Metalborn in Skyrim

Kael barely had time to catch his breath before another Forsworn lunged at him, his movements a blur of fury. The man's axe cleaved through the air, aiming straight for Kael's ribs. Kael's instincts screamed at him to move. He flared his steel reserves and pushed off a discarded iron buckle in the dirt, sending himself sideways in a burst of speed. The Forsworn's axe missed him by mere inches, slamming into the ground with enough force to crack the cobblestone beneath it.

Kael's eyes narrowed. They're stronger, but they're not invincible.

The Forsworn yanked his axe free with a snarl, his veins pulsing faintly red beneath his skin. His muscles bulged, empowered by something beyond human limits. Despite their newfound strength, however, their speed wasn't enough to keep up with Kael when he compounded his steel reserves.

Kael had been cautious before, testing their limits, gauging their capabilities. But now? Now he needed to finish this.

He reached into his pouch, fingers finding the smooth surface of a steel metalmind. Without hesitation, he popped the bead into his mouth and swallowed, burning it immediately. The surge of speed hit him like a tidal wave, turning the world around him into a sluggish haze. The Forsworn were fast, but now, to Kael, they were slow.

Time seemed to stretch. The Forsworn's next strike—one that had been blindingly fast before—was now telegraphed and sluggish, easy to dodge. Kael sidestepped it effortlessly, his enhanced reflexes letting him weave through the attacks like they were moving through thick mud.

Then, he struck.

Kael blurred forward, sword flashing in the firelight. He targeted the closest Forsworn, a scarred warrior wielding a jagged blade. The man barely had time to register Kael's movement before Kael slammed his shoulder into his chest, sending him flying backward. Before the warrior even hit the ground, Kael was already on the next one.

A Forsworn woman lunged at him with twin daggers, but Kael moved faster, twisting around her first strike and grabbing her wrist mid-swing. He ripped the dagger from her grasp and drove it into her abdomen in a single, fluid motion. The Forsworn's eyes widened in shock as she gasped, collapsing to her knees before crumpling onto the dirt.

The remaining warriors tried to adapt, spreading out to flank him, but Kael was already gone—moving faster than they could follow.

He steel-pushed off a discarded spearhead, sending himself rocketing toward the next warrior. His sword cut through the air, aimed for the man's neck. At the last moment, the Forsworn tried to raise his axe in defense, but Kael was faster. His blade sliced clean through flesh and bone, and the warrior collapsed with a gurgling gasp.

Kael barely slowed. His mind was focused, his body moving with perfect precision. Another warrior came at him from the left, swinging a warhammer in a brutal arc. Kael steel-pushed off a loose dagger in the dirt, flipping backward just as the hammer shattered the ground where he had stood.

Before his feet even touched the ground again, Kael burned more steel and pushed—not off the ground, but off the armor of one of the Forsworn still standing. With his weight enhanced by tapping his iron metalmind, the force was immense. The Forsworn was sent sprawling, tumbling across the ground as Kael landed smoothly in a crouch.

He didn't let up. He launched a handful of coins into the air and steel-pushed them in rapid succession, each one streaking forward like a bullet. The first coin buried itself in a Forsworn's shoulder, the second in another's thigh. The warriors grunted in pain but still moved, their unnatural resilience keeping them upright.

Kael gritted his teeth. They're tough, I'll give them that.

The last remaining Forsworn warrior stepped forward, gripping his weapon tightly. His eyes, glowing with Dagon's power, locked onto Kael's, and a slow, sinister grin spread across his bloodstained face.

"You think this changes anything?" the Forsworn sneered, his voice guttural, distorted. His fingers flexed around his axe, veins pulsing with barely contained energy. "We are chosen! We cannot be stopped!"

Kael didn't respond.

Instead, he pushed.

Steel-pushing off the discarded axe of a fallen warrior, Kael propelled himself forward with a blur of motion. His sword lashed out in a clean, precise arc.

The Forsworn warrior's grin never faded. Even as the blade sank deep into his chest, his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"The Reach belongs… to us…" he rasped before his eyes dimmed, his body finally slumping lifelessly to the ground.

Kael exhaled sharply, the weight of battle settling over him. He let go of his compounded speed, allowing the world to return to its normal pace. His body ached from the exertion, but he forced himself to stand tall.

The fire still crackled around him, the distant sound of villagers fleeing into the forests the only other noise in the eerie silence. The Forsworn here were dead… good riddance.

——————————————————————

The terrified villagers had scattered into the surrounding forests when the attack began, running for their lives without any sense of direction or plan. Now, with the immediate danger passed, Kael knew he had to bring them back. They couldn't stay hidden in the wilderness—not when the Forsworn could regroup and come back at any moment.

Burning tin, he sharpened his senses, picking out the distant rustle of movement beyond the trees. He took a deep breath and called out into the woods, his voice steady but firm. "If you can hear me, come back! The Forsworn are all dead! We need to leave this place before more of them arrive."

