Chapitre 346: Unusal Friendship

Sorry for being late, a really hot day in Ramadan. 40C (104F) and it keeps getting worse. And today's chapter is a bit of a spin-off. Brain is overheating!

~~~~~~~~~~

*Bash* *Bash* *Thud*

*Screams*

"No! Please! Mercy!"

"Say Ah!"

"AAAAAAH!"

"Good boy!"

*Bash* *Thud*

"Phew! That was refreshing."

Jon stretched his body up and took a breath after whipping the blood off his face with his sleeve, he was surely working hard. He looked around him with satisfaction and nodded to himself, today's harvest was bountiful.

Last night, he stalked some Forsworn to a cave and waited until all the cave dwellers gathered, he then raided the camp this morning with his new companion and killed over twenty Forsworn with the [Mace of Molag Bal]. The bodies were all piled around him.

That mace is also known as the [Vampire's Mace] and has the ability to Trap Souls, Recover Fatigue and Absorb Magicka.

"Mortal, you missed one!" A voice so nasty, that it felt like its owner had a broken radio for a throat, called for him.

Jon's good mood always gets ruined when he hears that voice. He can't get used to it no matter what.

"Xikil, you son of a bitch, clear your damn throat before you talk!"

Jon turned to the Dremora following him and cussed right away. Xikil's voice was just like any other Dremora so it was Jon who unintentionally gets goosebumps from the tone itself.

[A/n: Dremora are the equivalent of demons, red and black skinned with horns and a deep unexplainable grudge against Mortals.]

"Spare me your nonsense, mortal. Take this one." Xikil indifferently replied at Jon and threw the Forsworn boy that he caught.

"You retarded Daedra, when was the last time you used your brain?" Jon looked at the boy and sighed. He waved the Mace and killed him, "I needed that boy alive so we can follow him to another camp when he gets away."

"... Aaah!"

"Really? 'Aaah'? That's your reaction?"

"Mortal, don't test my patience. Just go look for them the way you normally do."

Jon glared at the Dremora with contempt, never he thought that the Dremora are this stupid. Well, maybe because Xikil was not a high ranked Dremora. He always blows Jon's cover and had a thing for charging head on without thinking. Normally, Jon would Conjure Dremora to fight for him in a direct fight but he never tried those sons of bitches in stealthy combat before.

They completely suck if Xikil was not a half-witted retard among his kind.

Still, he had his uses. Molag Bal assigned Xikil randomly for Jon when he granted his blessing.

The [Blessing of Molag Bal], never did Jon ever think of having such a thing. It had only one purpose and that was corruption. Molag Bal did not mention this part to Jon intentionally but it pissed Jon off right away. Jon had the physique of a Firemane blessed by the [Guardian Dragon] that grants the Ashen Flames, the Flames that Jon and his father can use to buff their normal Fire Magic to an unimaginable degree. The blessing of Bal simply interfered with the [Blessing of the Guardian Dragon] and changed the 'White Ashen Flame of Incineration' to the 'Blue Cold Flame of Essence Drain', Jon didn't want to admit it but the Cold Flames suited him better.

Once he killed 10 Forsworn and granted their souls to Molag Bal, this Cold Flame was Bestowed on him. He can now cast his Fire Magic only in the form of Blue Cold Flames.

This was the first part of the blessing that can be acquired by sacrificing 10 souls. When the sacrifice reaches 100 souls, another Magic will be granted to Jon and the same with 1000 souls.

Still, how can Jon use any of that? Wasn't he supposed to have his Magicka locked by the damn vine leeching around him?

Here where Xikil comes in. Xikil was tasked by Molag Bal to carry an artifact from Oblivion called the [Soul Sigil Stone]. That Sigil Stone is something produced by Daedric Magic be used for many things such as opening Gates from Oblivion to the Mortal Realm Mundus, a medium to use Magic and can replace Soul Gems for enchanting.

This Soul Sigil Stone has the function to absorb the souls and deliver them to Molag Bal as well as share some of these souls' Essence with Jon. Using that Essence, Jon can use the magic Molag Bal bestowed on him.

"So, horns for brains, how many souls did we collect so far?"

"43. Too slow, Mortal. It has been two days already."

"What the fuck do you want me to do? If you just shut up and let me do my work, I would have found another camp by now."

