Alduin Unbound

Alright, chapter six up and running. Apologies for the long wait, hope everyone enjoys!

This chapter is dedicated to GiantMako. Thanks for all the kind words, and I hope you enjoy this section! Keep up the great writing!

Chapter 6- Monsters and Madgods

Lost in a Roman
Wilderness of pain
And all the children
Are insane…

The Doors- The End

Right now, Sweet Grass could honestly say that he hated his life. No, it wasn’t the never-ending mountain of paperwork he had yet to complete, nor the impending apocalypse that drew closer by the second, or even his insufferable and often incompetent colleagues.

No, at the moment it was largely because of his princess and the consequences of the unwarranted amount of faith and trust she had placed in him.

To review, she had appointed him in charge of overseeing the school’s entrance exam for a young unicorn filly. Nothing unusual or outlandish about that, true?

Except that he was an earth pony, who didn’t have the slightest idea of how to evaluate magical prowess.

Except that the other professors, the actual UNICORNS, had not prepared a test for the girl.

Except that this pony was not just any simple filly, but the granddaughter of their ruler’s closest friend and advisor.

Except that Celestia herself planned to take this student under her wing.

No pressure at all. Why couldn’t the princess have asked him to just leap off a cliff instead?

And so, in a moment of weakness and desperation, he turned to the worst possible pony for assistance. Ronan had been delighted to oblige, roping him into some insane plot to use Celestia’s egg as a type of gauge to measure the filly’s power.

At the time, it hadn’t seemed like such a terrible idea. Their information had described Ms. Sparkle as a studious and persistent learner, whose magical abilities had developed largely through trial and error. As a result, they expected to see a solid, if unrefined display of magical talent. Likely it would take a few tries for her to adequately manifest a spell, and then it was simply a matter of judging its effect upon the egg.

According to Ronan, there would be a minor display of energy and some superficial burn damage to the walls and ceiling. Nothing serious.

Unfortunately, ‘nothing serious’ had translated into things going straight to Tartarus.

He watched as Twilight strained and struggled to use her magic, the filly’s anxiety building with each scrape of the professor’s quills. The earth pony rolled his eyes. He might not know a thing about magic, but in his opinion this entire test seemed more about intimidation than actual assessment.

A thundering boom in the distance snapped him out of his musings. Along with the parents and professors, his attention turned to the windows and the rainbow-colored shockwave that hung in the sky. Momentarily enraptured, they failed to notice the massive upwelling of power that surged through the filly’s horn.

Suddenly there came the high-pitched shriek of magical energy, and then a great wave of heat and force slammed into him. Sweet Grass was lifted into the air and hurled into the wall. Vaguely, he could hear a pony screaming, but the sound was muffled by shattering glass and the roar of magic.

The air was hot; he swore he could feel his throat burn as he struggled for breath. He saw the great beam of energy, saw the brief refraction that tunneled a million tiny holes into the room’s ceiling, and then it looked as if some unseen drain had opened within the egg as all that terrible magic was sucked into the shell.

But just as suddenly as it came, the spell ended. Twilight’s magic ceased projecting and wrapped around her body in a crackling nimbus of purple lightning. Her eyes glowed white, limbs going rigid as she slowly, ominously rose into the air. Barely a foot or two off the ground, but it only added to the building sense of dread that permeated the room.

Sweet Grass paid it no mind; he had a much bigger, much more serious problem occupying his thoughts.

Namely, the fact that Celestia’s egg had just exploded.

He stared at the empty space where the cart and egg had only recently sat. All that remained was a pile of soot, steadily growing as more ashes rained down from the gaping hole in the ceiling. What little coherency he retained noted that there was far more ash than could be made by such damage, and that somehow the pile was growing steadily larger.

But there was no time to dwell on the matter. Streams of magic leapt through the room as Twilight lost control of her powers. One bolt shot over his head, striking the wall behind him and changing it from marble to granite. Another hit the burning seats, putting out the fire and restoring them to their former state.

The assembled ponies were beginning to panic. Normally, Sweet Grass would join them, but now he was too busy imagining Celestia’s reaction when she learned of the egg’s destruction. At first she would probably not even believe the news. Next would come the shock, a sudden paralysis as she’d attempt to deny the truth…

One blast struck the group of professors, simultaneously freezing and levitating the startled unicorns. A twinge of pleasure ran through the earth pony as they floated helplessly above him.

Celestia would be grief-stricken, would tearfully demand to know how such a thing could have happened. Would wonder how the egg managed to get from the safety of her bedroom to being incinerated within this lecture hall? And when she found out that he was responsible…

The girl’s parents were the next to be hit. He saw their faces shift from concern to fright before they were transformed into houseplants. Complete with accompanying pots, he noted with almost hysterical amusement.

Once the cold reality finally took hold, he knew the princess would be angry. Well, perhaps angry was an understatement. She would no doubt be furious, enraged, perhaps homicidal. He chuckled mirthlessly. Forget being fired. He would be lucky if she stopped short of killing him on the spot.

The magical field around Twilight contracted before launching one last burst of magic. It raced towards him, and Sweet Grass made no attempt at evasion. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he could never move fast enough to avoid it, or maybe he felt that whatever it did to him was preferable to Celestia’s wrath. Regardless of motive, he stood ramrod straight and took the hit without flinching.

“Nothing serious will occur,” Ronan had assured him.

‘If I survive this,’ he thought in the last moments before turning to stone. ‘I’m going to kill that unicorn.’

The magic faded to reveal the frozen statue of an earth pony, a fierce grin set upon its face.

Twilight screamed and thrashed in the dragon’s grip. Flames danced across her body; she could feel her fur smoldering, her mane and tail on the verge of igniting as she nearly suffocated from the awful heat.

The flames pressed tighter against her coat, were absorbed, and then vanished into her flesh as the dragon’s essence burrowed deeper inside.

There was the sudden and terrible sensation of being filled, of having her very form stretched to its physical limits. It began as a massive headache that spread down her neck and over her bones, bringing pain and pressure that threatened to split muscle and rupture organs. She could feel hot pinpricks rushing up and down her coat, like something was crawling over her body just underneath the fur.

Worst of all was the presence clawing its way up from the dark recesses of her mind. The sudden feeling of being watched, followed by a strange tingling and twitching in her limbs, like she was a puppet and somepony was experimentally tugging the strings.

The heat was dwindling, the dragon’s form gone but for the thin membrane of fire that still wrapped around her. A final burst of heat, and the flames winked out, plunging Twilight into darkness. She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. When she opened them, everything had changed.

She was back in the examination hall, but the room was in complete chaos. Windows broken, a massive hole in the ceiling, two potted plants where her parents once stood, a group of unicorns floating lazily through the air, and a stone statue of an earth pony near the corner of the room.

But what truly drew her attention was the pile of ashes near the room’s center. It was enormous, filling most of the room’s lower level and reaching several feet above her.

What happened next would haunt her dreams for years to come.

The pile shuddered, ash tumbling down the sides like miniature avalanches. Another shudder; a large bulge rose up, as though something was pushing its way out to freedom. Then something burst out of the ashes. Something huge and gleaming white, spotted with ash like the dapple gray of some pony’s coats.

It towered over her, and the sight of long phalange-like digits brought a touch of dread to Twilight’s thoughts when she finally recognized the sight.

It was a wing. A gigantic, skeletal wing.

Another wing emerged from the pile, and then the skeleton was pulling itself free, ashes falling from the pale bones like snow shaken from a branch. Frozen in shock by the impossible sight, her eyes crept over the long tail, the strangely avian body, serpentine neck, and finally the predatory maw lined with dagger-sharp teeth.

It may not have resembled anything she’d seen in books or pictures, but there was only one thing it could be.

A dragon.

The fleshless jaws opened, and a deep shuddering roar filled the room. The skeletal head dipped, convulsed, and then vomited a torrent of boiling blood. The sanguine waterfall poured over the ashes with a hiss, crimson steam billowing up and around the dragon’s wings.

She watched, horrified as the bloodstained ashes floated into the air. Glowing like fiery snowflakes, they clung and stuck to the dragon’s bones. When each burning flake met another, they gave a combustive flash and fused, creating a patchwork of tissue over the skeleton’s form.

