female monk tears off a part of her smoking robe and spits on the floor before Blinking away to a nearby rooftop. A limping Anti-Mage follows her as they rush back to the ships.
All of the dragons under Miraak's thrall instantly sense his death and start rapidly dispersing. Unwilling to face the only remaining Dragonborn left.
Louise blazes with anger and rushes over to the steep edge of what remained of the tower, her now bright-glowing wand pointing directly at the navy. "HOW DARE YOU! NONE OF YOU WILL ESCAPE! I SWEAR IT! EX-" she shrieks as she tries to unleash yet another explosion, this one more powerful than the last.
Joseph pulls her down before she can complete her manic cast however, just as a dozen arrows pass by where her head had just been, courtesy of an unamused Medusa. "Valliere! Get ahold of yourself! The day is not lost yet, but we must leave!"
"LEAVE!? WE HAVE YET TO FACE MICHAEL BUT WE ARE STILL LOSING! AGAINST THESE INBRED BARBARIANS NO LESS!" she roars.
"I don't like it either! But we must temper this failure! Our master made plans for this!" the former king of Gallia presses.
...
Louise nods, wetting her lips as she crawls towards Miraak's body, aware that a terribly effective archer was now gunning for them. She starts the chant to create a Teleportation Gate, Surtr was still in the sky chasing dragons, and so was unaware that his rival had just been killed. Once he realises it however the dup and corpse were long gone.
Solstheim was theirs, but their reason for coming in the first place had been lost.
--------------------------------------------------
"What!? Miraak's dead!? Then where is his corpse!" Surtr angrily shouts as he marches towards the relatively small group of survivors that were standing in the centre of the ruined Dunmer city.
Wei grunts as she hefts her master onto a set of boxes which were covered with a bunch of discarded clothing that was acting as a makeshift medical bed. "Don't know, don't care. He's dead now so let's just get back to Winterhold."
Surtr growls and tries to grab her shoulder, but Kunkka steps in the way, preventing him from angering the young monk any more than he already had. "Our job is finished here, if you wish to colonise the island you may do so, but my men and my boats are coming with me."
"Your boats are Skyrim's boats! Which makes them my boats!" Surtr sharply retorts.
Kunkka just shakes his head in response, "I think not... Hear that lads!? We're leaving! Back to Winterhold I say!" he shouts, drawing many ayes from the surrounding men.
With that, the navy from Winterhold begins packing up their things and transporting the injured and dead onto the ships. In the meantime, Charlotte goes around and destroys any shrines that remained of Miraak or Hermaeus Mora.
Surtr watches this all beside his injured men, most of them possessing such horrific injuries that they'd never walk again, let alone fight. This wouldn't be much of a problem for a magic user, but again, Surtr's forces were comprised of warriors, not mages.
Ralof steps to his side with his arm in a sling which had been put there after getting caught in the aftermath of a dragon's Unrelenting Force shout. "What do we do now, Surtr? Miraak's gone and we don't have the men to secure the island..."
Surtr sniffs at his words, "'What do we do?', You mean what will I do? You and 'our' warriors were less than useless during the fight. Compared to what Michael has, it's like I have weights tied to my legs." he grouses, causing Ralof to step back in perturbed silence, not knowing where he was going with this.
"Our men gave their lives for you. You cannot expect regular warriors to fight well against mythical dragons and overwhelmingly powerful mages!"
"Then they do not deserve to serve me! Such weak fools! What happened to honourable Nord warriors!? Where have they gone!? The Companions of old! The legends!"
"They all died following you to Solstheim, in case you've forgotten, Surtr!" Ralof growls as the other men start looking over, their faces contorting as they hear their High King's words.
Surtr bears his gritted teeth at Ralof, "Don't you dare place their lives on me! It was Michael who abandoned us in the world's time of need! And it was their choice to give their lives so Nirn could continue!"
"Y-you... It's always Michael did this, or Michael did that... When are you going to take responsibility for your actions, Surtr!? Just because you are dragonborn doesn't make you above the rest of us! You are still that same man who I rescued in Helgen, not some god that reigns above us all without consequence!"
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Niggross
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