"Huh? Blaming me for your weird tastes now, Mortal? Who said you have to be picky with your prey? Just kill anyone and finish the job already! I can't stand you, weak pathetic creatures."

"... Do you want to die?"

"HA! The likes of you don't even dare to scratch me, the Mighty Xikil of cla… PUFF!"

Jon slammed Xikil on the back of his head with the mace. Xikil died immediately and his body was taken back to Oblivion.

"Dare is my fucking surname, you noisy fucker."

Jon started massaging his temples, listening to the ranting Dremora all day made his headache.

Well, killing Xikil is not possible anyway, he is a Daedric creature which means he is an immortal. Most of the creatures of Oblivion work this way, wherever they get killed, they resurrect back again in their Realm of Origin by a substance called the 'Chaotic Ceratia' and that goes from the Dremora to the Atronach to all other Daedric Creatures. The reason for this is that the Daedric Creatures have no Anuic Animus (Soul) but have a different version called the Vistage.

Speaking of Vistages, this is the Fate that Jon bestowed on the Forsworn. The reason why Jon refused to target any people other than the Forsworn, such as Bandits, was because of what happens to those who get claimed by Molag Bal. That Daedric Prince is also called the Harvester of Souls for a reason. In his realm of Coldharbour, there are beings called the [Soul Shriven]. These are Mortals whose souls got claimed by Molag Bal and he literally exchanged their Souls with Vistages which enables them to form bodies in his realm and become eternal will-less slaves but they are not native to Oblivion, so the body of a Soul Shriven is an imitation of the body worn in life, suffering rapid wear and decay until it dies, for its vestige only forms a body once again, over and over, like a Daedra. Their appearance is shocking too, pale skin, white eyes, hairless and feeble; the Soul Shriven experience nothing but labor and torment until they are rendered feral with minds too broken to work.

This is a true existing version of hell and Jon was the judge, jury and executioner of send people there.

Still, he didn't feel sorry for anyone he sent there so far.

***

The next day, Jon summoned Xikil by the method Molag Bal left him with.

"Mortal, you won't get away with that!" Xikil shouted and waved his greatsword at Jon the moment he was summoned.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Jon simply kicked Xikil's leg causing him to lose balance and fall on his face.

"MOORTAAAAL!"

As Xikil was about to lash in another fit of rage, Jon stomped on his head causing him to blackout.

It took Xikil a few minutes to wake up again only to find Jon has strapped him clean of his armor and weapons as well as the [Soul Sigil Stone] all after tying him up to a tree. Unable to control his anger anymore, Xikil was about to blow up from anger and started cursing.

Jon ignored the raging Dremora and kept inspecting the Sigil Stone with interest. This was not a normal Sigil Stone, it was something much more valuable. Sigil Stones valued in quality and shapes but this one can be said as unique. Jon can tell as Nurina has a few Sigil Stones that she extorted out of some Daedric Creatures and she considers them very valuable and keeps them hidden even from Jon. He could tell that Nurina would move mountains for that Sigil Stone he took from Xikil.

He sighed in his heart and thought of getting a few Sigil Stones of his own one day to study them. He really wanted to see how the Daedric Magic made such artifacts, they were very similar to his 'Magicka Reactors' in some sense.

He put the Sigil Stone back carefully and started to inspect Xikil's gear. It wasn't the Daedric Gear he knew from the game or any sort of magic items. They were all very sturdy pieces that would fetch quite the price around Tamriel. The Daedric craftsmanship is always seen as the best despite its diabolical fashion.

"Alright, horns of brains, we had our fun. Ready for today's work?"

"Ready! READY? Mortal, I swear on the name of Lord Molag Bal, you will…"

"Shut up or I'll hit you."

"GRAAAH!"

*Bash*

Jon punched Xikil in the face before cutting him loose and returning his things to him.

"Try anything funny and next time you will deal with Lord Molag Bal of yours, I am the keeper of his mace so you get to shove your mortal-immortal act up your ass."

"Morta…"

Jon raised the mace as Xikil was about to lash out again but the later held his tongue immediately.

"Good! You and I will be great friends right away. First rule, friends don't talk."

"Grrr!"

"Or growl."

"..."

"Good boy."