‘This is impossible,’ she repeated over and over in her head. ‘Absolutely impossible.’ There was no way that this thing could be real. There was no way that this collection of bones and joints could be alive, could be regenerating before her very eyes. It just couldn’t be happening!

‘It is,’ an ancient voice rumbled. There was sound, only a pummeling ache behind her eyes, words seeming to form out of the pain in her head.

“Who, who’s out there,” she cried, trying and failing to put confidence into her trembling voice. “Help! Please, help me!”

‘I offered my help once before, and you refused it. Pushed right past it, as a matter of fact. To enlist my aid now, you would have to look… inwards,’ the voice seemed to chuckle at its own joke.

Her stomach clenched. The fire seeping into her, the alien presence twisting through her body.

“You… you’re that dragon,” she gasped. “The one made of fire!”

There was no response, just a confirming hum that fleetingly rose in her ears.

“Why is all this happening,” the filly continued. “What do you want?!”

A low thrum ran through her mind, the voice’s tone rich with sardonic amusement.

‘What I want, dear one, is to spare this world from the consequences of your rather… cataclysmic actions.’

“Me? But all I tried to do,” her eyes leapt back to the dragon. Veins and arteries were snaking their way around and under the bones, muscles anchoring themselves to tendons, membrane bridging the gaps in its wings.

Twilight gasped. “You mean, THAT was inside the egg… and I hatched it?!”

‘Yes.’

Twilight could feel herself shaking, both in fear and in shock of the being that she had let loose upon Equestria. Cataclysmic, was how it described the hatching. Her heartbeat sped up when she recalled the definitions of that word.

She wanted to run, to hide, to put as much distance between herself and the creature as physically possible. She took a small hesitant step backwards, and the voice returned.

‘Are you afraid?’

“Of course I am, just, just look at it!” she stammered. She could feel her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. It was getting harder to think straight. Her every thought seemed to lead to the image of that eyeless skull rushing downwards, jaws yawning open in preparation to snap tight…

The voice paused for several moments, the feeling of humor drying up like leaves in a hot sun. Its next words were curt, a tense edge accompanying them.

‘I see quite clearly. But what do you see?’

She licked her dry lips, trying to find words to describe the apparition. In the end, she could only squeak out the simplest of descriptions.

“It looks like a dragon, but it can’t be! It must be… it’s some kind of monster!”

It was like a thunderclap booming inside of her head. The voice’s roar struck and rebounded through her skull with enough force to daze and disorient the helpless filly. Twilight reeled from the sheer power of the shout, half-expecting her eardrums to burst, her skull to crack, her brain to hemorrhage from the soundless pain.

‘YOU SEE NOTHING!’

It was a scream borne of loss and grief and anger. It was disgust at her lack of understanding, shame at the truth of her words. So much pain. So much regret. Twilight could feel her fear burn away, a trivial emotion in comparison.

Hours seemed to pass, and she almost believed that the presence was gone. Then she felt the familiar tickle in her mind as it spoke again, its tone soft and tired, eons of weariness seeming to press down on every word.

‘What you see is a child,’ it whispered. ‘My child.’

“What? But how did… and the egg… when it’s…” she trailed off, not even knowing what to ask. She finally settled on one question to cover everything.

“What happened?”

‘He died, alone and in pain. Still believing, even to his final breath that his path was a righteous one. I had hoped to give him life once again, that he might reclaim what he once was, what he should have become.’

Twilight was stunned. The voice made it sound as if this dragon was some kind of god, a messianic figure who had fallen from grace long in the past.

A long and terrible sigh. ‘Now he is lost, broken, half-mad with the pain of his forced rebirth. I cannot blame you for fearing him. But if you knew him then… selfless and compassionate…’

The voice trailed off as a roar echoed through the room. Twilight looked back to the skeleton. Armored scales were forming and locking together across the dragon’s back, coating its shoulders, snaking down its tail. She could see thorns and spikes of bone sprouting up into wicked blades that could easily bisect or impale a pony like herself.

Could something so frightening, so powerful, so unquestionably lethal truly be good at heart?

It all seemed impossible. She could barely wrap her head around it. Her fear was still there, still yammering for attention, but curiosity was winning over. She needed to know more. Who was the dragon? Who was his father? Where did they come from, and how did they get to Equestria? But before she could voice any of these questions, the dragon bent its head and roared once again.

Twilight shied away, fear momentarily resurfacing, but something made her pause. She could hear a tremble deep within that roar, a sign not of bloodlust or wickedness, but of pain. The scream of an infant waking in the night to agony it does not understand. At that moment, her heart went out to the dragon, and her emotions shifted to a deep and profound guilt.

Forced rebirth, the voice had said. She had brought him back to life; SHE was the cause of his pain.

“Will he be alright,” she asked, more to herself than the unseen presence.

The voice responded anyway. ‘His mind is fragmented, his memories in pieces. Unless something can be done, he is little more than an animal, a mindless, ravenous beast.’

Twilight shivered. “Is he dangerous?”

She got the impression that the owner of the voice was smirking. ‘Extremely,’ it confirmed.

The guilt pressed harder. If the dragon hurt anypony, wrecked any homes, burned down any cities, it would be because of her.

As young as she was, Twilight was beginning to see the very real severity of the situation she had placed herself in.

Only moments ago, she had seen that egg as nothing more than a means to an end. An obstacle to overcome to secure her entrance into the school.

Now, looking at the great ebony form towering above her, she realized that it was much more than she had believed. This dragon was her responsibility, the danger he posed was her fault, and his suffering was her mistake.

And Grandpa always told her that you have to fix your own mistakes.

But how could she fix this?

The voice startled her out of her musings. ‘It is time. I must act now.’

There was something resigned, final in those words that sent a nervous shock through the unicorn’s heart.

“What are you going to do,” she asked hurriedly.

‘I will… contain him, ensure that he no longer presents a threat. From there, his mind can heal. It will take years, decades perhaps before he is ready to once again choose his path. It is my greatest hope that his time here prior to that moment will lead him to the right choice.’

Twilight gasped. The dragon’s father was going to simply throw him into Equestria to fend for himself? No care, no guidance, nothing but a vague and distant goal far in the future? She tried to imagine herself without her brother, without her parents or grandfather. Just a hapless filly against the world.

It wasn’t fair! The dragon didn’t deserve to be left alone like that. He needed a friend, a family!

A sudden revelation came to mind. A way to make up for her mistake, to avert the damage it still might cause. She blurted out her question without even pausing to think it through.

“Can I help him?”

A ripple of shock passed through her thoughts, and she could almost feel a pair of eyes staring at her appraisingly. ‘This is not a burden you should accept in haste,’ it warned. ‘To do so would be to bind yourself to him, to become consort and companion. Would you stand beside him, care for him, keep his mind pure and his heart righteous until he is restored?’

Twilight paused at that. Having yet to reach her first decade, the thought of committing to something for such a length of time was beyond intimidating. The very idea of trying to live alongside and devote herself to something so much greater and more powerful was frightening in the extreme.

But then, what had her grandfather told her? That some things in life were too important or great to let fear stop them. Perhaps this was one of those things. A chance to make up for the pain she had caused. A chance to save a life. To save everypony’s life.

She looked back at the dragon. His body had fully reformed, the last scales fusing into place along his black hide. From the sharpened point of his snout to the spear shaped blade at the end of the tail, every inch of his body seemed to be designed for evisceration. She looked over the sculpted gleaming spikes that ran down his back, noticing the cutting edges that accompanied the dagger-sharp points, then the great scythe-like claws that tipped the digits on his feet. Every inch of the dragon’s body seemed capable of being used as a weapon. In fact it would be more accurate to say that the dragon itself was a weapon.

And its nameless, shapeless father was asking HER to watch over it.

It was insane. It was ludicrous.

“I will,” she promised.

‘Then rest. I will set the stage for his redemption. From there, I entrust him to you.’

She was afraid to ask, but she did nonetheless. “What if I can’t do it?”

The words were cold and blunt. ‘Then he will burn your world down to the rocks and bake the rocks until they glow. He will melt the poles, grind the mountains to dust, boil the oceans and set the very clouds aflame. You will all die.’

