Metalborn in Skyrim

The piercing blare of a war horn shattered the silence of the night. The deep, resonant sound echoed through the stone streets of Markarth, jolting Kael awake. He was on his feet in an instant, reaching instinctively for the pockets of his bag where his metal reserves were stored. Shouts rang out from the city walls, followed by the rapid clatter of armored boots rushing toward the battlements.

Kael threw open the door of his room at the inn and sprinted through the dimly lit corridors, his mind already racing. He could feel it in the urgency of the alarms, the sheer panic in the voices of the guards.

By the time he reached the top of the wall, the scene below had already begun to unfold in grim fashion. The torches along the walls flickered, casting a wavering glow over the battlefield. Beyond the tree line, moving shadows formed into monstrous shapes—Forsworn warriors emerging in the darkness, their eyes burning with an unnatural red glow. Their weapons shimmered faintly, suffused with the same infernal energy that had been gifted to them by Mehrunes Dagon.

The soldiers on the walls were scrambling to prepare for the battle. Captains barked orders, trying to get their men into formation. Archers lined up along the ramparts, nocking arrows as their officers shouted, "Hold! Hold! Not yet!" The tension was thick as the Forsworn crept closer, their savage snarls audible even from a distance.

"Loose!"

A volley of arrows sliced through the night sky, raining down upon the approaching Forsworn. Some fell, but many shrugged off the wounds, their unnatural resilience keeping them upright. A few even ripped the arrows from their flesh and kept charging.

The first wave crashed against the city's defenses. The guards shouted and braced themselves, swords and shields clashing with sharpened Forsworn axes and daggers. Even with their training, the soldiers struggled—each Forsworn fought with the strength of two men, their Daedric empowerment turning them into savage killing machines.

Kael didn't hesitate.

Burning pewter, he surged forward, vaulting over the parapet with a steel push and landing directly in the fray. The first Forsworn that turned to face him barely had time to react before Kael's sword cut through his chest. Another came at him from the side, his war axe descending in a brutal arc. Kael decreased his weight by storing into his iron metalmind and steel-pushed against the metal-studded armor of a fallen soldier, launching himself sideways just in time.

Rolling into a crouch, he flared zinc, sending a wave of fear and uncertainty into the minds of the Forsworn around him. Normally, this would cause hesitation, but these warriors were different. Their god had blessed them, their will reinforced by Dagon's influence. Only a few flinched, the rest pressing forward with relentless aggression.

A berserker charged him, swinging a greatsword as if it were a mere stick. Kael ducked under the wild swing and drove a steel coin into the warrior's forehead with a deadly push. Another Forsworn lunged at him from behind, but Kael, slightly burning tin, heard the shift of his boots against the bloodied stone. He twisted and brought his sword up in time to parry, then kicked out with pewter-enhanced strength, sending the Forsworn sprawling.

The battle became a whirlwind of blood and steel. Kael moved like a force of nature—one moment launching himself off the walls with steel pushes, the next increasing his weight to slam into a group of enemies with unstoppable force. He swapped between weapons when needed, sometimes sending a flurry of coins toward exposed weak spots, other times crushing his foes with brute strength.

More than once, he found himself reaching into his pouches to replenish his metals. The fight was dragging on, and every time they cut down a Forsworn, another took their place. The soldiers around him fought bravely, but it was clear that the battle was turning against them. Despite their superior numbers, it still took two to three soldiers to take down a single empowered Forsworn.

Then, above the clamor of battle, another sound rang out—a distant war horn, deeper and more pronounced than the first. Kael paused, his breath ragged, as the sound of galloping hooves thundered through the valley. The Forsworn hesitated as well, their red-glowing eyes turning toward the new arrivals. Over the ridge came an army of reinforcements—soldiers bearing the banners of Solitude, Whiterun, and Morthal. Clad in Imperial and Nordic armor, they descended upon the battlefield like a tide of steel.

The first wave of reinforcements slammed into the Forsworn flank, breaking their momentum. Arrows whistled through the air, striking the enemy ranks with deadly precision. The clang of metal and the roar of battle intensified as fresh soldiers flooded the battlefield, evening the odds. The banners of the various holds rippled against the dark sky, and the warriors of Skyrim fought with renewed vigor.

The soldiers from Solitude, clad in polished Imperial armor, fought with precise discipline. Their ranks were tight, their formation unbreakable as they pushed through the chaos, driving their swords into the empowered Forsworn. The men of Whiterun, swift and fierce, fought in loose skirmishing lines, using their speed and coordination to outmaneuver the enemy. Meanwhile, the warriors of Morthal, hardened by the treacherous swamps of Hjaalmarch, fought with brutal efficiency, their axes cleaving through the enemy with grim determination.

Kael barely had time to register the sudden shift in battle before another voice cut through the chaos.

"Kael!"

He turned just in time to see a familiar figure fighting his way toward him, blade flashing in the moonlight. Dain.

The man was covered in dirt and blood, but his grin was unmistakable. "You didn't think I'd let you have all the fun, did you?"

Kael exhaled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You took your time."

Dain parried a Forsworn's strike, kicking the warrior aside before stepping up beside Kael. "Had to fight my way here. These bastards are tougher than I remember."

