Eregor stood proudly, looking out from the depths of the roaring skull helm from between its fanged jaws but as one second turned into two and time slowly passed it was obvious that nothing was happening. There was no discernible change that any of us could detect in him, and after the first few seconds of nothingness it was obvious that he realised the same thing.
Some of the cultists lifted their heads in confusion, looking at their leader dressed in the massive suit of armour that I could now see more of the details. Especially now that I wasn't fighting for my life against a group of insane wood elves. The armour itself was obviously too large for Eregor and had made for someone who was at least six foot in height and weighing more than what I did. Every piece had been made from some metal that I was unable to identify, perfectly carved and polished to appear like blackened ivory. Every curved piece was fashioned into the shape of skulls of men, mer and beasts. Some of the creatures that the skulls had been fashioned in the likeness of I doubted had ever strode the lands of Nirn, or possibly even oblivion itself. It was horrific and discomforting to gaze upon, but was comical in the way that it hung loosely and haphazardly over the mer who currently wore it.
Silence descended upon the ruins, broken only by the groans, cries and moans of the wounded and dying. From their positions beside their mistress, a pair of towering daedra rose to their feet while looking about at the mortals before them with something akin to confusion on their features. The daedra were dressed in little more than loincloths, and were heavily muscled like no man, mer or even orc could ever hope to match. Both were well in excess of two metres in height, weighed at least two hundred kilograms and had only been hidden from view by the way they had both been sitting cross legged as part of the ritual. They too seemed confused and I knew that a confused daedra was only a few short steps away from an angry and homicidal daedra.
"You failed!" Shrieked Eregor, twisting and pointing a gauntleted finger carved into a bony talon at his startled mistress. "I will crush your pretty face and the mudcrabs will feed upon your corpse! I will-"
The sound of splintering bone was audible over his hate-filled rant and it cut him off in mid breath, stopping him entirely in mid motion and making everyone who heard it jump. The expression of agony that consumed his features was as terrible as it was sudden and there was a second snap as he dropped to his knees. Deep and terrible, the pulse of dark energies began to build once more until all present could feel them. It didn't take long for the energies to build, and within those few seconds Eregor went from kneeling on the altar to screaming in soul-rending agony.
His body began to writhe and shift in a combination of pain and spasms and I winced as I saw and heard how his left arm straightened out, folded back onto itself before twisting back into shape once more. The armour gripped around him, squeezing as the seizure held him tight and his limbs contorted in impossible ways. A leg seemed to snap half way up the shin to create a second joint when no man or mer ever had one, before the entire limb straightened out again to a howl of agony from the tortured woodelf.
Without a single word or gesture Malulain, myself and all of the other Rangers surged forward instinctively as the leader of the cult screamed incessantly. The cultists for the most part remained on their faces or kneeling, not resisting as we cut and stabbed our way through their number with little hesitation and no mercy. The instinctive realisation of what was happening drove us onwards even as the corrupted Rangers surrounding the Altar surged forward to protect their new lord.
Clad in their corrupted and defiled armours, covered with foul wrappings of flesh and hair twine that signified their new master they were easily identifiable in the sudden brutal melee. As Eregor's elite they had given themelves over to Molag Bal entirely, dressing themselves in symbols of their allegiance but also having their bodies twisted like their souls. No longer were they the tan skinned and weather-beaten Bosmer of the south, but cruel mockeries of their former selves. The all may have been wood elves in stature and build but was almost the only thing they shared with the loyal kin. Scars had been carved deep into their flesh, scouring the marks and tattoos of their former lives and their pointed ears had been twisted, studded with bone and metal and turned into scraps of gristle and scar tissue. The first who I crossed blades with had eyes bloodshot with corrupted veins and its skin was a mess of darkened lines like the roots of a tree digging deep into the earth. No longer did it have the bronzed tan of a being who had spent a lifetime outdoors in the elements, but was a pallid and almost decomposing image that seemed to have been starved to the point of death. Their skulls were deformed, twisted and wretched and more than one seemed to have studs of horns pushing through the skin where it was peeling and stripping away.
My own charge forward stopped in mid pace as I recoiled from the hideous form of my attacker, slicing upwards clumsily with Sunchild and feeling the blow jar up my entire arm. Their armour at least proved to be of no match for a weapon of Sunchild's make and while my opponent hissed in agony I speared it in the throat. It fell to its knees, brackish blood pumping from between its fingers as it tried to stem the pulsating flow and I was overwhelmed with disgust and a cold rage burning within me. All around me, the several dozen rangers loyal to Malulain slaughtered their way through their fallen brethren while Malulain and his veterans fought by my side against Eregor's chosen.
Dressed in his detailed armour, one of higher ranked Rangers shrieked in agony and the sound felt as though it had been delivered to my brain with a point of a sword. One who had spent most of the battle so far fighting by my side, fell quickly under the corrupted blades of the brethren. Even as I deflected a thrust with the flat of Sunchild's blade and speared another on its edge, I could see that death was coming for the loyalist quickly, as he was surrounded by a number of them, their blades rising and falling with an unholy fury.
Three of them quickly turned to face me, hissing and spitting bile and daedric curses even as they danced just outside of my reach with fresh blood covering their foul armour and faces. They looked like an amalgamation of daedra and mer, loathsome and evil but the smell emanating from them was another thing entirely. The burning taste of stomach acid hit my tongue from the merest hints of it. It seemed to bypass my mask and even ignore my inhalations to strike right into the back of my throat.