With that encouraging thought, the presence seemed to expand through her body, seizing control of every nerve and muscle. Twilight had the vague sensation of her consciousness being pushed aside, and then her vision faded.

Dying hurts.

In the wake of that last, furious battle in Sovngarde, Alduin could freely and honestly admit that the moments leading up to and including his death were the most agonizing of his life: Thu’ums smashing into him with enough force to crush boulders. Blades tempered in that damnable Skyforge carving deep into his hide. The final, two-handed stroke that opened his throat and set his lifeblood gushing to the ground below.

Being reborn is infinitely worse.

It strikes with all the subtlety of a bucket of water thrown into a sleeper’s face. His mind, his soul, awakens at the first ethereal touches of magic. The foreign power bleeds through the shell of his prison, seeking the Aurbis within.

The essence of creation.

The energy of change.

The two meet and fuse with all the fury of a second Big Bang.

The force of that joining blows the egg apart. The Aurbis continues to expand, engorging itself upon the magic like a snake devouring its own tail as it begins to take shape.

Still disoriented from the awakening, Alduin can only wait. Gradually, he regains control of his body.

He lifts a wing, then another. He pulls himself free, free of what, he does not know. He is blind and deaf.

Then the pain begins.

It is beyond description; a white-hot blanket of agony that seems to emerge from within his very bones and wraps him in its unbearable embrace.

Alduin’s jaws clamp shut, he tries to brace himself against the pain. It breaks through his pitiful resistance, takes hold, and constricts.

His mouth snaps open, a desperate, ragged scream climbing up through his throat. He roars, his voice empty of purpose, of thought.

Another sensation intrudes upon the pain. It is no more pleasant, but the dragon welcomes the distraction. He shudders, retches, and vomits blindly onto the ground. He does not see that it is his own newly formed lifeblood, does not hear the hiss of steam as it strikes the ashes, does not notice the glow as they float around him.

He would not care if he did.

The pain is worsening. His wings spasm in agony as muscles wrap over bone. Scales attach and are pulled taut, pressing down like a hot iron held against flesh. Veins and arteries snake and twist through him, every inch of their growth like a burning wire threaded beneath his skin.

The pain grows and builds unceasingly. And Alduin suffers.

He writhes in darkness, thankful that his sight has not returned. He does not want to see.

Instead, he remembers.

The vision rises slowly in his thoughts, delayed by the shriek of anguished nerves. He was in Keizaal, what the mortals call Skyrim, perched atop a cleft of rock beneath the southern mountains. He had voiced the resurrection thu’um, calling Vuljotnaak from his eternal rest.

He watched as the dragon’s corpse dug itself free of the burial mound, writhing about as organs and flesh grew over dry bones. He had seemed disoriented, confused. Perhaps in pain. But Alduin had been at the height of his arrogance and delusion, and had paid little mind to whatever discomfort he was putting his brother through.

Vuljotnaak had never spoken of his rebirth; none of them had. But Alduin remembers that they screamed just as he is now. It sickens him to think that he subjected them to agony such as this. Once again, he muses that this is perhaps a just punishment.

Then the pain overwhelms him again, bunching into a massive wave that builds and crests but refuses to break. Alduin screams again as rationality is buried beneath the red haze of pain. This time, it does not resurface.

Alduin roars in anger and pain. Mindless, he thrashes in the darkness, seeking anything to lash out against, to perhaps inflict a fraction of the pain that consumes him.

The opportunity arrives. His eyes return, though the vision is bleary and dim. A spot of purple draws his attention.

It is a small creature, assuredly no threat. He can see the shallow rise and fall of its chest, can smell the sweat and confusion emanating from its tiny body, can hear the blood pumping through its veins.

A growl rumbles low in his throat. He does not know if this being is responsible for his pain, does not know if killing it will bring him reprieve. He does not care.

He tucks his wings to his sides and takes a step forward. The motion sets his nerves screaming with renewed vigor. He ignores the pain and takes another step.

The creature is shaking, its body tense as though struggling against itself. Wounds open, blood fills the air with a coppery scent. It has not yet noticed him.

The pain is too much. Alduin tips forward, his wings catching and supporting his upper body. He begins to crawl.

The creature stills. The wounds close with a hiss of steam. Its eyes open and it looks at him, looks through him. Even through the fog of pain and animalistic fury, Alduin pauses. Something has changed.

Its body seems to be on fire. Flames lick and crackle over fur. Sparks leap from its tail like fading stars. Embers dance on its mane.

The creature speaks in a tone that does not fit its meager frame. Its voice rolls out like thunder, wise and powerful beyond reckoning. The words are meaningless to him, nothing more than garbled nonsense. But the voice…

It is familiar.

It is infuriating.

The dragon’s hesitance shatters, and Alduin’s neck darts ahead, jaws opened and ready to snatch the creature up.

Its body glows, and a ribbon of light stabs into his chest. Alduin is thrown back into the wall, his scales blistered and scorched, a nimbus of burning air surrounding him as the heat diffuses.

Alduin staggers to his feet, snarls mindlessly, and charges again. The creature’s attack is already prepared. Magical darts strike his legs and wings. A bolt slams into his throat, and he is driven down hard against the floor. The creature shouts again, but Alduin hears little, understands even less. There is only the rage and blood pounding hotly in his skull, only the need to rip and tear and kill.

Let it attack. Let it force him to the ground a hundred times over.

Eventually it will tire. Its resistance will end. And it will die.

Another step, another lance of energy. The creature is weakening, this attack barely staggers the dragon, and he is moving forwards even while the beam strikes ineffectually against his chest. He stands over the creature now, wings outspread, his neck arched high and ready like some coiling serpent.

The creature seems to shimmer, its form blurring even as Alduin lunges, mouth opened wide as an underworld abyss lined with great piercing teeth.

And time stops.

She glided low over the Everfree forest, eyes half-lidded as the cool air streamed over her face and mane, her attention set on the swelling and receding voices in her mind.

It would be difficult to explain to a non-magical being. As best she could describe, the telepathic network would be visually similar to the fluid and ever-changing sky.

Normally a vast, blue expanse, it would become dotted with clouds as unicorn soldiers throughout the kingdom exchanged communications. Daily reports and issued orders would appear as separate and individual puffs of cumulus, while larger troop movements might take the shape of long altostratus curtains.

Now however, it was largely clear, only a few lofty wisps of cirrus as various stations checked in.

Nothing to report. No unnatural or aberrant events had been detected. There had been no sudden or unexplained surge of magical energy.

She was preparing to sever the link when it happened. From the corner of her eye came a vibrant burst of colors. She turned to look, saw the chromatic halo expand, had the briefest of moments to recognize the sight, and then came the bullwhip crack of a sonic boom.

Celestia started, her wings nearly locking in surprise. Behind her, the squadron of pegasi broke formation as several members were temporarily startled out of flight. The princess hovered in midair, trying to calm her racing heart. A part of her was ecstatic and gleeful as she determined that the rainboom was obviously the sign they had awaited. However, it had certainly not been what she expected.

A beam of light shining down from above? Sure.

A disembodied heavenly choir chanting exultation? Why not?

But a pressurized shockwave detonating a few miles away? Definitely not.

What was it Cascade had said? “Assuming it’s not some supernatural light show that the whole world’ll be able to see.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. Perhaps the general had a gift for precognition?

The rainboom began to dissipate, the colored ring breaking away and vanishing into the air. Immediately, the telepathic network blared with activity, dozens of voices chiming in like fields of altocumulus littering the sky.

“Did anyone else see…”

“… that roar just now?”

“…was thunder? Thought the EWS canceled…”

“I’ve got something! Energy signature coinciding with…”

“MAINTAIN COMMUNICATION DISCIPLINE!” Cascade’s voice roared out over the others, a towering cumulonimbus that drowned out the excited babble. “IF IT’S NOT A MAGICAL DETECTION, I DON’T WANT IT BROADCAST!”

There was a brief pause, and the majority of the voices fell silent. Those that continued spoke quickly, their words rushed and breathless.