For a few agonizing moments, there was no response. Then, slowly, figures began emerging from the underbrush—men, women, and children, their eyes wide with fear, their faces streaked with soot and dirt. Some clutched crude weapons, others clung to loved ones, their bodies trembling with residual terror.

An older man, his hands gripping the arm of a limping woman, looked at Kael with hollow eyes. "We can't stay here," he said still in shock. "They'll come back."

Kael nodded. "I know. That's why we're leaving." He turned to the group. "Go back to your homes—take what you can carry, food, supplies, whatever you need. We're heading to Markarth."

The villagers hesitated, glancing at one another before quickly moving toward the ruins of their homes. The devastation was worse up close. Some structures were burned beyond recognition, their wooden frames little more than charred skeletons. Others had collapsed under the force of the attack, leaving behind piles of rubble and broken belongings. The villagers sifted through the wreckage in silence, gathering whatever remained of their former lives.

Kael watched them, his chest tight with frustration. This shouldn't have happened. I should have been faster.

A child, no older than six, clung to his mother's skirts as she knelt beside a broken wooden chest, retrieving a few tattered garments and a small bundle of food. The child's wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto Kael, full of uncertainty and fear. Kael forced himself to offer a small nod of reassurance.

"We leave soon," he said, his voice carrying authority. "Be quick."

He stood at the edge of the village, burning tin to keep watch. His enhanced hearing picked up movement ahead—low voices, footsteps crunching through the undergrowth. His stomach tightened.

Forsworn.

A small group—five warriors, their movements cautious—was circling back toward the village. They were likely scouts, checking to see if there were any survivors left to pick off.

Kael didn't wait for them to make the first move.

With a flare of steel, he launched himself forward, covering the distance in an instant. The Forsworn barely had time to react before he landed in their midst, sword flashing in the afternoon light.

The first warrior swung at him wildly, but Kael ducked under the blow and drove his blade into the man's gut. Before the body even hit the ground, Kael steel-pushed off a discarded dagger, sending himself flying toward the next attacker. His foot slammed into the woman's chest, knocking her back before he brought his sword down in a clean arc.

The remaining three scrambled to react, but Kael was faster. He burned pewter to enhance his strength, stepping into a powerful thrust that sent another Forsworn sprawling with a gaping wound in his chest. The final two hesitated, realizing too late that they were outmatched.

Kael didn't let them escape.

He steel-pushed on their weapons, yanking them from their hands and sending them flying into the trees. Their eyes went wide, confusion flashing across their faces before Kael ended them in quick, brutal strikes.

He exhaled sharply, scanning the area for more threats. When none came, he wiped his blade clean and returned to the villagers.

"Move now," he ordered. "We're leaving."

The villagers fell in line, some still clutching salvaged belongings, others walking with vacant expressions, their losses too great to process. Kael led the way, keeping tin burning at all times, his senses tuned for any sign of pursuit.

Hours passed in tense silence as they navigated the rocky paths toward Markarth. The road was winding and dangerous, and Kael remained alert, scanning every ridge, every cluster of trees.

Then, as they neared the outskirts of another village, Kael's stomach dropped.

The village was gone.

It was worse than the last one. Where homes had once stood, only blackened ruins remained. The air still smelled of smoke and death. The streets were littered with bodies—some soldiers, some villagers, all of them bearing the marks of violent deaths.

A woman among the refugees let out a strangled sob. "No…" she whispered, stumbling forward.

Kael caught her arm before she could run ahead. "We can't stop here," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "It's already lost."

She turned to him, her face twisted with anguish. "This was my home."

Kael's jaw tightened. "I'm sorry."

He looked at the other villagers. Their expressions ranged from horror to despair, their eyes drinking in the devastation that had once been a thriving community. Some clutched their belongings tighter, others simply stood frozen.

"We have to move," Kael said again, scanning the distant hills. "We're too exposed."

The grieving woman clenched her fists, tears spilling down her face, but she nodded. Kael turned back to the road, pushing the group forward.

Markarth was close now.

They had just begun their final approach when Kael's worst fear came true.

A deep, warlike horn bellowed through the valley.

Kael turned sharply, eyes narrowing at the distant hills.

In the dying light of the evening, silhouetted against the horizon, a mass of Forsworn warriors emerged.

At least thirty of them.

Kael's heart pounded. The villagers gasped, panic setting in.

"Run," Kael said, his voice sharp with urgency. "Get to Markarth's walls. Now."

The villagers hesitated for only a moment before breaking into a desperate sprint toward the city.

Kael turned to face the incoming horde, gripping his sword tightly.

He stood alone, between the Forsworn and the fleeing villagers.

Reaching into his pack, he pulled out one of his few beads of Duralumin and quickly swallowed.

Let them come.