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The battle in the ruins raged anew, but now it was Ranger versus corrupted Ranger and both sides were paying a heavy toll in blood. Double edged bone daggers and single edged swords of ivory cut through leather, silk, cloth and flesh and the brutality of the kills were something that only the vampire within me could match. Bellies were ripped open, groins stabbed deeply, legs shattered and teeth punched clear of skulls. Eyes gouged and throats punched and for a large majority of the Rangers it soon turned into grappling and clawing at each other as their relative equality of skill left them using anything and everything at hand to kill. I even caught a glimpse of a loyalist holding a chunk of broken masonry in both hands, driving it down hard on the snarling visage of a cultist until the fallen Bosmer's face look like it had been made out of half molten wax.
One of my own foes screamed painfully as it dropped to the floor gurgling blood and with as its organs looped out of the massive gash in its belly. The stonework under my feet suddenly turned slippery in the wash of blackened blood. Everything about this Ranger clan had been totally and utterly corrupted, and even through it was blood, fresh and tantalising, even the beast within me recoiled at the dark taint infused into every scrap of their flesh. They were Molag Bal's now; mind, body and soul and there was no saving what they had become.
I smashed my way through the inexperienced guard of the second Bosmer facing me, not even using any finesse as I took its hand off at the wrist in a spray of ichor and bile. It screamed, the mask it was wearing slipping down and revealing a face so twisted with hatred and evil that it stopped me in my tracks even as I deflected another cut from its fellow. What was left of its features under layers of creasing scars and crisscrossing veins had been turned into a layer of filth months ago. Cracked lips peeled away from a mouth filled with blackened teeth that had either mutated into a maw of fangs or had been purposely sharpened to points. In the rush and even though it was missing its sword hand it leapt at me, snapping and snarling its ruined mouth even as I buried my elbow into its throat and punched it with the hilt of my sword.
An eye burst under the hammer blow, the first of three that I delivered that left it weeping with pain. Even with the will and gifts of its dark master pushing through from the void into its soul it had been mortally wounded. Its face was now nothing more than a mess of flesh with blackened bone poking through, a maw of shattered teeth and dribbling gore from the injuries. Blinded and insensible from the wounds it was unable to defend itself further as I twisted to one side, taking the throat of another away with the point of Sunchild and ripping a dagger free from its sheath on my chest. The last of my foes died with the dagger tip scraping the top of its skull as I punched it up under the jaw and giving the weapon a twist just to make sure as I pulled it free of flesh and brain.
Malulain had been attacked by a handful of the fallen Rangers and had been left bleeding from several minor cuts and gashes even as he duelled with a surviving pair. He was no swordsman but his natural skill and grace made him a deadly adversary that had allowed him to hold his own in such a riot of a battle. There was no skill or precision that usually accompanied a fight involving legionaries or other professional soldiers. It was little more than a tavern room brawl with increased lethality and knives. The fact that both sides had lost most of their forces already attested to that fact.
With my own adversaries dead or dying, I rushed to the Ranger's aid. So focused on killing Malulain, the two corrupted Rangers didn't notice my presence until it was far too late. The dagger spun as I shifted my grip, holding it by the blade and hurling it with sickening force into the back of a skull with a crack of bone. Seconds later, the other ranger died as I caught its descending arm, stopping it mid attack and spearing it through the torso with Sunchild. With my enhanced strength it writhed and twisted in my grasp as I lifted it up off the floor by the arm, the Vampire in me lending me strength enough to crush its forearm into splinters of bone even as its chest was cut apart on my blade.
The dying Ranger dropped to my feet in a messy pile of shredded flesh and armour, clawing and my feet even as I stomped on its head with a crunch of bone. Very few of Eregor's clan were left alive, but the glance around the slaughter showed that the same was of Malulain's force. Easily two out of every three Rangers he had brought with him into Cyrodiil were left strewn about the ruins, wounded or otherwise dead.
On top of the altar, hunched over on his hands and knees, Eregor's screams changed and all eyes were drawn to him. The agonising contortions were slowing, his body forcing itself back into shape centimetre by centimetre but it wasn't the cause for the change of the screams being ripped from his throat. The roaring bone helm framing his face in six centimetres long razored teeth had suddenly, and inexplicitly slammed shut. Muffled and consumed with terror, his shrieks and wails of pain shifted to those of damned realisation, before ceasing just as quickly as they had started.
Other than Lariel, her pair of daedric bodyguards and Eregor himself, none of his clan were left standing. The rest were dead or dying at our feet. Dozens of bodies were scattered about, piled three or four deep in places and it was this sea of death that the armoured figure rose to his feet and cast its burning gaze over.
The helm was still shut tight, the interlocking fangs of the mask locking together like a knight's visor and hiding the face but the eyes burned with fury. A darkness was now dwelling within the armour. One that had not been present before. What I also immediately noticed was the way that he was standing. No longer did the armour appear comically oversized and hanging loosely on the short Woodelf. Now it fit perfectly, locking together in flawless skin of metal without a single piece out of place.
"We're in deep shit." I muttered, just loud enough for Malulain to hear and to nod in agreement.
With the sound of snapping bone, the helm snapped open once more, the yawning mouth returning to frame the face of the elf within. However, Eregor was no longer the being who stared out upon the ruins. It was an elven face, high boned and almost chiselled with an almost avian like structure, but it was no Bosmer. A pair of blue eyes, cold and glowing with faint light gazed upon us all and a sneer of displeasure was permanently carved into its flesh. It was a face that I had seen the like of in several places in the previous months, a face that I immediately compared with the statues and carvings I had seen in the depths of Nornalhorst and Nonungalo.
Sounding like million tombs closing deep within the earth, the reincarnated Ayleid's laugh rolled over us and I felt my guts turn to ice. "We're in really deep shit..."