“Recon Post H-11 reporting. Tracking a signal, wait, check that, a pair of signals appearing outside Cloudsdale! Damn near concurrent! Coordinates as follows…”

“…is N-5… confirmed signal inside Manehattan. K-3 reports conflicting position… may be in motion…”

“…ward side of the Bridle Range. What the hay would it be doing way out there?”

Celestia could only hover, trying to process the barrage of information slinging back and forth within her mind. She found herself almost paralyzed, unable to decide how to initially act.

Finally, she sent a rapid burst of orders to every listening unicorn, instructing them to narrow their searches to the aforementioned areas and pinpoint the locations of these signals. They were under no circumstances to approach or confront the Element bearers. They were only to locate and positively identify the ponies.

Altering course, the alicorn headed for Cloudsdale. The rainboom had originated in that direction, and two of the Elements seemed to be nearby. It was as good a place to start as any. At least until the next message reached her.

“Your majesty! We’ve tracked another signal, this one to Canterlot! We… we think it’s coming from the School for Gifted Unicorns.”

Celestia paused in midflight, a smile tugging at her lips. “Wonderful news. Have you identified the pony in question?”

No response. She asked again.

“Well, princess,” the voice said uncertainly. “We don’t know. We can’t get close. Something strange is happening over there.”

She felt a twinge of concern. “Strange? In what way?”

“There was a burst of magical energy, and then some kind of explosion that blew the roof clear open. Now, there’s been three separate energy flares, but it’s not like any magic I’ve seen before. Until we identify the source, we don’t want to risk getting closer.”

Celestia bit her lip and threw a glance over her shoulder. The two Elements in Cloudsdale could wait. She probably should return and investigate this matter herself.

Changing direction, she flew past her startled guards and headed back to Canterlot full speed.

Akatosh could feel Twilight’s body go rigid, every muscle stretching and tightening until they seemed ready to snap. His essence spread unchecked until each and every cell burned with the power of a god. The power built further; the filly’s skin began to split and tear, blood dripped from her eyes, her mouth, her ears. Deep within, a great and terrible heat began to grow. Organs blackened, blood hissed as it neared the boiling point.

It was almost too late before he noticed the frail body of his host bursting into flames, only a twitch away from being devoured in the divine inferno that would herald his physical manifestation.

No!

Akatosh held back, forcing the bulk of his power away. The effect resembled a child using their hands to try and plug a crack in a dam. Still, it was enough to spare the pony’s life. He slowed the transfer, using what little energy arrived to reverse the damage he had wrought. Once assured that her life was no longer in danger, he prepared for the task at hand.

The Aedra had not expected things to proceed this way. He had planned to separate the dragon’s soul from his body prior to the hatching, painlessly resurrecting Alduin as an empty shell before returning his mind and memories intact.

But now, repairing Alduin’s mind would have to wait. A mindless, ravaging god was the last thing this world needed, and Akatosh needed to diminish that power before proceeding any further.

As to accomplishing that, he had two choices. The first was to appeal to whatever shred of Alduin’s personality remained. If the dragon possessed enough control to submit, then the process would be quick and simple.

If Alduin would or could not cooperate… then the only choice was to batter him into submission and forcefully contain him.

Akatosh hoped it would not come to that.

The high-pitched shriek of claws against stone, the heavy thud of a large object striking the floor.

Akatosh took control of the unconscious unicorn and opened her eyes. A black shape loomed above him, a nightmarish specter of spikes and blades. Eyes blazed, lips curled back over fangs in an unmistakable sign of aggression. Alduin was ready to kill.

“Alduin,” he shouted, projecting his own voice over that of his host’s, hoping that it would somehow reach his son’s fractured psyche. “Hon Daar Zul! I command you to stop!”

The dragon reared back, apprehension flickering in his eyes. Then he was darting forwards, mouth opening wide.

Akatosh cursed and fed his power into Twilight’s body once again. Careful to avoid damaging her, he channeled it up and through her horn, throwing a crackling spear of concentrated energy. It caught Alduin in the chest, lifting the dragon off his feet and smashing him into a wall. The marble cracked under the hit, Alduin was barely winded.

He was dumbfounded. That blast had been a killing blow; a volatile mixture of divine energy and the unicorn’s own magic. It was strong, far stronger than anything in this world could survive. His own dragon offspring would have been rendered immediately comatose!

And Alduin had shrugged it off. For a god who represented the very concept of invincibility, seeing his powers fail was more than a bit unsettling.

The dragon was up and advancing. Akatosh struck again, more out of reflex than any conscious action. Twilight’s horn glowed, his power twined with hers, and he loosed a hailstorm of glowing needles. Each barb could have blown a hole through six inches of solid steel. Even a Dremora Markynaz in full regalia would have been ripped to shreds. They struck Alduin’s hide and shattered, leaving only burned patches of scales in their wake. But Alduin stumbled beneath the assault; collapsed to the floor.

Akatosh felt hope. If he could just subdue him, just keep him down…

Alduin’s tail lashed, his wings beat furiously. The dragon gave a snarl and struggled to rise.

“STOP RESISTING,” Akatosh yelled. “DAHMAAN, OFAN HIN OV, FEN DRUN DREM!”

Alduin’s only response was a bloodcurdling roar. He charged once again, easily pushing through the last, sputtering beam that Akatosh was able to fire. It was no use. The dragon was too enraged to be reasoned with, too powerful to stop.

Equestria’s time was up.

Fortunately, time was something that Akatosh always had in abundance.

The god blinked. The air surrounding him grew thick as water, dust kicked up by the dragon’s claws froze in a windblown cloud. Alduin stood poised above him, suspended on the verge of attack.

The possessed unicorn sank to the floor, drawing a slow and shaky breath. From his perspective, phase-shifting had bought this world an instant, an hour, a millennia of reprieve. But it could not last. He could slow time to an infinitesimal crawl, but the dust would still settle to the floor in a manner of weeks. Years would seem to pass, but given enough time, Alduin’s teeth would eventually sink into flesh, and this vessel would die.

Akatosh considered his options. Now that he was frozen in time, Alduin was vulnerable. But the energy expenditure of containing him while remaining phase-shifted was near unimaginable. It was impossible to draw enough to do both.

Nor could he possibly subdue Alduin on his own. What little he could safely transfer through the pony was not enough, not without channeling the full weight of his powers through the child’s body. But such an act led to only one conclusion. One that Akatosh had witnessed centuries ago.

Martin Septim… that had been the man’s name. The last in a long line of royalty. Akatosh remembered bursting out of the man’s withering form, feeling the mortal’s essence burn to a cinder. The man had willingly consigned his body and soul to destruction, knowing full-well the price of summoning an Aedra to the mortal plane, knowing it was the only way to save his world.

But this pony had not known, could not have known, and he refused to sacrifice her as a means to correct his own mistake.

But what else could he do, when it took everything he had just to keep the time-flow in check?

The answer seemed simple. He would need help.

Where to turn for that help was a more complicated matter.

Calling upon another of the Divines could suffice. He had little doubt that Stendarr or Kynareth would be glad to answer his summons. But in the end, that would solve nothing. Their arrival would require the same heavy cost as his own: a physical body to anchor and consume.

There were other choices, but could they even make a difference?

Lesser et’Ada would only serve to further enrage the dragon.

Enlisting the aid of a mortal would be more akin to offering Alduin a snack than presenting him with a challenge.

Not even Alduin’s brethren could hope to match him in single combat.

With his options so limited, there was only one place to which Akatosh could turn.

Oblivion.

To say that this was a choice borne of desperation would be a grave understatement. Anyone with the slightest understanding of the Daedra would realize that it was a ridiculously foolish idea. It did not take a master conjurer or a Psijic monk to know that even the basest of the creatures were fickle, dangerous beasts that were just as likely to kill their summoner as to offer their aid.

The Princes were even worse. The most patient and benevolent among them was still prone to acts of rage-filled genocide. Inversely… well… Akatosh would not even dream of calling on Mehrunes Dagon.

He would need to choose carefully, decide which among them would be most disposed to saving a world of mortals. Meridia was a likely choice. Or maybe Boethiah? No. He was trying to save Alduin, not get him killed a second time.

