Aethyr's Discovery and Confrontation

Aethyr's curiosity became an itch he could no longer ignore. Days passed after his conversation with Tolfdir, but the old mage's words felt like shackles, chaining Aethyr to the ordinary spells of light and armor reinforcement. He needed more. He needed to understand what true transformation meant—not just in the physical world, but in the deeper, more metaphysical realms.

One afternoon, after spending hours in the library, Aethyr stumbled across an old record. Alious, a name that had faded into the mists of time, had once been a master of Alteration at the College. But his fall was sudden and dark, linked to the forbidden depths of The Midden, the ancient subterranean chambers beneath the College. The entry spoke of students lost, their bodies disfigured by a botched summoning ritual. Aethyr’s pulse quickened, but the record abruptly ended, with no more information available.

"Why was this buried?" Aethyr whispered to himself. The College clearly wanted to keep this a secret. But why?

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The Descent into The Midden

Determined to uncover the truth, Aethyr ventured into The Midden—a place whispered about in hushed tones by other students. Using his knowledge of alchemy, he concocted a potent hydrochloric acid solution. It took him days to prepare, but he knew it was his only way through. One evening, he slipped past the College wards, the vial of acid tucked into his robe.

At the deepest corner of The Midden, there it was: an ancient wall, untouched for years, its surface etched with barely visible arcane symbols. Aethyr, heart pounding, poured the acid onto the wall, watching as it sizzled and smoked. Slowly, a passage revealed itself—a hidden corridor leading further down into the darkness. His pulse raced.

With each step, the air grew colder. The walls dripped with condensation, and the faint hum of magic echoed around him. He reached the chamber at last, a vast hall with ancient stone carvings lining the walls. At its center stood a pedestal, and atop it, a strange, gauntlet-shaped relic. Aethyr could feel the latent energy radiating from it, a pulse that beat in time with his own heart.

"I've found it..." he whispered.

The Dremora’s Arrival

As he approached, his hand extended, the relic suddenly flared to life, enveloping the room in a dark, menacing aura. A swirling vortex of magic erupted from the pedestal, and out of it emerged a demonic figure, towering and menacing—a Dremora, its eyes burning with malevolent fire.

As Aethyr stood before the demonic figure that materialized before him, the chamber shook, its air heavy with ancient, forbidden power. The Dremora’s arrival was nothing short of cataclysmic—shadow and flame wreathed the beast as its towering form unfurled, dark energy crackling around the room.

"Where am I? You! Out with it, then." The demon’s voice was harsh, its eyes gleaming with malevolent curiosity.

"We're beneath the College. The Midden," Aethyr responded, his voice steady though his heart raced.

"Ah, I was beginning to think the day would never come. So you broke the binding spell, did you? Their souls are trapped in Oblivion all the same, and here I stay. Matters little."

Aethyr’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going back where you belong, Dremora.”

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"You've no hope of defeating me, pup. Don’t bother." The Dremora unsheathed a blade, its black steel glinting in the dim light of the chamber. It lunged forward with shocking speed, but Aethyr was faster. Sidestepping the attack with a fluid grace, he brought his spear-staff crashing down on the demon’s shoulder.

The impact was powerful, but the Dremora barely flinched. It snarled, spinning to unleash a torrent of dark flames from its palm, the hellfire roaring towards Aethyr. Reacting instinctively, Aethyr raised his collapsible shield—a work of his own forging. It expanded in an instant, covering him in a shimmering barrier of magicked metal. The flames crashed against it, sizzling against the protective runes he had inscribed.

The chamber itself began to tremble, cracks spider-webbing along the stone floor from the sheer force of the demonic magic. Overhead, the College shuddered violently, dust and debris falling from the ceilings of the classrooms. Above ground, students and teachers alike looked around in fear, the walls shaking as though the very foundations were under assault.

“What’s happening?” one of the senior students gasped.

“I don’t know! It’s coming from below!" another replied as panic spread.

Meanwhile, in the chamber below, Aethyr was locked in a fierce duel. The Dremora swung its black blade, aiming to crush Aethyr’s defenses. The young mage deflected the strikes with his shield, using the momentum to deliver a retaliating strike with his spear, sending sparks flying. With each clash, the room groaned in protest, stone walls buckling and support pillars beginning to crack.

The Dremora, growing more frustrated, shifted tactics. It raised its free hand, chanting words of dark power, and the air in the room grew thick with magic. A violent shockwave exploded outward, sending Aethyr flying back. He tumbled across the floor but quickly rolled to his feet. The demon advanced again, relentless, but Aethyr was ready.

As the Dremora launched another spell, Aethyr threw his shield forward—it spun through the air, its edge glowing with the same arcane energy he had used to forge it. The shield struck the Dremora’s chest, knocking the creature back with a guttural roar.

Aethyr didn’t let up. He lunged forward, his spear igniting with a combination of fire and ice magic. He drove it towards the demon’s midsection, the opposing elements colliding as they struck. A fiery explosion and a freezing mist enveloped the demon, its armor cracking under the onslaught.

But the Dremora was resilient, letting out an enraged snarl. It summoned a vortex of shadow, pulling in loose debris and rubble from the collapsing room. Aethyr barely managed to avoid being caught in it, throwing himself to the side as the dark magic twisted the room further. The walls trembled, loose stones crashing to the ground as the chamber neared collapse. A rumble spread through the entire college, shaking everything above.

“Something’s happening below! The ground is shaking!" a professor shouted, leading students toward safety as the tremors grew worse.

In the chamber, Aethyr stood his ground. Though outmatched in raw power, his agility and strategy gave him the upper hand. He dodged another heavy blow from the demon’s blade, responding with a crushing bash of his shield, knocking the Dremora off balance. Without hesitation, Aethyr unleashed a barrage of purification magic, his spear glowing white-hot with divine energy.

The Dremora screamed in agony as the purifying light seared through its flesh. It stumbled backward, its resistance faltering. But even in its agony, it spat defiance. "Why not broker a bargain instead?” it hissed, falling to its knees, black blood dripping from its wounds. “Those children are long dead. Killing me won’t bring them back. But I have wealth... knowledge beyond your imagination. Release me, and it’s yours.”

Aethyr stepped closer, spear still at the ready. The Dremora’s voice became weaker, but it still spoke with cunning. "Years back, I stashed treasures away—Imperial plunder. I can show you... it could all be yours. And more."

“How could I even release you?” Aethyr asked, his voice calm but full of suspicion.

"Names have power, lad. You should know by now," the Dremora rasped. "Just say 'Velehk Sain, I release you,' and you'll have what you desire."

Aethyr’s eyes flickered with indecision, but before he could respond, the ground quaked violently once more. The ceiling began to crack, stone blocks falling dangerously close.

Above, chaos reigned as students rushed to evacuate the shaking college, unaware of the battle raging below. Master Tolfdir, sensing something dire, led a group of senior mages toward the hidden chambers, their faces filled with grim determination.

The choice was Aethyr's—and the College's fate hung in the balance.