And that's how it started, a friendship story between a human and a Dremora based on the noble ethics of shutting the fuck up. Too bad it was short-lived, Jon had to kill Xikil once again by the end of the day for talking during stealth.

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Chapitre 347: 100 Kills

A/n: Jon's POV returns again! It feels so good to be back at the mind of my homicidally main character.

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For how long has it been since I thought so deep in myself, or maybe I was just thinking about myself all along without realizing. Funny, I never thought that one day I will indiscriminately kill people like that.

I always had this rule with Bandits. They leech on people like vermin so they should be treated like vermin, stripped away from their humanity and put to the sword. It was the best course of action for everyone.

But what I am facing this time was something I preferred not to think too much about. Still, when I am alone with nothing to divert my poisonous thoughts, my mind comes to me and I start thinking.

Was it really alright?

Mass murder.

Genocide.

Condemning them to a literal hell.

Just because of what? Two months of captivity, a foot and a couple of fingers.

I can just fix all that and move on. Really. They won't even come after me if I packed my shit and walked away.

Still, I wasn't able to do so.

Something about this whole mess wanted to make sense of itself and it drove me mad. I can't help it anymore, doing things like that was wrong. Just wrong. It won't help me at all. All I needed is to kill one man, remove the cursed vine and do whatever it is I usually do. Ironically, the way to do that is to kill more of those people so that I can amass enough power.

Here I am trying to make sense of killing by more killing. I am sick of it yet it is all that I need to do in the end.

More killing.

And here my number 99 victim. Just lying in his blood forfeiting his life to my cause being devoured by blue flames and running around as if it was burning him. It actually was. It was leaving white burn marks rather than black… as if it would make me feel any better.

Making sense of killing by more killing is just stupid. Funny, I am getting cold feet just one victim away from gaining more power.

"One more kill, Mortal."

"Yeah."

Still, I had to kill them and use their souls as means to an end… now that I put it this way, feels like I am the bad guy in the end.

How did it all start? I mean those Reachmen. Why do they have to be so stubborn about sharing the Reach with the Nords? Fuck who sits on the Throne! Life should never be the price for Pride. The deadliest of all sins.

Haha! Look who's talking! Me, the sinner of Pride. I called myself Dare because I don't stand my pride being dared. But I know better… it is just a facade for my little weak self to hide behind. I don't know a better way to deal with this world than just acting high and mighty.

Despite knowing though, I don't get why the Forsworn are so prideful despite being nothing but savages. They could have settled with Nords, grew their influence from being some simple minority to a potential ruling faction and ride the law.

But in the end, it is a racial conflict that can't be resolved even if we Nords killed the heads of all Forsworn.

But how to resolve something with such a scale?

How to put down an entity as large as the Forsworn. They are many, spread around, unending. Even if I killed a thousand, I won't even scratch the surface. I already annihilated Alaric's army twice and that surely was more than a thousand.

Just what would it take, as I know, killing the king doesn't end the war.

In my past life, I read that thing about chess. Not all pieces are what they are, the King, the Queen and the Pawns.

Why when all the Pawns die, the game does not end despite it being realistic and why when the King die the game is over despite being unrealistic? A nation can't survive without its army but can survive without its king, another one will rise anyway.

That's when the meaning of the chess pieces becomes clearer. The Pawn is the weakest but has a lot of potential, the Queen is the strongest, and so on. All the pieces represent potential and resources but the king represents what is really essential. What nothing can survive without.

Hope, Future, Time.

Take those away from a nation and you utterly destroyed it.

"... You know what, Xikil. You are a better listener than I thought you would be."

"..."

"You are allowed to talk by the way."

"... So, Mortal. Does this mean you are not killing them or you are going to kill them?"

"I don't know. Power for souls, life for death. I don't think I will wipe them out if that's what you are asking about. They will make sure that there future goes on and survives."

"And how is that?"

"Simple, they know that I know that their base in Karthspire. They know that I am coming one day. They must have migrated all their children away and brought reinforcements."

"Children. That's what you mortals consider future."

"... Yeah. I think it is different for you Daedra. You don't have a future to speak of."

"HA! What are you talking about, Mortal? We are eternal. We may have learned fear and our thoughts evolve but we are unending. We are the perfect beings to serve our Lord. Unlike your kind, we are not flawed." Xikil said while puffing his chest.