Sanguine’s idea of help would be to get the dragon stone-drunk and passed out.

Perhaps Mephala? No, any aid from the Webspinner would only bring greater ill in the future.

The future… Azura might be his best option. After all, she had once guided the Nerevarine on his quest to save the island of Vvardenfell. The only other Daedra to so openly cooperate with mortals had been…

Akatosh paused, his borrowed eyes going wide as an idea took hold. At first glance, his plan was appropriately insane. Out of a pantheon of the most depraved spirits in existence, he was going to call on the most unstable of them all. A god who used death threats as greetings, who executed subjects for the crime of growing facial hair.

Still, he had been a mortal once, had even saved the world before his apotheosis. Perhaps he would welcome the chance to play hero once again?

Standing, Akatosh moved to the far side of the room, almost beneath the ragged hole in the ceiling. He took a breath, counted down from ten, and shifted back to normal time.

There was sudden rush of air, and Alduin’s head grazed the floor, his jaws snapping on nothingness. Akatosh lifted his head to the sky.

“Strun…”

Alduin wheeled around, eyes seeking his prey.

“Bah QO!”

Thick, black clouds roiled in the sky above. Rain poured into the room, its heavy drops soaking the pony’s coat. Akatosh waited, knowing that the summoning could only proceed at the storm’s height.

Lightning tore through the clouds, a peal of thunder shaking the room before the flash had vanished. Alduin stopped his advance, growling warily as another bolt arced past a window.

Akatosh lowered his head. “May this prayer travel far beyond the sight of men and mer, to the undying spheres where chaos reigns. Guide my steps, Watchman of the Golden Road. You who holds the Bitter Mercy for they who are worthy.”

Alduin began to move closer, but slower now, his eyes darting to the storm raging overhead.

“Through Mania and Crucible, through Dementia and Bliss, let my words reach the very heart of the Asylums. I demand your presence, lord of the Shivering Isles.”

Akatosh lifted his head and screamed into the heart of the thunderstorm.

“SHEOGORATH! I SUMMON YOU HENCE!”

A bolt of lightning rushed down from the clouds, striking the floor mere feet from Twilight’s hooves. Akatosh had already shifted back to fast time, leaving rain drops hanging in midair, clouds piled overhead, and Alduin once again frozen in mid-step. The figure standing between them, however, was not affected by the freezing of time.

He was unlike anything Equestria had ever seen. He was tall, supporting himself on two legs that looked far too skinny to hold him. He was finely clothed, his garments split down the middle in hues of purple and red. Aside from the snow-white hair on the top of his head and the matching beard, his skin was pink, pale and bare. Golden eyes blinked rapidly, and his mouth fell into an outraged scowl.

“What is the meaning of this,” the bearded apparition yelled. “I’ve been summoned? I hate being summoned! Why do you think I had statues of myself dropped all over Tamriel? Well, besides improving the landscape with my dashing good looks!”

Still shaking his head, he pulled a two-pronged fork from his pocket and began picking his teeth.

“Now, if I’m here, that means a mortal called me here, and that means there’s a mortal in serious need of a smiting! Whoever you are, reveal yourself so I can chop you into scrib bait! I’ll tear out your ribcage to use as a bookshelf for books I don’t have! I’ll peel off your skin to write letters I’ll never send! I’ll turn your blood into a disgusting and unpopular beverage and sell it at your funeral!!!”

Akatosh coughed. “Hail, madgod! It was I who called you here.”

The man’s head tilted down, anger melting into confused bewilderment. For several seconds, he stared at the purple pony in wide-eyed mystification. “You?! And just what in the name of Namira’s unholy tits are you supposed to be? Some kind of miniature painted horse thing?”

Still frowning, Sheogorath reached down and patted the unicorn’s head. “Well, I certainly can’t gut and flay something as adorable as you, that’s for sure! Haven’t seen anything so cute since I tried to cross-breed a Nix Hound with a Kwama Queen!”

He chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to let you off with a warning, this time.”

“You are too kind, Sheogorath,” Akatosh said, head still bowed.

The Daedra scratched his head. “What’s wrong with your voice, anyway? A tiny thing like you, and you sound more like Peryite after a bad head cold.”

“I am merely inhabiting this body for a short time. In truth, I am Akatosh, Aedric god of time.”

Sheogorath gasped, shocked at the knowledge of being summoned by one of his antithetical opposites. The man’s body trembled, began to shake, until finally he threw back his head and cackled with glee.

“You’re serious! You, the big cheese of the Nine Divines, lurking about in this little pony’s body? That’s the best thing I ever heard! And here I thought taking a vacation in Pelagius’ screwball noggin was impressive, but you! You go around possessing the bodies of talking livestock! Brilliant! I can’t wait to tell Sanguine ‘bout this!”

Akatosh sighed. “I am flattered that you find such pleasure in my choice of vessels, but I did not call you here for your own amusement. You see, the fate of this world hangs in the balance, and I desperately require your aid.”

Sheogorath paused, hiccupped, and finally forced down his laughter. Wiping a tear from his eye, he straightened up and looked back down at the Aedra.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. It almost sounded like the big, stuffy, stick-up-his-arse originator of the universe was asking me for help. Must’ve had some muck in my ears.” He bent forward and cupped a hand over his ear. “Care to repeat that?”

Deeply questioning his choice of Daedra, Akatosh again voiced his need for assistance.

This time, Sheogorath doubled over in laughter, trying and failing to wheeze out a coherent response. A look at the unicorn’s irritated glare was too much, and he fell onto his back, hands clasping his stomach, still chortling at the top of his lungs as he rolled across the floor.

Then he opened his eyes and looked up. The laughter died immediately.

“Say,” he asked. “Did you know there’s a godsdamned dragon standing right behind me?”

“He is the reason I summoned you here. Prince of Madness, may I present Alduin, first and most beloved of my sons.”

Sheogorath leapt to his feet and circled Alduin’s body, examining every inch of the dragon.

“Amazing,” he said, coming to a stop next to Akatosh. “So this is the famous Alduin, is it? He’s a lot bigger than I expected! The stories don’t do him any justice!”

“I was not aware that you knew of him.”

Sheogorath laughed. “Oh of course, he’s quite a celebrity amongst the Daedra. ‘The one that got away,’ so to speak. Everybody knows about his little exodus through Oblivion, smashing in and out of planes, giving us all a bit of fun as we chased down his merry little flock.”

The madgod sighed. “Afraid I never got to meet him myself though, but Haskill talks about him all the time. Apparently, he and my predecessor had a bit of a run-in back in the Dawn Era.”

Akatosh was intrigued. “He met the first Sheogorath, then?”

“He certainly did. That was a long, long time ago, you understand. Back in the days of yore, when I was but the future descendant of a handsome twinkle in some Nedic’s lustful eye...”

The hammer struck with a loud, echoing ring. The metal head shattered into pieces, the object it had impacted did not.

Sheogorath looked back and forth from the ruined tool to the undamaged crystalline obelisk. Screaming in frustration, he threw the broken handle aside and shook his fists at the sky.

“How dare he! It’s bad enough that the great faceless bastard comes stomping in to wreck the whole place, but he even leaves indestructible phallic symbols filled with his nasty minions all over the landscape!”

Sheogorath was not happy. The first of what he had decided to call the Greymarches had swept over his lands with all the delicacy of a drunken daedroth. By the time he had awoken, his idyllic and insane kingdom had been devastated and changed to a flat, grey country of boring monotony, which had also been overrun by a collection of ugly, metal knights! They were pointy, they were violent, weren’t much for conversation and they had no sense of humor whatsoever! Heartily offended, Sheogorath had smashed them like overripe fruit flies, stuffed them back into the obelisks and set about repairing the damage they had done, mostly by returning the plane to its former insanity.

Now the Mazken and Aureals were back in his service, and the swamps and grasslands and mountains and islands were restored, teeming with playful and lethal forms of grotesque wildlife.

All was as it should be… except these damn crystals everywhere!

Swearing, Sheogorath poked himself in the chest. “Jyggalag, I hope you’re happy in there, you stupid git.”