Kael readied his sword as another wave of Forsworn advanced. "Then let's remind them who they're dealing with."

Side by side, the two warriors threw themselves back into the fray, blades dancing through the night as the battle for Markarth raged on. Kael burned pewter, his strength surging, and leapt into the fray with relentless fury. He steel-pushed off the metal studs of a fallen soldier's armor, launching himself high into the air before crashing down with enough force to send the nearest Forsworn sprawling.

Dain fought like a whirlwind beside him, his sword a blur of steel as he cut through the enemy. He moved with calculated precision, his blade finding gaps in armor, his footwork fluid and relentless. Despite the Forsworn's newfound power, he matched them strike for strike, proving that experience and skill could still hold against raw Daedric strength.

All around them, the battle raged on. The soldiers from Whiterun fought in coordinated teams, using their shields to deflect the unnatural strength of their foes. The men of Solitude fought in disciplined ranks, holding the line as their archers loosed volleys into the enemy. The warriors of Morthal, less organized but brutally effective, hacked and slashed their way through the chaos.

Kael saw a Forsworn berserker charging toward a group of Whiterun soldiers, his greatsword raised high. Without hesitation, Kael flared steel and sent a coin rocketing through the air, striking the berserker clean through the eye. The warrior staggered but did not fall. With a snarl, he ripped the coin from his skull and turned toward Kael, his red-glowing eyes filled with hate.

Kael cursed under his breath. Even after a fatal strike, the Forsworn kept coming.

"They're not stopping!" one of the Solitude captains shouted. "We cut them down, and they keep getting up!"

Kael turned his gaze toward the treeline, where a sinister figure stood watching the battle. A Hagraven spellcaster, her hands raised, chanting in a guttural language, sustained the fallen warriors with dark magic. Even though the forsworn were empowered by the daedric prince, if their soldiers died in battle, the Hagraven would raise them and put them back in the fight. It was a vicious cycle that made many soldiers perish.

Dain didn't hesitate. "Let's cut the head off this snake."

The two warriors fought their way toward the Hagraven, cutting through Forsworn in their path. Kael steel-pushed himself forward, weaving through the battlefield like a force of nature. He reached the spellcaster first, his sword flashing in the dim light.

The Hagraven turned just in time to see Kael's blade arcing toward him. With a snarl, he raised a hand, unleashing a pulse of dark energy. Kael was thrown backward, landing hard against a broken cart. He gritted his teeth, shaking off the impact as the Hagraven prepared another spell.

Dain was on her in an instant, his sword cutting a deep gash across the Hagraven's chest. The spellcaster shrieked, staggering back. Kael pushed off the wreckage with steel, closing the gap in an instant. He drove his blade through the Hagraven's throat, silencing her wretched incantations forever.

As the Hagraven fell, the glow in the Forsworn warriors' eyes flickered. Many of them collapsed where they stood. 

A great cheer rose from the soldiers as they saw the Forsworn ranks begin to waver.

Kael breathed heavily, his body aching but his spirit fierce. Dain clapped him on the back. "That did the trick."

Kael nodded. "Let's finish this."

With renewed vigor, they turned back to the battle. The tide had turned. The Forsworn, despite their monstrous strength, could not stand against the combined might of Skyrim's warriors. One by one, they fell, until the last of them was cut down beneath the moonlit sky.

As silence finally settled over the battlefield, Kael stood amidst the fallen, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.

Then, from the treeline beyond the battlefield, the ground trembled.

A deep, guttural roar split the air, louder than the war horns that had signaled the reinforcements. The trees shuddered violently, birds scattering from their branches in terror as something massive began to move. A red glow pulsed from the depths of the forest, flickering like fire, casting unnatural shadows that stretched out onto the battlefield.

Kael barely had a moment to turn his gaze toward the source of the disturbance before the treeline exploded outward.

A monstrous figure emerged, standing nearly eight feet tall, its form a grotesque fusion of mortal flesh and Daedric power. Its skin had taken on a molten hue, veins of fiery red coursing beneath the surface, illuminating its body like lava trapped beneath hardened rock. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as the creature stepped forward, its heavy footfalls shaking the very earth beneath it.

The Avatar of Mehrunes Dagon had arrived.

Its eyes burned like twin embers, filled with nothing but hatred and destruction. Its fingers ended in jagged claws, each sharp enough to tear through steel. In one massive hand, it gripped a blade too large for any normal warrior to wield—an obsidian greatsword, its surface pulsing with Daedric energy.

Kael's jaw tightened. He had seen many horrors since arriving in Skyrim, but this was something else entirely. This wasn't just another enemy—this was destruction incarnate, a being fueled by the will of a Daedric Prince.

The Avatar took another step forward, its molten eyes locking onto the city walls. Then, with another guttural roar, it raised its massive sword and swung it downward. The very air seemed to burn as the blade came crashing down, sending a shockwave of fire and force outward, knocking both Forsworn and defenders off their feet. The walls of Markarth groaned under the impact, cracks forming along the stone as debris rained down upon the warriors below.

Kael pushed himself up from where he had been thrown, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't know if they had the strength to stop this thing.