"Is that so?" I couldn't help but smile. "I think I pity your kind now."

"Pity? HA! By a mortal?"

"Yes. Your kind is eternally doomed in servitude."

"That's what we desire."

"Is that really true? Do you even desire anything? You are created and programmed to do a set of tasks that the Daedric Princes give you. You are the perfect servants. You are eternal, you don't need to be fed or cared for, you can just be used without wearing off and when you do, you get resurrected over and over again. Your kind may be 'Eternal' but doesn't have 'Life'. By that, you don't have Future, you don't have hope, you don't have freedom. You are just an NPC in my opinion and I think your Ego itself may not be real. Just another thing granted to you by your creator. And may God have mercy on those who are forever the slaves."

"Mortal… you really say interesting stuff that I don't fully comprehend. I am not sure what it all meant but I am sure they were all said to make you feel better about yourself."

"I can't argue with that. But I feel really better about myself now that I've said all that. I hope you feel worse… or do you even feel?"

"Mortal, at least I can do that."

"Truly? Then let's put it to the test. When was the last time you felt joy?"

"... Not long ago, about fifty years ago we were chasing that mortal that trespassed a certain place and was running really fast. Took us almost a day of chasing to catch him. And there was that time with a Clannfear that bit on my commander's sword and started running. It was a good chase."

"Oh! So you are a chaser. Good, we have a situation here. Someone up that mountain is watching us for quite the time now. I am afraid that I don't have the means to catch him quietly without doing a fuss. Can you do it without uttering a word the way I taught you?"

"Haha! Chasing a Mortal? That's what I call sport, hold this and don't lose it." Xikil handed me the Soul Sigil Stone and disappeared in the darkness of the night.

The half-witted idiot! All I needed is some time to study a thing or two about stone now that I have some magic power.

I was thinking of using my own Essence inside the Vine to weaken it for a short while. It is a bit exhausting but will work.

I just had to push some of that Essence violently through the vine until it reaches the Sigil Stone this us it to pull some Essence from the Vine weakening into some degree.

It started as I expected but became quite painful. The process was draining me but in the end. Here was it.

A Signal.

I could feel it!

She is there.

I stood up facing Markarth which I haven't been to in a few days by now.

Seems like I need to go back.

"Mortal, look what I found!"

"No, let, me, go… AAAH! HELP!"

"Shut it!"

*Slap*

Xikil brought a man to me. A Breton-like man with some fiendish facial features, a Reachman.

"You got him without making a noise? I am impressed, Xikil."

"What? No! He heard me coming and started running but he was slow. Mortals are so weak."

"Sigh!" I think there is no hope for that fool. "Fine. Speak up, Reachman. Why were you following me?"

"..."

And as always, no response came.

Torture was an option but the Reachmen are a bit nasty and used to that stuff. Still, the Mace of Molag Bal can make people sing in the end.

His name is Morven, apparently a Forsworn spy in Markarth and he was up to me the moment I appeared in Markarth. I didn't need to know much about him, he works for Nepos the Nose. I know both Morven and Nepos from the game. Nepos is an Elderly Reachman undercover in Markarth that works as a double agent for both the Forsworn and the Silver-Blood family of Nords.

Things are not what they seem like.

Nepos has a nose on that attack that targeted Wulfur.

That was an answer that made more questions come to my mind but one thing Morven said that made me curious.

It was about Alaric, he was always called the Prince but I didn't notice anything about that… the Prince must be related to a King, and there is no king in the Reach but the King in Rags.

"Interesting."

*Bash* *Thud*

I killed Morven with a mace to the head.

"Looks like I need to go to Markarth after all."

I looked at the Soul Sigil Stone that absorbed Morven's Soul as the 100th. I could see it glowing with power. Something awakened in me.

A new spell.

I could feel it as if a memory was being engraved in my head.

I simply handed back the Sigil Stone to Xikil and cast the spell.

"Hahaha! Motherfucker! Not only I was going to Markarth but I got a ride too."

The next spell I got was a Conjuration spell of a lissome form curveted and twirled at the edge of my vision, its expressions blank of all emotion but for the avid hunger of the arsonist.

A Cold-Flame Atronach.