He would have continued this bout of self-deprecation had one of his servants not come running up. She was a dark-skinned humanoid clad in black armor, her expression stern and professional. Her race referred to themselves as Mazken. Sheogorath called them Dark Seducers. He felt it gave them an exotic flair. They never bothered to correct him.

“Your grace!” Nelrene cried, falling to one knee before the Daedra. “Our scouts bring word of trespassers to the Isles. Even now, they are gathered near the ruins of Fain!

Sitting back against a rock, Sheogorath stroked his chin. “Trespassers you say? And what are they up to?”

Nelrene stared impassively. “They are trespassing, my lord.”

The madgod leapt to his feet, looking to be on the verge of panic. “What do we do? We’ve never had trespassers before! Quick, wake the masses! Alert the shoemakers! Man the lifeboats! It’s time to confront them!”

Rushing up to Nelrene, he grasped her shoulders and began to shake her. “How do I look? Is my hair still attached? My beard straight? Do I look princely enough to fashionably unleash divine punishment on impertinent lesser beings?”

The Mazken seemed perfectly unflustered by her god’s mental breakdown. “You look as imposing as ever, my lord. As to confrontation, the Aureals have joined our forces in surrounding these trespassers. Shall we attack?”

Sheogorath paused. “Shall we? Is that what one does after catching intruders while they’re intruding? Or do we throw a parade? Or invite them to tea? Offer a key to the city? Give them a spanking? Violent disembowelment?”

Nelrene merely gestured to the north. “Perhaps seeing them in person will help you reach a decision?”

“Excellent idea,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let’s go have a look at these visitors, shall we? If they’re snappily dressed, I might be merciful.”

His eyes narrowed. “But if one of them has a beard, they’re all going to die.”

Fortunately for the dragons, not one of them possessed a single whisker. Sheogorath stepped over and around the prostrate forms, feeling rather incensed that his glorious presence was being ignored.

Striding up to a large black beast, he tapped it several times on the snout with his walking stick.

“Meril!” He barked at one of the Aureal. “Why are they all just lying about? Shouldn’t they be groveling, or cowering, or SOMETHING?”

The golden-skinned woman cleared her throat. “My apologies, your grace. I believe they remain motionless due to fatigue. When we first noticed their arrival, they were barely able to remain in flight. Upon reaching land, they quickly collapsed and have not moved since. Forgive me for suggesting it, but they seem to be too tired to properly acknowledge your divine countenance.”

He scoffed. “What kind of excuse is that? I do believe I am insulted!” Bending down, he began angrily poking the dragon’s forehead with his staff. “Come on, state your purpose here you… you… thing, you! Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up wake up…”

The dragon’s head shot up, jaws grasping and pulling away the madgod’s staff. With an almost sadistic grin, he bit down and broke the wooden staff in two.

Sheogorath stared at his empty hand. Looking back at the dragon, he created another staff and pointed it accusingly. “How dare you! You know how hard it is to find one of those? Wood doesn’t just grow on trees! Who do you think you are?”

The dragon struggled to rise, sank back to the ground, and finally settled for lifting his ebony head to meet Sheogorath’s eyes.

“I am Alduin,” he said weakly. “Firstborn of Akatosh, king and guardian of dragonkind.”

“Akatosh, eh?” Sheogorath leaned on his staff and tapped his chin with a finger. “So you’re an Aedra-spawn then, are you?”

The dragon gave a nod of reply.

“Thought so. Well, you’re a long way from Aetherius now, my scaly friend. It makes me wonder just what brings a creature like you all the way down to my little corner of Oblivion. Sightseeing? Peddling sweet rolls, perhaps? Taking a survey?”

“We are seeking a path to Nirn,” Alduin said with a grimace. “To make our home amongst the newly formed mortal races.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like you’ve had too much luck with that!” Sheogorath looked over the crowd of dragons. Most were still unconscious; those awake were nursing wounds of various severity. The Daedra shook his head. “Typical tourists, so unwilling to admit when you’re lost. Too proud to ask for directions, so you end up blundering from plane to plane. Picking fights, disturbing the peace, scaring the scamps…”

“Directions,” Alduin interrupted. “Then, you know of a way out of Oblivion?”

Sheogorath gave a condescending snort. “Course I do! What self-respecting Prince wouldn’t know the ins and outs of his realm?”

“Will you take us there?” Alduin could barely disguise the hope in his voice.

The madgod only smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

“What’s the rush? You must all be tired after wandering for so long. My home is your home. Take some time and rest, stay for a few days, or perhaps an eternity.”

Alduin was taken aback. “What? You… you wish us to stay?”

“Of course!” Sheogorath exclaimed, as if the answer was obvious. “If you haven’t noticed, my kingdom’s a bit sparse at the moment! Just think, you all could be the first subjects and inhabitants of the Shivering Isles! Founding citizens, even!”

“Quite an offer, but surely you don’t need us.” Alduin gestured to the armies of Mazken and Aureals. “You already possess a great many subjects.”

Sheogorath made a face like he had bitten into something sour. “You obviously don’t know much about Daedra, do you? Sure they might seem ideal, what with being alive, intelligent, immortal, sufficiently voluptuous. What more could you want, yes?”

He sighed. “But it comes with a price. They’re bound to me, irreversibly, unbreakably tied to my will. And that makes them damned boring! No innovation, no creativity, no passion, nothing outside of obediently carrying out my orders!”

“Watch, just watch! I’ll show you,” he declared, beckoning a group of soldiers over to them. Arranging them into a line, he began giving orders.

“You,” he pointed at an Aureal. “Hop on one foot!” Striding over to the next, he commanded, “Spin around in circles!” Then he moved on to a pair of Mazken and simply demanded that they kill one another.

The four Daedra immediately complied, going about their tasks with the cold intensity of the most dedicated tax collectors.

“Just look at them,” Sheogorath ranted. “No enthusiasm at all! Not even dismay or resentment! They just do what they’re told!”

He walked up to the hopping Aureal and gave a hard push to her shoulder. The woman immediately fell to the ground, not making a sound or showing the slightest emotion.

“You see? They bring order to the realm. They bring stability, but no life, no growth, no change! It makes my teeth itch!”

“But you,” he said, walking back to Alduin. “Your kind is truly free. You act as you deem fit. You obey and serve only when you choose. That is what I want! A kingdom full of beings that can live and act and think for themselves! Can fall to madness in a thousand different ways! It’ll be glorious!”

Sheogorath beamed at the dragon. “So what do you say, my friend? Will you and your kind remain, the first to settle in this mad new world?”

“No,” Alduin said.

Sheogorath looked as though he had been slapped in the face with a dead fish.

“What?!”

“I must refuse,” the dragon repeated. “It is Nirn where we will reside. Its people will need guidance and protection. We cannot forsake them.”

“You, you’re refusing me? ME?” The Daedra seemed unable to comprehend such an outlandish concept. “You can do that? What am I saying… free will! Of course you can! So refreshing, I love it! But… you refused me! I hate it too! Wait, can I do both?”

“I am sorry, but my decision is final,” Alduin stated.

“That might be, but do you really think you’re in a position to be making that kind of decision,” Sheogorath asked silkily. As if reacting to his mood, the assembled soldiers began unsheathing their weapons.

“Your people are tired, vulnerable, and completely surrounded by my troops. I doubt a one of you could manage to get airborne before they dragged you right back down. All I have to do is give the order to bind your wings, truss up your legs, and we’ll cart you all back to New Sheoth as easily as a clannfear hunting balliwogs!”

As if knowing that he could not deny that claim, Alduin tried a different approach. “Then why ask us to remain? Why not simply capture us at the first opportunity? It is because you’ve no use for prisoners. You want willing subjects, and you know that bringing us by force will accomplish nothing.”

He grinned, knowing that he was gambling with his own life and the lives of every dragon around him. “Go ahead. Take us, if you wish. But know that we will never obey you. We will rebel at every opportunity, take every chance to escape. We will not stop unless we succeed, or until you are forced to kill us all.”

The two stared each other down. As the tension increased, the Daedric armies tightened their encirclement, and the few conscious dragons were struggling to their feet, wings unfurled and ready.

“Bah!” Sheogorath said. “You are a sassy one! Not only arguing, but taunting me of all things? This is exactly what I’m talking about. Your little group hasn’t even been here an hour, and already the Isles are far more amusing than ever before!”

The madgod crossed his arms. “But you’re right, of course. We are at a bit of an impasse. You don’t want to stay, I don’t want to let you go. So how can we resolve it?”

Alduin had no answer, and so he watched as Sheogorath stood in contemplation, a mischievous smirk slowly forming on his lips.

“How about a little bet,” he asked at last.

The dragon eyed him with suspicion. “What type of bet?”

“Oh, a very simple one,” the bearded man promised. “You win, I let all of your little dragons go. I’ll even show you to the rift that borders Mundus!”

Sheogorath steepled his fingers and grinned. “And in return, you remain behind. One dragon in exchange for the rest.”

Alduin fell silent, not that Sheogorath could blame him. It was quite a sacrifice, trading himself for the safety of his people. Of course, if he was hesitant about winning, just wait until he heard…

“And if I lose?”

“Then I show you to the rift, you pass on to Mundus, and all of your brethren remain behind.”

Sheogorath delighted in the look of horror on the dragon’s face. Leaving the rest of them behind in exchange for his own freedom. Hah! Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Clavicus would be proud!

“Then I refuse this wager of yours,” Alduin snarled through his teeth.

Sheogorath grinned. He had expected this. Time for the ultimatum.

“Certainly. I’m not an unreasonable man. If you don’t want to play, I can’t make you.”

He straightened up and signaled the armies. “In that case, we’ll do things the hard way. I’ll order my troops to begin rounding you up, you’ll all doubtlessly resist, blood will be shed, some might escape, most will be caught or killed, and any portal you manage to create will just as likely spit you back out into some random point in Oblivion.”

The dragon turned and looked over the crowd. Only a handful of the dragons were awake and ready to fight or fly. The vast majority, however, were still lying motionless on the ground. Sheogorath made a show of inspecting his fingernails. “Alright, ladies! Get ready to catch some lizards! On my command! Five… four… three…”

“I accept.”

Sheogorath looked up with a toothy smile. “What was that?”

The dragon’s head was bowed, his voice defeated. “I accept your terms.”

“Excellent, excellent! I knew you’d see reason in the end!” Sheogorath motioned his soldiers to clear an area. “Now, this bet will be decided simply by fate and luck. You need only make a single choice, and then await the result!”

The Daedra had moved to the center of the clearing, still grinning wildly. Alduin watched as he pressed his thumb and middle finger together, then snapped.

There was a brief flash of light, and a humanoid cat appeared. It looked around in confusion, only to be lifted into the air with a wave of Sheogorath’s hand.

“We’ll decide,” Sheogorath announced, ignoring the wild hissing and spitting of the Khajit. “By the ancient and traditional method of flipping a cat!”

Another snap of fingers, and the Khajit vanished, or seemed to. After a few moments, Alduin heard a faint shriek from somewhere overhead. Looking up, he saw the Khajit miles above them, tumbling ass over elbows as it fell towards the ground at terminal velocity.

“Call it,” Sheogorath said casually.

“Call it,” the dragon repeated in bewilderment. “Call what?”

“You know. How’s he going to land? Heads or tails? Come on now, you’re running out of time.”

The Khajit was growing closer, screaming at the top of its lungs.

“Better hurry,” the Daedra advised.

Only a few hundred feet up…

Alduin winced and yelled, “TAILS!”

SPLORCH!

The Khajit’s body struck the ground and burst like a full waterskin, splashing blood and liquefied organs over the ground. It was unquestionably dead, but how had it landed?

Alduin stared.

Sheogorath stared.

One of the Mazken coughed.

A dragon licked its lips.

“Damn,” Sheogorath cursed at the result. Turning back to Alduin, he conjured a second Khajit, levitating it between them.

“Best two out of three?”

Alduin responded with a glare.

“Oh fine.” He turned to the Khajit and lowered it back to the ground. “You’re off the hook. Go shit in somebody’s boots or something.” With a snap of his fingers, the cat was gone.

“No competitiveness at all,” he sighed. “You’re such a spoilsport. Oh well, I’ll let you all be for now. Soon as your group has recovered, we’ll lead you to the rift.”

It was a full day before the dragons were ready to travel, but true to his word, Sheogorath had left the dragons alone until they were healed and rested. From there, he and a full battalion of Aureal and Mazken escorted them west to The Fringe.

There, they found the reassuring shimmer of the planar boundary.

Paarthurnax leaned close and whispered, “We can escape at any moment, tell me you do not still plan to honor his demand?”

The black dragon shook his head. “He has abided by the terms of our wager. I must do the same.”

Facing the boundary, he shouted the planar thu’um.

“Kren… Gron LEIN!”

The portal flashed into existence. Alduin turned to address his brethren for the last time.

“The journey is at an end, for myself, and for you all. Through this doorway lies Mundus, a home and future for our kind. But it is a step I cannot take. In return for safe passage, Sheogorath demands that I remain behind.

The dragons began to whisper amongst themselves, confusion and dismay plain on their faces.

Alduin continued. “You have trusted in me to this point. I ask that you trust my final command as well. From this moment, you will follow Paathurnax as your lord. He is strong and wise in ways that I could never be. He will guide you on this final trek.”

Alduin moved to the side and beckoned with a wing. “Go forth, my brothers. Do not mourn for me, but rejoice that my actions secured the path ahead.”

One by one, the dragons moved through, each favoring Alduin with a thankful glance or a softly spoken wish for peace. Finally, only one dragon stood beside him.

Heyvkahsil dipped his head. “It has been an honor to follow you, dreadful though the voyage has been.”

Alduin smiled. “You are a true and loyal friend Heyvkahsil. I wish you the best.”

The other dragon averted his eyes. “Thank you, my lord. I only ask that you can forgive my insubordination.”

“What insubordination have you committed?” The black dragon asked in confusion.

His companion smiled. “This.”

Heyvkahsil struck out with his tail, slamming it into Alduin’s chest. Alduin was driven backwards, and a second hit sent him falling through the gate.

Sheogorath cried out angrily as the rift winked shut; the dragon turned to face him and prostrated himself on the ground.

“What treacherous trickery is this,” he demanded, stomping up to the dragon and shaking a finger. “Explain yourself, and it better be good. No, it better be great! With a dance number! Or I’ll make you into a belt. Several belts. No, a whole closet-full!”

Heyvkahsil bowed further. “Forgive me my lord, but I did not violate your terms. I believe your exact words were ‘One dragon in exchange for the rest,’ where they not?”

Sheogorath froze, his mouth hanging open.

“Well, as you are no doubt aware, there is still one dragon standing before you. Perhaps not the one you wanted, but it fits with your demands.”

Sheogorath looked torn between laughter and temper tantrum. “I don’t believe this; you’re just as sassy as he was! Is that some kind of family trait?”

With a shake of his head, he stepped closer to the prone dragon. “Well, I suppose you’ll have to do. And I have to admit, that was some good innovation you showed, knocking him through the portal and all with no warning whatsoever. Alright, you’re hired! What’s your name, my dear lackey?”

“Heyvkahsil, my lord.”

“Hey-vuh-kah-sil? Well, that’s not going to work. Not quick enough, not catchy enough. Let’s see…what about… Haskill! Yes, that’s the ticket. Your name is Haskill now!”

Haskill sighed. “As you wish, my lord.”

“As I do wish! Now, let’s be off. Much more redecorating to do about the isles. Then, we’ve got to repopulate the place! Look for some mortals in need of maddening!”

Haskill nodded and rose, only to find Sheogorath waving his arms and shouting.

“No, no, no! This won’t do, not at all! You’re far too tall, and it’s not good manners to give your ruler a crick in the neck every time he tries to have a conversation!”

“And what would you have me do, my lord? Shall I crawl when in your presence?”

Sheogorath grinned up at the dragon. “Tempting, but I’ve got a much better idea on how… cut you down to size…”

“And that’s how I teamed up with Malacath to help the orcs save Tibedetha!”

Akatosh rolled his eyes, though inwardly he was troubled by the news on Heyvkahsil. He would have to speak to Paarthurnax about that later.

“A fascinating tale. But how does it relate to the matter at hand?”

“Well, it goes to show that I think these dragons of yours are just dandy, wonderful to have around the house! Whatever help you need with the prodigal son here, I’ll be happy to provide!”

The god of madness paused and gave a shrug. “Wait, what AM I helping with exactly? I still have no idea what a fine little equine like yourself even needs from me!”

So Akatosh explained, telling the violent and dreary tale of Alduin’s fall from grace, his eventual death, his planned rebirth, and all the mishaps that had occurred since his egg’s discovery. Sheogorath listened with intense concentration, frowning in concern, nodding his head at various points, occasionally munching on some strange objects from a pouch on his belt.

By the time the story was finished, Sheogorath seemed to have tuned him out completely. The sudden utterance of his name snapped the Daedra back to attention. Sheogorath looked down at Akatosh, then the object resting in his palm.

“Aww, you hungry? You want one? Huh? Huh? Sit! Sit, girl!” He waved the object in front of Twilight’s nose, cooing as if he was speaking to an infant. “Come on! That’s a good pony! Who wants a fishy stick?”

“Sheogorath! Would you please pay attention?!” Akatosh demanded in frustration.

The bearded man fell back in surprise. Chuckling sheepishly, he popped the fishy stick into his mouth. “Oh, right. Sorry about that. Forgot that it was really you in there, you know… the… well…” he flapped his arms like wings.

It was official. He should have summoned Azura instead.

“So let me see if I understand correctly,” Sheogorath said. “Your pride and joy has completely lost it and now you need me to wrangle him back into line. Well, lucky for you I’m in a helpful mood! Let me just conjure up some gruesome abomination to duke it out with the little delinquent.”

“Wait, that is not what-”

“No, no, it’s fine. Let me see, what could be a match for a dragon. I’ve got it! How about a giant, albino mudcrab!”

“No, just listen-”

“What, allergic to shellfish? Fine then, a lich! No wait… a NAKED lich! Yes, that’s it! Some kind of nudist, undead monstrosity! Wielding the Staff of Chaos, tripping on skooma, and with a heart as black as coal!”

“NO!” Akatosh roared, his patience finally at an end. “Please… just LISTEN!”

The Daedra pouted. “Are you sure? Not even a flock of blighted cliff racers?”

Akatosh glared in response.

Sheogorath muttered and sat down, placing his chin in his hands. “Fine then, let’s hear your piddling excuse for a plan.”

“My greatest concern is the damage to his mind. While extensive, it is not a serious problem. I will seal his memories deep into his subconscious, ensuring that they gradually return to him as the years pass by. He will remember himself, but slowly. Safely.”

Akatosh paused, half-expecting Sheogorath to be ignoring him once again. To his surprise, the Daedra remained attentive. “Until that time, however, he is dangerous. I require your aid in diminishing that threat, both to himself and to the denizens of this world.”

“I think I know what you’re asking,” Sheogorath said. “You don’t want him stomping around, squashing ponies, eating ponies, panicking ponies, or doing anything that will no doubt upset the status quo of this perfect little world. Well then, I think a physical change will be in order. Some way to… cut him down to size… so to speak. And luckily for you… I have just the thing.” Peering around as if to check for eavesdroppers, he beckoned Akatosh over.

“It is an ancient and terrible artifact,” he whispered. “Men have fought over it. Mer have died for it. It moves mountains, and mounts movements! It complements any outfit, and is fashionable at all levels of society. It is…” He leaned closer.

“THE WABBAJACK!” Sheogorath screamed, leaping to his feet. With a dramatic flair, he thrust his hand into the air as if to catch a falling object.

Nothing happened.

The god of madness looked at his empty palm in confusion. Clearing his throat, he lowered his hand and tried again. “The… WABBAJACK!”

Akatosh merely stared. Sheogorath gave a sheepish grin common to men suffering from ‘performance anxiety.’

Grumbling to himself, Sheogorath braced his feet and wrapped both hands around thin air. Still mumbling, he began to pull.

“Don’t know what… every time I… he let go of the stupid thing?”

It was like watching a fisherman reel in a non-existent Abecean Bluefin. Sheogorath would tug and pull, his arms slackening for a moment before he yanked on nothingness. But just as Akatosh was ready to end the summons and try his luck with a less insane Daedra, Sheogorath gave a might tug, and there was a flash of light.

Sheogorath was now holding a carved metal staff. At its head were three carved faces, each displaying a different emotion. And hanging from the end, fist still closed tightly over the staff, was a very surprised looking Nord.

Sheogorath peered at the white-haired man for a moment. “Well look who’s here… YOU! How ‘bout that?”

Not waiting for the man to reply, Sheogorath gave the staff a few rapid shakes, quickly dropping the Nord to the floor.

“Sorry about that, but I’ll be needing this back. Fate of a world, and all that. I’m sure you can relate.”

The man looked wildly about the room, giving Akatosh’s pony body an incredulous stare, looking back at Sheogorath, then finally taking notice of the dragon standing behind him.

“ALDUIN!” The man shrieked.

Sheogorath snickered. “Yes, yes, yes, it’s a regular family reunion isn’t it? We have the proud father, the estranged eldest son, and the half-breed younger sibling that was only conceived to vicariously correct its parent’s mistakes. I suppose that would make me the wild and crazy uncle who provides comedic relief and corrupts the children?”

The Nord scrambled to his feet; his hands fumbled with a scabbard, only to realize that the sheath was rather empty of any usable weapons.

“You’re already trying to kill him again,” the Daedra asked in surprise. “My, but you’re a violent little bastard aren’t you?”

Undeterred, the Dovahkiin squared his shoulders and took in a breath.

“Fus…”

Sheogorath clapped a hand over his mouth before the shout could be completed, resulting in the bulk of the thu’um bursting out of the man’s ears.

“Sorry, but no fratricide indoors. Besides, we have plans for yonder dragon.”

The man wheeled around, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Sheogorath patted his cheek. “There, there. I know it’s difficult. Your mortal enemy still draws breath, your epic quest lies uncompleted, and now you’re being told to shut up and go home. Hard to believe, but this doesn’t concern you. Now then, off you go!”

Lifting the Wabbajack, Sheogorath bopped the man over the head, causing him to vanish with a flash of light and a small ‘pop’ sound.

“Now then,” he said jovially. “We’ve got the staff, and we’ve got the target. Are we ready to Wabbajack?”

Akatosh nodded, and Sheogorath stepped forward, twirling the staff between his fingers.

“Any requests?”

Akatosh thought, considering what dangers or trials might await in this new world. Finally, he gave the details. He did not think Alduin would be too incensed at the change of size or of color. The replacement of wings for arms though… that might be a bit harder to accept.

Sheogorath nodded. “A complete restructuring. I like it!”

“But just so you know… I hope that memory plan of yours works. Because otherwise he’ll be able to reverse this little change in a heartbeat.”

“I will concern myself with his future. All you must do is complete your task.” Akatosh said with a smile.

The madgod gave the staff one final spin, throwing it into the air like a baton. Catching it behind his back, he leveled it at the frozen dragon. “Ready!”

Akatosh blinked, and time flowed once again.

Alduin halted in mid-step, his prey nowhere in sight. Now, there was a strange, two-legged creature standing before him. Its eyes were a golden-yellow, and it held an object that hummed with power.

A wide grin split the man’s face. “SURPRISE!”

The staff fired.

Draconic Translations:

Hon Daar Zul-

Hear my voice

Dahmaan, Ofan Hin Ov, Fen Drun Drem-

Remember me, give me your trust, and I will bring you peace.

Strun Bah Qo-

Storm, Wrath, Lightning (Draconic shout for creating a thunderstorm)

Kren Gron Lein-

Break, Bind, World (Draconic shout for planar travel)

And it's done. Finally. Apologies to everyone who's been patiently waiting. Had to Rewrite damn near every section at least once before I was halfway satisfied. I sincerely hope this chapter was worth the wait.

Kudos also to Half_a_Taco and Unclefester84, who even if they didn't know it, were on the right track when they surmised that Sheogorath might play a role in the future.

Read, review, enjoy! See you at chapter 7.